Arthur Whitmore sank slowly back into the deep leather Chesterfield that loomed like a throne in his study. It was not merely a piece of furniture; it was the most coveted gift his only child, Emily, had given him two years earlier. She had presented it with eyes afire, insisting that the countrys leading orthopaedic specialists all swore by this model for anyone who spent endless hours at a desk. Her devotion had touched him to the core. Now, even the finest German ergonomics could not coax a sigh of relief from his muscles, for opposite him, curled into a knot, sat his daughteran exact mirror of his own youth, bright and unyielding.
Emily clasped her hands tightly across her chest, as if trying to shield herself from his words. Her foot tapped a nervous, staccato rhythm on the parquet, echoing the steelglint in his own gaze and the stubborn tension that creased his features. The air in the room grew heavy, as if laced with lead.
Listen, his voice broke the hush, your disapproving stare will not change my decision. I cannot endorse your choice. Practising medicine in a remote village is not your path.
You simply refuse to hear me, she exhaled, a note of wounded pride sharp in her tone. Its as if we speak different languages, forever on opposite banks.
Arthur ran a hand sorrowfully over his cheek.
A fine excuse for an eternal battle! Speaking of classics, remember how Bazarov met his endtragic blood poisoning from a botched operation. And now you rebuke me for not wanting you to share that fate?
Emilys eyes drifted to the ceiling, a deliberate gesture that the argument failed to sway her.
Arthur thought, with a sting, how alike they wereoutside and inside, the same unbreakable will that had driven little Lena, his infant daughter, to bite her lip and stare from beneath her brow whenever she wanted something. He blamed only himself for that stubbornness. After the dreadful day they lost Iris, when Emily was five, his grief had driven him to drown the loss in an endless, consuming love. He spoiled her, yet it never made her frivolous; she grew sensible, intelligent, and fiercely determined. Still, her latest decision gnawed at his peace, poisoning each day. Rather than inherit the family firm, she chose the modest life of a doctor.
The family business, founded by his grandfather, also dealt in medicineprecise equipment for hospitals, and recently a chain of aesthetic clinics. Yet Emily, swearing the Hippocratic oath, declared she would not cater to those who could pay to have noses straightened or faces tightened. Her calling was real help, what she deemed essential.
You refuse to see the obvious, Arthur tried again. Its easy to romanticise noble purpose when you sit on a cushion of wealth, elite universities, and boundless freedom. Medicine is hard labour, seldom truly valued.
Emilys nostrils flared with indignation.
First you make everything appear possible, then you scold me for actually having a choice! Im not heading to a backwater without connection or civilisation! Ill be placed in a regular district hospital!
And if that hospital turns out to be a bears den, hundreds of miles from everything? Arthurs voice rose, his restraint slipping.
She sighed, surveyed the study, and let her gaze linger on the portraits of eminent figures that lined the walls, pausing on the stark blackandwhite image of Steve Jobs. Then she whipped her attention back to her father.
Do you know the words Jobs said when he sensed his time was ending?
What did he say? Arthur asked, weary.
He noted that with age comes a simple realisation: a thirtypound watch tells the same time as a threehundredthousandpound chronometer. No matter the car you drive, the road is the same for everyone. You can feel utterly alone in a cramped flat or a lavish manor, she blurted.
And what does that lead you to?
That people live everywherecity or remote hamlet. I want to be where my work can truly change something! Do you think a patient who arrives in a rustbucket doesnt deserve quality care?
Im only trying to protect you, Emily! Arthurs voice cracked. Let those without options bear the burden! I raised you for a different life!
But this is my life, and only I can decide how to live it! Ill go wherever Im sent. Thats final.
She rose abruptly, turned, and fled the room without a backward glance. Arthur watched, helpless, his head cradled in his hands. The daughter refused to see the obvious: in this world, social standing, birth and connections matter far more than she believed. Born into plenty, she now dared to renounce every advantage.
His eyes fell on a silverframed photograph: little Lena in a bright yellow dress, laughing carefree.
If shed spent even a moment in true isolation, shed understand how wrong she is he whispered.
In that instant a fresh, lightninglike idea struck him. He grabbed his phone and dialed without hesitation.
Dave, hello. How are you?
Keeping busy, the voice replied cheerfully. All thanks to your support.
Listen, I have a question. Do you still influence the allocation of medical graduates? My daughter just graduatedshes burning to save the world.
