| General Fiction posted December 27, 2024 |
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When two lost souls come together
New Beginnings
by Begin Again
It was the last day of the year, and the air held the crisp chill of winter. In the small town of Whipton Creek, the orphanage was bustling with its annual tradition — Adoption Day. It was a bittersweet celebration meant to give the children a chance to start the new year in a new home. Families came early, looking for strong boys to work in the fields or sturdy girls to help with chores. By mid-afternoon, the rooms had emptied.
Mary Ann Lacey, recently widowed, arrived late, just as planned. She tied her cart by the gate, hoping to avoid the watchful eyes and wagging tongues of the town gossips.
She adjusted her hat, its brim frayed but serviceable. Her heart raced as she approached the orphanage steps, conscious of Mrs. Hendricks's hawkish gaze.
"You're late," Mrs. Hendricks barked from the doorway, arms crossed over her stout frame. "Adoption started an hour ago. Just one left, a boy, but I wouldn't waste my time if I were you."
"If you don't mind, I'll see him."
Mrs. Hendricks sniffed dismissively. "He's not worth even looking at. He's so scrawny the wind would blow him right off his feet."
Mary Ann's jaw tightened. She knew the kind of children the townsfolk sought — strong boys and girls for working the fields and chores. But Mary Ann wasn't here for labor. Her lonely cottage needed more than work — it required laughter, warmth, and love.
Mary Ann's eyes narrowed. "I'll see him, anyway."
Mrs. Hendricks huffed, muttering something about wasted time, but led Mary Ann down the dim hallway to the playroom. There, amid scattered toys and a lingering scent of porridge, sat a small boy on a wooden stool. His legs swung idly, barely reaching the floor. His clothes hung loosely on his slight frame. He bowed his head, letting his dark curls frame his face.
Mrs. Hendricks' sharp call startled him. He jumped and stood, his wide eyes darting nervously between Mary Ann and the floor. "Leland," Mrs. Hendricks said with a sigh, "this is Mrs. Lacey. She's here to see you."
Mary Ann knelt at his level, ignoring the ache in her knees. "What's your name, sweetheart?"
"L-Leland," he managed, his voice barely above a whisper.
Mary Ann reached out gently, brushing a stray curl from his forehead. "Well, Leland, my name's Mary Ann." Her voice softened as she added, "How would you like to come home with me?"
His wide eyes filled with disbelief. "M-me?" he stuttered.
"There wouldn't be other children, and my husband passed away. I'd understand if you'd rather not." She paused, momentarily wondering if she was making a mistake — regardless of her small homestead's beautiful surroundings, it got lonely. Shaking away her doubts, she added, "Patch keeps me company. He was my husband's dog, but now he watches over me. I'm sure he'd love to play with you."
Leland's eyes widened in surprise, then quickly clouded with doubt. "B-but I'm not strong enough to work in the fields," he blurted, his words tumbling out in a rush.
Mary Ann smiled, her voice warm and steady. "That's okay. I don't need anyone to work in the fields."
"I'm not big enough to carry water, either," he said, almost pleading.
"That's okay, too," she replied softly.
Leland hesitated, struggling to find another excuse. Before he could, Mary Ann reached into her pocket and pulled out a small bundle wrapped in cloth. She carefully unwrapped it, revealing a single cookie.
"I thought you might like this," she said, holding it out to him.
Leland stared at the cookie, then at her. "Where's yours?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Oh, I only brought one," Mary Ann said.
Leland hesitated, then broke the cookie in half. His small hand trembled as he shyly offered her the largest piece, a simple act of sharing that touched Mary Ann deeply.
Her chest tightened, and tears welled in her eyes. She took the piece and softly replied, "Thank you."
His hands fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, and his gaze darted between her and the floor. Then, for the first time, he smiled — a shy, fleeting curve of his lips that transformed his entire face.
She knew then that this boy, who thought he had nothing to give, had already given her everything. "Let's go home, Leland," she said.
Mrs. Hendricks snorted. "Suit yourself, but don't say I didn't warn you."
Mary Ann ignored her, taking Leland's small, trembling hand in hers. His fingers tightened around hers as though afraid she might change her mind.
