I grew up in a tiny village in Devon, the sort of place where everyone knows everyone elses business. My wife, Barbara, was as dear to me as a treasure hidden in the Bible, and shed always say that when the neighbours asked about our life together. Though the whole village was an open book, we kept our own little world.
My dear Barbara, you must look after your family no matter what, my mother used to tell me when I was about to marry my neighbours son, Tom. Tom and Barbara had been playmates since they were tots, running handinhand to school and back. As they grew older, their friendship blossomed into love.
Look, there go the lovebirds, the old ladies would chuckle. They were made for each other, hand in hand since childhood.
Barbaras parents raised her well: they taught her to live peacefully with others, to lend a hand, to have faith in good, and never to act unfairly.
Sweetheart, her mother would say, God will punish you if you hurt anyone or act without respect. Live justly; He sees everything. Barbara believed that, for who else could she trust but her mother?
Tom was a good husband. He took on all the hard work around the house and never let me lift anything heavy. Every morning before heading to the quarry hed say, Barbara, mind the chores, you work too and get tired. Ill handle the heavy stuff thats what a husband does. And when I beamed and told him, Were expecting a baby, he was so stunned he could barely speak. He held me tight, kissed me, and whispered, Now you have to look after yourself twice as much youre not alone any more. I replied, Dont worry, Tom, Im not the first nor the last expecting child. Itll be fine.
Soon enough a boy, Greg, joined our family. The joy we felt was immense; Tom saw him as the continuation of our line and doted on him. As Greg grew, Tom would stride proudly through the village with him, taking him fishing, hunting for mushrooms, and the like. By then Barbara had also given birth to a daughter, Lily.
Four years after Lily, a third child, Sam, arrived. Life went on: we worked, raised the children, and faced the usual ups and downs. Sam was the troublemaker of the lot. Teachers complained about his mischief, calling him a restless rascal.
Your Sam again brought a cat to class and let it run loose, the headmistress would scold when she met his parents. Last week it was a crow, two days ago a mouse. Hes hauled everything from hedgehogs to baby birds into school. He even once smuggled a hedgehog home, which kept everyone awake with its nocturnal pricks. Tom finally forced him to take the creature back to the woods. Sam later rescued an injured baby bird, tended its wing, and released it.
Time marched on. Greg finished his national service, settled down with a local girl named Alice, and after a short stay with his parents they built a house of their own nearby. Lily finished secondary school, married, and moved with her husband to a different county.
Then tragedy struck. One morning Tom didnt stir. I thought hed simply overslept, but when I tried to rouse him his eyes stayed shut. Sam, fetch the village doctor, I shouted, my heart in my throat. The doctor, Mrs. Anne Clarke, called the ambulance, but she had already seen the inevitable Tom had died. I was fifty, a widow in the prime of my life, and the loss hit me like a hammer.
After the funeral I took months to pull myself together. Sam lived with me, but his life spiralled. He fell into drink and idleness.
Sam, enough with the booze, Id rebuke him. The villagers would whisper, Barbara had a good family a loving husband and wellbehaved children. The youngest turned out a proper fool. Sam refused work, mooched off me, and often brought home a girl named Tilly, another drunkard. They argued, drank, and contributed nothing to the garden or the house. Eventually I asked Sam to move out; we left on sour terms.
Eight years later, a neighbour, Rachel, invited me to stay with her. She was younger, but we got along well.
Barbara, Ive got a guest who wants to talk to you, Rachel said one afternoon. Whats this about? I asked. It turned out her friend Alice, who lived in London with her children after a messy divorce, had heard about my situation. She wanted to find a widower for companionship, someone she could share her small cottage with. Im not after any inheritance, Alice assured, the house is only a country cottage; I have a flat in the city and Im tired of the country life.
Goodness, Alice, I muttered, I never imagined Id share a roof with another man at my age. But eventually I agreed to move to the neighbouring village where the widower, Isaac, lived. Sams drinking had finally driven a wedge between us, and Isaacs offer seemed reasonable. Isaacs son, Greg, helped搬 my possessions to the new place and introduced us to each other. Isaac was a kind soul, owned a few pigs, chickens, and I even brought my goat along.
Life with Isaac was calm. He helped with the chores, and his cottage was far larger than mine had ever been. Sam, however, never stopped bringing trouble, often introducing new ladies into the house, which left me uneasy.
Just hope the house doesnt burn down, I told my older son Greg, watch over Sam, that wayward boy.
Summers brought visits from my grandchildren, who lived in the city. Alices two sons would sometimes come over, and Id make sure there were plenty of tea and biscuits. They treated me with respect, and I grew fond of Alice and her brood.
Ten years passed. Isaac began to grow frail, spending long hours in bed. I tended to him, brewed herbal teas, and gave his medicines on time. One evening, before his health truly failed, he said, Barbara, if I pass first, stay here, live out your days in this house. Dont go looking for new places. And dont mourn me, love.
Ill manage, Isaac, I replied, Im not exactly spry either.
One day Alice arrived with a new partner, a man named Stuart. He seemed different, more domineering.
Dad, were taking you to the city, Stuart declared. Youll be under my care. Isaac, weak as he was, protested, Barbaras the one who looks after me, not you. Stuart snapped, Youll come with us.
I didnt argue; Isaac left with a tearful goodbye, and I wept as well. A week later Alice returned, bluntly stating, Pack your things, Barbara. Stuart and I are selling the cottage. Youve got a week to clear out, then well be back. She gave me seven days, then promised to return the following weekend.
She never came that weekend. Instead she showed up later, on the day Greg was about to move my motherinlaws belongings into her house.
My father died, she announced casually, I guess the city life didnt suit him. No point complaining, everyone ends up that way. At least you wont have to bury him yourself. I asked, Why didnt you bring him to the village cemetery? She shrugged, Does it matter where a dead man lies?
Greg brought me to his brother Sams home. Sam had finally cleaned up his act, quit drinking, and taken a steady job. When I entered his yard, I could hardly believe my eyes the garden was tidy, flowers bloomed, and the vegetable patch thrived. His wife, Vera, greeted me warmly. Shed married Sam a year and a half ago, on the condition he give up the bottle.
Good afternoon, Barbara, Vera sang, come in, have a seat. Ive prepared lunch; Greg said hed bring you over today. I felt a surge of happiness. Sam was sober, neat, and caring. Vera treated me like a mother, even calling me Mum after a while. I was grateful, old age catching up, but proud that my once wayward son had become a proper man and a good husband.
Vera ran the post office, kept the house spotless, cooked, did laundry, and tended the garden. Sam helped where he could. I never imagined that the boy who once brought cats to school would one day run a respectable household. I often thought, If only my father could see this. Vera bore a daughter, whom I never had to look after; she passed away when she was only a year old, but she left a peaceful soul behind. Sams eyes gleamed with pride and happiness. What more could a mother ask for? A content family, a sturdy home, and the knowledge that at last, the prodigal son had found his place.
