Victor pulls into the lane later than usual, and Emma, his wife, is already on edge, halfexpecting something to have gone wrong on the road. Their son Jack, all jittery, keeps asking, Wheres dad? Wheres dad?
At last two bright yellow taxis flash their headlights across the garden of the Whitfield cottage and the car rolls in.
Dad! Papa! Hooray, youre home, Jack leaps from the stove, hopping on one foot, trying to slip into his boot while tugging his coat onto the go.
Where do you think youre off to, you little rascal? Its freezing and nights fallinggo sit by the fire, your fathers coming in any minute.
Jack pouts, puffs his cheeks, and looks ready to burst into tears.
Dont you whine, Im telling you, Emma snaps, Hell be in any second.
Victor still hasnt stepped inside.
Whats the matter with him, drunk perhaps? Emma mutters, halflaughing. Jack, stay put; Ill go check.
Im scared, Mum, Jack whimpers.
What are you fussing about? Sit tight, I said.
While Emma drapes a blanket over Jacks shoulders and scolds him, the cottage door swings open and a puff of warm steam rushes in. Victor follows, not alone.
By the hearth stands a young woman, about eighteen, wrapped in a shawl, a short brown coat with a black velvet collar, huge grey eyes that dominate half her face, a tumble of light curls on her forehead.
Come in, come in, Evelyn, Emma says, Tom, give the guest a hand with her coat.
Emma, not quite understanding, helps the girl out of her coat. The girl is heavily pregnant, swaying like a fat autumn duck about to take flight. She shuffles to the kitchen table, sits, and folds her thin, shivering hands on her knees.
Jack peeks nervously from the stove.
Wheres my boy, Nicholas? Victor barks, What have you brought back, you big oaf? He grabs Jack from the hearth and hoists him up to the ceiling beam. You, love, get us some food, were not going to starve.
Late that evening, as Jack drifts off, he hears his father muttering, his mother humming softly, and the guest sobbing quietly.
By morning the whole village knows that Victor Whitfield has brought his younger, pregnant sister.
The mans abandoned us, theres no dad or mum left, what are we to do with a girl like that? Emma whispers to her friends over a pint at the local pub.
Didnt you say Victor was an orphan? one asks.
If youve no parents, youre not an orphan, are you? another replies. Where did the sister come from?
From a childrens home, Emma snaps. What else do you want to know, Kitty?
Later, EvelynJacks auntdecides to give birth, and Victor drives her to the county hospital. Soon after, a tiny baby girl named Maisie appears in the Whitfield household. Evelyn never returns.
She died, Emma says curtly to Jack, raising her voice so no one steps on her toes.
Maisie is a tiny, pinkcheeked bundle, a proper little doll. Jack sees her next to his neighbour Sallys baby doll Antonia and thinks, Shell be bigger than Antonia. He grins, Now Ive got my own real baby.
Victor, what do you want with her? I dont need her here, Emma protests.
What are you saying, love? Shes a living child, shes got blood in her veins.
Ive told you my word, keep her wherever you like.
Are you a witch, taking a lovers child and dumping her in an orphanage or a frozen pond? Victor mutters.
I dont mind, either way, Emma shrugs.
No, dont send Maisie to an orphanage or a pond, Jack shouts, Mum, please, let me look after her. Ill take care of her myself.
Go on, you little helper, Im sick of you, Emma waves, but Jack clutches the hem of her skirt, pleading loudly to keep his sister.
Victor sits silently, head bowed.
Fine, do what you want, he sighs.
Emma turns and steps into the shadows.
Jack kneels beside Maisie, who sleeps soundly in a soft blanket, unaware that her fate is being decided. He whispers sweet nothings, calling her sunshine and little one.
Jacks sleep is restless; he keeps dreaming his mother will toss the baby away. He mutters, I wont let you, Mum, I wont.
Dont you dare, you scamp, Emma hisses, eyes narrowed.
The neighbours gossip, Theres a new helper in the Whitfield house.
Emma finally says, I was confused at first, but Ive grown used to the girl. I wont give her away. Next year Jack goes to school, Ill think about hiring a nanny.
And life goes on. Victor works as a mechanic, Emma milks the cows, and Jack and Maisie grow up together.
Jack bursts out of school, arms outstretched, scoops up his wobblylegged sister, and the village kids all call her the baby.
Jack later joins the army, and his sister cries out as he departs, He raised her, he cared for her, just like a proper father.
The women at the local tea room say, Emmas a bit rough, Victors a quiet sort, and the children are a different breed altogether.
Years later, Maisie, now a nurse, returns to the village after training in the city, bringing a husband and children of her own.
When Victors health finally fails, Emma, now older, hands Maisie her mothers coat.
One night, Maisie wakes to a soft voice calling, Mum?
Sit down, dear, Emma says, Im sorry, love.
Im sorry for everything, I never meant to send you to an orphanage
Mum, youre not a stranger. Youre my mother, even if the storys tangled.
Emma smiles, God may have tangled us, but love kept us whole.
Maisie replies, You gave me life, Mum, and a huge familyKate, Uncle Victor, cousins and all. Im grateful.
Emmas eyes soften, Youve grown into a wonderful woman, my dear.
Soon after, Emma passes peacefully, smiling at Victor as he holds her hand one last time.
Later, Maisie, now called Mary Whitfield, tells her own children the story of their sprawling family, reminding them not to judge others pasts, because life can turn in unexpected ways.
