Life moved at its usual paceraising a son, building a home, standing by the man she loved. Emma had chosen James herself; of all the lads in the village, only he had truly captured her heart. When he returned from his service, they married. Soon after, their son, Oliver, was born. As the boy grew, Emma began dreaming of a daughter.
«Once we finish the house, James,» shed say, «well have a little girl. A proper family homejust like it ought to be.»
James would only smile and nod. Hed have gladly welcomed another child the very next day. Often, with Oliver perched on his shoulders, hed walk proudly through the village, greeting everyone they passed.
But then winter came. Snow buried the roads, howling winds sealed the world shut. Emma peered through the window, waiting for her husbands return. But James never came home. A tragic accident at work took him from her.
«Time heals,» the neighbors and friends would tell Emma. «Youre not the first to lose someone. Cry, and before you know it, years will pass. Youll find someone else.»
Emma listened in silence, but the tears wouldnt come anymore, and that made it worse. A year slipped by. The turbulent nineties squeezed even the strongest families. Wages went unpaid for months. Those who had land and werent afraid of hard labor fared better.
Emma felt the weight of those days pressing down. Oliver started school, and he needed clothes, shoes, food. That meant planting the entire garden, so come autumn, shed have something to sell at the market.
She worked late into the evening, hands roughened, her smile gone, her heart hardened.
«Grab that bucket, you little layabout!» shed shout when Oliver tried sneaking off to his mates. «Ill teach you to run off! Done your homework?»
Oliver would mutely pick up the bucket, but in his head, he remembered when everything was goodwhen Dad was here, and Mum was kind and laughed.
At night, Emma would weep, cursing herself for snapping at him. But by morning, the stern mask slipped back into place.
One Saturday, her friendsMaggie and Lizdropped by. Once, shed had no need for friends; James had filled every space in her life. But now, these two divorcees would come over, laughing, claiming theyd just popped in «for tea.» Though, of course, it was never about the tea.
The morning started as usual. Emma rose without glancing in the mirror. She knew her face was drawn. She fed the pig, scattered grain for the hens, piled dirty dishes in the sink, and ordered Oliver to wash up and dash to school.
She expected no visitors that evening but knew one of the «regulars» might drop by. She met these promises with indifferenceif they came, fine; if not, the invitation wouldnt be repeated. The men usually figured it out quickly. Theyd see Oliver, exchange a few words, then leave, muttering about «a woman with baggage.»
«Emma, love, youll scare them all off like this,» Maggie would laugh. «Youre too picky. Maybe its your beds fault? Need a new sofa?»
«Oh, Ill just run out and buy one, shall I?» Emma sighed. «With what money? If youre so sorry, take it yourself.»
«Alright, dont bite my head off. Set the table, thencompanys coming.»
Maggie irritated her, but Emma silently placed pickled cucumbers on the table. Glancing at her wedding photo, she exhaled sharply.
«Forgive me, James. Its hard without you.»
«Theyre all the same,» Maggie said, as if reading her thoughts. «Come on, Emma, chin up! Were the best, arent we?»
The next morning, Emma cleared the remnants of the evening and left for work.
Nina Edwards, her late husbands aunt, paid her a visit.
«Whats got into you, Emma? Youre not the same since James passed,» she said. «And these friends of yours theyre no good for you.»
«Whats this, Nina? Come to lecture me? Think Im some hopeless case? Ive got a home, a farm, my boys in schoolI check his homework» Emma stopped short, realizing she hadnt looked at Olivers books in over a week. Just days ago, his teacher had asked to speak with her.
She didnt know what to say, so she just started stacking dirty dishes in the basin.
«You used to be different,» Nina pressed. «Lovely, hardworking, kind Drop this foolishness.»
«Im not fooling around,» Emma snapped. «Sometimes I talk to friends to take my mind off things. Dont I deserve a bit of rest after work?»
«Of course you do,» Nina sighed.
«Then dont preach at me. And dont stick your nose where it doesnt belong. Doors open.» Emma turned back to the kitchen table.
Nina tightened her scarf and left quietly.
