Emily was left an orphan and raised by her mother’s sister. Besides her, Aunt Sarah brought up three daughters of her own. As a result, she treated her niece with indifference, sometimes even irritation, considering the poor child a burden. Uncle William was no better, constantly frowning and grumbling:
— We’ve got our own girls growing up, and we need to think about their marriages, gather a proper dowry. And now we’re supposed to sort out Emily’s life too? Maybe someone will take her without a dowry.
Such a person soon appeared. A year before the war, Emily turned eighteen, and her resourceful uncle arranged her marriage to a widowed neighbor, George Foster. Naturally, no one asked the poor girl’s opinion. They had taken her in, raised her, and that was thanks enough.
George was a full ten years older than Emily. His wife had died in childbirth, but the baby survived. George named him John and left him in the care of his mother. He paid little attention to the child, preferring to drink and spend time with carefree women. Marriage wasn’t on his mind; he enjoyed the free, bachelor life too much.
This could have gone on for years, but his weary mother finally had enough:
— Listen, George, how long will this go on? I’m not young anymore, and managing the household alone is exhausting. Looking after a small child and keeping up with the housework isn’t for me anymore. My health isn’t what it used to be. It’s time you got married and brought a proper woman into the family. So, start looking for a good bride.
Emily suited him. No dowry was promised, but she had a gentle, agreeable nature. With no parents and nowhere to go, she wouldn’t be demanding. The fact that the marriage lacked love seemed unimportant to him. As long as she took care of the house and the child, that was enough. For passion, he’d find someone else. There was Daisy, for instance, tired of her drunken husband, always ready to welcome him. She’d invite him to the hayloft herself. And it wasn’t just her—young widow Anna was waiting for his attention too.
When Emily heard about her impending marriage, she didn’t argue. On the contrary, she was almost glad. She’d no longer depend on her relatives and would become the mistress of her own home. She’d surely grow to love her husband, bear him many children, and be a wonderful mother.
On the day of the marriage, George showed up dressed sharply in a new suit. But he treated Emily carelessly—no kisses, no kind words. He simply took her belongings, and they signed the papers that same day.
There was no wedding celebration; George didn’t want to spend the money. He gave a different excuse—widowers weren’t supposed to celebrate. Yet that same evening, he went off to carouse with friends, saying, “Gotta drink to Emily!”
Emily stayed up all night, sitting and waiting for her husband. He stumbled back at dawn, so drunk he didn’t recognize her at first. Then he remembered and, without ceremony, dragged the frightened girl to bed.
Realizing there’d be no happiness in this marriage, Emily shed a few tears but soon resigned herself. She couldn’t go back to her aunt’s, so she had to endure. Her husband openly cheated, her mother-in-law piled on chores, and no one helped or showed her any sympathy.
Her only joy was George’s little son, Johnny. His father didn’t dote on him or play with him, so the boy grew attached to his stepmother, following her everywhere and calling her “Mama.”
In early 1942, George was drafted to the front. Seeing him off to war, poor Emily wept. Though she didn’t love him, she felt pity and feared he wouldn’t return. Little Johnny didn’t understand why Mama was so upset. After all, Papa would defeat all the enemies and come back a hero!
For a while, there was no news from George, and Emily continued to grieve. Finally, a letter arrived, but it held no warmth—just a request to send a package with treats.
Emily diligently sent packages, writing to him about his son, his mother, and village news. The Germans never reached their area, so life went on. It was tough, sometimes hungry. Emily made sure to feed her mother-in-law and Johnny, put together packages for George, and thought of herself last. She tried to stay strong, writing only good news to avoid upsetting him. But soon, tragedy struck. Her mother-in-law fell gravely ill, bedridden for three months, and then passed away. Emily couldn’t hide this and shared the sad news with George. She received no reply.
Time passed, the war ended, and George didn’t return. “The death notice must not have reached me,” Emily thought, sobbing bitterly in the kitchen.
A few years later, a new sheriff, James Sullivan, arrived in their village. He had lost his wife and daughter during the war, and life had lost meaning for him. But meeting the kind and caring Emily warmed his heart and brought some peace to his soul.
