Sitting on a bench near her house, Helen cradled her face in her hands and drifted into thought. But her moment of solitude was quickly interrupted:
— Hey, why so glum?
Tilting her head to one side and squinting against the bright sun, Helen replied:
— Hey there, I’m doing alright. Just finished all the housework and thought I’d take a breather. I’m not sad, just tired, I guess you got the wrong impression.
Sitting down beside her, the neighbor, Emma, asked in a hushed tone:
— I saw Tommy from down the road stop by your place with his tractor. So, what’s the deal? Are you two an item or what?
Helen furrowed her brows and grumbled sternly:
— My, what a tongue you’ve got, Emma. Always wagging it everywhere, and then you act surprised when people call you a gossip. Keep it up, and one day someone’s going to give you a piece of their mind for asking such nosy questions.
It was clear Emma didn’t take kindly to the sarcasm:
— Oh, sure, you’re the saint here. Look at you, raising four kids all on your own without a father in sight. Who do you think the town’s going to talk about more?
Helen didn’t get a chance to respond, though she was ready to put the brazen neighbor in her place. Just then, another woman approached:
— Why are you filling her head with nonsense? Get lost. And don’t give me that look—I’m not a painting. You’re always collecting gossip, and people actually believe you’re telling the truth. Come on, Helen, let’s go inside. I need your advice.
Emma, now in an awkward spot, had no choice but to leave to avoid further trouble.
Settling into a chair in the kitchen, the woman who’d joined them said:
— Listen, Helen, my good-for-nothing husband’s been sneaking money from the house. At first, I thought I’d misplaced my paycheck, but I double-checked everything. Then, just the other day, our accountant from the office saw my Victor hanging around the store with his buddies, sipping straight from a bottle. I knew he’d slip up again—like he’s possessed or something. Any advice, Helen? I’m sorry to bring it up, but your ex wasn’t exactly a saint either.
Leaning against the kitchen table, Helen replied thoughtfully:
— Yeah, I had my share of trouble with him before he up and left. I used to search the whole village for him, sometimes finding him barely conscious in the grass. Good riddance he’s gone—life’s calmer now. The kids help with chores, and I’m hopeful we’ll manage. As for your Victor, take him to the blacksmith. He’s dealt with this kind of thing before and should know what to do.
Thanking Helen for the practical advice, the neighbor said goodbye and left. Just then, through the window, Helen caught a glimpse of Emma’s figure darting by again. That woman’s curiosity never quits. Scanning the kitchen, Helen put a pot of stew on the stove, then set the kettle to boil. Hearing lively voices from the backyard, she opened the window and called out:
— Hey, you little workers, stop flooding my garden with that hose! Come inside, it’s time for dinner.
Her words worked like a magnet, and within minutes, all four kids were in the kitchen.
Despite his young age, the youngest, only five, pitched in as best he could. After washing their hands and sitting at the table, the children dug into the hearty stew with gusto. Watching her treasures, Helen sighed and said with a smile:
— I don’t know what I’d do without you all. I’d probably waste away from loneliness.
At the word “waste,” the kids squealed in protest.
— Oh, come on, I’m just kidding. Your mom’s going to live forever.
It was a healthy dose of optimism, but Helen never told anyone how hard it was to raise four children alone. Not just financially—though things weren’t exactly rosy there either—but the sheer energy and nerves it took to keep their lives comfortable.
Working on a farm, Helen often took on extra jobs that required travel. On those days, she’d be out until evening. The local mayor arranged work with nearby towns that needed farmhands. Naturally, he pocketed most of the earnings, but he didn’t shortchange his workers either.
Over time, the kids got used to their mom being gone for the day. They learned to cook simple meals, wash clothes by hand in a basin, and tend to the garden. Helen never worried they’d go hungry—she knew her kids were capable and could outshine any city dweller.
After dinner, the children prepared for bed but, with their mom’s permission, settled in to watch cartoons. While Helen washed the dishes, their giggles over funny scenes filled the air.
Hearing their bright laughter, Helen silently thanked fate for blessing her with such wonderful children. Sure, their father played a role in that, but he chose not to stick around for their upbringing. That was his choice, and Helen didn’t judge. One day, he quietly packed his things and vanished like the wind. Still, she prayed her children wouldn’t inherit his ways.
