The old woman had given away her newborn grandson to strangers. Heres what came of it.
When he stepped into the cottage, he glanced around and rememberedhe had seen this place before, in dreams, and the woman who greeted him, so much like the one in his nightmares. Those dreams haunted him when he was small and feverish, crying in the night. The woman had no face, just eyes that glowed like embers. She terrified him, a specter from the dark. He would sob and call for his mother, who would lie beside him, cross his forehead, and hold him close.
No one visited her cottage anymore. The children ran to houses where theyd get a sweet or a shilling, not a stale oatcake. Her gin wasnt the proper kindhomemade, rough. Only Fred, the neighbour, ever stumbled in, drunk enough to forget his manners.
“Heres to luck, to health, to the new year pour me one, Martha, love!” hed slur, grinning foolishly.
Shed pour for him and take a sip herselfjust enough to ease the weight of sleep. If only Freds words werent so sharp, if only he didnt prod the wounds she kept hidden.
“This is it, eh, Martha? Just you and me rotting like old stumps in the woods. No one left to miss us. But youyouve got a daughter!”
“Shut your mouth and drink, you old fool! Barking like that mangy dog of yours! I have a daughter, wherever she is! Now get out!” she snarled, shoving him toward the door.
Fred didnt leave, even as she pushed.
“Youre angry cause Im right. Everyone knows what you did. Gave your own grandson away. Say it aint true! Go on! And you know what the old hens say? That boy haunts your dreams. Thats why your eyes burn at nightfear! Aint that it? Heh!” His grin was cruel.
“Get out, you stinking drunk! Never come back!” She grabbed his greasy collar and hurled him out like a stray cat.
“Madwoman! Let go!” he yelped, flailing.
“Never again! You hear me? Never!” she screamed after him.
He only laughed. True to her word, he never returnednot for a drink, not for talk. Maybe shame kept him away. Or fear. She mightve forgiven him if hed come back. But no one heard what hed said. And he wasnt wrong.
The boy did haunt her dreams. She could never see his facejust those shining eyes. He stood at the threshold, asking to come in but never crossing. Shed seen the dream a hundred times. Or maybe it wasnt a dream at all.
* * *
The sun was high when Martha accepted Fred wouldnt come this time. She remembered last years bitter words, the grime of his collar under her fingers. She poured herself a drink. A holiday, after all.
Outside, the dog barked wildly. The front door creaked. Someone was here.
“Happy Christmas! Might I come in?” A handsome young man stood on the step.
Martha shot up from the table, stiff as a soldier.
“Come in, then.”
“For luck, for health” He scattered grain, eyes darting around the room.
She watched him closely. Was he looking to steal? If only Fred were here
“Did you want something, or just to toss grain? Who are you?” she asked warily.
“A guest ought to be fed, no? Dont trouble yourselfIve brought my own.” He pulled wine, sausages, and cakes from his bag.
Martha, stunned, fetched potatoes and bacon from the oven and sat across from him as he laid the table.
*Must be one of Lucys lot. Too young, though. Whyd she send him?*
He filled their glasses. She didnt know what to say.
“Youre not from here. Who are you looking for?”
“I am. Are you Martha Evans?”
“I am.”
“Your husband was Peter Evans?”
“Was. Dead now.”
“And your daughter Lucy Peters?”
“Aye.”
“Well, if thats the truth then Im your grandson. Victor.” He stood and offered his hand across the table. “Pleased to meet you.”
The room spun. The boy from her dreamsthis stranger had his eyes.
Martha gasped, swayedstrong hands caught her, lowered her to the bench.
“Dont be afraid. Im not here to blame you. I just wanted to see you. This house. Where I wasnt wanted.” His voice was calm. “My real mother died recently. Told me everything before she went. So I came.”
She sobbednot loud, but enough to shake her. For the first time, she told the whole story. He listened, watching her with those familiar eyes. When she finished, he stood, sighed, glanced around.
“God be with you,” he said at the door. “Hell judge you. Not me.”
By the time she stumbled outside, his car was gone. She hadnt caught the plates, hadnt asked where he lived. She stood in the cold, aching.
* * *
Lucy had been an obedient girl.
“Youll be a teacher!” her father declared. “No marrying till youve finished school!”
She hadnt thought of marriage, though her parents had picked a husbandAndrew, the soldier.
“Dont waste yourself on village boys,” her mother warned. “Andrews got prospects. A flat, a proper wage. By the time youre grown, hell be set.”
Even without the push, Lucy fancied him. He was older, handsome. When he visited, girls flocked to himshe wasnt shy either. And he liked her.
“Wait three years for me,” hed said before leaving. “Well write. Then well marry.”
Shed promised.
But being betrothed wasnt simple.
“Dont be reckless,” Martha warned. “Hold onto Andrew. Men like him dont come twice.”
Lucy agreedmostly.
*Andrews away. Hell never know.*
Then there was Willeasy, fun. No promises, just stolen moments. Until she slipped, told him shed marry another.
His warmth turned to violence. He beat her badly. Friends pulled him off.
She hid the bruises, avoided home. But her mother knew.
Martha stormed into the dorm, took one look, and understood. Lucy was pregnant. Will begged to marry her.
Martha refused. “Stay out of the village. Andrews family cant know.”
Her father acted fasttransferred her to another college, another town. She didnt argue. She was terrified.
Near the birth, Lucy “fell ill.” Her parents took her to a private clinic. She had books, TV, solitude. Locked in.
“Meningitis,” they told others. “She might not survive.”
She stayed until the birth.
As her mother taught, Lucy didnt hold the baby. Didnt look.
*Wills nothing. A brute. Not like Andrew. Hell never know.*
She wrote to Andrew, sent letters to the village address.
When he returned, they married. Martha glowed with pride.
The couple moved to the city. Visits grew rare.
Then Peter died. Lucy came alone.
“Were not together anymore,” she said flatly.
Andrew arrived later, furious.
“Youre not human,” he spat. “Even animals love their young. But you?” He slammed the door.
Lucy drifted between men. Martha scolded. Eventually, the visits stopped.
* * *
For Victor, the weight lifted. Finally, he knew.
His fathera surgeonhad died suddenly. Colleagues said Victor had his hands, his heart. Hed adored his parents.
Then his mother fell ill. Reviewing her old medical records, he found the lie.
*She couldnt have borne me.*
His mother confessed on her deathbed. Gave him an address.
He went. Found a reason to step insidea tradition, a scattering of grain.
And when he did, he remembered. The cottage. The woman. The dreams.
Eyes like embers in the dark.
