The woman gave her newborn grandson to strangers. Heres what happened.
When he stepped into the cottage, he glanced around and rememberedhed seen this place before in his dreams, and the woman who greeted him looked just like the one from those dreams. Back when he was a little boy, sick and crying, shed appeared to hima faceless figure with only glowing embers for eyes. She terrified him, like some ghost. Hed sob and call for his mum, and shed lie beside him, make the sign of the cross, and hold him close.
Now, hardly anyone visits old Margarets cottage anymore, not even the wassailers. The village kids run to places where theyll get a shiny pound coin, not a dry oatcake. The whisky she keeps isnt from any proper distilleryjust homebrew. The only one who still drops by is Fred, her neighbour, and only when hes so drunk he can barely stand.
“Wassail, wassail, for health and cheer, for the new year pour us a dram, Maggie!” hed slur, grinning stupidly.
Shed pour him one, take a sip herselfhelps her sleep. If only Fred had the sense to watch his tongue. But no, he always finds the sorest spot to poke.
“This is how we end up, eh, Maggie? Me and my old missusjust a pair of rotten stumps in the woods! No one left to care. But you? Youve got a daughter!”
“Drink your whisky and stop yapping like that mangy mutt of yours! Aye, Ive got a daughtersomewhere. So sod off home and shut your trap! Youre drunk and prattling!” shed snap, shoving him toward the door.
Fred never left quickly, even when she practically pushed him out.
“I know why youre cross I know. The whole village knows you gave your grandson away. Tell me its not true! Go on, tell me! And you know what the old biddies say? That boy haunts your dreams! Thats why your eyes burn at nightyoure scared, aint ya? Heh scared?”
“Listen, you stinking old sot! Get out! And never come back! Never!” Margaret grabbed him by the collar of his grubby jumper and hurled him over the threshold like a stray cat.
“Youve lost the plot, Maggie! Let go!” he wheezed, struggling.
“Never again! You hear me? Never!” she screamed after him.
He just cackled, staggering off. True to her word, he never came backnot for a drink, not for a chat. Maybe shame stopped him. Maybe fear. Shed have forgiven him if he had. After all, who else was there to talk to? No one heard what hed said to her but he wasnt wrong. And the truth stung.
The boy *did* visit her dreams. She could never see his facejust those glowing eyes. Hed stand on the doorstep, asking to come in but never crossed the threshold. Shed seen the dream a hundred times. Or maybe it wasnt a dream at all.
* * *
The sun was high, and Margaret knew Fred wouldnt show. She remembered last years row and the greasy feel of his jumper under her fingers. She poured herself a dram. It *was* Christmas, after all.
Outside, the dog, Patch, barked furiously, and the porch door creaked. Someone was coming.
“Merry Christmas! Wassail for good luck?” A handsome young man stood in the doorway.
Margaret jumped up, stiff as a schoolgirl.
“Come in, if youre wassailing”
“For health and happiness” He tossed wheat over the threshold.
She couldnt take her eyes off him. He kept glancing around the room, like he was searching for something. A thief? Her pulse quickened. If only Fred were here
“Did you want something, or just wassailing? Who are you?”
“Well, its custom to offer a wassailer a drink, isnt it? But Ive brought my own.” He strode to the table, pulling wine, sausages, and cakes from his bag.
Stunned, Margaret fetched a cast-iron pot of roast potatoes and bacon from the oven and sat across from him as he set the table.
*Must be one of Lucys lads. But he looks too young. And why would she send him?*
The stranger poured wine into glasses while she dished out food, her hands unsteady. She had to say *something*.
“Youre not from here, are you? Looking for someone?”
“I am. Are you Margaret Evans?”
“Thats me.”
“Your late husband was Peter Evans?”
“He was.”
“And your daughter Lucy Margaret Evans?”
“Aye.”
“Well, if all thats true then Im your grandson, Victor.” He stood and reached across the table to shake her hand. “Pleased to meet you.”
The room spun. The boy from her dreamsthe one who stood on the thresholdhad this mans eyes.
Margaret gasped, swaying. Strong hands caught her, guiding her back to the bench.
“Dont be afraid. Im not here to blame you. I just wanted to see you. And this house. The one where I wasnt welcome once. My mothermy real motherdied recently. Before she went, she told me everything. So I came. To see for myself.”
Margaret felt like she was wailing loud enough for the whole village to hear, but in truth, she only sniffled. For the first time in her life, she told the whole story. The man who called himself her grandson watched her intently, and she couldnt meet his gaze. When she finished, Victor stood, sighed, and glanced around the cottage. Hed come in a stranger, and he left the same way, pausing only to mutter at the door:
“God be with you and may He judge you. Not me.”
Snow swirled behind his car as he drove off. She didnt catch the number plate, the make, or even think to ask where he lived. She ran after him in her slippers, coatless and ached.
* * *
Lucy had been an obedient girl.
“Youll be a teacher!” her father declared. “No marrying till youve got your degree!”
She didnt think of marriage, though her parents had already picked a suitorAndrew, the sergeants son.
“Youre a pretty girl, love,” her mother said. “Dont settle for some village lad. Andrews a proper catchmilitary man. Hell have a house, a good wage. By the time you finish school, hell be set!”
Even without the push, Lucy fancied him. He was older, dashing in uniform. When he came home on leave, girls flocked to himbut so did she.
“Just wait three years,” hed said, walking her home one night. “Its not long. Well write. Then well marry.”
She promised shed wait.
But being a fiancée wasnt so simple. At home, her mother schooled her in womanly wiles:
“Listen, loveif you want a bit of fun, keep it quiet. But hold on to Andrew! Lads like him dont come often.”
Lucy agreed. *Im not some weeping willow. Andrews miles away. Whats the harm?*
Then there was Jack. No promises, no strings. She was “generous,” he was “hot-blooded”it suited them both. Until she slipped up and mentioned Andrew. Jack wasnt the marrying kind, but the news turned him vicious. He beat her black and blue. Her friends barely pulled him off.
She hid the bruises, avoided home. Couldnt face anyone. But her mother sensed trouble and stormed into her dorm. One look, and she knewLucy was pregnant.
Jack begged forgiveness, offered to marry her. Margaret wouldnt hear of it.
“Dont set foot in the village. Andrews not home, but his family is. If they suspect, its over.”
Before the scandal spread, her father transferred Lucy to another university, another city. She didnt argue. Shed messed up.
Near her due date, Lucy “fell ill.” Her parents whisked her to a private clinic. She had books, a TV, a locked ward. To the world, she had meningitismight not survive. She stayed till the baby came.
As her mother taught her, Lucy didnt hold him, didnt even look. The young doctora womantried to talk to her, to ask if shed change her mind.
*Mum knows best,* Lucy told herself. *What would Jack give me? Hes not Andrew. Andrew must never know.*
She kept writing to Andrewletters sent to the village, as her mother insisted. When he returned, they married in a grand ceremony. Margaret glowed with pride.
The couple moved to the city