That afternoon, as they rode home in the cart, Mary Ann felt a flicker of joy she hadn't known in years. It didn't matter that he was small, stuttered, or that others had passed him over. In her heart, he was perfect.
And so was she, for the first time in a long while.
Mary Ann Lacey, recently widowed, arrived late, just as planned. She tied her cart by the gate, hoping to avoid the watchful eyes and wagging tongues of the town gossips.
She adjusted her hat, its brim frayed but serviceable. Her heart raced as she approached the orphanage steps, conscious of Mrs. Hendricks's hawkish gaze.
"You're late," Mrs. Hendricks barked from the doorway, arms crossed over her stout frame. "Adoption started an hour ago. Just one left, a boy, but I wouldn't waste my time if I were you."
"If you don't mind, I'll see him."
Mrs. Hendricks sniffed dismissively. "He's not worth even looking at. He's so scrawny the wind would blow him right off his feet."
Mary Ann's jaw tightened. She knew the kind of children the townsfolk sought — strong boys and girls for working the fields and chores. But Mary Ann wasn't here for labor. Her lonely cottage needed more than work — it required laughter, warmth, and love.
Mary Ann's eyes narrowed. "I'll see him, anyway."
Mrs. Hendricks huffed, muttering something about wasted time, but led Mary Ann down the dim hallway to the playroom. There, amid scattered toys and a lingering scent of porridge, sat a small boy on a wooden stool. His legs swung idly, barely reaching the floor. His clothes hung loosely on his slight frame. He bowed his head, letting his dark curls frame his face.
Mrs. Hendricks' sharp call startled him. He jumped and stood, his wide eyes darting nervously between Mary Ann and the floor. "Leland," Mrs. Hendricks said with a sigh, "this is Mrs. Lacey. She's here to see you."
Mary Ann knelt at his level, ignoring the ache in her knees. "What's your name, sweetheart?"
"L-Leland," he managed, his voice barely above a whisper.
Mary Ann reached out gently, brushing a stray curl from his forehead. "Well, Leland, my name's Mary Ann." Her voice softened as she added, "How would you like to come home with me?"
His wide eyes filled with disbelief. "M-me?" he stuttered.
"There wouldn't be other children, and my husband passed away. I'd understand if you'd rather not." She paused, momentarily wondering if she was making a mistake — regardless of her small homestead's beautiful surroundings, it got lonely. Shaking away her doubts, she added, "Patch keeps me company. He was my husband's dog, but now he watches over me. I'm sure he'd love to play with you."
Leland's eyes widened in surprise, then quickly clouded with doubt. "B-but I'm not strong enough to work in the fields," he blurted, his words tumbling out in a rush.
Mary Ann smiled, her voice warm and steady. "That's okay. I don't need anyone to work in the fields."
"I'm not big enough to carry water, either," he said, almost pleading.
"That's okay, too," she replied softly.
Leland hesitated, struggling to find another excuse. Before he could, Mary Ann reached into her pocket and pulled out a small bundle wrapped in cloth. She carefully unwrapped it, revealing a single cookie.
"I thought you might like this," she said, holding it out to him.
Leland stared at the cookie, then at her. "Where's yours?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Oh, I only brought one," Mary Ann said.
Leland hesitated, then broke the cookie in half. His small hand trembled as he shyly offered her the largest piece, a simple act of sharing that touched Mary Ann deeply.
Her chest tightened, and tears welled in her eyes. She took the piece and softly replied, "Thank you."
His hands fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, and his gaze darted between her and the floor. Then, for the first time, he smiled — a shy, fleeting curve of his lips that transformed his entire face.
She knew then that this boy, who thought he had nothing to give, had already given her everything. "Let's go home, Leland," she said.
Mrs. Hendricks snorted. "Suit yourself, but don't say I didn't warn you."
Mary Ann ignored her, taking Leland's small, trembling hand in hers. His fingers tightened around hers as though afraid she might change her mind.
That afternoon, as they rode home in the cart, Mary Ann felt a flicker of joy she hadn't known in years. It didn't matter that he was small, stuttered, or that others had passed him over. In her heart, he was perfect.
And so was she, for the first time in a long while.
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