In the village, they once whispered that old Margaret had lost her wits in her later years. Many avoided her cottage, calling her a “witch,” but the way she silenced the gossips is still remembered to this day.
Margaret seemed an ordinary countrywomanaged and a little peculiar, yet kind-hearted. She helped those in need, though she lived on a meagre pension, and never turned away lost travellers. The wealthier villagersfor it was a prosperous placerarely welcomed strangers beyond a cup of well water, let alone offered them shelter. But Margaret was different. She would feed any wanderer, serve them simple fare, and give them a bed if night fell. Some called her odd for it, saying she let in strangers while she had a young granddaughter to think of. They even threatened her:
“Keep this up, and well send your Emily to the orphanage. Well call the welfare workers, and theyll take her from you.”
But that was long ago. Emily came of age, and the wicked tongues fell silent. Yet Margaret had seethed with anger back then, for Emily was her only treasure, her hope and comfort in old age. She was all Margaret had lefther husband had died young, taken by a heart attack at just forty-two. Her daughter, Alice, she had raised alone. Alice was bright and fair, married well, moved to the city, and bore Emily. Then came the tragedy.
Alices husband was a geologist, always away on expeditions, sometimes for half a year at a time. From one such journey, he never returnedvanished without a trace, not even a body found. Rescue teams were sent, but one of the searchers disappeared tooor so Alice was told.
Alice grieved deeply, for she had a young child to care for, and now no husband to lean on. Margaret stood by her firmly.
“I raised you alone after your father passed,” she said. “Youll raise Emily tooand Ill help.”
Alice seemed to find peace at first, accepting her fate. But she was only pretending, sparing her mothers heart. Then, two years later, the unthinkable happened.
Alice drowned her sorrowsfirst occasionally, then nearly every day.
“The worlds turned grey without my dear Edward,” she would lament. “Ill never see my beloved again, never know happiness. Whats left to live for?”
Margaret tried everything, but nothing helpedAlice had bound her life to the bottle. And so, in the prime of her years, she was gone. The village judged her harshly, but perhaps it was simply her fate.
Now fifteen-year-old Emily was an orphan. Margaret took her in, bringing her to the village. Emily resisted at first, used to city life, but Margaret persuaded her.
“Wed never survive in town on my pension,” she said. “Here, weve a garden, chickenswell manage.”
She often told her granddaughter,
“Youve a different destiny, my treasure. When youre older, Ill find you a fine husband!”
“Wherell you find one in this backwater?” Emily would laugh. “Only lost travellers pass through!”
“Dont fret, dear. Your grandmother knows what shes doing. Let the gossips chatterpay them no mind.”
So they livedjust the two of them in a tumbledown cottage at the villages edge. Margaret kept house; Emily attended the village school, helping after lessons.
Schoolmates often mocked her, knowing her mothers fate. Neighbours, too, loved to whisper:
“A ruined motherwhat good will the girl amount to? Nothing decent, mark my words!”
It stung Margaret to hear, for none of it was Emilys faultnor hers, that shed lost her husband young, and then her daughter. But she swore to herselfshed see Emilys future secured.
She ignored the neighbours entirelylet them talk. They grew to despise her for itnothing fazed her, no rumour could touch her. Still, they couldnt resist when Margaret took in some wanderer.
“Mark my words,” theyd mutter, “shes eyeing some stranger for Emily, since no decent lad here would wed her with that past.”
“Our village boys?” Margaret would retort proudly. “Emilys meant for better.”
“Oh, well see,” theyd sneer, calling her “witch” under their breath.
Time passed. The whispers fadedfor a while, it seemed theyd been left in peace. But it was merely the calm before the storm, which broke over something trivialyet it changed everything for the old woman and her orphaned granddaughter.
One quiet winter evening, as darkness settled over the village, voices and the sputtering of a stalled engine broke the silence beyond the fence. Frustrated men cursed the weather, the rough roads, their rotten luck.
From a nearby yard strode a burly neighbour, clearly irked by the disturbance.
“Whats all this racket at night? Folk are trying to sleep!”
“Night? Its barely eight oclock!”
“Who are you, anyway? City folk, by the look of you. What brings you to our godforsaken village?”
“Were hunters. Got lost on our way to the winter chase, and now the cars given up. Could you lend a hand?”
“Hah! And how do we know youre who you say? We dont take in strangers herenot with two daughters under my roof. And Im no mechanicsort it out yourselves.”
The hunters exchanged glances.
“Sorry to trouble you, then. But is there anywhere to stay the night?”
“No inns herethis aint the city,” the villager snapped, turning to leave. Then, as if reconsidering, he added,
“Theres one placean old widows cottage. Shes a bit touched, mind, but shell take anyone in.”
He gestured toward the villages edge, malice in his voice.
“Lives with a young lasswont be dull for you gents.”
With that, he stomped home, the gate slamming shut behind him. The last light winked out, leaving the hunters in darkness.
