Molly was barely sixteen when her mum passed away. Her dad had gone off to look for work in the city about seven years ago and never sent a word or a penny back. Almost everyone in the little Yorkshire village turned up for the funeral, lending a hand however they could. Aunt Mary, whod been Mollys godmother, kept dropping by, offering advice on what to do next. Molly scraped through her exams and landed a job at the post office in the neighbouring hamlet.
Mollys a sturdy sort of girl youd hear folks say shes got blood and milk running through her veins. Shes got a round, rosy face, a nose thats a bit bulbous, and bright grey eyes that seem to sparkle. Her long, thick brown braid reaches down to her waist.
The hottest lad in the village was Jack. Hed come back from the army two years ago and the girls couldnt keep their eyes off him, not even the city girls who popped up for the summer holidays. Hed be a stunt driver in a Hollywood flick, not a farmers helper. Hed been out with plenty of girls but wasnt in any hurry to pick a bride.
Then Aunt Mary swung by Jacks cottage and asked him to fix the fence at Mollys place shed been struggling on her own. In a place like this, you need a blokes strength for the heavy work. Molly could manage the garden, but the house was a different story.
Jack didnt need much convincing. He showed up, took a look, and started barking orders: Fetch that, run over there, hand me that. Molly obeyed without a fuss, her cheeks turning an even deeper pink, her braid swaying as she moved. When Jack got tired, she fed him a hearty bowl of stew and a strong cuppa, watching him bite into a slice of crusty black bread with his white, sturdy teeth.
He spent three days hammering the fence, and on the fourth he just strolled over for a visit. Molly cooked him a proper dinner, and before she knew it hed stayed the night and started turning up every now and then, slipping out at dawn so no one would see. You cant hide much in a village.
Ay, love, dont be so keen on him, Aunt Mary warned. He wont marry you, and if he does youll be left scrambling when the city belles come back each summer. Youll be green with envy. You deserve a proper lad.
But young love never heeds old wisdom. Soon enough, Molly realised she was pregnant. At first she thought shed caught a cold or something, but the nausea and weakness kept coming. Then, like a hammer blow, the truth hit her the child was Jacks. Shed wanted to keep it a secret, thinking it was too early to be a mum. Yet a part of her thought maybe it was a blessing she wouldnt have to face it alone. Her mother had raised her, and she could manage. Her father had never been much help, other than a few drinks. People would gossip, but theyd eventually move on.
When spring arrived and she slipped out her coat, the whole village spotted her swollen belly. They shook their heads, muttering about the mischief that had befallen the girl. Tom, the local handyman, dropped by to see what she was up to.
Just getting ready to have the baby, she said, grinning despite the red glow on her cheeks. Dont worry, Ill manage.
Jack admired her bravery, then went on his way. Summer rolled in, and the pretty city girls flooded the village, leaving Jack no time for Molly. She kept tending the garden while Aunt Mary helped with the weeding. Bending over with a big belly was hard, and shed lug half a bucket of water from the well each time. The village women joked that she was turning into a giant.
One September morning, a sharp pain ripped through her like a knife. It eased quickly, then returned, so she ran to Aunt Mary, who read the panic in her eyes straight away.
Sit tight, Im coming, Mary shouted, hurrying out of her cottage.
Molly then bolted to Toms house his old pickup was parked out front. The holidaymakers had already driven off, and Tom, whod been out drinking the night before, was still halfasleep. Mary, furious, shook him awake. Jack stared in disbelief, not knowing what to do, until he finally shouted:
Its only ten miles to the hospital! We have to get her there now, before she delivers!
On the truck? Shell go into labour on the road! a woman cried.
Then youll come with us, just in case, Tom snapped, slamming the door.
They shuffled down the cracked lane, the truck groaning over a ditch and then into another. Mary clutched a sack in the back, and when they finally hit the tarmac they sped off.
Molly huddled on the passenger seat, biting her lip to keep from crying, cradling her belly. Tom sobered up just enough to keep his hands on the wheel, his knuckles white. They made it in time. The ambulance took Molly to the local hospital, and Tom drove back, berating Jack for ruining a girls life she was alone, still a child herself, now with a baby on the way.
Molly gave birth to a sturdy little boy that night. The next morning a nurse brought a tiny bottle of milk, and Molly stared at her sons wrinkled, pink face, lips pressed together, heart fluttering with a mixture of terror and joy.
Will anyone come to fetch you? the stern doctor asked before she left.
She shrugged her shoulders, shook her head. Probably not. He sighed and walked away. The nurse wrapped the baby in a hospital blanket and told her shed have to bring him home herself.
Fergus will drive you back to the village. You cant take a coach with a newborn, the nurse snapped.
Molly thanked her, walked down the ward corridor with her head down, cheeks burning with embarrassment.
In the back of the pickup, she tucked the bundle close to her chest, worrying about how theyd manage. Her maternity pay was a pittance, and she felt sorry for herself and her innocent son. She stared at his tiny, crumpled face and let a wave of tenderness wash over her, pushing the dark thoughts away.
Suddenly the truck sputtered and stopped. A grizzled man around fifty, named Fergus, leaned out.
The rains turned the lanes into lakes. I cant get through without a tractor, he grumbled. Its about two miles to the village. Think you can manage on foot?
Molly glanced at her sleeping son, the weight of the bundle in her arms, and thought of a mythic hero. She stepped out, carefully eased the bundle onto her shoulder, and walked along the edge of the massive puddle. Her old boots splashed through ankledeep mud, one slipping and getting stuck. She paused, trying to free it, then kept going on the other foot.
When she finally saw the village lights flicker on, her feet numb from the cold, she trudged up the dry doorstep, the door creaking open. Inside, a baby cot and a pram waited, piled with tiny clothes. Tom was slumped at the kitchen table, halfasleep, a pot of boiled potatoes warming on the stove.
He lifted his head as she entered, his eyes widening at the sight of her, drenched and muddy, the baby in her arms. He rushed over, placed the child in the cot, fetched a kettle, and helped her out of her wet shoes. By the fire, a simple breakfast was waiting boiled potatoes, a slice of bread, a splash of milk.
The baby began to wail. Molly sprang to him, cradled him and, without a hint of shame, started nursing.
What did you name him? Tom asked hoarsely.
Seymour. Does that suit you? she replied, her bright eyes meeting his.
His heart clenched at the love and longing in her gaze.
A fine name. Tomorrow well register him and sort everything out.
Mum, we dont have to do that now Molly whispered, watching her son suckle.
My son needs a father. Ive had my fun, but I wont abandon my boy.
She nodded, keeping her eyes down.
Two years later a daughter arrived. They named her Hope, after Mollys own name.
It doesnt matter how many mistakes you make at the start of life the important thing is that you can always set them right.
