“Who are you here for?”Margaret Whitmore, along with Nicholas, stepped onto the porch and studied the visitor. “Im here for Margaret Whitmore! Im her granddaughterwell, great-granddaughter, actually. The granddaughter of Alexander, her eldest son.”
Margaret sat on the sunlit bench, enjoying the first warm days of spring. At last, winter had passed. Only God knew how shed survived it.
“One more winter like that, and I wont make it,” she thought, sighing with relief. She wasnt afraid of death anymore. In fact, she welcomed it. Shed long since saved up enough money for her funeral clothes. Nothing tied her to this world now.
***
Once, shed had a large familyher husband, Frederick Whitmore, a tall, strong man, and four children: three boys and a girl. Theyd lived happily, helping one another, with little quarrel. One by one, the children grew up and scattered.
The two eldest sons went off to university, then moved to cities for work. The middle son, never much for school, built a successful business that eventually took him abroad for good. The daughter, too, left their villagefluttering off to London, where she soon married.
At first, the children visited often. They wrote letters, then switched to phone calls when mobiles became common. Grandchildren came, one after another. Margaret would pack her old, battered suitcase and travel to care for them.
But as the grandchildren outgrew her help, the calls grew fewer. Visits became rareeveryone was too busy with work, their own families, their own growing children. The last time theyd all reunited was for Fredericks funeral. Hed seemed so robust, as if hed live to a hundred. But life had other plans.
After the burial, the children drifted away again. At first, they called their mother, but gradually, even that faded. Margaret tried calling them too, but she soon sensed she was a burden and stopped. So shed lived the past ten years, alone. Only the occasional call from a child would bring a weeks worth of quiet smiles.
One afternoon, as Margaret sat on her bench lost in thought, a voice called out:
“Hello, Aunt Margaret!” A young man stood at the fence, grinning. “Dont you remember me?”
Margaret squinted. “Nicholas? Is that really you?”
“It is!” he beamed, stepping into the yard.
Nicholas was the son of their old neighbours, a couple who couldnt go a day without a drink. As long as Margaret had known him, hed been a perpetually hungry child. Out of pity, shed fed him, given him hand-me-downs from her own children, and let him stay the night when his parents were too drunk to care.
His parents didnt last long. When they passed, Nicholas was taken away, and Margaret hadnt seen him sincethough shed often wondered about him.
“Where have you been all this time?” she asked, delighted.
“First in foster care, then the army, then school. Now Im back to put my roots down here!”
“Whats left to put roots in?” Margaret sighed. “Everyones gone.”
“Doesnt matter. Ill make it work.”
And so, Margarets life changed. Nicholas found work at Mr. Thompsons farmthe largest in the village. In his free time, he patched up his own crumbling cottage, left to him by his parents, and helped Margaret with chores. She brightened, calling him nothing but “my boy.” They lived like this for three happy years.
Then one day, Nicholas looked sheepish. “Im leaving, Aunt Margaret. Mr. Thompsons gotten too tight-fistedwants the work but wont pay. Im off to find better wages. Dont be cross.”
“Cross? Of course not. Go with God!”
And so, Margaret was alone again. Sometimes, the loneliness brought tears. She waited, counting the days, yet something still kept her here.
***
“Hello, Aunt Margaret!” The familiar voice snapped her from her thoughts. She turned to the fenceand there he was.
“Nicholas? Can it be?”
“It is!” Tall and well-dressed now, he stepped into her yard. “Im backfor good!”
“Oh, what joy!” She bustled about. “Come in, come in! Ill put the kettle on!”
“Tea sounds perfect,” he laughed. “Ill just pop home firstdidnt know Id find you here, so Ive no gifts!”
Half an hour later, a happy Margaret and an equally happy Nicholas sat at her table, sipping tea from her best china, chatting nonstop.
“Id nearly given up on this world, Nicholas,” she admitted, wiping a tear.
“Dont even think it!” He wagged a finger playfully. “Now that Im here, well live splendidly! Ive saved enough to start my own farm. Youve years left yet!”
Just then, a bright voice called: “Hello? Anyone home?” Margaret peered out the windowa young woman in a stylish coat and heels stood in the yard.
“Who are you here for?” Margaret and Nicholas stepped onto the porch.
“For Margaret Whitmore! Im her great-granddaughtergranddaughter of Alexander, her eldest son.”
The woman and the young man exchanged glances.
“I tried calling, but your phone was off. So I took a chance and came!”
“Well, come in!” Margaret flustered, while Nicholas hurried to take the girls suitcase.
As they sat, the girlViolethappily devoured the treats Margaret set out, chatting about herself.
“I hate the city. I want country life! But my parents dont understand. Grandad Alexander suggested I stay here a few months. Says if I try village life, Ill change my mind. He called you. So did Dad. So did I. But we couldnt get through. Sorry about that! I wont be a burdenIve money, and they sent gifts!”
“Stay as long as you like!” Margaret finally said. “Youre a blessing!”
A month passed. Margaret watched from her bench as Violet expertly tended the garden. No one would guess shed been raised in the city. With Nicholass help, shed reclaimed the long-negested plot, divided it into neat rows, built a greenhouse, and planted seedlings from neighbours.
Nicholas, too, was busy. With his savings, hed begun building a modern farm. Hed even hired workers to fix Margarets roof and replace her old stove with proper heating.
Margaret was happy. Smiles came easily now. She wasnt alone anymore.
Only occasionally did sadness flicker when she remembered Violet would leave soon. Shed grown so fond of her. But time flew, and the day came.
“How will I manage this garden alone?” Margaret fretted, packing pastries for Violets journey.
“You wont! Nicholas will water it. And Ill be back to weed!” Violet grinned.
“Youll return?” Margaret brightened.
“Of course! I could never stay away. I love you, Gran. Besides” She blushed. “Nicholas proposed. Were marrying in autumn! Whats a farm without a farmers wife?”
A year later, Margaret basked in the sun, gently rocking the pram where her great-great-grandson slept. Violet and Nicholas were at the farm, thriving togetherand so was the village, thanks to them.
Margaret gazed at the sleeping baby and smiled.
“Not yet, world. Ive still got work to do.”
[End.]
