I was sitting by the old oil lamp when the rickety front door swung open and four shivering children were thrust into the doorway.
Anne, someones at the door! I shouted, fumbling for the lantern. In this dreadful weather, too?
Anne set her knitting aside and strained her ears. Through the torrent of rain and the howl of the wind came a faint rap, so soft it might have been a branch rattling against the porch.
Did you hear that? she asked, looking at me, but I was already moving toward the entry.
A bitter gust burst through as we flung the door wide. Anne hurried after me, stopping on the threshold. In the dim glow of the lamp, on the wooden stoop, sat four little ones wrapped in threadbare blankets.
Lord Anne whispered, dropping to her knees before them.
Their eyes, wide with terror, said everything. Two girls and two boys, all about the same ageno older than a year apart.
Where did they come from? I asked, picking up a crumpled piece of paper from the floor. It was a soaked note. I unfolded it and read aloud: Help them We cant any longer
Quick, get them inside and warm them up! Anne pressed a trembling boy to her chest. Theyre frozen solid!
The cottage filled with whimpers and frantic movement. Martha, roused by the commotion, descended from the loft and froze on the bottom step.
Mother, help! Anne pleaded, trying to rock the infant while stripping off his drenched clothes. They need heat and food.
Where did they appear from? Martha asked, but without waiting for an answer she hurried to the hearth and lit a fire.
Samuel arrived moments later, and soon every adult was occupied: someone warming milk, another fetching clean towels, a third rummaging through the old chest for the childrens blankets that had been kept for emergencies.
These little ones feel like a blessing from above, Martha murmured once the panic settled, as the infants, warmed and fed, drifted off on the wide family bed.
I couldnt take my eyes off them. How many sleepless nights had I spent worrying for these kids? How many trips to the doctor with Anne left us more and more despondent?
What shall we do? I asked, laying my hand on Annes shoulder.
What else can we think? Samuel interjected. Its a sign. Well take them in, thats that.
But what about the law? Papers? I worried.
You know people in the parish council, Samuel reminded me. Tomorrow youll sort it all out. Well say theyre distant relatives whove nowhere else to go.
Anne stayed quiet, gently stroking the tiny heads as if afraid the reality might vanish.
Ive already given them names, she finally said. Mabel, Elsie, Arthur and Edmund.
That night none of us slept a wink. I sat beside a makeshift cradle, watching the childrens soft breathing, refusing to blink. With each shallow sigh a tiny blossom of hope seemed to bloom inside me.
Four little lives now hung on my shoulders, their fates woven tightly with my own like slender threads in a sturdy rope.
Outside, the sky grew lighter. The wind died down, the rainlet became a gentle drizzle. Through the clouds the first rays of sunshine slipped, tinting the neighbours thatched roofs a tender pink.
Later, as I was checking the harness on my mare, Anne brought me a parcel of food and a fresh shirt.
Managing alright? she asked, studying my focused face.
Dont doubt me, I grunted, squeezing her shoulder before heading to the stable.
By twilight the village was cloaked in darkness. I slipped back into the cottage, shedding the damp shirt, and placed a battered folder on the table.
These are now officially our children, I said, a restrained pride swelling in my voice. No one can take them away. Well have to call on old friends, but the usual route would take years.
Martha crossed herself silently and tended the fire, pulling out a clay pot filled with a hearty stew.
Samuel set a steaming mug before me and, without a word, clapped a firm hand on my shouldera gesture that spoke of respect, pride, and trust in the man I had become, not just the soninlaw.
I leaned over the cradle, looking at the four serene faces. For years I had carried the ache of childlessness, a sharp thorn in my heart. Every thought of motherhood had cut me deep. Now, tears of joy slipped down my cheeks, not of loss but of gratitude.
Four small hearts beat beside my own, entrusted to me by fate.
Its a good thing Im a father of many, Peter whispered, wrapping his arms around me.
Thank you, I murmured, pressing my cheek to his chest, fearing any careless word might shatter this fragile happiness.
Years passed. The children grew, the family strengthened, though troubles still rose now and then.
Enough of this nonsense! shouted Arthur, slamming the door so hard the old hinges creaked mournfully. Im not going to waste my life out here in the sticks!
Anne froze, a bowl in her hands. In thirteen years she had never heard her youngest son speak so harshly. She set the dough aside, wiped her hands on her apron and asked softly, Whats wrong?
Arthur stood, his face pale with anger, leaning against the wall. Peter stood nearby, fists clenched, breathing heavily as if after a sprint.
Your son thinks schools pointless, Peter rasped. He wants to quit and head to the city.
What for? Arthur roared. To end up tilling the fields forever like us?
Peters eyes flashed with pain. He stepped toward his son, but Anne gently blocked him, placing herself between them.
Lets talk calmly, no shouting, she urged, fighting back tears of frustration.
