It was long ago, in a quiet Yorkshire hamlet, that Milly barely turned sixteen when her mother passed away. Her father had gone off to Leeds for work seven years earlier and never returned, leaving no word and no money. Almost everyone in the village turned up for the funeral, lending what they could. Aunt Maud, Millys godmother, would often drop by, offering advice on what to do next. By some stretch Milly finished school and took a post at the post office in the neighbouring village.
Milly was a sturdy girl, the sort of folk described as blood and milk. Her face was round and rosy, her nose a little like a potato, but her eyes were a bright, steady grey. A thick, chestnut braid fell down to her waist.
The most handsome lad in the village was Charlie. He had come back from the army two years before and was the object of every girls attention, even the city girls who arrived for the summer holidays. He could have been a driver in the city or a star in a Hollywood action film, but he had not settled down or chosen a wife.
One day Aunt Maud asked Charlie to help Milly repair her fence, which had collapsed. In a place where a mans strength was needed, Milly could manage the garden but not the house. Without much discussion he agreed, arrived, surveyed the ruin and began to bark orders: Fetch this, run there, hand me that. Milly obeyed without hesitation, her cheeks flushing even brighter, her braid whipping from side to side. When the boy grew tired, she fed him a hearty stew and a strong cup of tea, watching him bite a piece of black bread with his white, strong teeth.
Charlie spent three days fixing the fence, and on the fourth he simply turned up at Millys cottage as a guest. She fed him dinner, word by word, and he stayed the night, then began to linger, slipping away at dawn so no one saw him go. In a village you cannot hide anything.
Ay, girl, youre welcoming him in vain, Aunt Maud warned. Hell never marry you, and if he does youll only be a burden. When summer comes the city beauties will swarm, and youll burn with jealousy. You need a proper lad, not this.
Did the tender heart of youth heed such seasoned counsel?
Soon Milly realized she was with child. At first she thought shed caught a chill or a poison. Weakness and nausea came in waves. Then, like a hammer striking the head, the truth settled: the child was Charlies. She had feared the sin, thought it too early to be a mother. But a small part of her thought perhaps it was better this wayshe would not be alone. Her own mother had raised her, and she could manage. Her father had contributed little but his drinking, and the townsfolk would soon talk and settle down.
In spring she took off her coat, and the whole village saw the swelling in her belly. They shook their heads, muttering, What a mess for that lass. Charlie, of course, came by to ask what she intended to do.
Nothing but give birth, she said. Dont worry, Ill raise the child myself. Live as you have lived, she added, gripping the hearth. The flames painted red on her cheeks and in her eyes.
Charlie admired her but left. Milly decided for herself, as if water rolled off a goose. Summer arrived and the city girls flooded in; Charlie had no time for Milly.
She kept at the garden, and Aunt Maud came to help weed. Bending with her belly was hard; she hauled a halfpint of water from the well each time. Her belly grew, and the village women whispered that she was destined for a great fate.
Whatever God gives, Milly joked.
On a midSeptember morning she woke with a sharp pain, as if her womb had been cut in two. The pain faded, then returned. She ran to Aunt Maud, whose startled eyes understood instantly.
What now? Maud cried, hurrying out of the cottage.
Milly sprinted to Nicholas, who kept a lorry by his house. The local farmers had already driven off in their trucks. Nicholas, having drunk heavily the night before, was in no shape to drive. Aunt Maud scolded him, while Charlie stared bewildered, not grasping what to do. When he finally understood, he shouted, The hospital is ten miles away! Shell give birth on the road if we dont hurry!
How can we take her on that lorry? Shell be ripped apart, a woman protested.
Then youll ride with us, just in case, Nicholas replied, cutting her off.
They set off on the broken lane, cautiously navigating ditches. The lorry jostled over a deep rut, and Aunt Maud clutched a sack in the back. When they finally hit the pavement, they sped onward. Milly writhed in the passenger seat, biting her lip to keep from crying, cradling her belly. Nicholas, suddenly sober, glanced at her, his fingers white on the steering wheel, thinking only of the road.
They arrived at the village infirmary and left Milly there, then turned back. Aunt Maud cursed Charlie for ruining the girls life, leaving her an orphaned mother with a newborn to care for. The lorry never made it back to the hamlet; Milly had already delivered a healthy, robust boy. The next morning a nurse brought a bottle for him. Milly, trembling, stared at his tiny, redwrinkled face, clenching her lip again as she followed the nurses instructions, her heart swelling with joy.
Will they come for you? a stern elderly doctor asked before discharging her.
Milly shrugged and shook her head. Unlikely. He sighed and left. The nurse wrapped the infant in a hospital blanket and instructed Milly to return home.
Fergus will take you back on the ambulance, not the bus, she scolded. Milly thanked her, walking down the corridor with her head bowed, cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
Back in the lorry, Milly pressed the bundle to her chest, worrying how they would manage now that her maternity pay was a pittance. She felt sorry for herself and for the innocent child. She gazed at his crinkled face, and tenderness flooded her heart, driving away the darker thoughts.
The vehicle stalled. Milly looked anxiously at Fergus, a stout man of about fifty.
Whats the matter?
Its been raining for two days. The roads are flooded, impossible to cross. Only a lorry or a tractor could manage. Sorry, theres still two miles to go. Can you make it on foot? he asked, pointing to a vast puddle that stretched like a lake.
The baby slept in her arms, his weight tiring her. She thought, What a hero I must be. She slipped out carefully, hoisting the bundle, and walked along the edge of the water. Mud clung to her ankles, threatening to pull her in. Her mismatched boots slapped the ground; she imagined shed better have been in rubber boots. One boot sank deeper; she paused, unsure how to proceed with the child in her arms. She kept walking on one boot.
When she finally neared the hamlet, darkness fell, her feet numb from the cold. She felt no strength left, yet the lights in the cottages welcomed her. She stepped onto the dry floorboards, shivered, and opened the cottage door.
Inside, a babys cot stood beside a pram, piles of tiny clothes folded neatly. Nicholas sat at the table, head resting on his hands, halfasleep. He lifted his gaze as Milly, cheeks reddened and hair disheveled, stumbled in, her dress soaked, knees deep in mud. Seeing her without a boot, he rushed over, lifted the child into the cot, fetched a kettle of hot water from the fire, helped her out of the mud, and dried her feet. While she changed, a pot of boiled potatoes and a bowl of milk sat on the table.
The infant began to cry. Milly seized him, sat at the table, and, without a hint of shame, began to breastfeed.
What shall we call him? Nicholas asked hoarsely.
Serry, Milly replied, her clear eyes meeting his. Is that alright?
His heart tightened at the longing and love in her gaze.
A fine name. Tomorrow well register him and sort everything out.
It isnt necessary Milly began, watching her son suckle.
My son needs a father. Ive had my fun, but I wont abandon him.
Milly nodded, not lifting her head.
Two years later a daughter was born. They named her Hope, after Millys own mother.
No matter the mistakes made at the start of life, what mattered most was that they could always be set right.
