Life, its like that.
Young Albert, sniffling in the cold, hauled a dry pine log on his big sledge. It had fallen at the edge of the villagestrictly speaking, he shouldnt have taken it, but old Tom, the local woodsman, had whispered to him, «Wait till dark, then fetch it.»
The boy strained, dragging the heavy timber, his breath sharp in the frosty air.
«Albert! Albert!» A voice called outsharp-eyed Lucy, his classmate, came trotting up.
«What dyou want?»
«Let me help.»
There she was, a proper little whirlwind. Where did a girl find such strength? Yet somehow, the weight felt lighter with her beside him. Together, they pulled the sledge through the snow.
«Whos minding the little ones, Albert?»
«Gran, who else? Mums at work.»
«Ohh. I came by to help with your sums, but your door was locked. Little Tommy told me youd gone toward the woods. Said you told em to sit quiet.»
«Had to lock it…»
«Did she run off again?»
«Aye. Off to London, back to her own mum.»
«Poor thing. Suffers herself, makes you suffer too.»
«Mmm.»
They dragged the log to Alberts cottage.
«Ta, Lucy.»
«Dont mention it. Fetch the sawlets get this chopped quick.»
«Ill manage. Youve done enough.»
«Manage? With that old handsaw, scraping away like a chicken? Come on, well do it proper.»
The two took up the saw, and soon neat, dry logs lay scattered on the ground.
Through the window peered six-year-old Tommy and two-year-old Annie.
Albert grabbed the axe, drove it clean into a log, splitting it with sharp cracks. Another blow, then another, until the wood fell in halves.
Lucy gathered chips while Albert worked.
Once the pile was stacked, they carried it inside. The boy lit the stove, and soon flickering firelight danced across the ceiling. Warmth seeped into the room.
«Let me make you some stew. Aunt Edithll be tired when she comes homeone less thing for her to do.»
«Nah, well manage,» Albert mumbled, flushing. «Granll cook summat.»
«Oh no, no, Albert,» little Tommy piped up. «Let Lucy do it. Remember last time Gran made that slop? Threw in cabbage, peas, even some of Mums dill seedshorrible!»
«Ill cook, Tommy. You help, eh?»
«And who might you be?» A voice creaked from the stove. An old woman in felt boots and a shawl clambered down.
«Gran, get out of those layers. Its warm now.»
«Cold, Johnny.»
«Johnny? Im Albert, your grandson.»
«Eh? Wheres Johnny gone?»
«Away… Hell be back soon.»
«Is she on about Uncle John?»
«Aye… Shes not right in the head. Worse since he left.»
«Why didnt he take her? His own mother!»
Albert shrugged. He hated this talk.
Johnnyhis father, Ediths husbandhad run off to his fancy woman. Left Gran with them, and not just that. Sly as a fox, hed gone just before winter, slaughtered the pigs, taken the meat, even led away their only cow and the heifer, Daisy.
Mum had begged, «At least leave Daisywell breed her to the cow.»
Hed laughed. «What sort of groom shows up empty-handed?»
Albert had hated him since that moment. Cleared out half the storespotatoes, even the spoons and forks. And Mum just stood there, counting how many forks he took…
Edith came home to find the children at the table by the oil lamp. Albert read Tommy a fairy tale. Gran dozed by the stove, and Annie sucked her thumb in sleep behind her.
«Mum,» Tommy whispered, «its so warm. Albert fetched wood, and him and Lucy sawed it. Lucy made stewproper good. Annies asleep. Gran ran off twice to London. We caught her.»
Edith unwound her scarf, smiled faintly, ruffled Tommys messy hair.
«Albert… its too much for you.»
«Sall right, Mum. Get warm. The stews good, honest.»
After supper, Edith mended clothes. A knock rattled the window.
«See who it is, Albert.»
The door swung open, letting in a gust of icy air and a round, bundled-up woman.
«Brrr! Proper freezingthirty by nightfall, Ill wager. Edith, brought you some cracklings and a bit of lard. Here.»
«Ta, Val, but you shouldnt»
«Course I should! Flour left?»
«A bit.»
«Right. Two jugs of milkfrozen since winterand some eggs. Bake summat. Well last till spring, then… gardens planted, easier times.»
«Val, the seed potatoes»
«Jack said well spare some. So eat up, dont save em. And…» Val whispered something in Ediths ear.
«Oh, Val, what if they find out?»
«Who? You got crowds round? Our sows about to farrow. Edith… itll be all right. Well manage.»
Two nights later, Val crept in with a piglet no bigger than a mitten.
«Scared, Val. What if they know?»
«They wont. Hed have diedthirteen in the litter. Took the strongest.»
Next day, Edith was called to the office. She hugged the children.
«Mum,» Albert wept, «maybe itll blow over?»
«Dont know, love. Look after the little ones…»
The chairmana friend of Johnnys, her exwouldnt meet her eyes. Told her to go to the farm.
«What for, Mr. Fletcher?»
