In the village, they said old Madge had lost her wits with age. Many avoided her cottage, calling her a witch, but the way she silenced the foul-mouthed gossips is still remembered to this day…
Madge seemed an ordinary country womanwell in years and a bit oddhelping those in need despite her meagre pension, taking in lost travellers. The wealthier villagers (for it was a prosperous place) seldom welcomed strangersmight offer a cup of well water, but never a bed for the night.
Madge was different. Shed feed any wanderer, offer simple fare, and give them a place to sleep if evening drew near. Folk called her strange for itletting strangers in, and her with a granddaughter of marriageable age. Theyd even threaten her:
«Keep this up, and well send your Lucy to the orphanage. Call the social workers, and theyll take her from you.»
But that was long ago. Lucy came of age, and the spiteful lot left them be. Still, Madge had been furious at firstLucy was her hearts treasure, her only hope and comfort in old age.
The girl was all she had left. Madge had lost everyoneher husband gone young, felled by a heart attack at forty-two. Shed raised her daughter, Eliza, alone. A fine girl she was, who married well and moved to the city, where Lucy was born. Then came the tragedy…
Elizas husband was a geologist, always away on expeditions, sometimes for half a year. From one, he never returnedlost without a trace, not even a body found. Rescue teams searched again and again, and one of them vanished tooor so Eliza was told.
Eliza grieved terribly, with a child in her arms and no father to help. Madge held her up:
«I raised you alone after your father died, and youll manage tooraise our Lucy, and Ill help.»
At first, Eliza seemed to accept her fate. But shed only pretended, sparing her mothers heart. Two years later, the unthinkable happened.
Eliza drowned her sorrow in drinkfirst now and then, then nearly every day.
«The worlds bleak without my dear Edward. Ill never have him back, never know happiness againwhats the use of living?» shed weep whenever Madge tried to comfort her.
Madge tried everything, but nothing helpedEliza was bound to the bottle. She died in her prime, and the village judged her harshly, but perhaps it was just her fate.
Fifteen-year-old Lucy was left an orphan. Madge took her in, bringing her to the village. Lucy resistedshe was used to city lifebut Madge persuaded her:
«Wed never manage in town on my pension. Here, weve a garden and hens.»
And shed often say:
«Youll have a different life, my treasurejust wait. When youre older, Ill find you a fine match!»
«And where will you find him, Gran? In this backwater? Only lost travellers pass through.»
«Never you mind, dear. Gran knows what shes doing. Let the gossips chatterpay them no heed.»
So they livedjust the two of them in a tumbledown cottage on the village edge. Madge kept house; Lucy went to the village school, helping after lessons.
Schoolmates mocked herthey knew what became of her mother. Neighbours loved to whisper:
«Her mother was a lost causewhatll become of the girl? Nothing good!»
It hurt Madge to hear itas if shed wished her husband dead or her daughter widowed. But she swore to herselfshed see Lucys fate secured.
She ignored the neighbourslet them talk. They despised her for itnothing touched her, their words meant nothing.
Still, they couldnt resist. Whenever Madge took in a traveller, the rumours flewshe must be scouting a husband for Lucy, since no local lad would wed a girl with such a past.
«Who wants your louts?» Madge would retort proudly. «Our Lucys meant for better.»
«Well see,» theyd sneer, calling her «witch» under their breath.
Time passed. The village quietedfewer cruel words were spoken. It seemed theyd been left in peace, but it was just the calm before the stormone that blew in from nowhere yet changed everything for the old woman and her orphaned girl.
One quiet winter evening, as darkness swallowed the village, noise rose beyond the fencesomeone struggling to start a stalled engine. The grating sounds mixed with mens voices cursing the weather, the rough roads, plain bad luck.
A burly neighbour, clearly irked by the disturbance, stomped out.
«Making a racket at this hour? Folk are trying to sleep!»
«What hour? Its barely eight!»
«Who are you, anyway? City folk, by the look of it. What brings you to our godforsaken village?»
«Hunters. Headed for winter game, got lost. And now the cars acting up. Any chance you could help?»
«Help? What if youre not who you say? We dont take strangers innot with two daughters under my roof. And Im no mechanicyoure on your own.»
The hunters exchanged glances.
