On a bleak winter evening, the sky was a sheet of leadgrey, the snow drifting down in thick, silent flakes. By dawn the sun had barely nudged itself over the thatched roofs of Littleford, a tiny hamlet in the English countryside.
Emily stepped out of her cottage early that morning, the cold biting her cheeks. The sky was overcast, the moon a feeble smear far away, and by midday a weak sun finally broke through the clouds. The day slipped by like any other, and as twilight fell a band of grey clouds rolled in, a fierce wind snapping through the lanes.
Where did that storm come from? Emily muttered, pausing under the gate. She hadnt reached the front door when the blizzard hit, swallowing the world in a white wall of fury. Thank goodness the path home was still visible; the snow had not yet piled up into drifts that could bury a house. The wind howled, shaking the great oak that stood beside the gate, and she hurried inside, slamming the door behind her.
After a modest supper she climbed onto the warm stove to listen to the howling wind outside the chimney. The cold seeped in and soon she drifted off. A sudden, insistent knock shattered the quiet.
Who could be out at this hour? she thought, pulling on her woollen slippers and shuffling down to the door.
Open up, love, let me get out of the storm, a man’s voice called.
Who are you? Emily asked, wary.
George, a lorry driver. Im stuck right outside your cottagesnow piled up and I cant see the road. Its pitch black, the gale wont let me move a single shovelful. Im from the neighboring village, please, I wont cause you any trouble.
The night deepened, but Emily eased the latch. A tall, snowcaked man stumbled into the hallway, his breath forming clouds in the dim light.
Come in, George, she said, her voice softening.
Thanks, love. Id have been forced to trudge on forever, he said, loosening his coat and shaking the frost from his hat.
Would you like some tea? Emily offered.
It would be grandIm freezing to the bone, he replied, grateful.
Emily set a plate of fresh scones she had baked the day before on the table, poured a steaming pot of tea, and asked, Whats your name, love?
Emily, just Emily, she smiled warmly. Ive lived here alone for five years now.
Wheres your husband? George asked, a hint of melancholy in his tone.
My husband ran off with a city girl after a night of too many pears. Ive never had children. He paused, then added, Ive never had a family of my own either.
The conversation lingered in the shadows of the cottage. George settled onto the stove and soon was snoring softly, the heat lulling him. Emily lay awake, the silence pressing down on her. She thought of the bitter loneliness that had settled over her life, of longing for a husbands steady hand, a childs laughter.
Morning light filtered through the window as she rose to stoke the fire. She flipped golden crumpets on the hot stones; the scent woke George, who lifted his head with a grin.
Nothing like a good breakfast after a night in the snow, he said.
Emily dressed for work at the village post office. I wont lock the door, George. If you need anything, just ring the bell. Theres boiled potatoes on the stove if you get hungry again.
Thank you, Emily. Ill be on my way, he replied, slipping on his bootlaces.
At her lunch break she returned to find George wrestling with his stuck lorry, the snow burying the wheels. Your batterys dead, I suppose, she called.
Looks that way, he said, sighing. Cant get out until the roads cleared.
She invited him in for a bite. Theres a garage in the town centre that opens at one. After that we can head down together.
A strange kinship blossomed between them; Emily felt a warm comfort in his presence she hadnt known in years. George chuckled as he spoke of shovelling the drifts, his grey hair at the temples catching the light, the lines near his eyes deepening when he smiled.
The man in the house, caring and politethats the kind of happiness a woman dreams of, Emily thought.
She escorted him to the garage, then returned to her post, waving goodbye. Safe travels, George, she called.
Take care, Emily, he answered, his voice echoing through the frosty air.
Evening fell quickly, the darkness swallowing the village. As Emily approached her cottage she saw the faint glow of candlelight through the windows; her heart leapt at the feeling of being awaited.
Come in, love, George greeted, his voice warm. The kettles on.
Why havent you gone back yet? she asked.
The tractor will arrive tomorrow, but the workshop has no spare rigs today. They promised me one for the morning.
After dinner Emily tended to the chores and retired to her room. George, still on the stove, rose suddenly and slipped onto the bed beside her. She froze, unsure what to say, as he pulled the blanket over them both and held her close. She reached for him, her pulse racing.
Silence stretched, then Emilys voice broke it. George, I could spend my whole life like this, right here with you.
He stared at her, eyes narrowing. You mean you want me to marry you?
Yes? she whispered, her cheeks flushing.
A flicker of anger crossed his face. I dont trust women. I was married once; my wife left for another man. Ive had flings, but none have lasted. And youhere, in my blankets, as if were already a family. Ill leave tomorrow, and youll find another.
Emilys breath caught. I never had anyone before you.
Its meaningless now. Im not even sure what you wantchildren? A family? he asked, his tone softening.
Yes, she blurted, tears spilling. I want a husband, children, a proper home. I want a happy life.
He sighed. Dont cry. We dont even know each other. What children could we have?
She fell silent, ashamed of her vulnerability. The night stretched on, both unable to sleep.
At dawn George packed his things. The tractor was due at six, and Emily stepped onto the porch to see him off.
Forgive me, Emily, he said.
Goodbye, George. If you ever get stuck again, I wont open the door, she answered, though a part of her wanted to shout for him to stay.
He drove away, the lorrys engine coughing into the cold. By her lunch break the lorry was gone. She waited, hoping hed return, but he never did.
Later, confiding in her friend Natalie, she heard a laugh. Emily, youre pregnant! Natalie exclaimed. You should go to the city doctor right away.
Emily thanked the heavens; the thought of becoming a mother filled her with joy. The doctor confirmed her pregnancy, and she left the clinic buoyed by the miracle that had begun with Georges unexpected visit.
When her son was born on schedule, the midwife asked, What shall we call him?
Stewart, Emily replied, so hell be Stephen when he grows up. Itll bring me joy in my old age.
The midwife chuckled. Youre still young, love. Theres plenty of time to raise him first.
Had I a husband, hed be here, Emily sighed.
On the day of discharge, Natalie called, saying she couldnt bring Emilys baby home, though she had arranged a small gift. How will I get the little one to the village by bus? Emily fretted, but the nurse promised an ambulance.
Emily gathered her few belongings, cradling her son against her chest, and stepped into the wards hallway. At the door stood George, a bouquet of wildflowers in his hands, with Natalie smirking beside him.
Emily, George said, I told you Id be your husband. I wont let anyone take my son away.
She handed the baby to him, a tearful smile breaking across her facetears of pure, overwhelming happiness. The winter wind howled outside, but inside Littlefords modest cottage, a new chapter began.
