From her modest pension, Dorothy Evans, after paying the regular bills and shopping economically at the local wholesale market, allowed herself a small indulgencea bag of coffee beans. The beans were freshly roasted, and whenever she snipped open a corner of the bag, a heavenly aroma filled the air. Breathing in with her eyes closed, shutting out all but the sense of smell, she would let herself be transported. In those moments, it felt like a miracle: strength seemed to seep into her bones with the scent, and her mind drifted to girlhood dreams of distant landsof crashing ocean waves, tropical rainstorms, jungle mysteries, and howler monkeys leaping through the trees.
She had never seen any of that for herself, but the stories her father used to tell stuck with her. He was always off on expeditions to South America, and when he was home, hed regale young Dorothy with tales of the Amazon, sipping strong black coffee, the aroma of which forever reminded her of hima wiry, tanned explorer, always on the move.
Dorothy had always known her parents werent her birth parents. She remembered, at the outbreak of the war, being a three-year-old girl whod lost her family, taken in by a kind woman who became her mother for life. Then came what everyone experienced: school, training, work, marriage, the birth of her son, and, eventually, solitude. Over twenty years ago, her son, persuaded by his wife, had chosen to settle in Australia, living comfortably with his family in Sydney. Hed only visited his hometown once since then. They spoke often, and he sent money every month, which she never spentinstead, she saved it in a special account, intending that it would return to her son one day.
More and more lately, she found herself thinking shed lived a fine, caring lifebut it had never quite felt like her own. If not for the war, shed have had a different family, different parents, a different home. Her fate would have been entirely different. She barely remembered her birth parents, but she often recalled a girl her own age who was always by her side in those almost-infant years. Her name was Mary. Sometimes she still heard people calling after them: Mary, Dolly! But were they sisters, or simply close friends?
Her musings were interrupted by a short ring from her mobile. She glanced down: her pension had been paid in! Just in time, too. She could walk to the shop and buy another bag of beansthe last cup had been finished yesterday morning. Carefully treading around autumn puddles with her cane, she made her way to the shop door.
There, by the entrance, a little grey tabby cat huddled, glancing nervously at passersby and the glass doors. Dorothys heart softened. Poor thing, shivering and likely hungry. Id take you home, dear, but who would you belong to when Im gone? Not long now, one way or another Pitying the cat, she purchased a small bag of affordable cat food.
She carefully squeezed the jelly into a plastic tray while the cat waited patiently, eyes full of gratitude. Suddenly, the doors burst open, and a burly woman with a sour expression stormed out, sending the food tray flying with a kick, scattering jelly across the pavement.
I keep telling people, but no one listens! the woman bellowed. Dont feed them here! She turned and walked off in a huff.
The cat, glancing around, tentatively began to eat what she could salvage. Outraged and breathless, Dorothy felt the onset of a familiar headache. She hurried to the bus stop where she could find a bench.
Sitting down, she rummaged through her pockets, hoping to find her headache tablets, but they were nowhere to be found. Waves of pain washed over her, her vision darkening, her chest squeezing tight, and a groan escaped her lips. Suddenly, a gentle hand touched her shoulder. With effort, Dorothy opened her eyes to meet the worried gaze of a young woman.
Are you alright, gran? How can I help? the girl asked.
In the carrier bag, Dorothy managed. Theres some coffee in there. Please, open it for me.
The girl found the packet and tore it open. Dorothy inhaled the wonderful smell again and again. The pain didnt vanish, but it lessened.
Thank you, dear, Dorothy said weakly.
My names Sophie. But really, thank the cat, Sophie replied with a smile. She was sitting with you and meowed so loudly I had to come over!
Dorothy stroked the tabby, now perched loyally on the bench beside her. Thank you, too, my lovely.
What happened, if you dont mind me asking? Sophie inquired gently.
Its a migraine, my dear. Got myself worked up, it happens sometimes, Dorothy admitted.
Ill walk you home; its best not to go alone, Sophie offered.
Over teaweak coffee with milk and biscuitsin Dorothys flat, Sophie talked about her own family. My nan gets migraines too. Well, really shes my great-grandmother, but I call her Nan. She lives in the village with my granny, mum and dad. Im here in town for nursing college, training to be a paramedic. Nan calls me my dear girl as well. The funny thing is, you look just like her. At first I thought it was her, out and about! Have you ever tried to trace your real family?
Oh, love, how could I? I barely remember anything. No surname or hometown. Just fragments. I remember the bombing, the horse-drawn carts, and then the tanks I ran, so fast I lost all sense of myself! It was terrifying. A woman found me, cared for meand she was simply Mum from then on. After the war, her husband came back; he became the best father a girl could want. All I kept from my old life was my name. I suppose my real family they all perished, caught under those bombs. My mother, and little Mary
Dorothy didnt notice how Sophie had frozen, blue eyes wide in shock.
Dorothy, do you have a birthmark on your right shoulder, like a little leaf?
Startled, Dorothy coughed and glanced at the attentive cat.
How could you possibly know that, love?
My great-grandmother has one just the same, Sophie whispered. Her names Mary. She still cant speak of her twin sisterDollywithout tears. She vanished in the bombing as they evacuated, when the invaders cut off the road and they had to turn back home. They survived the rest of the war there. But Dolly was lost. No matter how hard they tried, they never found her
Dorothy spent the whole next morning unable to settle, pacing to and from the window, expecting visitors. The grey tabby cat, whom shed dubbed Maggie, never left her side, watching her closely.
Dont worry, Maggie, Im alright, Dorothy reassured the cat. Just anxious, thats all
Finally, the doorbell rang. With trembling hands, Dorothy opened the door.
Two older women stood on the threshold, silent, gazing at each other, hope in their eyes. As if looking into a mirror, they saw the same clear blue eyes, the same curls now silver, the same sorrow etched at the corners of each mouth.
At last, the guest breathed out in relief, smiled, stepped forward and pulled Dorothy into an embrace. Oh, Dolly, at last
And on the doorstep, quietly wiping away tears of joy, stood the family she never thought shed find again.
Life can scatter us in the winds of fate, but kindness, small comforts, and a willing heart can bring us home, sometimes when we least expect it.
