Unexpected Joy

Poppy stood in the moonlight, shivering at the chill in the late summer night. Pulling her shawl tightly around her shoulders, she stared at the small stone cottage before her, the heavy branches of the massive oak tree masking her image in the darkness. How she longed to go back inside, but she could not. She must leave and not return. If her mum and siblings knew the truth, for the rest of her life, she and her family would carry the shame. She had done the forbidden: she was going to have a baby out of wedlock.

It was 1884, and Poppy was only seventeen years of age when she learned of her pregnancy. She’d known she wasn’t ready to be a mother, but that was not going to prevent the inevitable. She had foolishly believed all the lies Jamie told her before she’d lain with him. In her naiveté, she had assumed he’d be eager to marry and excited about the wee one, but ignorance had been hers. Instead, Jamie refused to even acknowledge that the baby was his. And even more so, he had cruelly accused her of hopping from man to man, calling her names that she would never repeat. She had cried herself to sleep many a night before she’d packed her meager belongings and headed out, unsure what lay before her. The only note that she’d left her mum had been, “Please don’t worry. I have a housemaid’s job in Cornwall. I love you.” It wasn’t true except, of course, that she did love her mum. She’d had no job and no place to go. The only money she’d had to her name were the few coins she’d managed to save from money earned during the last two years by sewing handkerchiefs for wealthy ladies. She’d known that if she were frugal, the coins would last a mere month.

Now, she’d run out of money for even the worst lodging or food, and Poppy sat in the streets begging for help. It had been four days since she’d last eaten, and she had become far too weak. As she leaned against a building, an older woman stopped by her side and inquired as to her well-being. The woman had just exited the butcher’s shop with a small package in her basket.

“Are you unwell, child?” she asked, her voice laced with concern, her green eyes kind.

Knowing it may be obvious she was with child despite her thinness, Poppy looked at the older woman, immediately thinking of her own sweet mum, and tears sprung unbidden, falling from her large blue eyes. She had been so strong, but now she was crying, not for herself, but for her unborn babe. She knew the lack of food was harming the baby.

“Ah, sweet child, don’t cry,” the woman implored, concern etched across her wrinkled brow. “Can you stand, dear? Allow me to help you.” The old woman reached out an arm to help Poppy rise.

Slowly and painstakingly, Poppy was able to stand, cradling her small baby. The tears came full force as she did so and rolled down her dirty cheeks.

“Sweet child, you mustn’t cry or you will be sick. Come along, and we’ll get some proper, hot food in you. Can you walk, dear?”

Poppy nodded and hobbled along beside the older woman. She saw that there was no judgement in the old woman’s eyes, only concern and something more to which she was unable to lay a name at that moment. Slowly, the two made their way on a path that led to a small cottage situated on the outskirts of town. Poppy couldn’t help but think it the most beautiful home she’d ever seen.

Once inside the stone cottage, the woman made Poppy sit at a table while she quickly pulled together a plate of cheese, bread, and fruit as she poured a glass of milk from a pewter pitcher. While she did so, Poppy focused on a vase of beautiful golden marigolds in the center of the table. The flowers were as lovely and welcoming as the cottage itself.

“Daisy gave me fresh milk just this morning. It will be good for both you and the wee one,” the old woman said.

“I don’t know how to thank you, missus,” Poppy murmured, shame flaming her cheeks a bright red at the realization that the woman knew she was with child.

The older woman patted her hand. “Hush now. There are no thanks needed. We should always strive to help one another, and that’s exactly what I’m doing, because my dear, sweet child, you look as though you and your baby are in much need of it. I’m going to cook you some of this calf’s liver, too, that I just bought. It will help you even more.”

The old woman smiled at Poppy, and Poppy remembered thinking that it was a beautiful smile despite the fact it was wrinkled and crooked. And the woman’s eyes were aglow with a light that Poppy had seen in very few eyes in her short lifetime, especially recently.

“I am simply known as Abigail, my dear child,” the woman said. “What is your name?”

“I am Poppy. Thank you, Abigail.”

Poppy was six months pregnant, and Abigail insisted she remain, residing at the cozy cottage. Poppy wondered if Abigail was an angel sent to help her. In her mind, there was little doubt she was not.

Abigail didn’t talk much about her own family or ask many questions of Poppy, but while staying with her, Poppy learned she’d lost a daughter, Lucy, at the tender age of nine. She also knew that Abigail had a son, Angus, but he was out to sea and not expected home for some time. Poppy had visions of a weathered sailor since Abigail must be in her sixties.

Three months later, a sweet, squalling girl was born, and with Abigail’s permission, Poppy named the child Lucille Abigail or Lucy. Abigail had cried as she held the baby, remembering her own sweet Lucy that was long gone. It filled Poppy with so much joy to give something back to the woman who had saved her and her baby’s lives.

