Dreamcatcher

Dream Catcher

“Again? Millie, Millie! Wake up, or she’ll wake the little ones!” Ellie slid from her bed, shaking her sisters shoulder. Hold her! When will she settle down

Sophie tossed and turned, her moans filling the roomlong and mournful, making the air itself tense, a chill brushing the back of your neck.

“This is like a dreadful horror film,” Millie muttered, pulling her blanket off and shuffling half-asleep to Sophies bed. She wrapped Sophie in her own blanket, lay beside her, and quietly sang:

“Hush, little baby, dont you cry” Then, she paused, shook her head. Ellie! Thats no use; shes burning up! Go wake Mum!

Ellie frowned, hesitating. But, what could she do? Sophie was just as much a child to their mum as the rest. Mum would be furious if they hid anything from her. With a sigh, Ellie walked into their parents room.

The house was still, no sound but the gentle whir of the night. Ellie stroked her baby brother Harrys shoulderhis cot pushed next to her parents bedand gently tapped her mum Jane.

“Mum?”

Brown eyes like Ellies flashed open at once, Mums warm hand closing round her daughters.

“What is it, sweetheart?”

“Mum, Sophies not well! Shes hot as an iron!”

Harry gave a soft whimper, and, as if by instinct, Jane began to hum the same gentle lullaby as Millie.

Her hand guided Ellies to Harrys side. “Rock him a bit, love, so he doesnt wake up. Ill go check Sophie”

Despite her aching back from Sundays gardening mishap, Jane slipped out of bed, tiptoeing quietly through the darkness.

This house was her pridea home she’d fought for with her husband James when others said it wasnt worth the hard work, or that theyd be better off in a flat. Relatives had scoffed, not hiding their harsh words: “Why bother with a house like this? You havent even any children yet!”

The sting of their words burrowed deep, her head lowering as if pushed down by unfeeling hands. Not meant to be a mother? Then why dream, why keep her chin up? James had always been her anchor, wrapping her up, reassuring her:

“Dont pay them any mind. They dont know a thing.”

“But arent they right? What if we never have kids” Jane would begin.

“Lets see what fate brings,” James would insist, jaw clenched. “Ill do everything for your dream to come true.”

London clinics, expenses, optimismnone of it mattered when specialists only shrugged: “Were not miracle workers.”

Jane, heavy-hearted, retreated further into herself. Only when James mentioned building a house did she voice her deepest fears.

“Not with me, James I love you, but you deserve a family. If I cant give you children, Ill file for divorce.”

“Youll do nothing of the sort,” James had snapped, his mug hitting the table so hard hed burnt his fingers, dancing about the kitchen in pain. “Who says youre leaving me? I want you. If we have children, wonderful; if not, well accept our path. Not everyone is destined to be a parent.”

But Janes worries didnt fade. What if James changed his mindwhat if, one day, alone with his regrets, it was too late?

Yet James always held firm. Hed waited too long for his joy.

Jane had married once before, at nineteenmore to escape her mothers control and constant criticism, than for love.

Her mother, Margaret, could be adoring one daysinging Janes praises to friendsand cold, even cruel, the next.

“How did I end up with such a disappointment?” Margaret would ask. “Sometimes, Jane, youre a genius. Other times, what goes on in your head?”

Had Jane known, shed have answered. Instead shed lower her eyes, shrinking beneath that withering gazestill loving her mum, because how could she not?

Asked point blank, Jane would have said, “Of course I love my mother.” But growing older, she noticed: education, career, a long list of friendsnone of this made someone warm or truly kind. Margaret charmed everyoneexcept her own daughter.

“Mum, why dont you love me?” Jane had asked, days before her first wedding, caught off guard by her mothers sneer at her simple white dress.

“Dont talk nonsense.”

“But nothing I do is ever right”

“Then do it right! Im your mother, not some adoring aunt. Its my job to scold a bit! One day, when youre a mum yourself, youll understand how hard it is to love a child and show them they’re precious…”

Jane had left that conversation realising what her family valuedand, speaking with aunts later, she confirmed it. Her parents had longed for a son; her arrival was met with quiet disappointment.

“Honestly, the Middle Ages!” Jane grumbled, wandering through Hyde Park. “A boy would be ideal but a girlisnt? Ridiculous When I have children, Ill love them all the same. I hope I dont turn out like that.”

