The Warmth of Another’s Soul: A Story in the Country Cottage
William heaved the heavy buckets of water onto the bench in old Mrs. Eleanor’s porch and was about to leave when the elderly woman grasped his sleeve firmly, silently nodding toward the house. He obeyed, stepping inside and settling onto the wide bench by the door, waiting to hear what she might say.
Eleanor, without a word, pulled a cast-iron pot from the oven, glanced at the old clock on the wall as if hinting it was lunchtime, and ladled out a deep bowl of fragrant cabbage soup. She added a slice of salted pork, an onion, and a hunk of crusty rye bread. After a moment’s thought, she set down a bottle of homemade cider. Her hunched back, wrapped in a woolen shawl, looked fragile, yet she moved steadily in her well-worn boots despite the cottage’s warmth.
William lowered his voice and spoke:
“I’ll gladly eat the soup, but I won’t touch the cider. I swore off alcohol, Mrs. Eleanor. Kissed the Bible, promised the vicar. After that time I got drunk and made a fool of myself, picking a fight at the village hall over my Emily—no idea how I escaped jail. Had to pay a pretty penny for the broken chairs. Mum said your back’s been aching, so I fetched your water. I’ll eat, chop some firewood, and see what else needs doing. If Mum catches me lounging by the telly, she’ll invent chores on the spot, as if pulling them from thin air.”
William chuckled at his own joke but then spluttered on the soup. Eleanor wasted no time, thumping his back with her tiny fists as if hammering nails into wood. Catching his breath, he dug back into the soup with pork and onion before flashing a sly grin.
“Granny, how do you even sleep? All straightened out or curled like a bow?”
Eleanor looked at him, her clear blue eyes twinkling with amusement, then waved a hand dismissively.
“Y’know, I reckon you were a right beauty in your day!” William continued, nodding at the old photograph on the wall. “Thick hair, eyebrows like rainbows, and eyes bright as stars. My Emily’s a stunner too! Let me list her good points while you count on your fingers. Though I doubt you’ve got enough: beautiful, tall, modest, kind, hardworking, tidy, thrifty, sings like a nightingale, dances like a dream, generous, never married, doesn’t drink or smoke, doesn’t wander about. Well? Run out of fingers yet?”
William noticed Eleanor’s laughter lighting up her eyes. Her chest shook silently, warmth radiating from her.
“Blimey, your eyes—so bright, so alive!” he marvelled. “You know Emily, don’t you?”
Eleanor shrugged, as if to say, *Who can tell if you’re any good?*
“Course, we’re not like you were,” William went on. “You lot listened to your elders, feared disobedience. Us? If things don’t go our way, we march straight into trouble. Dad asks my advice before doing anything. Mum treats me like the man of the house. My brothers moved to the cities—I’m the youngest, living with the parents till I wed. But I want a big family. Emily’s fitter than a fiddle—I’m a vet, mind you—she’ll have as many kids as she likes. So, fingers all used up?”
Full of food and drowsy from the hearth’s heat, William looked around. Despite her aches, Eleanor’s cottage was spotless as a museum. The massive bed with its feather mattress, stacked pillows, and lace curtain stood out.
“Wouldn’t mind a bed like that for the wedding night!” he mused. “Though I’d probably forget everything else—like an egg poached too long.”
He laughed.
“Emily’s nearly done with her nursing studies. She’ll be back soon, and then—wedding bells! Imagine: I treat animals; she treats folks. Though Mum sometimes calls Dad worse than livestock. And let’s be honest—we’ve all acted like beasts. Heard about Tommy stealing Martin’s motorbike and drowning it in the pond? What a lout! And Peter nearly burnt the hayloft down smoking. Real charmer!”
“But the worst is Danny. Led poor Fiona on, got her pregnant, then swanned back with a city girl. Fiona nearly lost her mind—thought she’d harm herself. Yesterday, though, she was beaming, proud as punch, saying the baby boy’s a blessing. How’s Danny gonna walk past her house knowing his son’s inside? *I’d* never abandon Emily. Just looking at her makes me wanna hold her so tight we melt into one. But she’s proper—no funny business before marriage. Boundaries matter. She’ll make a cracking nurse—fix your back in no time. Her injections? Gentler than a mosquito. When the council gives us a house, I’ll miss you, granny. We won’t be neighbours. But I’ll still pop by to help, to chat. Got any more grub?”
Eleanor grabbed a poker and pulled out a pot of buckwheat and meat stew. The rich aroma made William reel. He snatched a spoon, drumming it on the table like a child. Eleanor’s eyes shone, delighted he enjoyed her cooking.
“Go on, lie on the feather mattress while I eat,” William teased. “Or is it just for show? Don’t worry—Emily and I’ll break it in proper.”
He choked again, but Eleanor didn’t pound his back. Instead, she longed to hug this lively lad, thanking him for staying, for sharing his thoughts. Her rough, work-worn hands brushed his back, patted his shoulder, then pressed a kiss to his crown.
William stretched, rising from the table:
“Hard to work on a full belly! Might as well sprawl on that mattress.”
Laughing, he stepped outside. He hauled armfuls of firewood, swept the porch, checked the pig in the shed, bowed to Eleanor, and headed home.
“Where’ve you been?” his mother scolded. “Emily called, but you were too busy nattering!”
“How’s a man supposed to leave her? One story leads to another,” William joked. “Mum… was she born mute?”
“No, love,” she sighed. “During the war, she sang like a lark. Went door-to-door with patriotic songs. When the Nazis hanged partisans, she belted out *The Sacred War*. They cut out her tongue. The resistance saved her. We always thought she’d been mute from birth, but the councilman told us the truth. Her village died out—ours thrived. The army helped her buy this place. People can be worse than animals, shutting themselves away, not caring. But she understands, even without words.”
“Mum, she *speaks* with her eyes!” William exclaimed. “I talked about Emily, and she lit up. When I mentioned Danny, fire flashed in her gaze. And her hands—so gentle. She’s no family of mine, but it’s like she’s kin. Doesn’t gesture like mutes do—just listens, thoughtful. Promised to fix her shed planks tomorrow. So don’t invent chores—I’m booked.”