Once delivered of the baby, Poppy was able to help Abigail with more chores. The two women lived fairly isolated lives. Poppy didn’t have the courage to go into the village often for fear she would be ostracized. Abigail had made a point of telling everyone there that her widowed niece had come to live with her all the way from Wales, but Poppy still worried she’d be recognized from earlier days. Abigail had a fabulous garden that would need tending since spring was near, and Poppy could not wait to do it as she loved gardening. In the meantime, Lucy was a joy, and Abigail was very like her mother.

One night while Lucy slept, the two women sat before the blazing fire, knitting. Abigail was humming as her arthritic fingers weaved the wool into a delicate pattern.

Abigail looked up suddenly. “You know that heaven sent you to me, don’t you?” she asked.

“Yes, Abigail. I know that heaven sent you to me - and to Lucy,” she said, smiling. “And without you, Lucy and I wouldn’t be here.”

Abigail’s smile grew. “We are family, dear. We shall always be. Soon Angus will return to meet you and our precious Lucy.”

Poppy’s smile faded. What would Angus think of an unwed mother living with his mum? Would he throw them out on the street again or would he be kind? She didn’t know, but fear lodged deep within. Her experiences with men had not been the best to think well of any man.

*********

It was late June, and Poppy was gardening, kneeling on the ground, her face reddened from the sun despite wearing Abigail’s straw hat. She wanted carrots and potatoes for tonight’s stew. As she pulled them from the earth, she heard a gentleman clear his voice.

With wariness, Poppy stood, adjusting her hat before turning to greet the visitor. As she did so, surprise lit his face. It was obvious he’d thought she was Abigail. The mistake was easy to make with Abigail’s hat and her older dress that Poppy wore.

“Where’s my mum? Who are you?” He was already heading toward the cottage before she could answer.

“Abigail’s fine,” Poppy whispered as he disappeared quickly inside the house.

Angus was no weathered man. He couldn’t have been but twenty-five years of age. Maybe Abigail wasn’t as old as she’d thought. Again, she worried what Angus would think of her.

Trepidation filled Poppy’s heart as she removed her hat and gloves. Before entering the cottage, she stopped to pick a handful of golden marigolds. The flowers had welcomed her on the first day she’d entered the cottage, so perhaps they would bring her luck this day as well.

With the flowers in hand, she entered the cottage and came upon the touching sight of Angus embracing his mother, joyful tears streaming down the older woman’s face. Her son was home at last, and Poppy could see that happiness was hers. Quietly, Poppy waited. Eventually, the two parted, smiles on their faces as Abigail’s hands lovingly stroked her son’s face. Poppy looked down, feeling she was intruding on a special moment.

From the corner of the room, six month old Lucy squealed, demanding attention. Angus’ eyes widened as he turned in her direction.

Abigail quickly went to Lucy. “Angus, meet our newest addition, Lucy,” Abigail said with as much pride as Poppy felt.

Amazed, Angus reached a hand out to touch the little fingers of Lucy’s hand. He touched them lightly and smiled. Lucy cooed and smiled back.

“She’ll be walking soon,” Abigail said. “She’s a bright one.”

From the doorway, Poppy shifted uncomfortably, and Abigail immediately turned to her. “Oh goodness, Angus. This is Lucy’s mum, Poppy. The two are family now, son, and a great comfort to your lonely mum.”

Poppy shyly smiled at Angus, and then looked at her feet. Angus stared at her for a long moment and then asked “May I?” as he turned to his mother to take Lucy in his arms. He then walked toward Poppy until he stood before her. Hesitantly, Poppy looked up, surprised to find Angus smiling as Lucy tugged on his beard.

“Thank you for helping my mum,” he said with a light in his green eyes that were identical to Abigail’s. “I think the two of you must be heaven sent. Welcome to our family.”

Poppy realized very quickly that Angus was as kind-hearted as his mother. And it was only four months later that the two quietly married. It had taken very little time for them to fall in love, and Poppy often thought it had been love at first sight. She knew she’d fallen for him the moment he’d made Lucy smile, and now, she was truly a part of his family, never wishing to leave though she did still think of her first home. Maybe one day, she would return home. Until then, she’d write her mum to let her know all was well.

Poppy was happier than she’d ever been before. She now understood the importance of unconditional love and kindness. Yes, she’d been sent precisely to where she was supposed to be, and she gave thanks every day for the goodness that had come from something like an unexpected pregnancy.

Poppy rocked her sweet Lucy as Angus sat across from her, smoking his pipe while he read. Abigail knitted contentedly, working on a sweater for Lucy. Poppy now knew blessings came from all types of people and in unexpected ways, and she'd never stop being thankful for the joy that filled her home. Indeed, her heart overflowed with so much joy she felt she could both smile and weep for an eternity.