The Joy of Motherhood
Dawn broke warm and still over the village nestled by the woods along the riverbank. The lowing of cows—few left now—and the occasional lazy bark of a dog drifted through the air. Beyond the river, dark clouds gathered above the trees.
Agnes loved rising early in summer, savoring the quiet of morning, though she had little to tend—only chickens and a gentle old dog named Bear in the yard. She lived alone in the house left to her by her mother, who had passed a decade ago.
Agnes, a slender woman of thirty, stood by the well, straining to turn the crank with both hands as the heavy bucket rose. Lifting the two brimming pails, she trudged back along the path to her cottage.
Grief and Loneliness
Agnes had been married to Zachary for just six months. A tall, broad-shouldered man, he’d been the local gamekeeper, a scourge to poachers who roared into the woods in flashy cars. Then one day, Zachary stumbled upon the wrong man in the forest. The investigation dragged on, but no one was ever caught, and Zachary was laid to rest.
Since then, she’d lived alone. Suitors had come from neighboring villages, but Agnes wouldn’t wed without love. Still, she caught herself stealing glances at Geoffrey, the village mechanic—a quiet, sturdy man who reminded her faintly of Zachary. Often, she’d feel his warm gaze and hurriedly look away.
After burying her husband, Agnes mourned deeply.
*If only I’d had Zachary’s child. Some part of him would still be here. I wouldn’t be so alone.* The maternal ache gnawed at her with no one to pour it into.
The Farmer’s Son
Then there was Johnny—brash, unruly, and always half-drunk. He’d loiter by her gate when she returned from work, once even clumsily declaring his love. When he tried to grab her, she shoved him back, snatched a shovel from the porch, and hissed, *”Take one step closer, and I’ll split your skull.”* The steel in her voice sent him slinking away.
Johnny lived with his father, a wealthy but cruel farmer who’d buried his wife years ago. Villagers whispered he’d driven her to an early grave. Johnny had his father’s temper but none of his work ethic.
Local girls steered clear of the drunken lout. Once, he beat a lad bloody for defending his sweetheart. The constable came, levied a fine, and that was that. No one dared cross the rich farmer, and the fine was just hush money.
Then, one night, flames lit up the village. The farmer’s grand house and barns burned to the ground—though someone had kindly freed the livestock. The inquiry blamed faulty wiring. The farmer never escaped. Johnny, meanwhile, had been with some woman miles away.
Agnes sighed in relief when word spread that Johnny had vanished into the city, lured by old mates. *”Good riddance,”* she murmured.
An Unwelcome Guest
Time passed. One morning, Agnes climbed her porch steps with the water pails and froze—the door was ajar.
*”Must’ve forgotten to latch it,”* she thought, stepping inside. Then the reek of tobacco and booze hit her. Setting down the buckets, she peered into the room and recoiled—a man sprawled on her bed. Her pulse steadied when she recognized Johnny.
*”At least it’s not a thief,”* she thought, then shoved his shoulder.
*”Out. Now,”* she snapped. *”Who said you could make yourself at home?”*
He blinked blearily. *”Where’ve you been, eh? Out all night?”*
*”Answer to you? Hardly. Get out!”*
*”Keep your voice down—you’ll wake the boy,”* he muttered, nodding toward the curtained alcove.
Agnes pulled the fabric aside. A small figure curled on the sofa, fast asleep.
*”Whose child is this?”* she whispered.
*”Mine. Oliver.”*
*”Yours?”* She couldn’t fathom this brute fathering a child.
Oliver was thin and grubby, like a stray pup. *”His mum’s dead. Been with me two months,”* Johnny slurred.
*”How old is he?”*
*”Dunno. Five?”*
*”You don’t even know?”*
*”Let us stay a couple days,”* he begged suddenly. *”Got things to sort.”*
*”No.”*
Then a tiny voice piped up: *”Auntie, I’m thirsty.”*
Agnes turned. The boy’s eyes, wide and weary, undid her. *”Come, love. Let’s get you water.”*
*”Not ‘love.’ Oliver,”* he corrected softly.
After tending to him, she returned to Johnny, who hunched at the table, unshaven and reeking. *”Agnes, I’ll get on my knees if I must. Just a few days. For the boy’s sake.”*
Against her judgment, she relented—for Oliver. He was quiet, too solemn for his years, smiling only when playing with Bear in the yard. Oddly, Johnny behaved, even chopping wood and fetching water. She didn’t ask about his “business,” but when she caught whiskey on his breath days later, she confronted him.
*”You had a flat in the city, money—”*
*”Gone. Lost it all gambling. Maybe that’s why his mum died—weak heart.”* He gestured to Oliver. *”Let us stay. I’ll find work.”*
She didn’t believe him. Villagers said Johnny ran with a rough lot in the city, skimming dirty money. But she couldn’t turn them out—not with Oliver clinging to her skirts, starved for kindness.
A Son at Last
Oliver began to trust her. He’d ask earnest questions, once even resting his head on her lap as she read to him. She bathed him, clothed him, took him to the dairy where she worked. Johnny, meanwhile, drifted in and out, ignoring his son.
Then one evening, she returned to find her cottage ransacked—money gone, her good coat stolen. Tears welled as Oliver tugged her sleeve.
*”Auntie Agnes, don’t cry. Da did this. He’s gone now. Can I stay with you?”* His eyes searched hers.
*”Yes, Oliver. You’re mine now.”*
*”Forever?”*
*”Forever.”*
The constable came, but Agnes cared only for guardianship papers. Thankfully, Johnny had left the birth certificate—father’s name blank. *”Help me make it legal,”* she pleaded.
*”Alright, since you’ve taken to the lad,”* he agreed.
And so Oliver became hers. She poured all her stifled love into him, and he, in turn, called her *”Mum.”* The cottage brightened with his laughter, and Bear adored his little master, tail wagging madly whenever the boy fed him.
Happiness Finds Her
One day, Geoffrey paused by her gate. Oliver played with Bear in the yard.
*”Oliver, is your mum home?”*
*”Want me to fetch her?”*
*”Aye, lad. Got something to say.”*
Agnes stepped onto the porch. *”Geoffrey! Come in.”*
Inside, he fidgeted before blurting, *”Agnes, why waste time pretending? I see how you look at me. I’ve loved you since the day you took Oliver in. Let’s raise him proper—give him a father. Maybe more bairns after.”*
She smiled. *”Took you long enough. But yes.”*
Oliver whooped, flinging himself at Geoffrey, who swung him high. The boy sensed safety in his strength.
They wed in a simple village ceremony. Oliver had parents now, and a baby brother soon after.
As for Johnny? He vanished into the underbelly of some far-off town. No one mentioned him again.
