**The Apples of Fate: A Homecoming**
I stood in my garden in Willowbrook, gazing at the apple trees bending under the weight of their fruit. This year’s harvest was extraordinary—better than any I could recall. The apples, crimson and gold with rosy cheeks, tumbled to the ground, filling the air with sweetness. I didn’t bother gathering them; there was hardly anyone left to eat them.
The village had emptied over the years. The young had moved to the city for work, and only a handful of us elders remained. In winter, you could count the lit windows on one hand—four or five houses at most.
“Lost in thought again, Mary?” came a voice behind me. “Changed your mind about leaving?”
It was Ellen, my neighbour, pushing a wheelbarrow toward me for apples.
“Oh, Ellen… Take as many as you like,” I sighed. “At least your goats will enjoy them. Help yourself—take them all. Changed my mind? I wish I could, but my son’s already arranged the house sale. Even took a deposit.”
“Hate to see you go,” Ellen said, shaking her head. “Who knows who’ll move in? Probably just weekenders. No one stays long these days.”
She fell silent, filling her barrow, while I watched, my voice barely steady.
“Never seen a crop like this,” I murmured. “The moment I decide to leave, the land clings to me. God, it was hard enough deciding… and even now, I don’t know why I’m doing it.”
“Easier for your boy,” Ellen said. “No long drives—shops, doctors, everything close by. No chopping wood, no digging.”
“True,” I agreed, but my voice cracked. “Only my heart stays here. My head knows better, but my heart won’t let go. Ellen, I’m leaving Mittens and old Rex with you. Look after them till I sort things. Might take Mittens to the city, but Rex is too old for a flat. Poor old soul…”
“Don’t fret, Mary,” Ellen nodded. “I’ll fetch Rex tomorrow—Mittens will come on her own, clever thing. Just don’t miss your bus. Hope we’ll meet again. Maybe you’ll come back… or visit, at least.”
“Yes, yes…” I muttered. “Packed my bag—my son’s fetching the rest this weekend.”
I walked through the house one last time, lingering by the hearth. Tears blurred my vision, but I was out of time. Stepping onto the road, I sat on an old stump by the verge.
Soon, the little village bus rattled up, groaning and clattering. I waved to the driver and took a seat by the window—the only passenger, as ever. Willowbrook was the end of the line.
The road was rough as ever, potholes filled with rainwater. The bus lurched along until, with a sickening crunch, it shuddered to a halt. The driver swore under his breath and climbed out.
“What’s wrong?” I called, leaning out.
He crouched by the front wheel, shaking his head. “Bad news. Need help, or we’re stuck here all night.”
As he phoned for assistance, an odd relief washed over me. I stepped off the bus.
“We’re barely a mile out—I’ll walk back. If help’s delayed, come to the village. It’s late.”
“They’ll be an hour or so,” he said. “Sure you won’t wait?”
“No,” I said firmly. “I’ve walked worse—mushroom picking, trips to the next village for bread.”
I strode back toward Willowbrook, my bag light, my heart humming. Ellen, wheeling her barrow home, spotted me.
“Well, I never!” she gasped. “What’s this mean?”
“It means the house won’t let me go,” I laughed. “I’ll call my son, tell him not to wait. Bus broke down just past the village—something with the wheel. You know these roads.”
“Oh, thank goodness!” Ellen beamed. “Come for supper. Your place is bare, but mine’s warm. We’ll talk proper.”
Rex barked wildly at the sight of me, tail wagging. Mittens darted inside, straight to her bowl.
I dropped my bag and announced, “Lord forgive me—what was I thinking? I’m not leaving. That’s final.”
Mittens meowed in reply.
“Speaking for the Almighty, are you?” I chuckled, scratching her ears as she curled in my lap. “Hold on—must call Tom before he worries.”
I dialled my son.
“Tom, listen—the bus broke down… Yes, just past the village. Seems it’s not meant to be. I’m already home. Don’t wait—I’m staying. No, really, something with the wheel. I was the only one. And Tom… I’m not moving. I’m sorry, love.”
“Mum, you sure?” Tom asked. “Funny you say that—the buyers backed out today. Kept the deposit, though—left a couple hundred quid for the trouble.”
“There, you see!” I laughed. “No sale after all. Now I’m certain.”
“We’ll sort it later,” he sighed.
“Nothing to sort,” I said. “Home’s where the heart is. Forgive me, son.”
“What can I do with you?” he chuckled. “Well, that money’ll buy firewood for winters to come. I’ll order some tomorrow.”
“Splendid!” I said. “I’ll expect you with the wood. Must tell Ellen the news.”
Ellen and her husband Nigel were cooking supper. They cheered when they heard.
“This calls for a toast,” Nigel declared, raising his glass. “Enough of this moving nonsense, Mary. Stay put—give us all some peace. We’d miss you. And you’ve done plenty for us.”
“I agree,” I said, hugging them, eyes damp. “No more scares, I promise.”
“And remember,” I added, “all the signs said to stay. Must listen to God.”
“And us, while you’re at it,” Nigel winked.
We toasted, feasted, and laughter spilled from their cottage late into the night.
A week later, Tom and his wife brought the firewood. Ellen and Nigel helped stack it all day. Come evening, we gathered on my porch. The mood was bright, as if the thought of selling had never crossed my mind. The sunset that day was breathtaking—all gold and pink—as we sat watching in silence.
“Nowhere lovelier than home,” I murmured.
Tom squeezed my shoulder. “Ours, Mum… always ours.”
