One winter evening, the wind was whispering over the fields of a little Yorkshire hamlet.
Early the next morning Margaret slipped on her boots and left the cottage. Snow fell in thin, lazy flakes, drifting down in quiet clusters. The sky was a dull, overcast gray; the moon tried vainly to peek through, but dawn was already nudging the darkness away. By lunchtime the sun finally stretched a golden arm over the village.
The day passed like any other, and by evening Margaret was trudging home as a band of grey clouds rolled in and a fierce wind began to howl.
What on earth is that racket? It was so quiet a moment ago, she muttered, not yet at the gate when a sudden blizzard swallowed the world, turning the road into a white wall.
Luckily she was close to the cottage. She pushed open the gate and thought, Thank heavens the drifts havent piled up yetthough the weather certainly isnt joking. The wind roared around her, and a massive pine swayed back and forth in front of the gate. She managed to reach the doorstep, swung the door wide, and slipped inside.
After dinner she climbed onto the stove to listen to the howling outside; the wind whistled through the chimney and she soon dozed off. A few moments later, a sharp knock rattled the door.
Who could be bringing trouble at this hour? she wondered, tugging her felt slippers on as she shuffled down from the stove.
Whos there?
Maam, let me in, Im freezing my boots off, a male voice called.
Whats your name, then?
Geoffrey, a driver. Im stuck out front of your housesnows piled up so high I cant see the road. Ive been trying to shovel, but it just keeps coming. Please, I wont be any trouble. Im from the neighbouring village.
It was nearly night, but Margaret cracked the latch. In stumbled a tall, snowcaked man.
Alright, come in, Geoffrey, she said.
Thanks, miss. I was fearing youd turn me away and Id have to keep wandering, he said, shaking snow from his coat and hat at the threshold.
Would you like a cuppa? Margaret offered.
Itd be grand, Im a bit chilled to the bone, he replied, grateful.
Margaret set a plate of yesterdays scones on the table, fetched a steaming teapot from the stove, and poured them both a mug.
Thanks, Geoffrey said, and whats your name, miss?
Margaret Whitbyjust Margaret is fine, she smiled warmly.
Living alone? he asked.
For five years now.
And your husband?
Gonehe overindulged on pears and bolted to the city with a newcomer.
No children?
None yet. What about you, any family?
None either, Geoffrey sighed. I was married once, but it fell apart.
Same here, Margaret nodded. Have a cup, eat the scones, and Ill set you up on the stove to warm up.
Geoffrey clambered onto the stove and soon began snoring softly. Margaret lay awake, the quiet of the cottage pressing in on her. A solitary woman, capable and bright, yet without a partner or childrenshe felt a pang of loneliness.
What a pity, a stranger sleeping on my stove, she thought with a sigh. If only it were a caring, doting husband.
She finally drifted off just before sunrise, only to be woken by the clatter of the stove as she stoked the fire and flipped a few pancakes onto a hot iron. Geoffrey jolted awake, eyes wide.
Morning! Those pancakes smell brilliant, he grinned.
After breakfast Margaret readied herself for work.
Geoffrey, I wont lock the house. If you need to leave, just swing the latch. If you get cold, theres still boiled potatoes in the stove. Safe travelsmaybe we wont meet again.
Goodbye, Margaret. Thanks for the night.
Later that afternoon, Margaret returned to find Geoffrey wrestling with his old van, stuck in the snow.
You still here? she called.
Seems the batterys dead and the roads a white nightmare.
Come in, have a bite. Im just heading home after a long haul.
Do you know where I might find a tractor? I cant get the van out until the roads cleared.
Probably at the local garageopen from one to two. After that, we can head over together.
A strange sense of kinship blossomed in Margaret; she felt oddly comfortable beside the stranger.
Geoffrey chuckled, Ive been swinging this shovel all morning.
She noticed a few grey hairs at his temples and tiny wrinkles forming around his eyes whenever he smiled.
Only thirtyseven, and already showing the signs, she mused. How nice it would be to have a good, polite man in the housetrue ladylike happiness.
She escorted him to the garage and then back to her work.
Take care, Geoffrey, she called.
You too, Margaret!
That evening, as darkness fell quickly over the countryside, Margaret saw the lights flickering in her windows. Her heart gave a small leaphow nice to be waited for.
Come in, love, Geoffrey said from the doorway, the kettles whistling.
Why havent you gone already?
Tomorrow the tractor will be ready. No spare rigs today, the garage said, but they promised one for the morning.
After dinner, having finished her chores, Margaret settled down. Geoffrey sat on the stove, fidgeting, then suddenly leapt onto the bed beside her. She froze, unsure what to say, as he slipped under the blanket and wrapped her in a firm hug. She reached for him
They lay there in silence for a long while. At last Margaret spoke.
You know, Geoffrey, I could spend my whole life like this with you.
He sat up, a hint of irritation flashing.
So you expect me to marry you?
What? she asked meekly.
He snapped, Marrying isnt a joke. I dont trust womenbeen married, wife ran off, Ive had a few flings, but none stuck. And you, you just crawled under my blanket. Ill be gone tomorrow, and youll find someone else.
Youthere was never anyone else for me.
There was, there wasnt. You didnt even know me before I was in bed with you. Want something more?
Yes, Margaret blurted, tears spilling, I want a family, children, a husband to care for us.
Dont cry, Geoffrey muttered. We barely know each other, how would children even work?
She fell silent, ashamed of trusting a stranger. She lay awake until dawn.
At six, Geoffrey packed his things; a tractor was due at six oclock. Margaret saw him off on the porch.
Forgive me, Margaret.
Farewell, Geoffrey. If you get stuck again, I wont open the door, she said, though inside she wanted to shout that hed be missed.
Geoffrey drove off. By her lunch break the van was gone. She waited, but he never returned. Time slipped by, and she confided in her friend Lucy, who lived nearby.
Margaret, youre pregnant! Lucy laughed. Off to the town doctor right away.
Margaret thanked heavenshe would finally be a mother.
The doctor confirmed the news, and Margaret left the clinic beaming, grateful that Geoffreys mishap had led to this.
She gave birth to a healthy baby boy.
What shall we call him? the nurse asked as she handed the little one over.
Stewart, Margaret replied, though well call him Stewy for short. Hell bring me joy in my old age.
Dont think about old age just yetraise the lad first! the nurse teased.
Had I had a husband, hed be here now, Margaret sighed.
When it was time to leave the hospital, Lucy told Margaret she couldnt drive her son home, though she had left a small sum of money for transport.
How will I get the bus to the village with a baby? Margaret fretted, but the nurse promised an ambulance would take them.
Margaret gathered her few belongings, cradled her son, and stepped into the lobby, only to freeze. Geoffrey stood there, a bouquet of flowers in hand, with Lucy smirking beside him.
Geoffrey says hes your husband and wont let anyone else take your son from the ward, Lucy announced.
Margaret handed her child to Geoffrey, smiling through tearstears of pure happiness.
