A sharp sound rang out from the next room. Tipping over a saucepan, Agatha rushed in. Her grandson stood frozen, staring at the shattered vase.
«What have you done?» she shouted, snapping a damp tea towel against his back.
«Granny, Ill clean it up!» he yelped, scrambling for the broken pieces.
«Ill clean you up in a minute!» she hissed, bringing the towel down again. «Sit on the bed and dont move!»
She swept up the mess, returned to the kitchen, and found a puddle on the floor, potatoes scattered across itat least they were still raw. She gathered them, washed them again, and shoved them into the oven. Sinking into a chair, she wiped her eyes, cursing her daughter silently.
«Why, just why, does everyone else have a normal family? Not me. No husband of my own, and now my daughters the same. Couldnt she just leave things be? But noshes gone to the station in the city and will bring home some jailbird on my head. Claims hes good. Theyve been writing letters for three years. ‘Love,’ she calls itnever even laid eyes on him! And now hell be living under my roof. As if feeding her and the boy wasnt enough, now Ive got him to feed too. Well, Ill make sure he doesnt stay long. Hell run soon enough.»
«Granny, can I go outside?»
«Go on, then! But wrap up warm. And stay away from the riverthe ice could break any day now.»
«Alright, Granny!»
A car pulled up outside. Agatha peered through the window. From here, she could see the mans facescarred all over. What was that girl thinking? A prison guard, and ugly as sin to boot.
The door swung open. In they walked.
Fiona had brought her fiancé home.
«Ah, just the man I need,» chuckled the local constable. «Ill check his release papers. And see what sort of fellow your future son-in-law is.»
«Get on with you! Theyre just having lunch. And hes no son-in-law of minenever will be.»
Agatha went to fetch her grandson. Not that he was hard to findthere he was, racing about with the other boys. Still, she wasnt eager to go home. She lingered, chatting with the neighbours. Like it or not, duty called.
She eyed the massive logs in the yard. No way she could split those. Grabbing an axe from the shed, she began chipping at the smallest one. As she swung again, a firm hand caught the axe mid-air.
«Aunt Agatha, let me try.»
«Go on, then,» she grumbled, shooting him a dark look.
He ran a thumb along the blade and frowned.
«Got a sharpening stone?»
«Check the shed out backmy late husbands workshop is still there.»
Inside, Edwins eyes widened. Tools of every kind lined the walls. He fired up the grindstonestill working! Sharpened the axe, then took the splitting maul leaning nearby.
Out he went, cleaving the logs clean in half before chopping them into firewood. By dusk, every log was stacked neatly in the shed.
Agatha emerged, shaking her head. A faint smile flickered across her face.
«Aunt Agatha,» he said, «those beams by the fence»
«No! That old saws had it.»
«Come to mine. Ive got the same onealso broken. Maybe we can make one good one from the pair.»
They visited old George next door. His chainsaw was battered, but the sprocket and chain were still sound.
«Take it all!» George grinned. «If you get it running, you can cut my timber too.»
The neighbour piped up, «Listensplit mine as well and haul em to the shed.» He shoved two fifty-pound notes into Edwins hand.
The job done, Edwin returned home and laid the money on the table.
«Aunt Agatha, take this.»
She shook her head, but a pleased smile tugged at her lips. Cash was rare in the villagefavours usually ruled.
The next day, Edwin tinkered with the rotavator. Ploughing season was near. As he sorted parts in the yard, a boy came tearing in, wild-eyed.
«We were sliding on the ice, andAlfie got swept away! He cant jump off!»
Agatha and Fiona burst out, all of them sprinting toward the river.
The ice floe carrying the boy drifted farther from shore, midstream now. Upstream, massive slabs of ice bore downsomewhere, the jam had broken.
Fiona wailed.
But Edwin was already in the freezing water, swimming hard. He hauled himself onto the floe just as a crushing weight of ice bore down.
«Listen, Alfie,» Edwin crouched low. «Youre a proper lad, yeah? When that big one hits, we jump onto itor were done. Only a second to move. Ready? Give me your hand. Nowjump!»
He hurled the boy onto the looming ice, then followed, gasping as his leg slammed against the edge. His trouser leg darkened with blood. Alfie stared at his scraped palms, trembling.
The current seized them, carrying them into the unknown.
From the bank, the villagers watched in horror.
«Theyre done for!» someone cried.
«Maybe not,» the constable mused. «The river bends sharp up aheadand Edwins no fool.»
Then he bolted for his Land Rover parked nearby.
Edwin hugged the shivering boy. «One down, son. Next testthat floe wont clear the bend. Well hit hard. Move to the far sidenow!»
The bank rushed toward them. Impact! They skidded across the ice, landing on pebbles.
«Alive!» Edwin hoisted the boy up.
«My arm hurts and my leg.»
«Bah! Youll heal by your wedding day.»
«But its bleeding!»
«Tough it out. Weve got to reach the road.»
Alfie rubbed his elbow. «It stings.»
«None of that. Youre a man now.»
Minutes later, they reached the roadjust as the Land Rover rounded the bend. The constable leapt out.
«Still breathing, then?» Edwin nodded.
«Blimey, you look rough! Get inhospital, now!»
Back home, Fiona sobbed on the bed. Agatha paced by the window. A phone trill startled them both. Fiona snatched it up*Constable* flashed onscreen.
«Whatwhats happened?» she shrieked.
«Alfies here, patched up proper. Hang on»
«*Mum?*» came Alfies voice.
«Sweetheart, are you alright?»
«Course! Im not a baby, am I?»
«See, Fiona? Alls well,» the constable cut in.
Agatha snatched the phone. «JimJim, what about Edwin?»
«Getting stitched. Waithere he is.»
«Edwin? You there?»
«Yeah, all good.»
«Aunt Agatha, theyre fine,» the constable said. «Bringing em home shortly.»
Agatha exhaled, waving at Fiona. «Enough lying about. The menll be back soonstarving, Ill bet. Breakfast was hours ago… She tied on her apron, pulled the blackened kettle onto the stove, and reached for the flour. The logs Edwin had stacked so neatly crackled in the hearth, filling the room with a steady warmth. When the door finally opened and his boots thudded on the mat, she didnt look upjust slid a steaming bowl of porridge across the table. Eat, she said. And for the first time in years, the house felt like a home.
