“Margaret, come quickly!” William called from the garden, and I abandoned the half-kneaded dough right in the mixing bowl.
I hurried onto the patio where my husband stood by the old oak tree. Beside him two small childrena boy and a girlsat in the grass between the vegetable patches, dirty, their clothes torn, their wide eyes filled with fear.
“Where did they come from?” I whispered, stepping closer.
The girl reached toward me, while the boy stayed close to her but didnt shrink away. They couldnt have been more than two or three.
“I dont rightly know,” William scratched his head. “I came out to tend the cabbages, and there they were. Like theyd sprouted from the earth itself.”
I knelt down. The girl immediately wrapped her arms around my neck, pressing her cheek to my shoulder. She smelled of dirt and something faintly sour. The boy watched me carefully but didnt move.
“What are your names?” I asked gently.
No answer. The girl only clung tighter and sniffled.
“We ought to ring the constable,” William said. “Or the council.”
“Wait,” I said, smoothing the childs tangled hair. “Lets feed them first. Look how thin they are.”
I led the girl inside; the boy followed hesitantly, clutching the hem of my dress. In the kitchen, I sat them at the table, poured milk, and buttered slices of warm bread. They ate hungrily, as if they hadnt had a meal in days.
“Could be travellers left them?” William wondered aloud.
“No,” I shook my head. “Their hair is fair, their eyes blue as cornflowers.”
Once fed, the children brightened. The boy even grinned when I gave him another slice. The girl climbed onto my lap and dozed off, fingers curled tight in my jumper.
That evening, Constable Harris arrived. He examined the children and scribbled in his notebook.
“Ill send word round the villages,” he promised. “Someone must be missing them. For now, theyll stay with you. No room at the childrens home in Winchester.”
“We dont mind,” I said quickly, cradling the sleeping girl.
William nodded. Wed been married a year but had no children of our ownuntil now.
That night, we made them a bed by the hearth. The boy lay awake, watching me. When I offered my hand, he grasped my finger lightly.
“Dont be afraid,” I whispered. “Youre safe now.”
In the morning, a soft touch woke me. I opened my eyesthe girl stood beside me, patting my cheek.
“Mummy” she murmured uncertainly.
My heart swelled. I lifted her and held her close.
“Yes, sweetheart. Mummy.”
Fifteen years passed in a blink. We named the girl Eleanorshe grew into a fine young woman with golden hair and eyes like the summer sky. Thomas became a strong lad, just like his father.
Both helped on the farm, did well in school, and were everything to us.
“Mum, I want to study at Oxford,” Eleanor announced one evening. “To be a doctor.”
“And Ill take over the farm,” Thomas added. “Dad says its time we expanded.”
William smiled and ruffled his sons hair. We never had children of our own, but never regretted itthese two were ours in every way that mattered.
Constable Harris had found no trace of their past. We became their legal guardians, then adopted them properly. They always knew the truth, but to them, we were their real parents.
“Remember when I first tried baking scones?” Eleanor laughed. “They came out like bricks!”
“And you, Tom, were terrified of the sheep,” William teased. “Said theyd trample you!”
We laughed, swapping memories. So many momentsEleanor clinging to me on her first day of school, Tom standing up to bullies who called him a foundling. The talk with the headmaster that put an end to it.
Later, William and I sat on the porch.
“Theyve turned out well,” he said, slipping an arm around me.
“Ours,” I agreed.
The next day, everything changed. A sleek black car pulled up to the gate. Out stepped a man and woman in smart clothes, faces unreadable.
“Good afternoon,” the woman said coolly. “Were here for our children. Twinsa boy and girlwho went missing fifteen years ago.”
Ice ran through my veins. William stepped beside me.
“And what brings you here?” he asked evenly.
“We were told you took them in,” the man produced a folder. “These documents prove theyre ours.”
The dates matched. But my heart refused to believe.
“You waited fifteen years,” I said quietly. “Where have you been?”
“We searched!” the woman insisted. “They were with a nannyshe took them and vanished. Only now have we found the trail.”
Just then, Eleanor and Thomas stepped outside. Seeing strangers, they hesitated.
“Mum, whats going on?” Eleanor took my hand.
The woman gasped. “Emily! And James!”
The children exchanged confused glances.
“Were your parents,” the man said urgently. “Weve come to take you home.”
“Home?” Eleanors voice wavered. She squeezed my hand. “We are home.”
“Dont be absurd,” the woman stepped forward. “Were your flesh and blood. We have an estate in Surrey. Family is familynot strangers.”
Rage burned in my chest.
“You didnt look for them,” I hissed. “Now that theyre grown, you appear?”
“We filed a report!” the man snapped.
“Show me,” William held out his hand. The man produced a paperdated just last month.
“Thats forged,” William said. “Wheres the original?”
The man faltered.
“You never searched,” Thomas cut in sharply. “Constable Harris checked. There were no reports.”
“Mind your tongue, boy!” the man barked. “Pack your thingsyoure leaving!”
“Were not going anywhere,” Eleanor stood firm beside me. “These are our parents.”
The womans face flushed. She pulled out her phone.
“Im calling the authorities. Blood matters more than papers.”
“Go ahead,” William said. “Ask for Harris. Hes kept the records all these years.”
Soon, our yard was crowdedthe constable, an investigator, even the village magistrate. Inside, I held the children close.
“We wont let them take you,” I whispered.
“Were not afraid, Mum,” Thomas said fiercely.
William returned, grim-faced.
“Forgery. The investigator spotted it straight off. When these two came to us, those parents were in Brightonhotel receipts prove it.”
“But why?” Eleanor asked.
“Harris worked it out. Theyve a failing estate, deep in debt. Needed free labour. Heard about you two and forged the lot.”
Outside, the man was led to a police car. The woman shrieked about lawyers, about rights.
“Theyre ours! Youre keeping them from us!”
Eleanor stepped forward, meeting the womans gaze.
“I found my parents fifteen years ago. They raised me, loved me, never abandoned me. Youre strangers who wanted to use us.”
The woman recoiled as if struck.
When the cars left, we stood togetherjust the four of us. Neighbours murmured as they drifted away.
“Mum, Dad thank you,” Thomas hugged us.
“Silly lad,” I stroked his hair. “Youre our children.”
Eleanor wiped her eyes.
“I used to wonderwhat if my real parents came? Now I know. Nothing would change. My real parents are here.”
That evening, we gathered at the tablejust like years before, but now the children were grown. The love, though, remainedwarm and unshakable.
“Mum, tell us again how you found us,” Eleanor said.
I smiled and begantwo little ones in the garden, how they came into our home and hearts, how we became a family.
“Granny, look!” Little Henry held up a crayon drawing.
“Lovely! Is that our house?”
“Yeah! And thats you, Grandad, Mum and Dad, Aunt Ellie and Uncle Rob!”
Eleanornow a doctoremerged from the kitchen, her apron dusted with flour, her rounded belly proof of the life growing within.
“Mum, Rob just rangtheyll be here soon. Did the apple tarts turn out?”
“Of course,” I smiled. “Your favourite.”
Years had flown. Eleanor married Robert, our farmhanda steady, kind man. Thomas studied agriculture and now ran the farm with William. Hed married Catherine, the village schoolteacher, and theyd brought Henry into the world.
“Granny, when I grow up, will I find someone in the garden too?” Henry asked.
We laughed.
“Perhaps,” I said, tousling his hair. “Life is full of surprises. Keep your heart open, and love will find its way.”
