Vera was barely sixteen when her mother died. Her father had gone off to London for work seven years earlier and never returned, leaving the family without news or money. The whole village turned out for the funeral, each person helping in whatever way they could. Aunt Margaret, Veras godmother, kept dropping by, offering advice on how to manage things. Vera managed to finish school and was given a job at the post office in the neighbouring hamlet.
Vera was a sturdy girl the sort of folk say shes tough as oak. She had a round, rosy face, a button nose, and bright grey eyes that seemed to catch the light. A thick chestnut braid fell to her waist.
The most handsome lad in the village was Cole. He had come home from the army two years ago and was the object of every girls attention, even the city girls who spent their summer holidays up in the hills. He seemed destined for a career as a stunt driver in a Hollywood picture, not for hauling crates in a tiny Yorkshire village. He hadnt settled down or chosen a bride yet.
One day Aunt Margaret asked Cole to help Vera repair her fence, which had collapsed under the weight of the winter snow. In a place where mens strength was still prized, Vera could manage the garden but not the house on her own.
Without a word of complaint, Cole agreed. He arrived, looked around, and started barking orders: Fetch that, run over there, hand me that. Vera obeyed without hesitation, her cheeks flushing even brighter as her braid swayed 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 crust of black bread with his white, strong teeth.
For three days Cole worked on the fence. On the fourth, he simply turned up for a visit. Vera fed him dinner, and before long he was staying the night, slipping out at dawn so nobody would see. In a village, you cant hide anything for long.
Arent you foolish, love? Aunt Margaret warned Vera. Hell never marry you, and if he does, youll only be his burden. When the summer comes and the city girls arrive, what will you do? Youll be consumed by jealousy. You need a proper man, not a wandering lad.
Young love, however, rarely listens to such counsel.
Soon Vera realised she was pregnant. At first she thought she was simply ill or had caught a chill. Nausea and weakness came in waves, then, like a hammer striking her mind, the truth settled: the child was Coles. She wondered whether to hide the sin, feeling it was too early to become a mother. Then she thought perhaps it was a blessing she would not have to raise the baby alone. Her mother had brought her up strong, and she could manage. Her father had contributed little beyond a pint of ale when he was around, and the village would talk but eventually calm down.
When spring arrived, Vera shed her heavy coat and the villagers began to whisper about the swelling belly. What a scandal, they said, the girls in trouble. Nicholas, the village handyman, stopped by to ask what she intended to do.
Give birth, of course, she replied. Dont worry, Ill raise the child myself. She brushed ash from the hearth, the flames lighting the redness on her cheeks and the fire in her eyes.
Cole admired her from a distance but left, leaving Vera to decide for herself. As the summer rolled in, the pretty city girls descended on the village, and Coles attention drifted elsewhere.
Vera kept tending her garden, while Aunt Margaret helped with weeding. The growing belly made bending difficult; she lugged halfabucket of water from the well each time. The women of the village called her a big belly and joked, What God will, Hell send.
In midSeptember, a sharp pain tore through her as if her stomach had been sliced in two. The pain eased, then returned. She ran to Aunt Margaret, whose frightened eyes immediately understood.
Sit, Ill be right back, Margaret shouted, flinging open the cottage door. Vera sprinted to Nicholas, whose old truck sat in the lane. The local farmers had already driven off, and Nicholas, still feeling the effects of a night of heavy drinking, was groggy. Margaret scolded him, but Cole, seeing the chaos, shouted, The hospital is ten miles away! We must get her there now!
On a truck? Shell give birth on the road! a neighbour warned.
Then youll ride with us, just in case, Nicholas said, already moving.
They drove cautiously over the broken lanes, dodging ditches. Margaret sat on a sack in the back, clutching the sides as the vehicle finally reached a patch of tarmac. Vera winced, clenching her jaw to keep from crying, cradling her belly. Nicholas, now sober, glanced at her briefly, his hands white from the wheel.
They arrived at the small village infirmary just in time. Vera delivered a healthy, robust baby boy. The next morning a nurse brought a bottle, and Vera, trembling, stared at her sons tiny, reddened face, biting her lip before she began to breastfeed. Her heart swelled with a fierce, new love.
Will anyone come for you? the stern senior doctor asked before discharge.
Vera shook her head. Probably not. He sighed and left. The nurse wrapped the infant in a hospital blanket and handed it to a driver.
Fedor will take you back to the village. You wont be travelling on a coach with a newborn, she warned.
Vera thanked her, walking down the ward corridor with her head bowed, cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
In the ambulance, Vera clutched the bundle to her chest, worrying about the future. Her maternity pay was a pittance, and she felt a pang of selfishness for the innocent child. Yet, as she gazed at his wrinkled little face, tenderness washed over her, drowning the heavy thoughts.
The truck stalled in a deep, mudfilled ditch after two days of rain. What now? Vera asked the driver, a sturdy man named Frank in his fifties.
The roads a lake, he said. Only a tractor could pull us out. Its about two miles to the village. Can you manage on foot? He pointed to a massive puddle that stretched like a mirror.
Vera, cradling the sleeping infant, hoisted the bundle and walked along the edge of the mire. Her shoes sank ankledeep; one boot got stuck, and she had to limp on the other, each step a struggle. By the time she reached the village, dusk was falling, her feet numb, and the lights in the cottages were flickering on. She stumbled into her cottage, breathless, her dress soaked through, the hem clinging to the mudcaked ground.
Inside, Nicholas had already placed the babys swaddling clothes on a small wooden cot. He stood by the fire, a kettle of hot water steaming. When he saw Vera, his eyes widened at the sight of her mudstreaked, dishevelled figure. He rushed to take the child, set a pot of water on the stove, helped her wash her feet, and handed her a plate of boiled potatoes with butter and milk.
The baby began to cry, and Vera, without hesitation, lifted him to her breast and started feeding.
What shall we call him? Nicholas asked, his voice rough.
Samuel, Vera whispered, her eyes bright with love. Do you mind?
Its a fine name, he replied, his own heart tightening at the sight of her tenderness.
Tomorrow well register him and sort out the paperwork, he said.
I dont think thats necessary, Vera replied, watching her son suckle.
My son should have a father, Nicholas muttered. Ive had my wayward days. I wont abandon him.
Vera nodded, her gaze steady.
Two years later a daughter was born. They named her Hope, after the hope Vera had clung to through the darkest days.
No matter the mistakes you make at the start of life, the most important thing is that you always have the chance to set them right.