Realizing he couldn’t live without her, he gathered his courage, gave her a modest bouquet of daisies, and confessed his love. Emily blushed and couldn’t hide her smile. James’s feelings were mutual, and soon he moved in with her. Johnny grew very fond of him, eagerly listening to his war stories. Naturally modest, James, despite several medals, spoke more about his comrades than himself. The boy admired their heroism and dreamed of becoming a soldier.
One evening, Emily and James were sipping tea, discussing plans for the next day. Suddenly, they heard someone crossing the yard, cursing at a playful puppy.
— That’s George’s voice! It can’t be! I’ll go check, — Emily exclaimed in shock and rushed to open the door.
It was indeed George. He glared at his wife and James standing beside her.
— Well, I see you haven’t wasted any time. This is how you welcome your husband back from the war!
Emily tried to respond but couldn’t. She froze, paled, rolled her eyes, and fainted. Alarmed, James carried her to bed and awkwardly addressed George.
— So, you’re George. I’m James, the local sheriff. Yes, it’s an awkward situation. You’re the man of this house, I understand. But the war ended five years ago. Emily didn’t think you were alive. It’s been hard for her, and the boy needed a father.
— And you were happy to take advantage of someone else’s misfortune! Moved right in, all smug! I suffered so much, spent years getting home—wounded, exhausted, sick. Get out, now! And don’t let me see you again, got it?
— Fine, I’ll go. But you listen—if you lay a hand on Emily, you’ll answer for it. That’s a promise, — the sheriff said sharply.
George flinched, then shrieked hysterically:
— Don’t threaten me! I fought through the whole war! Led the charge, fearless! You can’t scare me, understand?
Sensing cowardice in his voice, James calmed slightly and spoke softly to Emily.
— Don’t worry, he won’t touch you. Rest, gather your strength, try to sleep. I’ll come back tomorrow morning, and we’ll figure this out.
Stepping outside, James saw Johnny returning from a friend’s house and told him about his father’s return. The boy jumped with joy, rushed into the house, and threw his arms around his father. But George pushed him away, scowled, and snapped:
— Don’t bother me! Let me rest and eat. And you, wife, why are you lying there? Get up and set the table!
Seeing Emily couldn’t get up, he waved his hand dismissively and went to the kitchen. While he ate, a heartbroken Johnny quietly cried. Curiosity got the better of him, though, and he opened his father’s rucksack. He couldn’t believe his father came empty-handed, thinking there must be gifts inside. He rummaged through the bag and found a small notebook at the bottom. Johnny turned it over in his hands, about to put it back, when George returned and shouted:
— You little brat, don’t touch my things! I said don’t touch them!
Frightened, Johnny dropped the notebook. Two photos fell out, landing near Emily’s bed. She silently picked them up and studied them. In one, George wore a cook’s hat, standing by a field kitchen. In the other, he hugged a somber, thin woman, with a little girl sitting nearby.
— I see, — Emily said sternly, smirking at her husband. — So this is your heroism, in a cook’s hat. First in the charge, you say? Then straight home. But you met someone else along the way. Lived your life, didn’t give us a thought. Fine, you don’t need me, I get it. But how could you abandon your own son? And now you act like the victim? Think I’ll beg forgiveness and cater to you? I was a fool before, putting up with your affairs. Not anymore. I won’t live with you, and I don’t care what the village says. They’ll gossip and forget.
Her outrage gave her strength. She leapt from the bed, shoved her startled husband aside, and ran out of the house.
The next day, George went to register with the military office and told the truth. After the war, he met another woman and lived with her, later having a daughter. He didn’t say why he left her, but people could guess. His common-law wife couldn’t tolerate his constant cheating and kicked him out. Not everyone was as patient as Emily.
For a while, James and Emily rented a room from an elderly widow, Mrs. Peterson. With the support of the community, they built a sturdy house, settled in, and started a large homestead. They later had two wonderful children—a son, then a daughter. They lived peacefully and happily, in love and harmony.
Johnny didn’t stay with his father. Emily was his mother in every way, so he left with her. He never regretted it—she and James treated him like their own. Of course, he thought of his father and visited him often. But George was always drunk, yelling at his son. He should have been proud—Johnny excelled in school, graduated with honors from university, and became an aviation engineer. Years later, he tracked down his younger sister, and they quickly became close.
As for George, he lived out his days alone, a bitter, drunken, and resentful man.
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