I still recall those days in the little village of Ashford, tucked away on the Kentish hills, when the world seemed both tighter and lonelier than it does now. A widowed neighbour once left a baby on my doorstep, and a year later the village women gathered round my door, their curious eyes fixed on me.
Has he come back, then? they asked, their whispering glances aimed at Eleanor Whitby. I lowered my gaze, unsure what answer would satisfy them.
No, I said, trying to keep my voice steady. And why should he? We are already apart. Their murmurs continued, Were apart, were not Tommy isnt a prize either. Its unlikely anyone will pick up a treasure like that. I did not wish to engage further, so I hurried my shopping and slipped out of the shop.
I knew the gossip would spread through the whole parish. In Ashford a divorce was as rare as a summer snowstorm. Even if a husband drank too much or raised his hand, the folk believed the couple should endure together.
Thomas was differenthe never drank, never argued, and that made him a subject of quiet suspicion. All the other men limped home after a day’s wages, but hes always sober, like a stranger, theyd say, setting him up as an example while envy still simmered beneath. Rumours swirled that Thomas had a lover on the side, yet neither the whispers nor the idle talk altered the course of our lives. Our disagreements were settled behind closed doors.
When the break finally became obvious, it shocked everyone. I retreated into myself, sharing nothing, and though the neighbours seemed ready to offer support, I kept my distance. I walked home over the creaking snow, a hollow feeling in my chest.
Six months passed after Thomas left, and his memory lingered like a persistent fog. I had been the one to start the divorce; Thomas only agreed when life became unbearable. It began when I noticed his distant stare at the children playing by the village school.
Tom, we need to talk seriously, I said one afternoon.
Alright, what is it? You want to discuss tonights supper? he joked, but I was unyielding.
I want a divorce, I declared, as if thunder had split the sky.
Why? he asked, bewildered.
In a proper family there should be children, and we have none. Likely we never will. I want us to part. Youll find another woman and start a family, I explained, hoping he would understand.
Thomas grew visibly upset. Did you ever ask if I wanted a child if you werent here? Lets not revisit that.
No, Tom, well return to this conversation. Ive filed for divorce, I replied.
He missed all the hearings, and the court dissolved us in absentia.
When I unfolded the divorce decree at home, Thomas struggled to keep his emotions in check.
So thats how it ends, he gritted his teeth.
Yes, Tom. I want you to go, I said.
Locked in my bedroom, I heard him packing. I wanted to say goodbye one last time, but fear held me back, lest I try to stop him. As the door slammed, I rushed to the window and watched him walk away.
His departure felt like my very soul was being pulled out of my body. I could not adjust to life without him. Evenings found me leafing through old photographs, recalling the times when our house was full of friends. No one visited now; I had turned everyone away.
One evening, returning home, I found a large basket on the porchno ordinary village basket, but an elegant one, as if from a city shop, large enough to hold three potatoes. I looked around; no one was in sight. Who had left it at my door?
I approached and peered inside.
Whos playing such a joke? I asked aloud.
Something shifted inside the basket. I jumped back, then leaned in again.
Oh my God! I exclaimed, lifting the basket and hurrying inside.
A tiny infant lay there, swaddled in a blanket. I barely knew how to handle a baby, yet I began caring for her at once. She was a little girl. I wrapped her in a fresh blanket and sang softly.
When she fell asleep again, I sat beside her and asked with a smile, What am I to do with you, little one?
I named her Ethel. She was as sweet as honey, with tiny fingers I could not count in months. She could sit propped on pillows and happily ate a spoonful of thin porridge sweetened with sugar.
That night I hardly slept, worrying about the child peacefully tucked in the bed. What a marvelous feeling it was to watch her soft breathing and the little wrinkling of her nose!
The next day I decided not to rush to the authorities. I took the child out at night to avoid the prying eyes of neighbours, took leave from work, and shuttled to the shop while Ethel slept. I knew eventually I would have to place her somewhere, but I kept postponing that moment.
Three weeks later the parish constable knocked on my door. He entered, inspected the room, then faced me, barely holding back emotion.
Well, Mrs. Whitby, shall we have a word?
He wrote up his report, and I, eyes brimming with tears, asked where the child would be taken.
I wont take her away, only pass the information on. Why are you weeping? Dont you want to part with her? If a mother does not need her child, who will? he asked.
Ive heard an unmarried woman might be denied adoption, I said.