No problem! Dave said, excitement brightening his tone. Where do you want to place her? A city hospital? Or perhaps our research centre?
To a village, Arthur said firmly. The most remote spot you can find on the map.
A brief silence hung. Then Dave chuckled lowly.
Joking, Tom? Seriouslywhere are we sending Emily?
Im dead serious, Arthur replied, his voice steady. Send her to a village.
From that terse conversation the story that would turn several lives upside down began.
When Arthur decided to send his daughter to a secluded hamlet, he hoped the harsh reality would strip away her rosecoloured glasses. He was convinced that once she learned the conditions, she wouldnt even think of packing her bags. Yet Emily, determined to prove him right, held fast. She soon found herself on the road to Hollowbrook, a tiny settlement whose name meant exactly what it soundedquiet, hidden, a whisper of the world.
The journey took almost a whole day. She watched fields and dark woods slide past the window, joking to herself that a bear might leap from the brush at any moment, a fitting tribute to the villages name.
There, a modest brick cottage with a steep roof waited for the young doctor. Beside it stood an older, weatherworn wooden house, its windows boarded up tight. The latter looked so forlorn that one strong gust might split it in two.
At first Emily was elated. The air seemed fresher, crystalclear as a mountain spring. Yet the locals received the newcomer with thinlyveiled suspicion. They muttered that a single doctor could not sustain a whole district. No one understood why a polished city graduate had ventured into their backwater. They tested her, probed her resolve.
Emily, gathering every ounce of will, threw herself into the work. She treated every patient without ranking them, extracting splinters from carpenters fingers, stitching broken childrens knees, listening patiently to elderly womens complaints about joints and pressure.
A month passed and the villagers began to accept her. She became one of them. Then an odd, inexplicable problem surfaced.
Emily stopped sleeping. Each night she heard strange sounds: faint footsteps, a long creak, a distant dog howl. She would rise, lantern in hand, wandering the house to find no one. Her regular patient, Mrs. Gladys, merely shook her head.
Dear, you care for us, yet you look wan, your face as pale as a sheet, the old woman muttered. No colour in your cheeks, no blood in your lips!
Emily forced a smile. Thank you, Mrs. Gladys. Its just the nights; something keeps me awake. It feels a bit scary in the house.
Mrs. Gladys narrowed her eyes. You live next to the cursed house, the one with boarded windows. It belonged to the former village clerk. Did you notice how close it sits to yours? No one wanted to live there after
What happened? Emily asked.
The clerks wife went into the woods for berries and never returned. The whole village searched in vain. He drowned his sorrow in drink, then took his own life. When they opened the house they found him dead, and a note saying his soul could not find peace. They say it haunts the walls, the old woman whispered.
Emily dismissed the tale as superstition, yet the footsteps grew clearer.
After a hard day, exhaustion stripped her of fear. She prepared dinner, ready for sleep, when suddenly a long, resonant creak echoed from the next wall.
Her breath caught. She realised the sound came not from her own cottage but the neighbours. She pulled the curtain aside and peered out.
A fleeting shadow slipped between the boards.
Silence fell. Then a sudden thudbam!followed by a muffled gasp.
No, I wont go there at night she whispered.
At dawn the fear dissolved under bright sunlight. Gathering courage, Emily entered the boarded house.
Inside, stale air and mould greeted her. Her torch illuminated overturned furniture, a tipped bench, a table. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, yet deeper inside she noticed signs of recent occupation: dust disturbed, small chew marks, bone fragments, ragged cloth stained brown as if with blood.
Thats enough for now, she breathed, turning to leave.
Again the long creak rang, followed by a rapid, staccato patter, like tiny bare feet scurrying across the floorboards. Her mind painted the image of the former clerks ghost hurrying to meet an unwelcome visitor. She spun, ready to flee, when another, louder, prolonged screech erupted above her head, causing her to stumble.
Her foot caught the overturned chair; she fell hard onto the cold wooden floor. Her phone, light on, slipped from her grasp, struck a board, the screen went dark, and the device rolled into a shadowed corner. She winced as pain shot through her ankle, tears welling from the cocktail of fear and helplessness.
Can I help you? a whisper floated, barely audible.
Emily froze. Her heart dropped then thumped violently against her throat. She tried to crawl backward, eyes straining in the gloom, when a thin beam of light slipped through a crack in the boarded windows and a small figure emerged.
