Emily, cradling baby Lucy, stepped off the coach and stared at the signpost. Willowbrook, it read, the name of the tiny village ahead.
Emily! a voice cracked with tears. Her grandmother, Mrs. Whitmore, white scarf tucked around her silver hair, rushed forward. Give me the child, love.
Villagers paused, eyeing the strangers, but Mrs. Whitmore and Emily hurried past, lugging a suitcase and the infant without looking back. When they reached the cottage, the old woman slammed the gate shut and vanished inside.
Emily! the girls own voice trembled, already sobbing at the kitchen table, clutching Lucy. Emilys tears fell unceasingly.
I ran away from my husband, Gran! she cried.
What on earth? Mrs. Whitmore asked, frowning.
His words are knives. He shouts, commands, threatens to take my daughter. I cant breathe around him, I cant laugh, only hear his constant grumbling Im exhausted.
Mrs. Whitmore stared at her granddaughter, her brow furrowing. Three years together and the marriages already in tatterswhat a modern world.
Emily wiped her face, lifted her chin, and met her grandmothers gaze.
Gran if you cant understand me, Ill leave. I left my mother once, and now you scold me, tell me to endure, say the husbands a fool. How am I to live, Gran, if Im constantly crushed?
Mrs. Whitmores frown softened as she wrapped Emily in a hug, running her fingers through the girls hair. Stay, then. I wont force you. All I have left is you by my side, and this house will be yours alone. My dear, my beautiful girl
***
Emily, a city girl from London, had forgotten the rhythm of her hometown. Rumours swirled in Willowbrook that she once married a notorious manshed let slip a few words herself. It was after that liaison that she fled to her grandmothers with a suitcase and a baby, seeking refuge. Emily found honest work delivering post, and her gentle nature won the village over.
The Whitmores are always smiling, ready to help, a neighbour whispered. Shes a treasure.
One afternoon, Emily sat in the garden, showing Lucy the berries. Dont worry, love; pick them and eat. Heres a red strawberry, a yellow one and thats blackcurrant.
A small black dog with white spots pricked its ears, glanced at mother and child, and barked. Good dog, Emily smiled.
A rustle in the hedgerow revealed a curlyhaired boy. Lucy stared at him.
Tom! called a voice, and a greying old man shuffled up the fence. Good afternoon.
Afternoon, Emily replied.
Tom, a few years older than Lucy, gathered his courage and stepped closer, clutching Emilys hand.
Come here, lad. We have berries, and Lucy will love to play with you.
Toms grandfather chuckled, leaning on the fence. Didnt know you had a Lucy. Toms always wandering alone; its a good thing we have a dog, Spot.
Emily beamed. Lucys felt lonely. Come over, Tom!
Tom didnt need a second invitation. He vaulted the fence, Spot following, and the childrens laughter rang out until dusk.
***
Toms father, a taciturn man named George, visited on weekends, his eyes fixed on Emily, never leaving her side. He brought flowers, gifts, and whisked her away in his old Holden to the riverbank. Mrs. Whitmore approved.
Emily, what a fine lad, she mused. He left his wife, who ran off, and now raises Tom himself. Hardworking, sober, and honest. He lives in town because of his job and a flat.
Emily felt a fluttershe liked George, but fear gnawed at her. What if her estranged husband resurfaced? Legally, he was still her spouse.
She confessed her dread to George. He promised to wait, Ill stay for as long as you need, Emily. When the times right, Ill bring you to the city.
George, Im leaving tomorrow, he said, eyes steady. Watch over Tom. Im growing old; I cant look after him any longer. Taking him to the city is riskyhis exwife circles, hoping for a claim.
Ill look after him, Emily assured, so you can travel without worry.
Years slipped by. Mrs. Whitmore grew frail; Emily tended to her, feeding her from a spoon. Lucy started school. No word came from Emilys former husband, and she settled into the new life. Tom turned into a mischievous teen, often skipping school; his grandfather fell ill and stayed home.
Emily shuttled between two houses, caring for the elderly. George still came on weekends, bringing fresh vegetables that Emily loaded into his cars boot with love.
Time marched on. Emily guided Mrs. Whitmore to her final rest and felt herself become a free bird, though everything seemed to fall apart around her. Lucy, now a moody teenager, pushed her mother away; Emily wept into a pillow. Tom, rebellious, snapped at her, his voice hoarse from shouting. Meanwhile, the grandfather, now a quiet statue on the sofa, was tended by a new neighbour, Mrs. Baxter, who cooked porridge for him. Mrs. Whitmores memory sometimes barred Emily from the house.
