Emily had nowhere to go. In fact, she had absolutely nowhere. I could spend a couple of nights on the platform, and then? A sudden flash of hope struck her: The cottage! How could I have forgotten? Well a cottage is a grand word for a halfruined shack, but its still better than the station. She mused, boarding the commuter train, pressing her forehead against the cold window and closing her eyes. Memories of the past two years crashed over her: the loss of her parents, the sudden solitude, the empty pockets that forced her to abandon university and take a stall at the market.
Just when the gloom seemed endless, fortune smiled and she met Thomas, a kindly, respectable young man. Two months later they exchanged modest vows in a tiny ceremony. Life should have been a simple hymn of happiness, yet another test loomed. Thomas suggested they sell the family flat in the city centre and start a business together. He painted the future so vividly that Emilys doubts evaporated; she imagined a stable home, perhaps even a child, and whispered to herself, I cant wait to be a mother.
The venture floundered. Fierce arguments over squandered money tore the couple apart, and soon Thomas brought a new girl home, pointing Emily toward the door.
At first she thought of calling the police, then realized she had no grounds; she had sold the flat herself and handed the cash to Thomas.
She stepped onto the deserted platform and wandered aimlessly. Early spring lingered, and the cottage season had not yet begun. The threeacre plot had become a tangled mess, its oncegreen hedges now a sorrowful blur. Ill tidy it up, and things will be as they were, she told herself, though she knew as they were could never return.
A rusted key lay beneath the porch steps, but the weathered door stuck fast, refusing to give. She strained with all her strength, then, exhausted, slumped on the step and wept. From the neighboring plot a faint plume of smoke rose, accompanied by a low murmur. Hope sparked; she hurried toward it.
Is Aunt May home? she called, voice trembling.
A frail, overgrown old man emerged, his hair a silver thicket, a battered kettle clanging over a small fire.
What are you doing here? Wheres Aunt May? Emily asked, backing away.
Dont be frightened, he said, his voice a smooth baritone, and please, dont dial the police. Im not a threat; I live in this yard, not in anyones house.
She blurted, Are you homeless?
He lowered his eyes. Yes, thats right. Im Arthur. My fathers name was ArthurFoster.
Emily studied him. Though his coat was threadbare, it was clean, and his beard was neatly trimmed.
I dont know whom to turn to for help, she sighed.
What happened? Arthur asked kindly.
My door is jammed, I cant get inside.
If you like, Ill have a look, he offered.
Please, Id be grateful, she whispered, desperation coloring her tone.
While Arthur fiddled with the stubborn hinges, Emily sat on the bench, pondering the stranger. What right have I to judge him? Im a wanderer too; we share the same bleakness.
Arthur smiled, gave the door a gentle push, and said, Come in, youre planning to stay the night?
Indeed. Where else? Emily replied, bewildered.
Is there a stove? she asked, her mind foggy.
There should be one somewhere, Arthur muttered, checking the dim interior.
What about firewood?
Im not sure, Emily admitted, shoulders slumping.
Fine. Go inside, Ill sort something out, he said, stepping out into the cold.
Emily spent an hour sweeping and dusting a damp, chilly cottage. She shivered, doubting whether she could ever make it a home. Arthur returned with a bundle of dry sticks, and a flicker of relief warmed her chest. He cleared the soot from the old iron stove and coaxed a flame to life.
The stove is alight, he announced. Feed it a few logs now and again. Itll keep you warm through the night.
Are you heading to the neighbours? Emily inquired.
Yes. Ill stay a while on their plot; Im not keen on returning to the city. The past weighs too heavily on me.
Arthur, stay for tea and a bite first, she said firmly.
He shed his coat, settled by the fire, and Emily, feeling oddly vulnerable, began, Im sorry to pry, but you dont look like a typical vagrant. Why are you out here? Do you have family?
Arthur sighed, recalling a lifetime teaching at a university, devoting his youth to scholarship until old age crept upon him unnoticed, leaving him alone as the years waned. A year earlier his niece, Tessa, had begun visiting, subtly hinting she would care for him if he left her his flat. He had welcomed her, trusting her. She suggested selling the cramped city flat to buy a spacious house in the countryside, complete with a garden and a summer gazeboan affordable dream she had already scouted.
Arthur agreed without hesitation. After the sale, Tessa urged him to open a bank account so the money would be safe. Uncle Arthur, lets sit on a bench while I sort the paperwork. You never know who might be watching, she whispered at the banks doorway.
She disappeared into the building, and Arthur waited, hour after hour, for her return. When she finally emerged, the bank was empty, and an alternate exit led to a quiet courtyard. He stood there, baffled, as the realization sank in: his trusted kin had vanished, the house she promised to sell had already changed hands two years prior.
A heavy sigh escaped him. Since then Ive been roaming these streets, unable to believe Ive lost a home.
Emily, seeing the same loneliness reflected in his eyes, said, I thought I was the only one My story mirrors yours.
Arthur tried to console her. Ive lived a full life, but you, too, can rebuild. Youre still young; opportunities will come.
She smiled, Lets eat.
She watched as Arthur hungrily devoured a plate of spaghetti and sausages, feeling an ache of compassion for his isolation. How terrifying it must be to be utterly alone, feeling useless, she thought.
Emily, I can help you get back into university, Arthur said suddenly. I have old colleagues who could write a recommendation for a scholarship. Ill draft a letter to the rector; my friend Constantine will see to it.
Thank you, that would be wonderful, she replied, hope brightening her tone.
Thanks for the meal and for listening, Arthur rose. Its late now.
Wait, where are you off to? she murmured.
I have a warm shed on a neighbouring plot. Ill visit you tomorrow, he smiled.
Dont go, she pleaded. I have three spacious rooms. Take one if you like. Im afraid of the stove, of being alone. Wont you stay?
I wont leave you, he promised solemnly.
Two years later, Emily passed her exams with flying colours and returned to the countryside for the summer break. She still lived in a university hall, but the cottage became her weekend refuge.
Hello! she shouted, hugging Arthur, now affectionately called Uncle Arthur.
Emily, my dear! Why didnt you call? Id have met you at the station. How did it go? Passed? he asked, eyes twinkling.
Yes! Almost everything was top marks, she chirped, brandishing a cake. Put the kettle on; lets celebrate!
They sipped tea, swapping stories.
Ive planted grapes. Soon Ill build a gazebocozy and perfect, Arthur boasted.
Marvelous! Youre the master of this place; do as you wish. Im just a visitor passing through, Emily laughed.
Arthur was no longer a solitary shadow. He had a home, a granddaughterEmilyand a renewed purpose. She felt gratitude toward the universe for delivering a man who filled the void left by her parents, a steadfast guide through the darkest nights.
