On a bitter winter night the wind howled over the fields of Bramley, a tiny village tucked into the Yorkshire dales. In the early dawn Emma Whitaker stepped out of her cottage, the sky a dull slate, a few lazy flakes falling from a reluctant moon. By midday the sun finally strained over the thatch roofs, casting a weak gold on the frostbitten lanes.
The day slipped by like every other, and as evening fell Emma turned back toward home. Dark clouds rolled in, and a fierce gale began to tear at the hedgerows.
Where did that storm come from? Emma muttered to herself, hurrying toward the gate. She had not yet reached the porch when a blizzard erupted, white and blinding, swallowing the road ahead.
She was almost at the front door when a gust forced the old pine by the gate to sway like a ships mast. Thank heavens she made it inside before the snow could pile up a wall. She shut the gate, breathed a sigh of relief, and slipped inside, grateful that the storm had not yet buried the cottage.
After a simple supper, Emma climbed onto the warm hearth, listening to the wind howl through the chimney. The crackle of the fire lulled her into a light doze. Suddenly a sharp knock jolted her awake.
Who could be brave enough to trouble me at this hour? she thought, pulling her woolen slippers on and shuffling down from the hearth.
Open up, love, let me warm my bones, a deep male voice called.
Whos there? Emma called, halfamused, halfsuspicious.
Its Jack Turner, a driver. My van broke down right outside, the snows piled up and I cant see the road. Ive been trying to dig my way out for ages. Please let me in, I swear I wont cause any trouble. Im from the next village, Whitby.
The night was almost black, but Emmas heart beat faster. She eased the latch, and a tall, snowcaked man crashed into the entryway.
Alright, come in, Jack, she said, pulling a chair for him.
He brushed the snow from his cap, loosened his thick coat, and smiled. Thank you, love. I was afraid youd turn me away and Id have to keep wandering.
Would you like some tea? Emma offered.
Would love a cuppa, Im freezing to the marrow, Jack replied, shivering as the wind roared outside.
Emma placed a fresh apple pie on the table, poured the steaming tea from the kettle that still glowed in the hearth, and set a matching cup and saucer before him.
Thanks, Jack said, sipping. And whats your name, dear?
Emma Whitaker, she answered, smiling warmly. You can just call me Emma.
Living alone, then? Jack asked.
Five years now, Emma said. My husband left after a night of drunken folly in the city, and we never had children.
Me? Jack sighed. I was married once, but it fell apart. No family now.
The conversation settled into a comfortable silence as they ate. After the tea, Jack climbed back onto the hearth and soon the fires glow was accompanied by his soft snore. Emma lay awake, the weight of loneliness pressing on her chest.
Another night, another stranger sleeping on my stove, she whispered to herself. If only it were a husbandcaring, gentle, a true partner.
Dawn broke, the fire sputtered, and Emma stoked the coals, flipping golden pancakes onto the iron griddle. The sizzling scent roused Jack, who opened his eyes with a grin.
Nothing beats a morning pancake, he chuckled.
After breakfast Emma gathered her tools for the days work.
Jack, I wont lock the door. If you need to move the van, just tie a lock on the hinge. Theres boiled potatoes in the pantry if you get cold. Safe travels, and perhaps we wont meet again.
Farewell, Emma. Thanks for the shelter, Jack said, stepping back into the snowladen world.
At lunch Emma returned to her cottage to find Jack struggling with a stuck tractor, the engine dead, the wheels buried in drifts.
Still here? she called.
Batterys dead, and the road is a white wall, he grunted.
Come in, warm up. Ive just had my own lunch, barely made it through the snow, Emma replied, ushering him inside.
Do you know where I could find a spare tractor? Jack asked, eyes hopeful.
The local workshop opens at one, but youll have to wait until after lunch. Lets eat first, then Ill drive you there.
A strange kinship blossomed between them; Emma felt a sudden, comforting ease in Jacks presence.
As they ate, Jack talked about shoveling snow with a wooden spade, his hair showing the first silver at the temples, laugh lines deepening around his eyes.
Only thirtyseven, but the first grey hairs already show, Emma thought, feeling a warm flicker of hope. A decent man like this could be a woman’s happiness.
She walked Jack to the workshop, then back to her own work. As dusk fell and the sky darkened quickly, Emma saw the light from her windows, a small beacon of welcome.
Come in, love, Jack called from the doorway, kettle whistling. Teas ready.
Why didnt you leave? she asked, surprised.
The tractor will be ready tomorrow. No spare machines today, they told me. Ill wait.
After dinner Emma tended to her chores and retired to bed. Jack lingered by the hearth, his thoughts heavy, then suddenly rose and settled beside her on the small bed. Startled, Emma froze, unable to find words. Jack pulled the blanket over them both and held her close. She reached for him instinctively.
Silence stretched, then Emma whispered, Jack, I could spend my whole life like this, right here with you.
He shifted, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. Does that mean you want me to marry you?
What? she asked timidly.
He tightened his grip, voice a little harsher. Marry? I dont trust women. I was married; my wife ran off. Ive had a few flings, but none stuck. Youre no differentjumped into my blanket without a second thought. Ill be gone tomorrow. Youll find another.
Emmas breath hitched. You think youre the only one Ive ever loved?
Maybe, he muttered. What do you want?
I want a family, children, a man to care for us, she blurted, tears spilling. I want happiness.
Dont cry, he said, trying to soften. Think it over. We barely know each other. Children? Im not sure.
Emma fell silent, ashamed of her sudden trust. The night stretched on, sleepless. By early morning Jack was already packing. The tractor was due to arrive at six. Emma stood on the porch, watching him.
Forgive me, Emma, he said.
Goodbye, Jack. If you ever get stranded again, I wont open the door, she called after him, her heart screaming for him to stay.
He drove away. By lunchtime the tractor was gone, and the village road stayed buried. Emma waited, then turned to Lucy, her longtime friend who lived next door.
Emma, youre pregnant! Lucy exclaimed, halfjoking, halfserious. You should go to the city hospital and get checked.
Emma thanked God for the unexpected blessing. She visited the doctor, who confirmed the pregnancy. Relief and gratitude flooded hershe finally had a reason to smile.
When the time came to give birth, the midwife handed the newborn to Emma.
What shall you name him? the midwife asked.
Stewart, Emma replied, already picturing the future. Hell be my little Stewie.
The nurse laughed. Dont start planning for old age just yet. First, youve got to raise him.
Had I a husband, hed be here, Emma sighed.
On discharge day Lucy called, saying she couldnt fetch Emma and the baby because her bus wouldnt reach the village, but the hospital promised an ambulance.
Emma gathered her few belongings, cradling her son, and stepped into the wards lobby. There, under a bouquet of wildflowers, stood Jack, a grin on his face, with Lucy winking beside him.
Emma, I told you Id be your husband, Jack declared, taking the baby into his arms. I wont let anyone take my son away.
Emmas eyes filled with tearstears of joy. She smiled, clutching her child, and whispered, Thank you, Jack. Thank you for giving me a family.
