Free Dollybird by Anne Lazurko

relative quiet and disappear, perhaps until the baby arrived. Who could be bothering me already? A weight of impatience and dread rested between my shoulder blades.
    The knock came again, a little louder. Heaving myself up, I lifted the hook out of its eye and slowly opened the door enough to peek out.
    A young woman stood in the hall, eyeing me through the opening.
    â€œHello. My name is Annie.” She glanced past me as though expecting someone else. “I live in the room down the hall. Third one on the right. I guess we’re neighbours of a sort.”
    She was a tall blonde with sky-blue eyes, tiny nose and full round cheeks that tapered into a small dimpled chin. When she smiled her mouth opened wide, sending pleasing wrinkles to the corners of her eyes. I swung the door a little wider just as a bell rang downstairs.
    â€œThat’d be supper,” said Annie.
    Oh Lord. I wasn’t ready to meet the people who belonged to the sounds. Panic rose in my throat.
    â€œWe can go together.” She made to leave. “You should wear your coat. It’s even colder in the dining hall than up here.”
    â€œOh, thank you.” Breathing deep, I straightened my coat, trying to smooth the bodice over my belly.
    Annie watched patiently. “Ready then?”
    â€œYes.” The door swung shut, banging against the frame. There was no way to lock it against thieves.
    â€œWe have to trust each other in this place. We’re all in the same boat.”
    Her ability to read my mind was most impressive. I followed behind like a child glad to have a friend. “My name is Moira.”
    â€œI know.”
    The dining room was a larger version of the tenant rooms, the walls bare, a mottled green faded to grey. Two small windows let in shafts of the dying sun’s light. A few women sat on benches pulled up to a long plank supported by sawhorses. Plates of food were set out along the table, and Annie found two spots beside a lanky girl, her long bones covered by wan, loose skin waiting to be filled with flesh. She rubbed red hands together.
    â€œThis is Lynn,” said Annie. “Lynn, Moira.”
    We nodded at one another. As we sat down, the bench wobbled a little and Lynn laughed. “That always happens.”
    I couldn’t look up, pretending instead to concentrate on the plate in front of me, while trying to catch a peek at the other women. I ate mechancially until Annie nudged me.
    â€œPretty bad, eh?”
    The plate came into focus. The food was base and minimal: a small mound of mashed potatoes, no gravy, and a tiny sliver of salted pork. Loaves of bread and bowls of lard were spaced the length of the table. Other girls were breaking chunks off the hardening loaves and slathering them with the greasy mess. I didn’t dare reach further down and across the table for the bread sitting in front of two women whose eyes hadn’t left my face.
    â€œBad? Ha! Might as well be in jail.” Lynn’s nasal voice was pitched at the level of a small rodent. At the sound of it, the other women smirked and turned their attention to each other.
    â€œMy mother would probably be happy to hear that.” The words popped out of my mouth, an offering to these strangers. Lynn and Annie leaned in, their eager faces yearning for a good story. I was unbound by their openness. “Well, this pregnancy seems to have assumed criminal proportions to her. She’s Catholic and stiff.” I opened my eyes wide and clasped my hands in mock prayer. “And pious. She’d probably like the idea of my being in a correctional facility.”
    We laughed together, the sudden release of tension making me giddy.
    â€œShe’s only ever cared about what the neighbours think.” One hand on my hip, I flung my head back and used my best operatic tone. “Simply scandalous, Moira. Mrs. Fenwick will be most appalled.”
    Giggling erupted from the two girls, and others at the table