In a quaint little village where everyone knows each other’s business, life ambles along at its own steady pace. Work is scarce, and most folks get by through their own toil—some grow vegetables, others rely on fishing or hunting.
Our family was no different. A modest garden and a small orchard, if tended properly, could keep us fed and even bring in a bit of extra cash. My husband fancied himself quite the angler, while I kept busy with the livestock and poultry. We raised our children to pull their weight—feeding the chickens, weeding the beds—each had their chores.
Nearby lived a woman named Lucy. Her fertility was the talk of the town—she had more than a dozen children. Yet neither she nor her husband, Nigel, ever seemed bothered to provide for them. Their patch of land lay untended, and even when neighbours rented it, they soon gave up, thanks to Lucy and Nigel’s impossible demands.
Lucys’ main occupation, if you could call it that, was begging. The villagers, out of pity, chipped in—a sack of potatoes here, a dozen eggs there, maybe some meat or fruit. Her children often turned up offering odd jobs for a meal. I wasn’t one to refuse and often took them up on it.
Her eldest, William, stood out. He never shirked a task and never left hungry.
Then one day, Nigel overdid it at the pub and left this world rather abruptly, leaving Lucy with her brood. If she’d cared little before, she cared even less now. The parish council stepped in, and the children were packed off to foster homes.
William, too, was taken away. My husband and I had grown fond of the lad, and his absence hit hard. I tracked down where he’d been placed and started visiting every few weeks. After long talks and careful thought, we decided to foster him properly and bring him home.
William knew us, we knew him, and he got on well with our lot. Fitting him into the family was easy. He became our right hand—older than the others but never lording it over them, always quick to help.
Years rolled by. The children grew up, finished school, some went to trade college, others to university, started families, and scattered across the country. William, after his apprenticeship, moved away too.
Now hes past fifty. Hes got a lovely family, two kids we dote on as our own grandchildren. Theres a warmth about him, a quiet gratitude for the care we showed. Looking back, I’m so glad we made that choice—to bring him home.