Bridget heard the knocking and opened the door. Pete stood on the landing, his shoulders slumped in his worn coat, his frosty breath heaving in and out. One eye was deep in a wide circle of black and blue. He turned his cap in his hands. “She died,” he said. His bottom lip quivered, and he struggled to control it.
Bridget knew without asking, but her mouth made the words. “Your mum?”
Effie crossed the room, the Never Forget quilt around her shoulders. “What happened?”
Pete’s hat moved faster, around and around through his fingers. “She’s dead now.”
They stood silent, though to Bridget they all screamed inside.
“The baby, too,” Pete finally said. “I cleaned him. Got him buried.” He swiped his wrist across his upper lip and nose. “I put him under the tree in the pasture. I thought Ma wo
