They came to the gate and said to her:
Were terribly sorry, madam, but youll have to leave this house.
Where am I to go now, at my age? Oh, heavens above What on earth am I to do
Thats how they said it. Coldly. Without ever meeting her gaze.
That morning, old Mrs. Margaret was sweeping the yard. She was well past seventy, her whole life intricately woven within the walls of that little cottage. Her children had been born inside these rooms. Her husband had drawn his last breath beneath this roof. Every joy, every heartacheshed weathered under its eaves.
The gate swung open sharply.
Two gentlemen in suits, clutching official papers, strode into the garden uninvited.
Is your name Margaret Turner?
I am she answered, clutching her old shawl to her chest.
We must inform you that a new public thoroughfare is to be constructed on this site.
Your house sits directly in its path.
Margaret blinked rapidly.
You mean I must go?
Youll be compensated, madam. Youll receive money.
Where could I possibly go, lad at my age? This is my home
One of the men gave an exasperated sigh.
Madam, lets not talk about home now. Its just a plot of land.
Sentiment makes no difference in these matters.
Those words struck her even harder than the news itself.
Surely I have some right to ask she murmured softly.
Your right, madam, is simply to sign where youre told, the other retorted loudly.
No need for theatrics.
Margaret sank down onto the bench by the wall.
It felt as if something in her chest had cracked.
When the men were gone, the cottage seemed suddenly smaller. More fragile.
She wandered from room to room, her hands brushing the faded walls, the old photographs, the battered kitchen table.
Where shall I go now, oh Lord?
Word traveled swiftly through the village.
And something sparked.
Neighbours began to trickle in. At first two by two, then ten at a time, until before long, nearly the whole village was gathered.
How can they put poor old Margaret out?
The womans never asked a thing from anyone!
Move the road!
When the officials returned, they found she was no longer alone.
The gate was crowded with people.
Young and old. Children.
No ones leaving here!
You cant trample over a persons life!
One councilman raised his voice:
The law is the law!
Law without humanity is no justice at all! someone cried out.
Margaret stood in the doorway. Small, but unbowed.
Im not after money she said, her voice a tremor.
Just let me live out my days where I have lived.
A hush fell.
Days went by.
Petitions. Articles in the local papers. Pressure.
One morning, a different sort of man arrived.
No arrogance. No cold tone.
The projects been changed.
The route will be moved.
Nothing will be built here.
Margaret didnt quite grasp it at first.
You mean I can stay?
You may stay.
The courtyard erupted in applause.
Some wept. Others clung to each other and laughed.
Margaret leaned against the gate and whispered,
Thank you, Lord for not leaving me on my own.
That evening, the village was more than just a place.
It was a family.
Because sometimes, a wide road halts before a little house,
When people remember the meaning of HOME.
Would you have stood at Mrs. Margarets gate?
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