The sharp jangle of a crash echoed from the next room. Tossing aside the pot shed been scrubbing, Agnes bolted towards the sound. There stood her grandson, wide-eyed, staring at the shattered vase in dismay.
«What on earth have you done?» she shrieked, snapping a damp tea towel against his back.
«Nanna, Ill clean it!» He scrambled for the broken shards.
«Ill give you cleaning!» she hissed, cracking the towel again. «Sit on the bed and dont move!»
Once the mess was cleared, she returned to the kitchen. A puddle spread across the floor, potatoes strewn in itthank God they were still raw. She scooped them up, rinsed them, and shoved them into the oven. Slumping onto a chair, she buried her face in her hands, cursing her daughter silently:
*Whywhy does everyone else have a proper family? And me? No husband of my own, and now my daughters no better. Just when I thought things couldnt get worse, she goes and drags home another mansome prison guard, no less! «Oh, hes good,» she says. Three years writing letters, calling it love, and shes never even laid eyes on him. Now hell be living under my roof. As if feeding her and the boy wasnt enoughnow Ive got him to worry about. Well, Ill make sure this son-in-law doesnt last long. Hell run off soon enough.*
«Nanna, can I go outside?»
«Go on, then! But wrap up warm. And stay away from the riverthe icell break any day now.»
«Aye, Nanna!»
A car rumbled outside. Agnes peered through the grimy kitchen window. From here, she could see the mans facescarred, rough. *Whats that daft girl thinking? A prison guard, and ugly to boot.*
The door swung open. In they came.
Fiona had brought her fiancé home.
«Ah, just the man I wanted to see,» smirked Constable Harris, stepping forward. «Need to check your release papers. And see what sort of fellow my future neighbor is.»
«Off with you!» Agnes snapped. «Theyre just sitting down to eat. And hes no son-in-law of minenever will be.»
***
Later, Agnes went to fetch the boy. Not that she needed to searchthere he was, tearing about with the village lads. Still, she lingered, chatting with the neighbors, dreading the return home.
Her gaze fell on the massive logs piled by the shed. *How am I supposed to split those?* She grabbed the axe and began hacking at the smallest one, chips flying with each swing. On the next strike, a firm hand caught the axe mid-air.
«Aunt Agnes, let me try.»
«Go on, then,» she muttered, eyeing her new son-in-law warily.
He ran a thumb along the blade and frowned. «You got a sharpening stone?»
«Check the shed. My husbands old workshops still there.»
***
Inside, Harolds eyes widened. The place was a treasure trove of tools. He fired up the grindstonestill workedand honed the axe to a razors edge. Then he grabbed the splitting maul and set to work, cleaving the logs clean in two before reducing them to firewood. By dusk, every log was stacked neatly in the shed.
Agnes emerged, arms crossed, but a grudging smile flickered.
«Aunt Agnes,» Harold called, pointing. «Those beams by the fence»
«Rotten. Wont budge.»
«Come take a look at mine. Same problem. Maybe between the two, we can fix one.»
They trudged to old Toms place, where a battered chainsaw lay in piecesbut the sprocket was sound, the chain still good.
«Take it,» Tom grinned. «If you get it running, you can saw up my beams too.»
***
Then the neighbor piped up: «Listensplit mine too, and haul em to my shed.» He shoved two fifty-pound notes into Harolds hand.
The job was done before sundown. Back home, Harold dropped the money on the table.
«Aunt Agnes, take it.»
She shook her head, but the ghost of a smile betrayed her. Cash was rare in the villagebarter was the usual trade.
***
The next day, Harold tinkered with the old tiller. Planting season was coming. Then a boy sprinted into the yard, wild-eyed, gasping:
«We were sliding on the iceandand Charlie got swept away! He cant get off!»
Agnes and Fiona bolted outside, sprinting toward the river.
There, atop a drifting ice floe, the boy stood frozen as the current carried him further from shore. Upstream, massive slabs of broken ice bore downsomewhere, the jam had burst.
Fiona wailed.
But Harold was already in the water, fighting the icy current. He clawed onto the floe just as a crushing mass of ice loomed.
«Listen, Charlie,» Harold crouched low. «Youre a proper lad, yeah?»
«When that big one hits, we jump onto itor were done. Just a second to move. You ready? Take my handnow!»
He hurled the boy onto the advancing ice and lunged after, his leg tearing on the jagged edge. Blood darkened his trousers. Charlie stared at his scraped palms, trembling.
But the rivers pull was relentless, sweeping them toward the bend.
***
Onshore, the villagers watched in horror.
«Theyre done for,» someone muttered.
«Maybe not,» Constable Harris mused aloud. «River turns sharp just ahead. Harolds no fool.»
He sprinted to his Land Rover.
***
Harold clutched the shivering boy. «Next test, lad. Were hitting that bank hard. Move to the far sidenow!»
The ice shuddered on impact, hurling them onto the pebbled shore.
«Alive!» Harold hoisted the boy up.
«Arm hurts. Leg too.»
«Bah! Youll live.» Harold grinned through gritted teeth.
«But youre bleeding»
«Walk it off. Roads that way.»
Charlie whimpered, rubbing his elbow.
«None of that. Youre a man now.»
***
Minutes later, the Land Rover skidded to a halt.
«Still breathing?» Harris called.
«Barely,» Harold rasped.
«You look half-dead. Get inhospital, now.»
***
Back home, Fiona sobbed into the quilt. Agnes paced, knuckles white on the windowsill. The phones shrill ring startled them both. Fiona snatched it*Constable Harris* flashed on the screen.
«Whatwhats happened?» she cried.
«Your boys here, patched up good. Hold on»
«Mum?» Charlies voice crackled through.
«Sweetheart, are you all right?»
«Course! You think Im soft?»
«See, Fiona? Hes fine,» Harris cut in.
Agnes wrestled the phone away. «HarrisHarold?»
«Getting stitched up. Waithere he is.»
A grunt, then Harolds voice: «Sall right.»
«Hes fine, Agnes,» Harris said. «Bringing em both home soon.»
Agnes sagged against the wall, waving at Fiona. «Stop your blubbering. The menll be starvingdoubt theyve eaten all day. Put the kettle on and get the stew warming. And fetch the clean sheetsHaroldll need rest when he gets back. That mans earned his place at our table.
