Unexpected Joy

Poppy stood outside in the moonlight, shivering a bit at the unexpected cold of the late summer weather. Pulling her shawl more tightly around her shoulders, she stared into the stone cottage before her, hidden where she stood behind the massive oak tree, its heavy branches masking her image. How she longed to enter and see the people who resided therein – how much she missed them - but she knew she could not go inside. No, she could never return home. Despite the fact that things had now turned around completely for her, and she had a home and a family who loved her, she could never return to her original home. If her mum and siblings knew the truth, for the rest of her life she would wear the shame for what she had done and it would carry over to her family. She had done the forbidden: she had had a baby out of wedlock.



It had been one year and eleven months since Poppy had seen her mum and five siblings. She’d left home once her stomach had begun to swell, fearing others would notice her condition. She did not want to bring shame and embarrassment to her widowed mum, who was already struggling and working so hard as a laundry woman to secure a roof over their heads. No, it wouldn’t do for her to have stayed and broken her dear mum’s heart with the news of her pregnancy. So, she had instead struck out on her own even though at the time, she didn’t know where she would go or to whom she would turn for help.

The year was 1884, and Poppy was only seventeen years old when she learned of her pregnancy. She knew she wasn’t ready to be a mother, but that was not going to stop her from becoming one. She had loved Jamie and foolishly believed all the lies he’d told her before she’d lain with him. In her naiveté, she had assumed Jamie would be eager to marry her and excited about the wee one, but foolishness had been hers to claim as her own. Jamie had refused to even acknowledge that the baby was his. Instead, he had cruelly accused her of hopping from man to man and called her names that to this day, she would not repeat even to herself. She had cried herself to sleep many a night before she had packed her meager belongings and headed out, unsure what path lay before her. The only note that she’d left her sweet mum had been, “Mummy, please don’t worry. I have a housemaid job in Cornwall. I’ll be back one day. I love you mummy.” Of course, none of it was true beyond the fact that she did love her mum. She had no job and no place to go. The only money she had to her name were the few coins she had earned in the last two years from sewing handkerchiefs for young girls who were to be married. If she were frugal, the coins would cover about a month’s lodging and food.

It was when she’d run out of money even for the worst lodging and the least amount of food, that she’d sat in the streets with her hand out, begging for help. It was on the fourth day that she had not eaten beyond a glass of milk someone had given her in pity, and it was then that she had become far too weak to even ask for help. As she leaned against a building, an older woman had stopped by her side to inquire as to her well-being. The woman had just exited the butcher’s shop and carried a small package.

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

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

“Ah, sweet child, don’t cry,” the woman had implored Poppy, concern clearly etched across the wrinkled face and deep within the green orbs. “Can you stand, dear? Here let me help you.” She reached out an arm in hopes of helping Poppy rise to her feet.

Slowly and painstakingly, Poppy was able to stand, cradling her small baby as she did so and holding onto the woman’s arm tightly. The tears came full force as she did so and rolled down her reddened, dirty cheeks.

“Sweet child, you mustn’t cry – it will make you sick. Come along, child, and we’ll get some good hot food in you. Can you walk a bit?”

Poppy had nodded and hobbled along beside the older woman. She still remembered that there was no judgement in the old woman’s eyes, only concern and something more that she had not been able to lay a name to at that moment in time. Slowly, the two had made their way on a path that led out of the town to a small cottage situated on the outskirts of the village. Poppy remembered thinking it was the most beautiful home she’d ever laid eyes on, with the exception of her own, which was very far away, of course.

Once inside, the woman made Poppy sit at the table while she pulled together a plate of cheese, bread, and fruit from the cupboard and then poured a very large glass of milk from a pewter pitcher.

“Daisy, my cow, gave me this fresh milk just this morning, dear. It will be good for both you and the wee one.”

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

The older woman had patted her on the hand. “Hush now. There are no thanks needed. The good Lord says we should help one another, and that’s exactly what I’m doing, because my dear, sweet child, you look as though you and your unborn baby are in much need of it. And I’m going to cook you up some of this calf’s liver I just bought. It will help you even more than that bit of milk and cheese I just gave you.”

She smiled at Poppy, and Poppy remembered thinking that it was the most beautiful smile she’d ever seen despite the fact it was wrinkled and crooked. And the woman’s green eyes were aglow with a light that Poppy had seen in very few people’s eyes in her short lifetime, and most especially, not very recently.

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

“I am Poppy. Thank you for your kindness, Abigail.”

Poppy had been six months pregnant at the time, and Abigail had insisted that she remain with her, residing at the cozy cottage where shelter and food would not be a problem. Poppy had wondered if Abigail was an angel that had been sent to help her. In her mind, there was little doubt that she was not as she was one of the kindest and sweetest souls Poppy had ever encountered.

Abigail didn’t talk much about her own family or ask many questions of Poppy, but while staying with her, Poppy had learned that Abigail had 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 to return home for some many months. Poppy had visions of a weathered, older gentleman since Abigail must be in her late sixties.

Three months later, a sweet little squalling girl had been born, and with Abigail’s permission and the greatest of respect, Poppy had named the child Lucy: Lucille Abigail. Abigail had cried as she held the precious baby the first time, remembering her own sweet child that had long departed the earth. It had filled Poppy with so much happiness to give something back to the woman who had saved her life and that of her unborn baby.

Once delivered of the baby, Poppy was able to help Abigail with more chores and yardwork. The two women lived fairly isolated lives, and Poppy had not really gotten the courage to go into the village much for fear she would be ostracized or that her condition would affect the way the villagers treated Abigail. Abigail had made a point of telling everyone in the village that her widowed and expectant niece had come to live with her all the way from Scotland, but Poppy still worried the villagers would recognize her from her earlier days when she'd lived briefly at the Bawdy Bear Inn and then on the streets.