He might not be denied. Well give good references, help where we can. Nothing happens without effort, he replied.
I had not imagined the bureaucracy would consume almost five months of my life, but those weeks vanished compared with the joy when Ethel finally stayed with me legally.
I took a yearandahalf maternity leave, the kind granted to those who adopt from a care home. On the anniversary of Ethels birthshe was turning one, though the exact date was an estimate from the doctorI decided the day should be special. While she still slept, I filled the room with colourful balloons, turning the space into a festive scene.
I then bought a large doll from the village shop. The shopkeeper laughed, Why are you getting such a big doll?
I answered firmly, Let that doll always sit by Ethels crib, watching over her.
When the villagers learned I had taken in a child, their attitudes shifted. Whispers rose about who the real parents might be, and many agreed that my cottage on the lane was the perfect place for a child to be left. Even the constable fed the rumours, noting that now the child was dear to me, she should stay.
I feared one day a knock would bring someone demanding the girl back, but each morning Ethels smile filled my life with light.
Good morning, my little one, I said, laughing.
Ethel beamed, and I quickly dressed her. Our house was warm, so she played on the carpeted floor. I placed her in front of the doll, and she studied the toy with wide eyes, glancing at me now and then. I chuckled as she reached for the doll; I nudged it closer, and she pulled herself up, standing on her tiny legs, frozen in awe.
Sunshine, try a step! I encouraged.
Doctors assured me she was healthy, yet I remained vigilant. She took her first unassisted steps, then a second, holding the dolls rubber arms. I was thrilled, lifting her onto my shoulders and twirling her around.
Our merriment was broken by a sudden knock at the door. I froze, pulling Ethel close, my heart pounding. The door creaked open slowly, like a scene from a gothic film.
There stood Thomas, gaunt but with the same warm eyes. He looked at Ethel, then swept his gaze across the room.
Sorry I see youre well. Whats your daughters name? he asked.
Ethel, I replied, seeing a flicker of uncertainty on his face. Tom, she isnt our child. I adopted her. Come in.
He paused at the threshold, then stepped inside. Take off your shoes, Tom. Its Ethels birthday today. Lets have tea and cake; Ill tell you everything.
He shed his coat and boots. I studied his face, a hint of sorrow there.
Are you healthy? Are you eating? I asked.
He looked at himself, smiled faintly. Appetite was gone. Thats how it happened, he said softly, his grin touching my heart. How I had missed him
Ethel reached for Thomas, a clear invitation to be held. He nodded, smiling, and asked, May I hold her while you make the tea?
They sat together on the floor, playing with the doll. Thomas jokingly asked, Wheres the dolls mouth? And the eyes?
Ethel pointed confidently, then burst into giggles. I brushed away tears of happiness.
We could finally talk only after Ethel fell asleep after lunch. I poured out everything to Tom.
Why didnt you try to contact me? It must have been hard for you, alone, he asked.
No, its fine. Besides, why? I thought youd found someone else, maybe even expecting a child, I answered.
He looked away, murmuring, I once found love, but she turned out stubborn.
When night fell, Thomas began to gather his things.
Its time to go, two more hours on the road, he said.
I crossed my arms over my chest, knowing his departure was near.
Perhaps its for the best, he added, but you have no idea how hard it is. I dont need any children without you, understand? I try to leave you behind, yet you haunt my dreams. I came thinking I could forget you, but it only made things worse.
I, fighting tears, replied, I dont know what to do. I feel the same. Not a minute passes without thoughts of you. What should we do, Tom?
He smiled suddenly. I know what we should do, he said.
I looked at him, surprised.
Its simple, he continued. We split because we had no children. Now we have Ethel. We can be a family again.
Marry again? I asked.
He tossed aside his coat, glanced around, took a small tin from a vase, and stood before me.
My dear, will you marry me? I promise to care for you and Ethel.
I sat carefully beside him, meeting his eyes.
Yes a thousand times yes, I whispered.
He slipped a modest ring onto my finger and embraced me tightly.
All this time without you I was like a dream. Now it feels as if Ive awoken, as if life begins anew.
A year later our son James arrived. The midwives at the birth centre turned us away, but after the usual paperwork he found his place with us.
Now we have a princess and a prince, Thomas said, cradling James. Hes small now, but hell grow to protect his sister.
We stood together, arms around our children, eyes full of love. It truly was a happy family.