Janes first marriage ended in under two years. A miscarriage sent her husband packing, not even waiting for her return from hospital. Her parents flat was empty, and her mother drove her home, chattering, “Well rent yours out; youll come back to us, finish uni, and well find you a proper husband. Youre youngyou chose wrongly, and now youll pay the price.”

Jane asked her father for help instead. He set up an allowance and told Margaret to butt out. Margaret, uncharacteristically, agreedto his face at least. She only protested once, when Jane started work and turned down parental support.

“Keep saving on her behalf. Shell need money someday. Make sure she has it, even if she says no,” Margaret urged her husband.

Jane finished her law degree, took a position as a solicitor, but her private life crumbled. She was decent-looking, yet men rarely noticed herthe spark had dulled, an ember barely glowing.

The reason was clear. After the early birth miscarriage, doctors explained she would likely never become a mother.

The news broke her. She lived on autopilot, and family friends noticed her growing distance.

“Whats wrong with Jane?” Margarets sister, Auntie Barbara, confronted her.

“Nothing at all!”

“Look at her! She looks like a statue. Her eyes are dead!”

Jane, unaware of these conversations, didnt at first notice the flurry of parties, weekend gatherings at relatives cottages, and the sudden appearance of eligible bachelors, all orchestrated by concerned aunts.

At one such event, Jane met James.

He wasnt a guest, but a local cabbie whod brought her aunts family down from Worcester. Jane snapped that her patience had run out for these endless family events and stood waiting at the gate in her white winter coat, commanding, “To the city, please!”

Why that day was the last straw, she didnt knowjust that she would no longer stand for being paraded out, expected to recite poems for Mummy, as children in her family always had.

James asked no questions, dropped her at her flat, and, when she panicked, searching for her purse, he only grinned:

“Left your bag at the house?”

“Yes, just my keys, but”

“No matter. Give me a smile and were square.”

Jane shook her head, insistent. “Wait here, Ill pay you back right away!”

But he was already gone. She stood under the archway, puzzled, uncertain what fate had dealt her.

Her mother raised a fuss about her quick exither father only remarked that next time, she might warn someone first so the family wouldnt panic.

The next morning, James waited outside in his cab. Jane, heading to work, did not flinchsomehow, it felt right.

“Hop in!” he called.

Sturdy, handy, and cheerful, he was a head shorter than Jane in her heels; she ducked inside, then dashed back up to swap for flats before their ride.

So began their romance.

Jane hesitated over her feelings. A solicitors daughter and a taxi driver? Her family would never understand. Yet there was something warm, gentle, quietly gleaming about him.

Her mother had her sayloudly and for a long time.

“Ill disown you! Ill leave you with nothing!” Margaret raged. But Jane had found her own will, for the first time knowing precisely what she wanted.

She told James well before their wedding:

“I may never be able to give you children. You understand?”

“Are families only about making babies? I love you, Jane, always will, no matter what,” he answered. “My father raised me to keep my word. You can rely on that.”

They married quietly in London, holding a small gathering in Jamess sleepy village. Janes mother refused to come; her father made an appearance only at the end, tight-lippeda show of quiet support Jane deeply appreciated.

Yet from the start, she found comfort with Jamess parents, John and Martha. John offered building advice for their home, and Martha, with her open heart, drew Jane into the family.

“Shes so thinJames, feed her up!” Martha declared. “If Jane cant cook, you know what to dotake care of her! Lifes too short for moping. Come here, help melets make some jam. Men cant be trusted not to eat all the berries before cooking!”

Jane found herself smiling, at home in a kitchen wrapped in warmthno need for show, only honesty. She loved Marthas simple wisdom, the way she shared her treasured recipe for strawberry jam as if it were the family crown jewel.

Martha, learning Janes story, just squeezed her and said, Sometimes the path isnt ours to know, my dear. But happiness will comeyoull see.

“Even though we have no house yet?”

“You will. And you picked the right man. Just be there for him. Marriage often depends on the woman.”

Jane took those words to heart.

Martha, herself adopted, suggested a path for them when Jane considered giving James up.

If you cant have your own, adopt! My parents werent blood, but they were more real to me than anyone elseuntil I was married with my own son.

Jane was stunned and grateful, realising love had little to do with blood.

The house went up quicklyJames, with his new haulage firm, worked weekends at the site, and her own career as a conveyancer ticked along as she dreamed of family.

They soon finished the fostering course, and when Martha called with news, Janes life changed overnight.