The cartoons ended, and the kids went to their rooms. Helen’s sturdy house, inherited from her parents, had a spacious kitchen, a living room, and three bedrooms, two of which she’d turned into children’s rooms. After drying the dishes, she went to each child, kissed them goodnight, and they returned the gesture, wishing each other sweet dreams. Stepping onto the porch, Helen filled the dog’s bowl with food and set it by the steps. The dog, Max, bolted over instantly.
— Eat up, Max. You’re the best guard we’ve got.
Patting his back, Helen gazed off, lost in thought, her head tilted sadly. Suddenly, shuffling footsteps sounded beyond the gate. Max growled and abandoned his meal, trotting to the fence with a soft whimper. What could this be, and who’d come so late? Helen wondered if it was Emma snooping again. To be sure, she called out her name. Silence, only the shuffling continued. Perplexed but curious, Helen decided to open the gate. With trembling hands, she slid the metal bolt and pulled the door open. Max tried to dart out, but she shooed him back. In the dark, she couldn’t make out the figure before her. Switching on another light above the gate, its bright beam revealed a frail old man holding a cloth bundle.
As the old man adjusted his grip, something in the bundle stirred. Without thinking, as if guided by fate, Helen let him in. Crossing the threshold, he bowed low and said:
— Please, kind lady, let me stay the night. I’ve nowhere else to go.
Crossing her arms, Helen glanced at Max and replied softly:
— Of course, come inside. My kids are asleep, so we’ll need to keep our voices down.
The old man nodded and shuffled into the kitchen, where he sat and unwrapped the bundle:
— I’m sorry for dropping in like this, but I truly have nowhere to turn. My house burned down when a neighbor’s shed caught fire, and my daughter refused to take me in. I’ve been wandering, relying on the kindness of strangers, for two weeks now.
Tearing up, he lifted the blanket to reveal:
— I carry her with me. Poor child suffers, but I can’t bear to give her to an orphanage.
Helen’s eyes welled up too, but she quickly covered her mouth:
— Sorry, I got emotional. I’m raising four kids alone, and I can’t imagine someone taking them away.
The old man stood and approached her:
— You’re a strong woman. It’s a shame you don’t have a reliable man by your side. I raised my daughter alone too, until she grew up and left. I thought she’d never abandon me, but I was wrong.
Startled, as if doused with cold water, Helen said:
— Hand me the child. I’ll check on her and feed her. You can make some sandwiches and brew tea. We’ve eaten, but you must be hungry from the road.
The old man didn’t hesitate and busied himself in the kitchen. Helen didn’t ask who he was or why he had a child. She simply followed her heart, first examining the baby. The girl, about two months old, didn’t look neglected. Her mother must have fed her, however poorly. What happened next was unclear. Feeling Helen’s touch, the baby stirred and fussed. The old man started to check on her, but Helen signaled all was well.
She changed the baby’s diaper, then took milk from the fridge and asked the old man to warm it. Though her kids were older, she still had bottles and nipples handy, as if she’d known they’d be needed. Soon, the old man brought the cooled milk:
— Here, ma’am. I’d feed her myself, but I’m worn out from wandering.
Helen understood and poured the milk into a bottle:
— Go eat. I’ll join you soon. We have a lot to talk about.
The old man nodded and slipped behind a makeshift curtain. She heard him quietly stirring sugar in a mug. After feeding and rocking the baby to sleep on the couch, Helen joined him in the kitchen and asked:
— How did you end up alone with a child?
The old man shifted in his chair, sighed deeply, and answered:
— She’s my granddaughter. At first, everything was fine; my daughter, Sarah, was raising her. But then something changed. Sarah got irritable, snapping at me over nothing. It’s like she was possessed. One day, she decided to give the child to an orphanage. I objected, but then the fire happened, and we were overwhelmed. — He paused to catch his breath. — I ran around begging for housing help, but no one cared. I became homeless, like I never had a home. I thought Sarah would take me in, but she turned on me even more. A friend let me stay briefly, but I had to leave. One day, I went back to Sarah’s, and I found the baby lying on a bench outside. Then I saw through the window—God forbid—Sarah with some deadbeat.