«Just go, Edith. Heres a chit for milk. Take a pigletValll pick a good un. Or two?»
«But howll I feed»
«Milk, I said. Porridge for the kids. Come April, the farmll give you a heifer. Take it?»
«Ill take it.» Her lips were dry. «Can I go?»
«Go… Edith.» He stopped her at the door.
«Aye?»
«Forgive me.»
«For what, Mr. Fletcher?»
«For Johnny. Didnt think hed turn out such a rotter. A bit of funs one thing, but leaving kids, his own mother… clearing you out… Only just heard. My missus told me.»
«Whyd you not speak up? Potatoes left?»
«Some…»
«Go on. Dont suffer quiet. Well fetch firewood too…»
So Edith lived, with the children and Gran, whod lost her wits entirelynever sure where she was or why.
Hard times. Albert bore the load. Lucythe chairmans daughterhelped where she could. Tommy pitched in too. So they scraped by.
The piglet Val brought thrived, and soon two more scampered about, tails curled, snouts pink.
One evening, a neighbor called out as Edith trudged home.
«Edith love…»
«Aye, Mrs. Clark?»
«Your Albertcould he mend my roof? Ill paygot cracklings saved from autumn…»
«No, ta. Wont have the boy working for scraps. Were not starving.»
«Edith, I was at me cousinsold Mrs. Ibbotson. Saw that Johnny of yours with that… that barge of a woman, that Louise. Laughing fit to burst on a sleigh, him driving, hat cocked, her clinging on…»
«And the kids can starve, can they?»
«Who says were starving? Were managing fine!»
Edith hurried off.
«Oh aye, fine. Blue with cold, the lot of you. As if we dont know Johnny stripped you bare…»
Edith fled to the shed, let the tears come.
A scrabbling at the door.
«Mum? What you doing in here?»
«Edith… Im a burden. When I come to myself, I see it… worn you all to rags.»
«What? Whatre you thinking?» She snatched the rope from Grans hands. «Whyd you do this to me? Whatve I done wrong, Mum?»
Edith wept. Gran wept too, tears tracing her wind-beaten face.
«Come inside. Well make currant buns today.»
«Come, dear.»
By spring, Gran took to her bed. Kept calling for her son.
«Val, I dont know what to do. She wants Johnny. I cant go myself.»
«Ill tell Jack…»
Johnny never came to say goodbye. Sent money, grunted to Jack it was for the funeral.
The village judged him, of course. What of it?
First time, was it? When hed run off to that Louise, tongues wagged then too. But he didnt love Edithdull as ditchwater, she was. Louise was fire.
Married Edith in a fit of folly. Shed come fresh from the orphanage, tiny, timidnot his sort at all. Had her the first night, easy as pie. Whatd she do?
Another lass wouldve fought. She just cried quiet, clutching her nightdress.
So he kept at it. She never refused. No father, no mother…
Then the belly swelled. Wellwas he a monster? Grew up fatherless himself. Married her.
Almost loved her, in time. Good housekeeper, got on with his mum. Clean. Edith… she loved him, plain as day.
Second lad was born when he met Louise. When had she grown up so? Sturdy, smoldering-eyed, smelling of meadows…
Thought itd be a fling. But noshe wound him tight as a noose.
He left. Shut his eyes and stepped off the cliff. Left three behind. Yet hed loved his kids, loved them.
Thenlike a fogit all went dark. Howd he reckoned it?
Kids… well, kids grow. He had. They would. Somehow. Louise said shed give him new ones…
Albert turned away in the street. Knife to the heart, that. The little ones barely remembered him. What could he do? Hed fallen in love…
They judged. Called him a brute, leaving his children, not saying goodbye to his mother.
Couldnt. Just couldnt. Couldnt face Ediths silent eyes.
That day, high on spite, hed cleared them out… And after? Ah, they judged. But whod peered into his soul? Black, they said his soul was. Maybe so…
Johnny knelt by the fresh mound and wooden cross hung with a white cloth.
«Forgive me… Mother.»
«She forgave you, Johnny. Came to herself at the end.»
«You… whyre you here?» He glowered at Edith.
«Brought you breakfast. Christian custom… Here. Have a drink. Remember your mum.»
Silence.
«Ill go. You… talk to her.»
«Will she hear?»
«Shell hear, Johnny. A mothers heart… its like that. And life… well, lifes like that, Johnny. How it spins you… He sat by the grave long after she left, the cold seeping through his coat, the mug of tea growing lukewarm in his hands. The wind stirred the white cloth, lifting it like a ghosts hand waving. He didnt cry. Couldnt. But something cracked inside, something old and brittle.
Back at the cottage, Albert split more wood, steady and slow. Lucy came by with a basketbread, eggs, a jar of honey. No words, just a nod. He nodded back.
Inside, the stove hummed. Gran lay quiet in her bed, breathing soft as snowfall. Tommy read to Annie from a ragged picture book. Edith watched them, then stepped to the window, looking out at the bare trees shivering in the wind.
Spring would come. It always did.