Emma winced, as if in pain. She felt guilty, heavy. Something pulled at her. She rushed out, catching Nina on the porch.
«Nina, waitlet me give you some carrots. Ive got loads this year.»
«Dont trouble yourself, dear,» Nina waved her off, already stepping down.
«Pleaseits from the heart,» Emma insisted.
Nina knew life too well. She sensed the unspoken apology in Emmas voice, her eyes. She stopped.
«Heres a bag,» Emma said, pouring carrots generously. «Need help carrying it?»
«Ill manage, Emma,» Nina said, thanking her before walking away, heart aching for the womans lost spirit.
One Friday evening, Emma packed onions and carrots to sell at the market.
«At least Ill get a few quid. Hardly see a penny otherwise,» she thought, hefting the bags.
«Off somewhere with all that?» nosy neighbor Joan asked, peering into the bundle.
«Market. Selling vegetables,» Emma replied.
She barely dragged the heavy sacks to the bus stop. Old man Colin and Granny Mabel stood waiting, also headed to town. But the bus never came.
«Blasted things broken down again,» Mabel sighed.
Colin cursed the bus and the whole transport system. Realizing it wouldnt arrive, they turned back, deciding to try another day.
Emma stayed. She couldnt face hauling the sacks home, so she waited for a lift.
First a Morris, then a Land Rover passedboth full. Finally, a Ford pulled up. Emma squinted, trying to see if there was space, but the driver stopped before she even raised her hand.
A man, slightly older than her, unfamiliar. Probably from the next town over. He studied her, then her bags.
«Bus wont come todaybroken down. Im headed into town. Need a lift?»
«Suppose so,» Emma sighed.
«Done, then,» he grinned. Despite his lean frame, he lifted the heavy sack effortlessly, as if it weighed nothing.
«Could you take me straight to the market?» Emma asked.
«Suppose I could.»
«Ill pay,» she said.
During the drive, Emma touched up her lips with a compact mirror. The rearview let her study the driver.
«Im Emma,» she finally broke the silence.
«George Wilkins.»
«George Wilkins, eh? Bit young for a double-barrel. Manager, are you?»
«Oh aye, director of factories and owner of steamships,» he joked. «Just a foreman on a building site, really.»
George drove her to the market and even helped carry the sacks. He took only half the fare.
«The rest tonight. Ill be driving back same way,» he said.
«Generous, arent you?» Emma smiled. «Lucky me.»
That evening, George drove her home.
«Come in, at least for tea, George Wilkins.»
«Just Georgell do,» he chuckled.
Emma quickly set the table. Oliver peeked in.
«Dont lurk. Go to your room. Homework done?»
«Nearly,» he mumbled.
«Then finish it!» she ordered.
George, perched by the stove, crossed his legs and smiled at the boy.
«Lets get acquainted. Im George Wilkins. And you?»
«Ollie.»
«Proper name Oliver?»
«Yeah.»
«Hows school? Tough?»
«Maths is rotten. Cant get it,» the boy admitted.
«Lets have a look, then.» George gestured for his notebook.
Half an hour later, Oliver, pleased with the help, went to bed.
«Clear this up,» George said calmly, pointing at the table. «Just tea for me.»
«Well, since youre driving, tea it is,» Emma agreed.
«Even if I werentjust tea. Or squash, jelly, cordialthats it.»
Emma eyed him warily but silently poured hot water, added tea leaves, and set out a plate of potatoes.
«Best be off,» George said, standing. He hesitated, then added, «I like you, Emma. Mind if I drop by Friday?»
Emma half-smiledshed expected this.
«Suppose so.»
«Im not married,» he said, though she hadnt asked.
«Hell forget in a week,» she thought, doubting anything would come of it.
Yet after work, when Liz and Maggie visited, Emma sent them away early. Her mind buzzed: «What if he really comes?»
«This isnt on, Emma,» Maggie huffed. «Come out with usjust to the pub!»
«Do I look like Ive got time for pubs?»
«Who said anything about time? Were seeing a film!»
