The sky was raining cats and dogs, and the city streets were covered in rainwater when the lady bent with her newborn baby in her arms to warm the tiny bundle with a piece of cloth that resembled more of a patch than anything else.
Her clothes were old, her face pale with hunger, but with love in her eyes, touching the cold night.
She stood before a fine house, with light in its windows, and a kind, rich man lived in it, who ran around wherever he needed food and warm coats for poor people.
She was trembling when she knocked with her hands on the door, and her baby had a very small breath against her breast.
“Oh, reply,” she breathed, with a choking voice. When the door was opened, the face of the rich man was expressionless in gayety, and the eyes expressive of care when he beheld her in the storm.
“Lady, I do not want your money,” she said, when the tears came down her face and her voice was strong, yet shaky.
Bad folks want to get hurt; they shall take me wherever I have gone. Take, take my babe, keep, keep her, keep.
Do not overlook and forget and lose her, lose her forevermore. The heart grew tight of the rich man; so plainly did she show fear and love that it struck him.
And who is it that follows you tonight?” said he. Her shaking head in her arms was her baby. It is too risky to say so; only vow to love her as your own.”
He nodded, and his eyes were warm. She is safe with me, I swear.
She kissed her baby on the forehead and mumbled, “You are my world, always,” and gave her to the arms of somebody, her arms were hanging, and fled into the dark, rainy night.
The rich man did not move, holding the baby in his arms, her little head serene, her little mouth happy, in the dark ignorance of the suffering of her mother.
He peeped out, but the lady had disappeared in the shades of the storm. Having left her behind, why must you go thus? His heart answered back.
He was indoors with the baby, whose presence gentled the large spaces of the house. He called her Lily because she had called the flowers in his garden.
But Lily was named because her petals are as bright as her future. “You are at home now, little one,” he said as he rocked her, a vow in the tone of his voice.
The pouring ceased; however, the tearful eyes of the lady remained at the center of his mind, a secret he carried within himself.
Lily was a girl; she laughed, and she filled the house with laughter, with the goings of little feet across sunlit floors.
The wealthy man brought her up as a daughter, and he taught her how to pick flowers and told her stories by the fireplace.
You are my little lily, and I bound her hair with a ribbon, her smile beaming in his heart.
And he used to watch her sleeping at night and think of the lady, and her decision punished him with a painful ache in his heart.
Now, where are you? He thought, with weaving eyes.
He had preserved her worn patchwork blanket in his little wooden box, and the worn yarn spoke to him of the rainy night, and it was something of her love that he would give Lily.
Lily is now at school, and her backpack is bouncing, and her eyes are shining with wonder.
He loved her school dramas and the rich man, and went and clapped his fill as he saw her inquiring about her past. One day, she questioned, “Who is my mom?” And in her hand was a drawing of a lady with sweet eyes.
His neck choked him. She loved you so much, she gave you to me to keep you safe.”
Lily looked at him. “Do you think she will ever come back?” He embraced her. I know not, but you are loved here, always.
His were the same questions she had asked him; the terror in the lady had been a shadow into which he had wished to penetrate so that Lily might learn it.
The wealthy man came across an old newspaper one peaceful afternoon in his office, and its contents were about a lady who had gone missing, fleeing the faces of those she had attempted to prevent harm from.
In her photograph, there appeared the lady herself, with just the same eyes as Lily. His pulse beat. Did you fight this?”
He had heard her adventures read, how she fought back against risky folk, and how she made enemies who pursued her.
There were tears as he murmured, with a fear that she would dislike hearing it so solemn, “You were so brave.”
He procured an honest policeman with a low voice, saying, regarding his daughter, “Find out what occurred.”
He wished Lily to realize the power of her mother and have the sense of this mother in her, however painful the truth might be.
The detective went away and came back looking tender, yet also sad. She is dead, then, and probably killed by people who wished to kill her.
The chest of the rich man felt heavy imagining the lady who was running through the rain, and she loved Lily more than fear.
He murmured, as tears fell, “She gave everything.” Sitting that night beside Lily, who was now ten years old and had put her little hand in his, he watched the end of this great strife.
To him, he said, his mother was a hero. She handed me to you, saying she would keep you safe.
Tears glistened in Lily’s eyes. So she loved me so much? More than anything, he nodded, yes. Hugging, the motherly love, a warmth embraced them in this grief.
Lily became a sunny teenager whose laugh was light, and she was in a sunny park, with her graduation cap tilted and a big smile on her face.
Then the rich man gazed on like his heart was rent in pieces, and his eyes were wet with tears.
She clung to him and said, “You are my dad, but I know her too.” He smiled. She is always there with you.
They had sown a lily garden in memory of her mother, and all the flowers were in full color, in honor of her sacrifice.
His mind went back to that rainy night, to the trembling tone of her voice, and her love, fierce and self-denying. And what would have happened supposing I had not opened the door? Thought he.
And his belief in her had reformed him, bringing him a daughter whose sunshine filled his very days, a child of a mother at her fullest measure.