Standing on the balcony, Emily stared wistfully at her motherinlaw, who sat in the gloom on a bench outside the flat block: should she call her over or not? If she called, Mrs. Martha Whitfield would lift her face and shake her headIm just going to sit here a while longer. Martha only ventured out for fresh air when the bench was completely empty; the chatter of her neighbours about council tax, soaring grocery prices and the like was a foreign language to her. She had spent her whole life in a village and had been forced to live with her son and daughterinlaw for the past two years.
Your mother is really losing it, Emily sighed, turning to her husband. Its time we do what she wants.
Lets wait a bit longer, James replied. Everything isnt settled yet for moving her.
Two years earlier a fire had reduced Marthas cottage to a charred skeleton, leaving only the foundations. The blaze had swallowed the outbuilding, a chicken coop and a small greenhouse. At the time she was at the market selling cucumbers and tomatoes from her garden. Whether a faulty wiring or an appliance shed forgotten to switch off, the flames took hold quickly, fed by a strong wind, and Martha arrived to find nothing but ash. Neighbours later recalled with horror how she ran across the blackened yard, smeared with soot, crying in anguish. She lived alone; only the chickens escaped harm, but the house had been her most valuable possession.
After Martha suffered a stroke, her son James and his wife Emily brought her into their home. For a long time she lay halfparalysed, but gradually she began to walk again.
Mother, you should rest a little longer; too much walking will do you no good, Emily urged.
No, Im getting my legs back and soon Ill return to my village, Martha replied.
Everyone began to think Martha had lost her mind. Had she simply forgotten what had happened? The family started to question her gently.
Do you think Im mad? Martha asked Emily with a halfsmile. Of course not. I remember the fire, I remember lying in the hospital. I plan to stay with my neighbour, Mrs. Polly, whos also alone; Ill help her around the house, draw my pension, and rebuild little by little. I know youre not well off either, and my granddaughter is growing up, yet Im crowding her room. Im an extra here.
No one wanted to tell her that Mrs. Polly had just passed away, and her house was now being contested by distant relatives, each threatening legal action. They all feared another stroke. Polly had been Marthas closest confidante, not just emotionally but also because she lived nearby. Martha also had a beloved younger sister, Annie, who lived up north where the climate is harsh. Her two other sons, Thomas and young David, were far away, while Mike was constantly at sea as a marine engineman.
What weighed on Martha most was sharing a room with her granddaughter, Lucy, a university student who could barely invite friends over. Martha seemed to think that girls must always gather at someones house.
Grandma, thats the old way. We all chat online now! Lucy explained.
Whats online? Martha wondered. We cant even have a cup of tea together.
Besides feeling like a burden to Lucy, Martha tried not to be a weight on James and Emily, whom she saw living modestly. She helped with cleaning and cooking, but unlike a daughterinlaw, her efforts were clumsyher left hand often refused to obey. When she learned of Pollys death, she wept for a long time, then said:
My dear children, please dont be upset, but Ive decided: arrange for me to move into a care home. James, you have my power of attorney; I wrote it at the hospital, so you can handle everything. I just want to be with people my own age. If it costs too much, sell my plot of land. Even if it fetches a low price, any money will help.
Emily, James and Lucy were outraged, yet gradually the idea settled in Marthas mind. James started sorting the paperwork for a care home and claimed he had sold the land, but the bureaucracy was a nightmare. He paid the director, yet the process stalled as the waiting list grew. Time slipped by; autumn loomed and the family longed for peace.
One evening, after a brief stroll, Martha burst through the doorway:
James, if you dont take me to the care home on Monday, Ill get there myself. Ill march to the director and demand a bedmoneys already paid, the state must look after me!
All weekend James was nowhere to be seen. He finally turned up late on Sunday, whispered anxiously with Emily, and announced that he had secured a room for Martha at the home, even a private one.
The next morning they set off in Jamess old Ford Escort. Martha could not understand why her son was driving toward her old village when they needed to go the other way.
Mum, the roads been closed for repairs, we have to go around, James explained.
At last they reached the familiar countryside surrounding the village where Martha had lived for years. She shut her eyes, unwilling to face the familiar lanes and the plot of land she had sold two years earlier. When she opened them, the car had pulled into a gateher own plot, now bearing a redbrick house, and at the gate stood her sister Annie, beaming.
Martha felt faint; the world swam. After a moment she steadied herself, embraced her sister, and listened to the explanation.
No one intended to sell the land, Mum. We decided to build a new house right away, James said. We didnt tell you because we took out a mortgage, and Mike sent a generous sum. The development is spectacularthree bedrooms, a spacious kitchen with a veranda, a dualfuel boiler, a shower and its own toilet. Annie has been here for six months after moving from the north; shes been overseeing the interior work, waiting to surprise you. If youd have waited a couple of weeks, the outbuilding and chicken coop would have been finished, but you wanted it now, and Mike would have arrived later. We couldnt let you miss the surprise.
Martha wept and laughed, hugging her sister, son, daughterinlaw, and granddaughter, unsure how to thank everyone. Who could have imagined such a secret plan? Their silence almost gave her a second stroke from being overwhelmed with joy. She realized how blessed she was to have family who cared enough to rebuild her life, even when the road seemed impossible.
In the end, Martha understood that love is not just spoken but shown through deeds, and that a little patience and trust in those who love you can turn a shattered past into a bright new home.