Abigail had a fabulous garden that would soon need tending since Spring was just around the corner, and Poppy could not wait to get her hands into the earth. She loved gardening, and she was also anxious to help Abigail in more ways than she’d been able to thus far. Although Poppy thought of home often, she did not miss it nearly so much thanks to Lucy - and Abigail, who was very much both like a mother and a grandmother in every possible way.

One night, as Lucy lay sleeping in her cradle, the two women sat before the blazing warmth of the fire, knitting quietly. Abigail was humming contentedly as her arthritic fingers weaved the wool into a delicate pattern.

Abigail stopped humming and looked up suddenly. “You know that the sweet Lord sent you to me, don’t you, Poppy?” she asked.

Poppy stopped her knitting as well. “Yes, Abigail. I know that the sweet Lord sent you to me and to Lucy,” she said and smiled. “And without you, Lucy and I wouldn’t be here on this lovely night.”

Abigail’s smile grew. “We are family, my dear. And we shall always be. And soon, Angus will return, and he will meet you and our precious Lucy.”

Poppy’s smile faded ever so slightly. What would Abigail’s son think of an unwed mother living with his own mum? Would he throw she and Lucy out on the street again or would he be as kind as Abigail? She did not know, but a fear lodged deep within her heart. Her experiences with men, including her own father, had not been the best from which to form an opinion about any man.

*********

It was late June and Poppy was tending the garden, kneeling on the ground, her face streaked with dirt and reddened from the sun despite Abigail’s straw hat that she wore. She was determined to have carrots and cabbage to go with the night’s stew and was pulling them up with a force with which to be reckoned when she heard a gentleman clear his voice behind her.

With a bit of wariness, Poppy straightened and stood, adjusting her hat before turning around to greet the visitor. As she did so, surprise lit his face.

It was obvious that he had mistakenly thought she was Abigail. It was an easy mistake to make since she wore Abigail’s hat and one of Abigail's old dresses that had been slightly altered to fit her slender frame.

“Who are you?” he asked in surprise. “Where’s Abigail? Where's my mum? Is she all right?” He was already heading toward the cottage before Poppy could venture forth with an answer.

“She’s fine. Abigail is fine,” she whispered behind him as he disappeared quickly into the cottage.

Angus was no weathered, older man. He could not have been more twenty-five years of age, Poppy thought to herself. Maybe Abigail wasn’t quite as old as she’d thought. She couldn't help but wonder if Angus would think poorly of her and want her gone now that he was home.

Steeling herself, trepidation filled Poppy’s heart as she slowly removed her hat and gloves before heading toward the house. As she entered through the front door, she came upon the touching sight of Angus and his mother still embracing, tears streaming down the older woman’s face as she beamed with happiness. Her son was home at last, and Poppy could see that little could have made her happier.

Quietly, Poppy waited. Eventually, the two parted, smiles on each other’s faces as Abigail’s hands lovingly stroked her son’s bearded face. Poppy looked down at the floor, feeling as though she was intruding on a very special moment.

From the corner of the room, six month old Lucy gave a squeal, demanding attention. Angus’ eyes flew wide, a new awareness in them, as his head spun in the direction of the baby.

Abigail laughed and quickly headed to pick up the baby. “Angus, dear, please meet our newest addition. This is Lucy,” Abigail said with as much pride as Poppy herself felt for the child.

Amazement on his face, Angus reached a large hand out to touch the little fingers of Lucy’s hand. He squeezed them lightly and smiled at her. Lucy cooed and smiled in response. Poppy's heart warmed at the sight.

“She’ll be walking before you know it, son,” Abigail said. "Oh, but she's a bright one."

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

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

“Thank you for helping my mum,” he said quietly and with a light in his green eyes that was remarkably identical to Abigail’s. “I think that this sweet little Lucy is heaven sent for all of us. Welcome to our little family.”

Without a doubt, Poppy realized very quickly that Angus was as kind-hearted and loving as his mother. And it was only four months after his return from sea, that the two quietly married. It had taken very little time for them to fall in love with one another. In fact, Poppy often wondered if it had been love at first sight. She knew she’d fallen hopelessly in love with Angus’ kind heart the moment he had picked up Lucy and welcomed them to the family that first day. And now, she was truly a part of his and Abigail’s family and never wished to leave, even though now and then, she did often ponder the wisdom of taking the baby and heading home to see her true mum. But she feared the risk was too great, and that she would see Jamie. Her disappearance from home would be obvious and coincided too greatly with Lucy’s age. Maybe one day, far down the road, she would be able to return home, but she doubted it. Until then, she would write her own mum to let her know she was well.

Still, despite everything, Poppy was at peace and happier than she had ever been in her short lifetime. She now knew the importance and the reality of true love, kindness, and family. Yes, the sweet Lord had sent her precisely to where she was supposed to be, and she gave thanks every single morning and night for the good fortune that had come from something so unexpected and something that many would have considered unfortunate.

Poppy rocked her sweet Lucy as Angus sat across from her before the fire and smoked his pipe as he read. His mother, Abigail, knitted contentedly, working on a sweater she was making for Lucy. Poppy was aware that blessings came from all types of people and in all kinds of surprising ways, shapes, and sizes. And she would never stop being thankful for all the many blessings that now filled her heart and home. Indeed, her heart overflowed with so much unexpected joy she could have wept for an eternity.