Georges visits grew sparse, eventually only once a month, without gifts, his face creased with worry. Emily, Im struggling with the mortgage. My whole salary goes to it; I cant even buy my son new trousers, he sighed.
Emily, understanding, replied, I know, George. Take care of yourself, stay warm, and well manage.
His spirits lifted as he left, buoyed by her words.
***
One evening, Emily shouted across the yard, Lucy! Come here, you little rogue!
What do you want? Lucy muttered, slouching on the steps.
Emily gestured toward the chicken coop, panic in her voice. Look at this, Lucy! I just stepped out to work and
Whats wrong? Lucy snapped, arms crossed.
Didnt you see? The coops open, the chickens are scattered, theres nothing left!
Lucy rolled her eyes. Its my fault? I have homework.
Emily, on the brink of tears, tried to explain, I didnt lock it, didnt you?
No, I didnt
In the garden, the beds were trampled, the fence a gaping hole, the whole enclosure leaning.
Tom, I need to speak with you, Emily called, climbing through the broken fence. Tom stood tall with a friend, laughing.
She stopped by the dogs kennel, peering inside. Spot, youve got a full mouth of fluff now?
Tom sneered, What are you on about, Mrs. Emily? Talking to the dogs?
The boys laughed, mocking her.
Tom, your dog knocked over my coop
It wasnt Spot, Tom retorted. Our chickens roam freely; they never touch the coop.
Emily stared, bewildered at how the cheeky boy had become such a cold teenager.
Her mothers calls became terse. Emily, speak quickly, Im busy.
What are you busy with, Mum? New family? Your stepdads health? Grandchildren?
Theyre not strangers, her mother snapped. If you keep talking like that, forget you even have a mother.
Its as if I have none, Emily muttered, tears welling.
She finally snapped, Im leaving, taking a bus back to London to surprise George. She discovered his address through Tom, went straight from the station, and knocked on the door of a woman who answered.
Hello, youve got the right house. Were the Carvers, she said, eyes wide.
Who are you to him? Emily asked.
My wife, of course, the woman replied with a careless smile. Emilys heart pounded, and she turned to leave.
George arrived in the village, as if nothing had changed, and called Emily over.
Why are you acting like a child? he asked. I live with Jan, whats wrong with an adult man being lost?
Emily burst into sobs, stammering, Why do you treat me so badly?
George, disgusted, replied, Enough. Ive had enough of the first wifes drama. Calm down, I must return to the city. Dont be sad.
Relations with neighbours deteriorated. Toms grandfather muttered through clenched teeth, pretending deafness, while his new partner, Mrs. Baxter, brought her grandchildren for summer, and a swarm of kids trampled Emilys garden, feasting on her raspberries.
Lucy, Emily called, wrapping a thick scarf around her daughters neck. Come here, love.
Whatever, Mum, Lucy replied, stepping out of her room, perhaps finally offering her mother a cup of tea.
Lucy, my head hurts, turn the music down.
My head always hurts, Lucy retorted. Take a pill.
Lucy, we need to pick the berries. The neighbours kids will leave us none.
You pick them, I dont eat jam, Lucy snapped.
Emily felt something break inside her. She lingered at the window, silent, sometimes repairing the broken fence with rope and stakes, only for it to collapse again the next day.
George stopped coming to Willowbrook altogether. Tom, now finishing school, seemed the only link left. Without George, Emily found a strange reliefno more planting, no more men to stock.
One night, Lucy, unusually quiet, slipped into Emilys arms, hugging her. The girl had changed, perhaps simply grown up. With only a month left of school, Lucy whispered, Mum, I feel sick. Nausea, no energy, and I swell after any food.
Sounds like you need a doctor, Emily said, surprised. Youre not pregnant, are you?
Lucy stared, baffled. You think I am?
Later, at the clinic, the doctor announced, Youre pregnant.
Lucy gasped, What? I dont even have a boyfriend!
Emilys mouth fell open. Whos the father?
Its Tom, Lucy blurted, tears streaming. I never imagined
Emilys heart clenched. She stormed to the Carvers gate, but only Mrs. Baxters clenched fist appeared in the window. Emily slipped back through the broken fence.
Tom! she shouted, finding him with a friend, laughing wildly.
Mrs. Emilys gone mad, leaping over fences, Tom jeered.
Tom, I need to talk. Send your friend home, Emily demanded.
An old neighbour, Mr. Whitaker, emerged from the porch. Dont go anywhere, lad!
Emily, startled, asked, Are you really Mr. Whitaker?