«No, you go on. Ive cleaning to do.»
She never got to it. George arrived earlier than expected. He stepped into the yard, and Emma led him inside. Traces of last nights gathering still littered the table, but he pretended not to notice.
«Let me warm the soupgone cold,» she explained.
George chatted with Oliver, helped with maths, explained horsepower. When the boy went to bed, Emma was pleasantly tipsy, eager to talk and laugh.
George stood, placed his hands on her shoulders, and pulled her up. Then he wrapped an arm around her waist. Emma gasped, breath catching.
«Staying the night,» he said simply.
«Whos stopping you?» She stepped back, finally steadying herself. The words were unnecessaryshe knew hed stay.
In the morning, as she scrambled eggs, George took buckets to fetch water.
«Need any for the bath?» he asked.
«Fetch some,» she said flatly, though she never asked for help, certain such gestures wouldnt last.
Over breakfast, sipping tea, George said quietly,
«Emma, if you want thiswhat was on your table last night? It cant be here.»
She froze, spoon in hand.
«That a condition?» she asked, more surprised than angry.
«Suppose so. Cant stand the smell. And Im decentyouve seen that.»
He smiled.
«So, bathhouse tonight?»
She wanted to snap, to throw him out, but something stopped her. Unexpectedly, she wanted to agree.
«Come, then,» she said shortly.
That evening, Maggie dropped by.
«Heard you poured it all out. True?»
«True, Mags. Gone.»
«Have you lost the plot? Wasting good drink like that!»
«Good? Its nothing but trouble. Not now, MagsIve things to do.»
Emma mopped the floors, changed the sheetsfreshly washed and dried outside. Soup waited on the stove, but she wanted to make something nicer. Pies would take too long, so she kneaded dough and made pancakes. Oliver sneaked them off the table, washing them down with squash.
Time passed. Emma even managed a bath, and still, George didnt come.
«Promises are like pie crusts,» she muttered bitterly. «Fool. Shouldve known. All the same, except my James. Maybe I shouldnt have poured it out?»
She smiled at the thought. Glancing around the bright kitchen, smelling of fresh food, she felt an odd calm.
«No. Not for nothing,» she said firmly. «Enough.»
She turned to Oliver.
«Dont wait up, love. George isnt coming. Lets check your booksyouve slacked off.»
Thenan engine outside. George stood in the doorway, a small travel bag in hand. He pulled out sausages, tinned goods, biscuits, butter.
«Mate at the depot helped out. For you and Oliver.»
Emma sat at the table, chin propped on her hand, watching him.
«Cant find that these days. Not round here.»
«Know. Thats why I brought it. Take it.»
Casually, as if hed just come home from work, she asked,
«Eating first or the bath?»
«Bath first,» he said.
Outside, it was dark. Setting the table, Emma felt something long forgottenthe warmth of a home, the comfort shed once had with James. She smiled at Georges jacket hanging on the peg.
«If he came tonight, hell stay. I want him to stay,» she thought with a certainty that surprised her.
The autumn day was grey but peaceful.
Nina sat by her gate, watching the road. She smiled when she saw the carnow a regular sight at Emmas for two months.
«Well then. Good. Let them be. Young stillmight even have a child,» she murmured. «Emmas herself againsmiling, gentle. Let her have joy. Life always moves forward. The important thing is to live. The kettle sang softly on the stove, and Emma poured the water into two mugs. She set one by Georges jacket, just how he liked itstrong, no sugar. Outside, the wind rocked the trees, but the house felt warm, anchored. Oliver had left his maths book open on the table, a page filled with new answers, neat and careful. Emma smoothed the corner of it with her thumb, then glanced at the clock. Hed be home soon, muddy boots and all. She didnt mind that anymore. A childs mess meant he was happy, he was safe. Upstairs, the bathwater ran, and George whistled a tune she didnt know but liked all the same. She leaned against the sink, wrapped her hands around the mug, and breathed. The air smelled of damp earth, woodsmoke, and pancakes still warming by the fire. For the first time in years, the silence wasnt heavy. It was full.