Good heavens! she gasped. Youre a boy!
Before her stood a gaunt child, perhaps eight or ten, dressed in ragged, dirtstained clothes. His blond hair was tangled, covered in cobwebs, as if he had just emerged from a hollow. His hazel eyes stared at her, alert yet flickering with curiosity.
Are you hurt? he asked, voice hesitant.
Emily, stunned, managed, What are you doing here?
I live here, he replied simply, a faint challenge in his tone.
Alone? she pressed.
He shrugged. I used to live with my mum in the next village. Two years ago she fell ill and they took me to an orphanage. Its not far
He gestured vaguely toward the forest. Then, stepping closer, he said, Let me help you.
She noticed his left foot wrapped in a grubby rag, a dark stain seeping through.
What happened to your foot? she asked softly.
I tried to catch a fish, slipped on a sharp stone, cut myself. I limped for two days, he explained.
All her fear melted. She set aside the pain, steadied herself against the wall, and guided the boy back to her own cottage. She eased him onto a chair, fetched a firstaid kit, cleaned the deep wound, and bandaged it. She offered him a warm sweater and a slice of her stew.
Whats your name? she asked.
Stewart, he whispered, eyes fixed on the plate.
Emily learned that Stewart had been abandoned, labeled a burden by the orphanage, accused falsely of breaking things, and returned to the woods where no one wanted him. The cruelty of his story struck her heart.
How long have you been here? she asked.
Maybe two weeks, maybe more. I hide by day, hunt for food by night. Everyone avoids that house; no one dares enter. I pick berries, take eggs from the henhouse. Thats how I survive, he replied.
Emily felt adrift, unsure of the next step. Yet Stewarts pleading gaze seemed to ask for a lifeline.
You wont take me back, will you? he whispered, voice trembling. Please dont send me away again.
Emily realised there was no choice left. She placed a gentle hand on his head, smoothing his damp hair.
No, Stewart. I wont send you anywhere, she said firmly. Youll stay here with us.
Back on the winding country road, Arthur watched the endless fields and woods pass his window. Emily had vanished from his radar. Days turned into a week with no word. He finally drove to Hollowbrook himself, hoping she might have changed her mind. In his mind he imagined countless grim scenarios, but reality proved stranger.
He asked at the village shop, Are you looking for Dr. Emily?
The shopkeeper beamed, Yes, the one on the fifth house with the blue roof. She lives there with her brother. He handed Arthur a parcel of scones and jam. Give her my regardsmy backs feeling better already!
Her brother? Arthur asked.
The boy, Stewy! the shopkeeper called over his shoulder.
Confused, Arthur hurried to the blueroofed cottage. Under a row of hawthorn, he saw a small figure gathering berries.
Emily! he called, voice a mixture of relief and disbelief. When did I get a son?
His daughter greeted him with warmth, no reproach. She poured tea, then unfolded the whole tale.
I told everyone Im his sister, she whispered, glancing at Stewart, who was sorting berries into a pot. Hes my younger brother now.
Its illegal! Arthur protested. You should inform the authorities!
If you do that, Father, Ill adopt him myself, Emily replied stubbornly. I discovered the orphanage never noticed his disappearance.
You cant just take every child into your home! he cried.
Why not? If I can help, I will.
Angry, he prepared to leave, but his 4×4 sputtered and died, forcing him to stay. Those forced days became a turning point. He saw a different lifesimple, honest, sincere. Stewart took him fishing, reminding Arthur of a hobby he hadnt held for thirty years.
The local mechanics repaired the vehicle, yet Arthur no longer wanted to drive away.
He lingered a day, then another, and another.
Eventually he applied for formal guardianship.
Because theres no one to go fishing with me, he muttered, as Stewart hugged him and called him dad.
Emily, watching, wiped a tear of joy from her eye.
Years later Stewart earned a brilliant education, joined the family firm, and became a steadfast pillar. Emily rose to head physician of a major hospital, her success earned solely through hard work. Yet they kept returning to Hollowbrook, to the quiet fields and generous hearts, because there they discovered a treasure no wealth could buy: genuine peace, deep joy, and the warmth of a family.
Each evening, seated on the porch of their old blueroofed cottage, they watched the sun set and knew the greatest riches were not pounds or pence, but the people beside them and the love they could give to those who truly needed it.