He snarled, I can crush you if I must. I know your plans, dear. If you try to bind Tom with Lucy, youll end up in the woods, not yet grown enough.
Emilys anger flared. So you think Im playing games with a girls head? Hes an adult, yet you hide behind the bushes?
Mr. Whitaker roared, Weve dealt with the Carvers all our lives! Stay away from Lucy, you vile woman!
Emily turned away, the courtyard echoing with taunts. Dont destroy Lucys life if you love her. Well manage together.
She walked away with her head held high.
***
That night, the late grandmothers voice haunted her in a dream, urging, Let it be, Emily.
Emily returned from a trip not aloneshed brought a man in a crisp suit. Lucy put down her book and greeted him. Lucy, this is your father.
Dad? Where did you find him? Lucy asked, eyes wide.
The man studied her, then said, We need to talk. You stole my daughter, you should be judged
Emily shrugged, Lifes already punished me, Leonard. The mans jaw tightened.
The whole village of Willowbrook buzzed about the arrival of Emilys outlaw. Rumours swirled that hed brought a massive guard dog that attacked the neighbours Spot.
Its him! I saw him from my window! shouted Mr. Gorman, the local grocer.
No proof was offered, only whispers. Spot was badly bruised, his ear ripped, and the guard dog cowered in its kennel, trembling.
Mr. Gorman, sleepless, worried about his grandson Tom, who had vanished from school. He called the police, ready to confront the man driving a battered van.
Tom emerged from the vehicle, opening the rear door. From it stepped Lucy, dressed in a white dress, hair neatly styled.
Grandpa, Lucy and her parents went to a city restaurant, dont lose me, Tom said, running toward the Whitmores gate.
The gates new, sturdy, plenty of money spent, Mr. Gorman muttered, eyeing the Whitmore fence.
Emily, now older, stood at the doorway, her eyes scanning the street. What does all this mean? You said you didnt need Lucy!
Tom stared at Leonard, his father, pale. You didnt say that, Grandfather!
Maybe were married, Emily interjected. Youre shouting at me in my own yard!
The guard dog barked, leapt, and the old man stumbled into the fence, shrieking in terror.
Later, at the restaurant, Tom faced his new fatherinlaw, Leonard, answering awkward questions.
Leonard slumped in his chair, staring at Tom. I thought you didnt want to tie the knot.
No, I love Lucy, Tom blurted. Id have married her at the registry when I turned eighteen.
Your grandfather objects? Leonard asked, eyebrows raised.
Just an old man, full of stories, Tom replied.
Emily intervened, Enough, Tom.
The scene was absurdly comic, yet the tension lingered. Soon, Lucy and Tom were married quickly, citing a medical certificate confirming her pregnancy. Emily watched, doubtful, shaking her head.
Will they be alright? she murmured.
Leonard, now standing beside his former wife, placed a hand on her shoulder. Will you go with me, Emily?
No, she smiled, You have your own lady.
Leonard chuckled, Shes not really my wife, just a companion. But youre my daughterinlaw now.
Emily sighed, Two rivers cant cross the same way twice.
Leonard didnt mind. He brushed his finger over his exwifes hair. Stay, then. If my son gets restless, call me, Ill be there in the night.
Lucy approached, Mum, where did you find him? she asked, as they walked home.
Emily answered, When I needed him. I was young and foolish, and he was the same. Im glad I ran from him; otherwise hed have ruined my life. Were now old acquaintances.
Does that happen? Lucy asked.
Life throws stranger things at you, dear, Emily said, hugging her.
They sat on the porch, arms around each other.
Forgive me, Mum, for all the pain I caused, Lucy whispered.
Its fine, I expected youd see it, Emily replied. Youre my daughter, the Whitmore line. Youll grow into a fine woman.
Mum if Tom ever hurts you, Ill kick him out.
Let him try, Kate. Were stronger together.
***
George parked one weekday, pounding on the door. Emily! Open up!
What do you want? she asked, wary.
They say youve married my Tom, is that true? Who gave you permission?
Do we need permission for love? Emily retorted. I raised your son; Im not a stranger to him.
Ive decided to take Tom to the city, George declared.
He wont leave his wife. Besides, your flat is a onebedroom, and your girlfriend will object.
Georges shoulders slumped. Im alone now.
Why this gloom? Few people still wait and believe, like me, Emily sighed.
Enough, George snapped, The grandchildren will soon be gone, we should unite.
Emily crossed her arms. Never. You Whitmores have always used our feelings. From now on, my son stays with us, and youre done.
Dont be foolish, he warned.
The gate slammed shut with a resonant clang, sealing the rift.