«Well, thanks all the same. But could you point us to a place to stay?»
«No inns herethis isnt the city,» the man snapped, turning to leave. Then, as if reconsidering:
«Only one in the village would take you inold Madges cottage. Shes a bit touched, mindodd waysbut shell open her door to anyone.»
He jerked a thumb toward the village edge, adding with spite:
«Got a girl living with herso you wont be bored, lads.»
With that, he marched off, his gate slamming shut behind him. The last light winked out, leaving no guide to the cottage on the edge.
The hunters pressed on. Locking their car, they trudged where the villager had pointed.
The men were stunned by the unfriendlinesscountry folk were usually kinder. Still, they pressed onnight had fallen, and they had no choice.
«Mornings wiser,» they agreed, knocking softly at the ramshackle cottage.
«Forgive the late call! Might we warm ourselves inside?»
«Why not? Come in, come inIll fetch tea and get you settled,» Madge answered at once, creaking the door wide.
«Where are you from, lads? What brings you so far?»
«Hunters,» one said hesitantly, surprised by her welcome.
«Im Oliver, and this is my friend Charlie,» the first introduced them.
Charlie flushed like a maiden.
«Dont fear an old woman, boys. Folk here say all sorts, but youll be warm and safe hereIll make up beds by the stove. But no need for sleep yetsupper first.»
The guests exchanged glances but brighteneditd been ages since a hot meal.
Madge bustled to the kitchen, leaving them to study the «witchs lair.»
An ancient icon hung in one corner, framed by an embroidered cloth. On the silla few photos. Daughter and son-in-law, likely, they murmured. Beside thema girl with sad eyes. Granddaughter?
As they debated, Madge returned with boiled potatoes and pickles. Soon the table bore fresh-baked bread, its scent stirring memories.
«Just like Grans!» Charlie blurted, barely containing his joy.
«Eat, dear guests, eat. Ill set the kettle. Tea with dandelion jamyouve never tasted the like!»
«Dandelion?» Oliver gaped.
«My gran made it too!» Charlie said proudly, endearing himself further.
«Theres a clearing in the woodscome May, dandelions like gold. The jams pure honey,» Madge boasted, keen to impress.
The men didnt resistthe cottages warmth was soul-deep. Only Madges quiet scrutiny of Charlie puzzled themshe barely questioned them, just watched as he praised her cooking, near swooning over the jam.
Suddenly, a faint voice called from another room:
«Gran… water…»
The guests exchanged glances, then eyed the photos.
«Your granddaughter? Is she ill?»
«Ah, the foolish girlchopping wood yesterday, though weve barely enough to burn. Fever took her by nightfallno medicine here, and Im too old to trek to the chemist in this weather.»
She sighed heavily, filling a cup with lime-blossom tea and dandelion jam before hurrying off.
«Waitweve medicine,» Charlie said, rummaging in his bag for fever tablets.
«Heregive her these. If shes no better by morning, well think of something.»
He didnt follow.
Minutes later, Madge returned.
«You must be wearyIll make your beds. Ill sit with Lucymy poor lamb, my only one.»
Tears pricked Charlies eyes. He stepped forward.
«Let me sit with heryou rest.»
«Ill rest in my grave, lad. While I live, Ill care for her. You sleepmornings wiser. Were used to managing alone.»
She left them. Once her door shut, Oliver muttered:
«Witch, my foot. Shes just like my granrest her soul.»
«Aye, folk here are bitter. Maybe she crossed them.»
Dozing off, they heard footsteps. In the dark, the heavy, careful tread could only be Madge.
«Whats she doing?» Charlie wondered, the kind old woman lingering in his thoughts.
Pretending to sleep, he watched as she tiptoed to their coats, took his, and vanished into her room.
«Odd. Maybe she is a witchor checking our papers. But why let us stay if she doubts us?»
Questions swirled, but he wouldnt disturb her.
«Mornings soon enough.»
Oliver slept soundly. At dawn, Charlie rose quietly, donned his coat, and slipped outside.
His jaw dropped. A neat stitch ran along the sleeveso fine even a seamstress might marvel. How had she noticed the tear? He hadnt known it was there.
He could buy a hundred coatsat twenty-seven, he owned a thriving restaurant, wealth enough. But Madge couldnt know thather kindness touched him deeply.