Whats there to discuss? Arthur crossed his arms. Im not the only one. Edmund backs me, and the girls are too scared to admit they also dream of escape.
At the doorway appeared Violet, tall with unruly curls framing her pale face, watching the family with steady eyes.
Ive heard youre arguing, she said quietly. Whats happened?
Tell them the truth, Arthur demanded, staring at his sister. Admit youve been hiding that album of city sketches under your pillow.
Violet shivered, but didnt look away. A strand of her hair trembled as she straightened.
Yes, I dream of studying painting seriously, she confessed, meeting their fathers gaze. Theres an art college in the city, and my mentor says I have talent
See? Arthur leapt up. You keep us here in the mud and potatoes! While the world moves on, were stuck!
Peter let out a harsh breath, turned and stormed out of the room.
I swallowed hard, trying not to let the tears spill.
Dinner in half an hour, I announced calmly, returning to the simmering pot.
The whole evening passed in silence. Mabel and Edmund exchanged glances. Arthur tossed his fork around his plate. Violet stared at a point in the wall. Peter never sat down at the table.
That night I lay awake, listening to the soft breaths of the sleeping children, remembering the night they first appeared on our doorstep, how I fed them with a spoon, taught them their first words, rejoiced at each tiny step
Morning brought a fresh blow. Over breakfast Edmund announced, I wont help Father with the farm anymore. I have my own plans. I want to train seriously in sport, not milk cows.
Peter stood silently and walked out. A tractor roared outside within minutes.
Do you realise what youre doing to your father? I snapped. Hes given you his whole heart!
We never asked for this! Arthur shouted. Youre not our parents! Why are we even here?
Silence fell. Mabels face turned white and she fled the table. Violet covered her eyes with her hands. Edmund stared, mouth agape.
I stepped toward Arthur, meeting his gaze.
Because we love you. More than anything, I whispered.
Arthur lowered his eyes, then bolted out the door. I watched him sprint across the fields toward the woods.
Martha, who had been watching quietly, shook her head. Thats just a phase, love. Itll pass.
But I knew it wasnt just age.
Dad, wait! Arthur called, running back, arms flailing. Ill help!
Peter stopped the tractor, wiped sweat from his brow. The day was hot and the work still lay ahead.
Ill manage on my own, he grumbled, not turning.
Dont be stubborn, Arthur said, laying a hand on his shoulder. Well get it done faster together. You taught me that.
Peter fell silent, then nodded, moving aside. Arthur climbed into the cabin and the tractor rumbled forward.
Nearly six months later, the farm was steadier. The children who had once plotted escape now returnedfirst in body, then in spirit.
Everything began that night when Arthur didnt come home. The whole village searched for him until dawn.
They found him in a woodshedshivering, feverish, eyes wild.
Mum, he whispered when he saw me, and that single word changed everything.
A long illness followed. Arthur called out for me, and when he came to, he clutched my hand as if fearing hed lose his footing again.
Violet was the first to realise how senseless our quarrels had been. She brought out old photo albums, sharing family stories with her siblings.
Look, Edmund, she said, Dad carried you on his shoulders after you won your first race.
Edmund wept quietly.
Mabel started helping in the kitchen. Her gloomy sketches turned into bright watercolours of cottages, meadows, and woods. One even won the district art contest.
Ill keep studying art, she told me, but Ill always come back home. This is my home.
By the time the school leavers ceremony rolled around, everything had settled enough for Peter to smile genuinely for the first time in years.
He stood in the schoolyard, tall and proud, as his children were called one by one.
Edmund Petrovic for sporting achievements! Violet Petrovic winner of the literature competition! Arthur Petrovic best young mechanic! Mabel Petrovic art contest prizewinner!
Petrovics. The name echoed through the crowd.
That evening we held a proper celebration. Relatives, neighbours, friends filled the cottage with laughter.
Mum, Violet whispered, hugging me, Im going to art college, but Ill commute. Its not far.
And Ill stay too, Arthur added. Why would I need a dorm when we have a home like this?
I smiled through my tears. Peter came over and clasped my shoulders.
All is well now. When theyre eighteen, theyll decide their own paths; we wont hold them back, he said softly.
I looked at my grown children, still my children, and thought back to that first night when fate knocked on our door.
Martha and Samuel stood by a framed photograph on the wall, a reminder of how quickly time passes.
The village was already slipping into night, crickets chirping, distant voices of youngsters drifting on the wind.
I stepped onto the porch, wrapped in an old shawl, and lifted my eyes to the starstrewn sky, each star a coin tossed into darkness.
A smile touched my lips and I gave silent thanks to the universe.
Thinking of anything? Peter asked, appearing beside me.
Just that family isnt blood alone, I replied. Its love. Plain and simple love.
In the dark, the voices of our children returned home, to the place where they were loved most in the world.