The Smiths lost their home in a fire at the end of our lane,” Martha told her. “Their mum signed the children over to Social Servicesgood kids Ive known since they were born. I know you wanted one, not three at once but these arent strangers. Its a lot, but think it overthey deserve a home, not an institution.

Within hours, Jane and James were on their way.

Millie, seven, and Ellie, six, were shy at first, but quickly decided Jane was all right. “Don’t worry; youre not bad at all,” they assured her. Two-year-old Sam took to calling her Mummy within weeks.

Her family, predictably, objected. “Three children, with a background like that? How were you approved?” Margaret sputtered.

“Mum, Im a lawyer,” Jane replied, voice firmer than ever before. “I followed your rules long enough. Now its my turn to make decisions.”

Margaret blustered, but Jane ignored her, sliding the phone away.

Finally, Jane realized shed truly become an adult.

Years passed in a blurchildren blossomed; Jane, now working part-time from home, juggled her career and her new role. She discovered she was pregnant only months later, almost dismissing fatigue as stress until James marched her to the doctor.

Sheer disbelief washed over her when it was confirmed. Looking at the ultrasound, tears streaming, she could hardly accept her dream had come true.

Henry was born that winter, bringing delight and chaos. Millie and Ellie barely blinked over a new sibling. One more, one less, as long as we help Mum, they reasoned. Only Sam was jealous, clinging to her for comfort.

It took much love and reassurance for Sam to understand he was still loved, but just as he did, fate intervened. Sophie entered their familya cousins daughter, orphaned after terrible events up north. Jane took her in without question, feeling her heart expand even as the family grew.

Sophie was deeply traumatised, waking the house with nightly screams. Jane, alert to the smallest noise, would cradle Sophie, whispering, Youre safe, darling. No one will hurt you here.”

“Will Mummy come soon?” Sophie would ask, squeezing Janes hand tight.

Gently, Jane replied, sidestepping the pain: “We spoke about this, sweetheart. Youll be with us now. And Mummy Shed stop, following advice not to press the truth. Eventually, Sophie asked, “Shes gone, isnt she?” Jane nodded. With a quiet sob, Sophie finally let her new sisters hug her.

But the nightmares would not leave Sophie. Millie and Ellie wanted to help, but gifts and clothes meant little.

It was Sam who sparked the idea. Martha had given him a book about Native Americans, and he brought it home, insisting, “We need to make a dream catcher for Sophie! Her bad dreams will get caught in its web and shell stop crying!”

The siblings set to work, Jane procuring threads and beads, and with feathers from Marthas hens, they wove their charm. Sam whispered as he selected each bead: “Blue, like Sophie’s favourite, and red, like mine. Yellow for Millie, white for Ellie”

They waited to reveal the finished gift, hoping it would work, but Sophies nightmares continued.

One night, Sophie woke screaming, reaching for Jane, “Dont send me away!”

Jane hurried over, shocked at her feverish skin. “My dear! Youre burning up!”

“Not even to him?” Sophie begged.

“To whom, darling?”

“My dad” Only then did Jane fully understand how much Sophie had seen and endured.

Jane called the GP, James fetching water and medicine, and the family rallied through the night. When the paramedics arrived, finding Jane disheveled in a damp nightgown holding a sleeping girl, they only smiled reassuringly and said, “Shell be finecall your doctor in the morning.”

At dawn, Jane woke to find the dream catcher hung above the bed.

“Whats this?” she whispered to Ellie, still watching over Sophie.

“A dream catcher, Mum! We finished it while you slept. It was Sams ideahe learnt it from his book. It keeps bad dreams away. But I think Sophie already has one.”

“Whys that?” Jane smiled.

“Because shes holding your hand and didnt scream anymore. You chased her nightmares away!”

“Maybe. But you know what? Shes got more than one dream catcher.”

“How do you mean?”

“You, Millie, Sam, Daddy, me, Grannie when she stays, Grandad on weekends Plenty. All here, all home, all ours.”

From the kitchen, the sounds of laughter and chatter drifted upMartha had brought lunch, Margaret was making tea. Sam ran in to say food was ready, then burrowed under Janes arm for a cuddle.

As Jane cradled Sophie, smiling with relief, she thought: Love is the only cure for fear. You need a warm home, not perfection. In the end, no one ever truly grows up until they learn to loveand let themselves be loved in return.

All was as it should be at lasteveryone in their place, surrounded by laughter and love. Perhaps they werent finished growing their family just yetwho could say? Only time would tell. But whatever the storms, home is where you make your family, and love is the greatest dream catcher of all.