As the village stirred, he headed to the woodshed.
«Split some logstheyll need them after were gone.»
Then he recalled the girls photo.
«Pretty thing, and hardworking too. Id like to meet her.»
Dreaming of showing Lucy his restaurant, he swung the axe with such vigor that chips flew.
Suddenly, Madges voice warmed his back:
«What a lad! What a worker! Years since a mans hand touched this housewhat luck!»
Charlie reddened.
«Just habitsplit logs for my gran since I was small.»
Madge beamed.
«Bless you, lad! Youve heart. In two daysShrovetidewell have fuel for feast-day baking.»
Then she added:
«Stay for it.»
Charlie flushed againbarely acquainted, and she was inviting them to stay.
«Why not? Ive four days free.»
«Then staybe our guests,» Madge said, turning indoors.
Oliver emerged, and Charlie eagerly shared the invitation.
«You mad? Shrovetide in this backwater? NoIm for home. Stay if you like.»
Their quarrel drew the neighbour whod sent them here.
«Lads! Found a mechanic for your motor.»
«Thanks, good sir!»
«ComeIll introduce you.»
Oliver stayed, fuming, while Charlie followed. But help wasnt the neighbours only aim. Once out of earshot, he said:
«Fancy motorcost a pretty penny, Ill wager. Youre clearly gentry. My advicesteer clear of that mad hag and her girl. Penniless, the lot. If youre set on a country lassfashionable these daysthere are better families. My daughters, say…»
Now Charlie understoodthe man had heard of his wealth and hoped to wed a girl to him. He demurred:
«Ill return for Shrovetidethen, perhaps, Ill call. But thanks for the mechanic.»
«Shrovetide, he says! That pauper girls snared him.»
By breakfast, Lucy joined them, her fever gone.
«This is Oliver and Charlie,» Madge introduced them.
«Lost last nightIve asked them for Shrovetide.»
«Im Lucy,» she said shyly. «Tea?»
«Sit, dearyoure barely well. Ill serve.»
«No, GranIm fine.»
Soon the table held the samovar, dandelion jam, bread, and last nights potatoes.
«Nothing so fine since my grans day,» Charlie said, reaching for more bread.
Lucy gazed at him, spellbound. He looked backalready fond of this stranger.
Only Madge seemed unmovedyet her eyes knew what none else did.
«Gran Madgemight I invite Lucy to town?» Charlie asked timidly.
«If she wishesand when shes well,» Madge said mysteriously, hiding her toothless smile. «Will you stay for Shrovetide?»
«Charlie mightIve business in town,» Oliver said firmly.
«Well leave by eveningmotor fixed. But Ill return.»
Charlies glance asked Lucy if she wanted that.
Till dusk, while the car was repaired, they talked like old friends. But parting came.
«Ill be back in two daysfor you,» he whispered.
Lucy longed to believebut whod want her, with her past? Surely not this handsome townsman…
The car vanished, yet she stared after it. Shed no idea he was wealthyshed loved him at first sight.
«Enough dreaming,» she told herself, glancing at Madge.
«Hell come, dearI feel it. A spark passed between youhotter than the firewood he chopped.»
Shrovetide dawned. Madge and Lucy baked pancakes, awaiting their guest.
But Charlie didnt come the first day. Or the second.
On the third, that neighbour appeared.
«Your fine gentleman promised Shrovetidewhere is he? He owns a grand restaurantwhats he want with you?»
Lucy fled inside; Madge thoughtits happening.
«Dont gloatits early yet,» she snapped, shooing him off.
Stumbling, he turnedthen froze.
«What now? Be off!»
Then Madge froze tooround the bend came the hunters car.
Charlie stepped out, bearing scarlet roses and a hamper (treats for the feast, it turned out).
«Gran Madge,» he said, «Ive fallen for your Lucy. May I marry her?»
«If shell have you.»
Lucy burst onto the stepsmiling as she hadnt since her parents died. She threw her arms about him.
«Come inside, my love.» And from that moment, they were never parted.
Long after, the village whisperedhow the mad old witch had enchanted a wealthy man, conjured a grand fate for her girl. The neighbour gnashed his teeth hardesthis daughters spurned, his malice wasted.