Undeterred, they locked their car and trudged toward the cottage.
The lads were stunned by the hostilitycountry folk were usually kinder. Still, they pressed on, reaching a weathered house at the villages outskirts.
Knocking softly, one called,
“Goodwife? Forgive the late hourmight we warm ourselves?”
“Of course, come in!” Margarets reply was swift, the creaky door swinging wide. “Sit by the fireIll fetch tea.”
“Where are you from, lads? What brings you here?”
“Hunters,” they murmured, taken aback by her welcome.
“Im Oliver, and this is my childhood friend William,” the taller one said.
William flushed like a maiden.
“Dont fear an old woman, boys,” Margaret chuckled. “Folks say odd things about me, but youll be warm and fed here. Suppers nearly ready.”
The guests shared a glancehot food was a rare comfort lately.
As Margaret bustled to the kitchen, they studied the “witchs lair.” An ancient icon hung in the corner, draped with an embroidered cloth. On the windowsillphotographs. A daughter and son-in-law, perhaps? Beside thema sad-eyed young woman. The granddaughter?
Margaret returned with boiled potatoes, pickles, and fresh bread, its scent stirring memories.
“Just like my grandmothers!” William breathed.
“Eat your fill,” she urged, “while I brew teadandelion jam for sweetness. Youll not taste its like elsewhere!”
“Dandelion jam?” Oliver gaped.
“My grandmother made it too!” William said, endearing himself further.
“Our meadows golden with them in May,” Margaret beamed. “The jams pure honey.”
The hunters relaxed, charmed by the cottages warmth. Only one thing puzzled themMargarets lack of curiosity. She asked little, though her gaze lingered on William as he praised the humble meal.
Then a faint voice called from another room:
“Grandmother water”
The guests started. “Your granddaughter? Is she ill?”
“Aye, foolish girlchopped firewood yesterday, took a fever by night. No medicine here, and Im too old to fetch any in this cold.”
William rummaged in his bag, producing fever tablets.
“Give her these. If shes no better by morning, well help.”
Margaret took the pills, eyes moist. “Youre kind lads. Rest nowyouve had a long day.”
“Ill sit with heryou sleep,” William offered.
“Ill rest when Im dead,” Margaret said sharply. “Shes all I have.”
As she left, Williams heart ached.
“Whys she called a witch?” Oliver muttered later. “Seems harmlessreminds me of my gran.”
“People are cruel,” William agreed, drifting off.
Sometime later, footsteps stirred him. In the dark, Margarets shape approached the coats. She took Williams jacket and slipped away.
Strange, he thought. Is she truly mad? Or checking our papers?
At dawn, he rose quietly, donning his mended jacket. The tear in the sleeve was gonestitched so finely only a master seamstress could manage it. But how had she even noticed?
He could buy a hundred such jacketsat twenty-seven, he owned a thriving restaurant. Yet her kindness moved him deeply.
Heading outside, he chopped firewood, remembering the girl in the photograph.
“A beauty, and hardworking too,” he mused. “Id like to meet her properly.”
Margaret found him there. “Bless you, lad! Years since a mans done such work here.”
William shrugged. “HabitI chopped wood for my gran.”
Her smile warmed. “Stay for Shrovetidewell feast on pancakes!”
William blushed at the invitation.
Oliver, however, was appalled. “Shrovetide in this dump? Im leavingdo as you please.”
Their quarrel drew the neighbour, whod “found them a mechanic.”
William went with him, only to hear:
“That cars worth a fortuneyoure no commoners. Take my advicesteer clear of that madwoman and her girl. Paupers, the lot. If you fancy a village bride, my daughters are better stock.”
William kept cool. “Perhaps Ill visit at Shrovetideno promises.”
At breakfast, Emily joined them, fever gone. William couldnt take his eyes off her.
“Grandmother,” he ventured later, “may I invite Emily to the city?”
“If she wishesonce shes well,” Margaret said cryptically.
Oliver left that evening, but William lingered, chatting with Emily as if theyd known each other forever.
At parting, he whispered, “Ill return in two daysfor you.”
Emily dared to hope, though she couldnt imagine why a city man would want her.
As the car vanished, Margaret squeezed her hand. “Hell come back, dearI felt the spark between you.”
Shrovetide arrived. They baked pancakes, waitingbut William didnt come.
On the third day, the neighbour gloated:
“Your fine gentlemans forgotten you! He owns a grand restaurantwhats he want with paupers?”
Emily fled inside as Margaret snapped, “Dont crow yet!”
Thenwheels on gravel. Williams car appeared, laden with roses and treats.
“Margaret,” he said, “Ive fallen for Emily. May I marry her?”
“If shell have you.”
Emily rushed out, radiant. From that day, they were never parted.
And the village whispered for yearshow the “mad” old woman had bewitched a wealthy man into wedding her granddaughter. But Margaret knew the truth: some fates are simply meant to be.
