Maggie Brown lived with her beloved husband Victor Clarke as if she were tucked safely under the veil of the Almighty. When the neighbours in the small Ashford village asked about her life, she always spoke of contentment, even though everyone in the hamlet kept a keen eye on each other and knew everyones business.
Victor, we must guard our family and hold it together, no matter what, her mother had urged her the day she agreed to marry the local lad, Tom Whitaker, whom they’d grown up with.
Tom could never have imagined that instead of Maggie, another girl might take his place. To him, Maggie had always been the single light in his window; he protected her, walked her to school and back, and as they grew older their friendship blossomed into love.
Look, there go two lovebirds, the villages old ladies would chuckle, made for each other since they were toddlers.
Maggies parents raised her right: taught her to live in peace with others, to help, to trust in the good, and never to act unjustly.
Dear, the Lord will punish you if you hurt anyone or turn away from fairness. He sees everything, her mother would say, and Maggie clung to those words, for who else could she trust but her mother?
Victor proved a good husband. He shouldered the hard chores, never let Maggie lift heavy loads. Each morning before heading to the coal mine hed call out, Maggie, watch yourselfdont lift those sacks. You work too, you get tired. Ill be home and finish whats left; thats what a man does.
One bright morning Maggie beamed, Victor, were expecting a baby. He froze, stunned, then held her tight, kissing her forehead. Now you must look after yourself twice as hard. Youre not alone anymore, he whispered.
Dont worry, Victor, she replied with a laugh, Im not the first, nor will I be the last, to be pregnant. Everything will be fine.
Months passed, and a boy named Greg was born. Victor swore it was the continuation of their line, and he adored the child. As Greg grew, Victor proudly walked the village streets with him, taking him hunting, fishing, and mushroom-picking. By then Maggie had also welcomed a daughter, Lily.
Four years after Lily, a third son, Sam, arrived. Life settled into a rhythm of work, children, joys, and worries. Sam, the youngest, was restless. Teachers complained about his mischief.
Your Sam brought a cat to class again and let it run loose. Then a crow, then a mousegirls were screaming. What will he bring next? the headmistress would scold when she met his parents. He even hauled a hedgehog home, which kept everyone awake with its nightly scratching. Victor finally told him to release it into the woods. Sam later found an injured cuckoo, nursed it, and set it free.
Time moved on. Greg finished his National Service, married a local girl, Alice, and soon after built a house of his own next to his parents. Lily finished school, married, and moved with her husband to another county.
Then tragedy struck. Victor didnt rise one cold morning. Maggie first thought hed overslept; when she shook his shoulder, his eyes stayed closed.
Sam, run and fetch the medic! she shouted, her voice cracking. The village nurse, Mrs. Anne Hardy, called an ambulance, though shed already seen Victors still form. Maggies grief was a crushing weighther husband gone, her fiftyyearold life suddenly halved.
After the funeral, Maggie lingered in a haze. Sam stayed, but his future was bleak. He fell deeper into drink, slumping on the sofa as Maggie scolded, Sam, enough with the booze! The villagers whispered, Maggie had a fine familyhusband, older childrenonly the youngest turned into a snotnose. Sam refused work, drank with his mates, and clung to his mother. Maggie, exhausted, could barely keep the garden alive. Eventually she could no longer bear living with him; they drifted apart.
Eight years later, neighboring farmer Rae Hart invited Maggie over. Though Rae was younger, they had always gotten along. Aunt Maggie, come over. I have a guest who wants to speak with you, she said cryptically.
What talk could that be? Maggie asked, bewildered.
Alana Brooks, a citygrown woman whose own marriage had ended, arrived. Aunt Maggie, my father in the village is a widower. He doesnt drink or smoke, hes a good man. I asked Rae to find someone suitable for him, and she mentioned you. I live in the city with my children, but I cant travel often. Perhaps you could share a life together. I wont claim any inheritance; the house is only in the village. I have a flat in the city, but I dont want to manage land.
Maggie stared, stunned. Alana, I never imagined Id be with another man at my age Yet, with Sams drinking pushing her to the edge, she consented. Victors brother, Greg, drove her to the neighbouring hamlet where she met the widower, Ignatius Iggy Price. Their homes sat side by side, and Maggie moved in with Iggy, bringing along her goat, a handful of chickens, and the pig she kept for winter.
Iggys cottage was far larger than Maggies old one. Sam, now with his own partnera girl just as reckless as himappeared from time to time, and Maggie fretted, I hope they dont burn the house down. Greg, keep an eye on that wayward son of mine.
Summers brought grandchildren from the city. Alanas two sons visited, and sometimes Alana herself stayed, and Maggie welcomed them with fresh produce and pastries. Respect seemed mutual.
Ten years slipped by. Iggy grew increasingly frail, often confined to his bed. Maggie tended him, brewing herbal teas and administering medicine. One evening, before his breath grew shallow, he whispered, Maggie, if Im the first to go, stay here, keep the house, live out your days in peace. Dont mourn me, love.
Alright, Iggy, youre talking nonsense Im not in perfect health either, she replied, fighting tears.
One day Alana arrived with a new husband, Stan, and a different demeanor. Dad, Stan and I are taking you to the city. Youll be under our care. Iggy snapped, Maggie, youre the only one I trusted. Alana retorted sharply, No one will ask you anythingjust come with us. Iggy left, his eyes wet, and Maggie wept.
A week later Alana returned, Pack your things, were selling the house. You have a week; well be back next weekend. She left, never returning to the cottage. Maggie felt the ground crumble.
When Greg finally brought Maggie to Alanas city home, a note lay on the mantel: Father passed away. He never liked city life. Thank you for not having to bury him. Maggie, shaking, asked, Why didnt you bring him back to the village cemetery? Alana smiled, It doesnt matter where a dead man lies.
Greg, now the eldest son, learned Sam had finally turned his life around. He quit drinking, found steady work, and married Vera, a kind woman whod insisted Sam clean up his act before shed marry him. When Maggie entered the tidy garden of the new house, she could hardly believe her eyeswelltended flower beds, a thriving vegetable patch.
Good afternoon, Mrs. Brown, Vera sang, ushering Maggie inside. Ive prepared lunch; Greg said youd be arriving today. Maggie felt a warmth she hadnt known in years. Sam, sober and diligent, helped Vera with the garden, the laundry, the cooking. Maggie watched, astonished, as her oncetroubled son became a real provider, a man she could be proud of.
Vera worked at the post office, still managed the household, and later gave birth to a daughter. When the little girlEmmawas just a year old, she passed away peacefully, leaving the family heartbroken but grateful for the love that remained. Sams eyes shone with pride, his life finally steady. Maggie, growing older, felt a gentle fatigue, yet she smiled, knowing her children and grandchildren were happy.
All she ever wanted now was to see her family flourish, and that wish was finally being fulfilled.
