Life moved at its usual pace: raising a son, building a home, standing by the man she loved. Emily had chosen James herselfof all the lads in the village, he was the only one who truly captured her heart. When Jim returned from his military service, they married. Soon after, their son, Arthur, was born. As the boy grew, Emily began dreaming of a daughter.
«Once we finish the house, James, well have a little girl,» she often said. «A proper homea real family idyll.»
James would only smile and nod. Hed have happily become a father again the very next day. Often, hed hoist Arthur onto his shoulders and walk proudly through the village, greeting everyone they passed.
But then winter came. Snow buried the roads, and the wind howled. Emily peered out the window, waiting for her husband to return. But James never did. A tragic accident at work took his life.
«Time heals,» the neighbors and acquaintances told Emily. «Youre not the only one. Cry it out, and who knows? The years will pass, and youll find someone else.»
Emily listened in silence, but the tears wouldnt come anymore, and that made it worse. A year slipped by. The turbulent nineties squeezed even the sturdiest families. In the village, wages went unpaid for months. Those with land and a willingness to work hard fared better.
Emily felt the weight of those times keenly. Arthur started school and needed clothes, shoes, and food. That meant planting the garden from scratch so shed have something to sell at the market come autumn.
She worked the garden late into the evenings. Her hands grew rough, her smile vanished, and her soul seemed to harden.
«Grab that bucket, you rascal!» shed shout when Arthur tried to sneak off to his friends. «Ill give you running away! Done your homework?»
Arthur would silently pick up the bucket, but in his mind, he remembered how things used to be with Dadwhen Mum was kind and cheerful.
At night, Emily often cried, scolding herself for snapping at her son. But by morning, she was stern and grim again.
One Saturday, her friendsMaggie and Lucydropped by. Emily hadnt had many friends before; James had filled all her need for companionship. But now, these merry divorcees often stopped by, laughing and claiming theyd come «for tea.» Though, of course, it wasnt really about the tea.
The morning began as usual. Emily got up without even glancing in the mirror. She knew her face looked worn. She fed the pigs, scattered grain for the chickens, piled the dirty dishes in the sink, and ordered Arthur to wash up and hurry to school.
She wasnt expecting anyone that evening but knew one of her «regular» visitors might drop by. She took their promises lightlyif they came, fine; if not, the invitation wouldnt be repeated. The men usually understood quickly. Theyd see the boy, exchange a few words, and leave, muttering about «a woman with baggage.»
«Honestly, Em, youll scare them all off,» Maggie laughed. «Youre too hard to please. Maybe its your beds fault? Fancy a new sofa?»
«Oh, Ill rush out and buy one straight away,» Emily sighed. «With what money? If you feel sorry for me, take it yourself.»
«Alright, dont get cross. Better set the tableyouve got a guest to host.»
Maggie sometimes annoyed her, but Emily still wordlessly placed pickled cucumbers on the table. Glancing at her wedding photo, she sighed heavily.
«Forgive me, Jim. Its hard without you.»
«Theyre all the same,» Maggie said, as if reading her thoughts. «Come on, Emheres to us! Were the best!»
The next morning, Emily sighed, cleared the remnants of the evening, and left for work.
Aunt Nora, her late husbands aunt, paid her a visit.
«What are you doing, love? I hardly recognise you since James passed,» she said. «And these friends of yours theyre no good for you.»
«Whats this, Aunt Nora? Come to lecture me? Think Im some kind of failure? Ive got a house, I keep the farm, my sons in school, I check his homework» Emily broke off, remembering she hadnt looked at Arthurs schoolbooks or diary in over a week. And just recently, his teacher had asked to speak with her.
Emily didnt know what to say, so she began piling dirty dishes into the sink.
«You were different once,» Nora continued. «Pretty, hardworking, kind Drop these silly gatherings.»
«Im not gallivanting,» Emily protested. «Just chatting with friends to take my mind off things. Cant I have a bit of rest after work?»
«Well, of course you can,» Nora nodded with a sigh.
«Then dont preach at me. And honestly, Auntie, keep your nose out of my business. The doors open.» Emily turned back to the kitchen table.
Nora tightened her shawl and quietly left.
Emily exhaled and frowned, as if in pain. She felt uneasy, heavysomething pulled at her. She rushed out and caught up with Nora on the porch.
«Aunt Nora, waitIll give you some carrots. Weve got loads this year.»
«Dont trouble yourself, dear,» Nora waved her off, already stepping down.
«No, pleaseits from the heart,» Emily insisted.
Nora knew life well. Her years had taught her to sense others pain. She understood this was Emilys silent apology. Though no words were spoken, her voice and eyes begged forgiveness. Nora paused.
«Heres a bag,» Emily said, generously filling it with carrots. «Can you manage, or shall I help?»
«Ill manage, love,» Nora replied gratefully and headed home, her heart aching for Emilys troubled soul.
By Friday evening, Emily had bundled onions and carrots to sell at the market.
«At least a few quidhavent seen my own money in ages,» she thought, packing the bags.
«Off somewhere with all that?» nosy neighbor Zoe asked, peering into the bags.
«Market. Selling veg,» Emily replied.
She barely lugged the heavy bags to the bus stop, where old Mac and Granny Gladys were already waiting. But the bus never came.
«Another breakdown, I reckon,» Granny sighed.
Mac cursed the bus and the whole transport company. Realising it wouldnt arrive, the pair turned back, deciding to try another day.
Emily stayed, unwilling to haul the bags home. She decided to hitch a ride.
