The Evelynson Foundation had been a quiet success, and, over the years, the hastily-converted family home became too small to house and support the many children, orphaned later in life, who eventually found their way there. Faced with increasing demand and decreasing resources, Evelyn started calling in favours.
Even the children who hadn’t moved in following the wedding had grown up in close contact with Evelyn – initially brought along by harassed carers after repeated demands to “see the nice lady in the white dress” and then more and more under their own steam every year – and although most of them had long since moved away (and not written for years), when they got the Evelyn’s letter, they came running. Amongst those who had ‘lived in’ the devotion was even more marked.
Letters were written; finances raised; land bought; architects, surveyors and engineers engaged; planning permission sought and obtained; builders employed; and, within two years of Evelyn having set pen to paper, she shuffled through a small army of supporters and cut the red ribbon with a pair of garden shears.
That night, she dreamed of the happiest day of her life; she’d never felt so proud.
The next morning, she was found in her bed, wearing a white night-dress and with a smile on her face. She had never looked so beautiful.