Helen set a bowl of stew before him:
— I forgot we had leftovers. So, what happened next? How’d you end up on the streets?
The old man tasted the stew, smiled, and said:
— You’re a true homemaker, unlike my daughter. I grabbed the baby and left. It felt like Sarah wanted to get rid of her. I didn’t know what else to do, so I left that town for good to avoid her. Maybe they’re looking for the child now—I haven’t checked the news.
Shaking her head, Helen replied:
— No, it’s been quiet. If something was up, the neighbors would’ve told me. Where’s that town you left?
The old man ate more stew and said:
— About twenty miles from here, a place called Fairview. But I’m not going back, no matter what. I won’t let anyone take my granddaughter.
He cried again, and Helen handed him a handkerchief:
— Here, wipe your face. It’s all red and wet from tears.
After he finished the stew, Helen washed the dishes and pointed to the couch in the living room:
— Sleep here. I’ll stay with your granddaughter, and don’t worry, she’ll be fine. Tomorrow, we’ll figure out what to do. I think we need to visit your daughter and hold her accountable for abandoning the child.
The old man nodded:
— Alright, Helen, as you say. I just want the girl to be safe. She doesn’t even have proper papers, and Sarah never bothered to name her.
The next morning, Helen woke earlier than usual and prepared breakfast. She let the kids sleep but roused the old man:
— Time to get up. We need to prepare for the trip. By the way, you never told me your name—probably from all the stress.
The old man spread his hands and whispered:
— Sorry, dear. I’m Theodore Peterson, but you can call me Grandpa Ted, whatever’s easier.
Since he was a stranger, Helen stuck with Theodore. After breakfast, they prepared to leave.
— Theodore, we’ll take the baby. Maybe Sarah’s maternal instincts will kick in. One thing I don’t get—who was that man you saw in the window?
The old man sat, as if for the road:
— I think it’s the father, but I only saw him twice. Sarah never shared details about her personal life, and I didn’t pry. She’s grown, she knows who to be with and who to avoid.
Helen nodded and helped gather the baby’s things.
— I’ll run to the neighbor’s. He’s got a car and can drive us there quick.
Soon, they piled into the car and headed to Sarah’s address. Theodore was visibly nervous, understandably so, given the uncertainty ahead. Helen, too, felt anxious, wondering how a mother could abandon her child. Where did such callousness come from?
The ride was bumpy, but the baby slept soundly in Theodore’s arms. Stopping at the house, the driver turned to Helen:
— I’ll wait here. If anything happens, just shout.
She nodded, stepped out, and Theodore followed. As they neared the gate, a disheveled woman burst out, followed by a man. Seeing him, Helen nearly fainted—it was her ex-husband, long forgotten. Glaring at him, she demanded:
— You’ve made a mess here too, you wretch? Wasn’t four kids enough, so you decided to make more?
The man sneered, ready to assert himself, but the driver stepped in:
— Back off, now. One more step, and you’ll regret it.
The man retreated, and Helen turned to Theodore, nearly in tears:
— Is that your daughter? She looks like a vagrant! Theodore, let’s go. Don’t give her the child.
Soon, child services got wind of the situation, though they should’ve been involved from the start. Their oversight, but that’s for higher powers to judge. Helen advised Theodore on how to strip Sarah of parental rights. Gathering the necessary documents, he did just that, determined to keep his granddaughter. Surprisingly, Helen offered to take the child in herself. Learning who the mother was shook her:
— No, Theodore, my heart couldn’t bear it if that girl stayed with that fallen woman even for a day.
The decision was made, and Helen applied for guardianship. As she later said:
— Where there’s room for four kids, there’s room for a fifth. I’ll raise them all, as long as I have the strength and health. The rest will fall into place.
Helen’s children welcomed the new addition with joy and warmth, promising to care for their little sister. Theodore agreed to stay with the family, settling into the third spare room. Meanwhile, Sarah awaited trial, as did Helen’s ex-husband. They’d both answer for abandoning the child without a thought for her future.
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