First a Ford passed, then a Land Rover, but both were full. Finally, a Vauxhall appeared. Emily squinted, trying to see if there was space, but the driver stopped before she even raised her hand.
A man, slightly older than hersomeone she didnt recognise. Clearly from the nearby town. He glanced at her, then at the bags.
«Bus broke down today. Im heading into townfancy a lift?»
«Suppose so,» Emily sighed.
«Agreed, then,» he smiled. He stepped out, and despite being lean and not tall, he lifted the heavy bags as if they weighed nothing.
«Could you drop me right at the market?» Emily asked.
«Suppose I could.»
«Ill pay,» she said.
During the drive, Emily touched up her lips with a compact mirror. The backseat let her study the driver.
«Im Emily,» she finally broke the silence.
«George. George Whitmore.»
«Goodness, so young and already a ‘Mr Whitmore’? Boss of something, are you?»
«Oh aye, director of factories and owner of steamships,» he joked. «Nah, just a foreman at a construction site.»
George drove her to the market and even helped carry the bags. He only took half the fare.
«Pay the rest tonight. Ill be driving back the same way,» he said.
«Generous, arent you?» Emily smiled. «Lucky me.»
That evening, George drove her home.
«Well, come in for tea at least, Mr Whitmore.»
«Drop the ‘Mr’. Just George.»
Emily quickly set the table. Arthur peeked into the kitchen.
«Dont loiter! Go to your room. Homework done?»
«Nearly,» the boy mumbled.
«Then finish it!» she ordered sharply.
George, sitting by the stove, crossed his legs and smiled at the boy.
«Lets get acquainted. Im George Whitmore. And you?»
«Artie,» the boy replied.
«Proper names Arthur?»
«Yeah,» Artie nodded.
«Hows school? Tough?»
«Maths is a nightmare. Cant get it,» Artie admitted.
«Right, lets have a look.» George gestured for the exercise book.
Half an hour later, Artiepleased with the helpwent off to bed.
«Clear this away,» George said calmly, pointing at the table. «Just tea for me.»
«Well, since youre driving, tea it is,» Emily agreed.
«Even if I werentjust tea. Or squash. Or juice. Thats it.»
Emily eyed him suspiciously but silently poured hot water into a cup, added tea leaves, and set out a plate of potatoes.
«Best be off,» George said, standing. He hesitated, then added, «I like you, Emily. Mind if I drop by Friday?»
Emily smirked slightlyshed expected this.
«Suppose so.»
«Im not married,» he added, though she hadnt asked.
«Youll forget by next week,» Emily thought, not holding her breath.
Yet after work, when Lucy and Maggie dropped by, Emily sent them away early. Her mind buzzed: «What if he actually comes?»
«Not fair, Em,» Maggie huffed. «Come out with usjust to the club!»
«Am I some teenager, running off to clubs?»
«Who said anything about that? Were off to the pictures!»
«No, girls, go without me. Ive tidying to do.»
She never got to it. George arrived earlier than expected. He walked into the yard, and Emily led him inside. Traces of the evenings gathering still littered the table, but he pretended not to notice.
«Let me warm it upthe soups gone cold,» Emily explained.
George chatted with Artie, helped with maths, explained horsepower in cars. When the boy went to bed, Emily was pleasantly tipsy, talkative, playful.
George stood, walked over, placed hands on her shoulders, and made her rise. Then he pulled her close. Emily gaspedcould barely breathe.
«Staying the night,» he said simply.
«Whos stopping you?» Finally steadying herself, she stepped back, inhaling deeply. She already knew hed staywords were unnecessary.
Come morning, as Emily scrambled eggs, George took buckets to fetch water.
«Need any for the bathhouse?» he asked.
«Fetch some,» Emily said flatly, though she never usually asked for helpnever believed it would last.
After breakfast, sipping tea, George suddenly said quietly:
«Emily, if you want thiswhat was on the table last night? Thats got to stop.»
Emily froze, teaspoon in hand.
«That a condition?» she asked, more surprised than angry.
«Suppose so. Cant stand the smell. Anyway, Im decentyou know that.»
He smiled and added:
«So, bathhouse tonight?»
Emily wanted to protest, snap, even throw him outbut something stopped her. Unexpectedly, she wanted to agree.
«Come, then,» she said shortly.
That evening, Maggie stopped by.
«Heard you poured it all out, Em. True?»
«True, Mags. All gone.»
«Mad, are you? Wasting good stuff like that!»
«Good stuff? Its poison. Off with younot in the mood.»
Emily mopped the floors, changed the beddingnow fresh, washed and dried outside. Soup waited on the stove, but she wanted to cook something nicer. Pies would take too long, so she whipped up pancakes instead. Artie sneaked them from the table, washing them down with squash.
Time passed. Emily even managed a bath, but darkness fell with no sign of George.
«Promises dont fill the belly,» she sighed bitterly. «Foolish to believe him. All the same, except my Jim. Maybe I shouldnt have poured it out?»
She smiled at the thought. Glancing at the bright kitchen, fragrant with fresh food, she felt an unexpected calm. The door creaked open just as she was clearing the dishes. George stood there, damp from the evening chill, a small bunch of wild violets in hand.
«Roads been mended,» he said quietly. «Busll run again Monday.»
Emily looked at the flowers, then at him, her throat tightening. She said nothing, just stepped forward and took them.
Outside, the wind settled. Inside, the lamp glowed soft, and for the first time in years, the house felt like a home.
