Already a different man? Elaine might at least have considered what people would saythe neighbours whispered among themselves when they spotted a man in the widows garden.
In a village where everyone knows each otherwhos whose godparent, who dug up potatoes when, and how many times someones been divorcedits impossible to keep anything hidden. So when Elaine, the widow, brought a new man into her home, the murmurs were inevitable: “Couldnt stay alone, could she?” But no one said it aloudbecause Elaine was hardworking, respectable, and had raised her two children single-handedly.
Andrew appeared in their cottage that autumn. Quiet, with strong hands accustomed to a spade and hammer, and calm eyes that looked at the children not with pity, but with quiet assurance that things would be alright. Though Lucy was only nine and James twelve, they barely remembered their fatherhed passed when they were just starting primary school.
For weeks, Lucy eyed her stepfather warily.
“Mum, how longs he staying?” she asked once.
“As long as God wills it, love. Hes a good man,” Elaine replied, then added softly, “Im tired of doing everything alone.”
“But we help you!” James protested.
“You do. But youre children. I want to livenot just in chores, but in warmth too.”
Andrew didnt force his way in. He waited for them to adjust. Each morning, he chopped firewood, mended the fence, and one evening, he brought home a basket of chicks.
“Need to get the homestead going again. And the kids should have fresh eggs.”
“Whyre you doing all this?” Lucy asked, suspicious, though she liked the chicks.
“Because Im with you now. Maybe not by blood, but if we live together, we share the workand the good things too.”
“Did my dad have chickens?”
Andrew hesitated, then said, “Your dad was a good man. I knew him. We worked at the grain mill together. He talked about you a lot. Youre just like him.”
Lucy sat on the step, watching Andrew water the chicks. For the first time, she thought, *He doesnt want to replace Dad. He just wants to be here.*
That winter, Andrew began teaching James woodworking.
“This is a plane. Not like tapping a phoneyour hands need to know what theyre doing.”
“I dont just play games!” James muttered.
“Not arguing. Just sayinga mans hands make him a man. So does his head.”
“Why dont you ever get angry?”
Andrew smiled.
“Because it doesnt solve anything. Better to explain once than shout a hundred times.”
Come spring, the village cleared the woods spring. James and Lucy didnt want to go.
“Let the youngsters do it!” James grumbled.
“Are we old, then?” Andrew laughed. “Go onlifes about picking up the spade, even when no one forces you.”
At the clearing, the children overheard the men ask, “Those yoursthe lad and the little one?” Andrew simply replied, “Mine. Theyre mine now.”
Lucy nudged James.
“You hear that?”
“Yeah.”
“And?”
“Well felt nice. Like its nothing, but”
One day, James came home from school upset. When Elaine pressed, he admitted hed argued with the boys.
“Why?” she asked, blinking back tears.
“Because I said Andrews like a father to me. They said, So youre a stepson, raised by a stranger. I told them better a kind stranger than a real father whos not here.”
Andrew stayed silent. Then he sat across from James.
“I wont ask you to call me Dad. But know this, son: I wont leave you. No matter what those lads say.”
“I dont mind. Its just hard to say Dad when Im not used to it.”
“Dont rush it. The word Dad is like breadyou dont just gulp it down. You grow into it.”
Two years passed. James was finishing Year 11, set for trade school. One evening, they sat in the yardstars above, frogs croaking, thyme in the air.
“Andrew” James said suddenly. “Im giving a speech. About someone whos an example to me. I want to talk about you. Can I?”
Andrew cleared his throat and nodded.
“Just dont exaggerate,” he murmured.
“Cant exaggerate the truth.”
At the ceremony, James spoke of “a man who wasnt there from my first steps but became as much a father as any by blood.” Elaine wept. Among the village women, someone whispered:
“Say what you will about stepfathersif hearts are close, sos the family.”
For Andrews 50th, Lucy gave him an embroidered shirt and a letter:
*Dad, thank you for the firewood, the chicks, the patience, and teaching us not to wait for kindnessbut to make it ourselves.
Youre our dad not because you had to be. But because you chose to be. And thats why we love you even more.*
Andrew sat with the letter a long time. Silent.
Then he said to Elaine, “Theyve grown. Not strangers.”
Elaine smiled. “Because you never treated them as such.”
To be a father, you dont always need blood. Sometimes love, kindness, and daily acts weigh more than biology. Because family isnt just givenits made.
