Emily had just turned sixteen when her mother died. Her father had gone off to find work in the city seven years earlier and never returned, leaving no word and no money. Almost everyone in the village turned up for the funeral, offering what help they could. Aunt Martha, Emilys godmother, was a frequent visitor, giving advice about what to do next. Emily barely managed to finish school and was given a job at the post office in the neighbouring hamlet.
Emily was a sturdy girl the kind people described as blood and milk. She had a round, rosy face, a nose that looked like a small potato, and bright grey eyes. A thick chestnut braid fell down to her waist.
The most handsome lad in the village was Colin. He had come back from the army two years before and was a magnet for every girl. Even the city girls who spent their summer holidays here lingered around him. He could have been a Hollywood action star instead of driving a tractor in a rural lane. He hadnt settled down, and he certainly wasnt in any rush to choose a wife.
One day Aunt Martha asked Colin to help Emily fix the broken fence that surrounded her garden. Without a strong man, life in a village was hard; Emily could handle the vegetable patch, but the house itself was a different story. Colin agreed without much hesitation. He arrived, surveyed the work and began to bark orders: Fetch this, run there, hand me that. Emily obeyed everything, her cheeks reddening even more and her braid swaying from side to side. When he grew tired, she fed him a hearty bowl of stew and a strong cup of tea, watching him bite a slice of black bread with his white, sturdy teeth.
Colin spent three days repairing the fence. On the fourth day he simply turned up for a visit. Emily served him dinner, and he stayed the night, slipping out before dawn so no one would see him. In a village you cant hide anything for long.
Girl, youre wasting your time on him, Aunt Martha warned. He wont settle, and if he does, hell only bring you trouble. When the city girls arrive in summer youll be green with jealousy. You need a proper lad, not a wandering one.
Young love, however, pays no heed to old counsel.
Soon Emily realised she was pregnant. At first she thought she was simply ill or had caught a cold. Nausea and weakness came in waves, then, like a hammer to the head, the truth hit her: the child was Colins. She feared she was being reckless, that having a baby so early was a mistake. Yet she also thought perhaps it was a blessingshe wouldnt have to face motherhood alone. Her mother had raised her, and she believed she could manage. Her father had been more a drunk than a role model, but people would eventually talk and settle down.
In spring, Emily shed her heavy coat and her swollen belly was obvious to everyone. The village women whispered, What a scandal for that girl! Colin stopped by to see what she planned to do.
Nothing more than give birth, he said. Dont worry, Ill help raise the child. Live as you have been. He lifted a pot of water from the stove, his cheeks flushed with the red glow of the fire.
Colin left, leaving Emily to decide for herself. As the summer heat arrived, the village filled with pretty city girls. Colins attention drifted elsewhere, and Emily worked quietly in her garden, with Aunt Martha helping to weed. Bending with her round belly was hard; she hauled half a bucket of water from the well each time. What will God give, well manage, Emily joked.
In midSeptember a sharp pain seized her abdomen, as if a knife had sliced it in half. The pain faded quickly, only to return. She ran to Aunt Martha, who understood at a glance from the frightened look in her eyes.
Hold on, Ill be right back, Martha shouted, hurrying out of the cottage.
Emily raced to Nicholas, the man who had built the fence. His lorry was parked by his house, but he had been drinking heavily the night before. Martha scolded him, and Colin stared, bewildered, until the realization struck and he shouted, The hospital is ten miles away! Weve got to get her there now!
Yes, but on a lorry shell be tossed about, a woman protested.
Well go with her, just in case, Nicholas replied, cutting the argument short.
They drove carefully down the cracked country road, veering around ditches. Martha, holding a sack, sat in the back. When they finally hit the tarmac, they sped onward. Emily writhed in the passenger seat, biting her lip to keep from crying, clutching her belly. Nicholas, suddenly sober, glanced at her briefly, his fingers white on the steering wheel, his thoughts elsewhere.
They made it. Emily was left in the hospital and the driver raced back. Martha berated Colin the whole way, Youve ruined this girls life! She has no parents and now a babyhow will she manage?
The lorry hadnt even reached the village when Emily gave birth to a strong, healthy boy. The next morning a nurse brought a bottle of milk, and Emily stared at her sons tiny, wrinkled face, terrified. She bit her lip again and followed the nurses instructions, her heart fluttering with joy as she brushed the fine hairs on his forehead.
A stern, elderly doctor asked before discharge, Will anyone be coming for him?
Emily shrugged her shoulders and shook her head. Probably not. The doctor sighed and left. The nurse wrapped the baby in a hospital blanket and told her, A local driver, Fred, will take you home. You cant take a baby on a regular bus.
Emily thanked her, walked down the ward corridor with her head lowered, cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
In the ambulance, Fred, a stocky man in his fifties, announced, Two days of rain have turned the roads into lakes. I cant get through on a normal car, only a lorry or a tractor. Ill get you as far as I can, then youll have to walk the last two miles.
Emily looked at the infant sleeping in her arms, exhausted from holding him. A hero, she thought, but how do I manage this trek?
She stepped out cautiously, clutching the bundle, and walked along the edge of a massive puddle. Mud soaked her boots up to the ankles; one boot got stuck, and she had to continue on the other. Her shoes squelched, her feet numb from the cold, but she kept moving.
When she finally reached the village, dusk was falling and her feet were numb. She pushed open the cottage door and saw a babys cot, a stroller piled with clothes, and Nicholas asleep with his head on his hands at the kitchen table. He lifted his gaze as she entered, eyes widening at the sight of Emily, cheeks flushed, hair a mess, the baby cradled in her arms, her dress soaked and mudcaked.
Without a second thought he rushed to her, took the child and placed him gently in the cot, then fetched a kettle of hot water from the stove, helped her change into dry clothes, and washed her feet. By the time she was dressed, a pot of boiled potatoes and a jug of milk were waiting on the table.
The baby wailed. Emily scooped him up, sat at the table, and, without shame, began to breastfeed.
What shall we call him? Nicholas asked hoarsely.
Harry. Do you mind? Emily replied, her clear eyes filled with a mix of longing and love that made Nicholass heart tighten.
A fine name. Well register him tomorrow and sort everything out.
Is that necessary? Emily murmured, watching her son suckle.
My son needs a father. Ive had my fun; I dont know what kind of husband Ill be, but I wont abandon my child.
Emily nodded, keeping her gaze low.
Two years later a daughter was born. They named her Hope, after Emilys own mothers wish for the future.
No matter the mistakes you make at the start of life, the important thing is that they can always be corrected, and with courage and support you can build a future worth living for.
