“Who are you here for?” asked Mary Fletcher, stepping onto the porch with Nicholas beside her, both eyeing their unexpected guest.
“I’m here for Mary Fletcher! Im her granddaughterwell, great-granddaughter, actually. The granddaughter of Alex, her eldest son.”
Mary sat on her sunlit bench, savouring the first warm days of spring. At last, the season had arrived. Only God knew how shed endured the winter.
“Another winter like that, and I wont make it,” shed thought, exhaling with relief. She wasnt afraid of passing anymore. If anything, shed been waiting for it. Shed saved enough money, bought her burial clothes. Nothing tied her to this world now.
***
Once, shed had a large familyher husband, Frederick Wilson, a tall, sturdy man, and four children: three boys and a girl. Theyd lived happily, helping one another, rarely arguing. One by one, the children grew up and scattered.
The eldest two sons went off to university and later settled in distant cities for work. The middle boy struggled in school but eventually built a successful business that took him abroad. The daughter, too, left their village, fluttering off to London, where she soon married.
At first, the children visited often. They sent letters, then, with the rise of mobile phones, they called. Grandchildren came one after another, and Mary would pack her old, battered suitcase to stay with one child or another as a nanny.
But bit by bit, the grandchildren outgrew her. The calls became rare, then stopped altogether. Visiting? Her children had long forgotten the ideatoo busy with work, their own families, their own growing children.
The last time theyd all gathered was for Fredericks funeral. Such a strong manshed thought hed live to a hundred. But life had other plans.
After the burial, the children drifted away again. At first, they called their mother, but even those calls faded. Mary tried ringing them herself but soon realised she was an afterthought and stopped. So passed the last ten years. Once a year, perhaps, one of them would remember her, and shed smile to herself for a week straight.
One afternoon, as Mary sat lost in thought, a voice called out.
“Hello, Aunt Mary!” A young man stood by the fence, grinning. “Remember me?”
She squinted. “Nicholas! Is that really you?”
“It is!” he beamed, stepping into the yard.
Nicholas was the son of neighbours who couldnt go a day without a row. All her life, Mary had known him as a perpetually hungry child. Out of pity, shed fed him, given him her own childrens old clothes, let him sleep over when his parents fights grew too loud.
His parents hadnt lasted long. One day, they were gone, and Nicholas was taken awayto a childrens home, she later heard. She hadnt seen him since and had missed him terribly.
“Whereve you been all these years?” she asked, delighted.
“Childrens home, then the army, then I studied. Now Im backtime to rebuild the old village!”
Mary waved a hand. “Rebuild what? Everyones left.”
“Doesnt matter. Well manage!”
And so began a new chapter. Nicholas found work with old Mr. Wilson, the villages biggest farmer. In his spare time, he fixed up his parents crumbling cottage and helped Mary with chores. She brightened, calling him nothing but “my boy.” Three peaceful years passed.
Then, one day, Nicholas hesitated. “Im leaving, Aunt Mary. Mr. Wilsons grown too greedywants work for no pay. Im off to find better wages. Dont be cross.”
“Cross? Never! Go with God.”
Alone again, Mary sometimes wept from loneliness. She waited, counting the days. Yet something still kept her here.
****
“Hello, Aunt Mary!” The familiar voice made her turn. There he stoodtaller now, well-dressed.
“Nicholas! Can it be?”
“Its me! Back for good.”
“Oh, what joy!” She fussed. “Come in, come in! Ill put the kettle on.”
“Tea sounds grand! Ill just pop home firstdidnt know youd be here, so Ive no gifts.”
Half an hour later, they sat at the table, sipping from her best china, talking nonstop.
“Id nearly given up, Nicholas,” she admitted, wiping a tear.
“Dont even think it!” He teased. “Were going to live splendidly. Ive savedstarting my own farm. Youve years yet!”
A girls voice interrupted. “Hello? Anyone home?”
Mary peered out to see a young woman in a smart coat and heels.
“Who are you here for?” she asked, stepping onto the porch with Nicholas.
“You! Im your great-granddaughterEmma. Granddad Alexs granddaughter. I called, but your phone was off, so I came on a whim.”
Bewildered, Mary gestured her inside while Nicholas carried her suitcase.
Emma devoured the treats Mary offered, chatting eagerly. “I hate the city. Wanted to try village life. Granddad Alex suggested I stay with yousaid a few months here would cure me. Dad rang, I rangno answer. Hope Im not a burden. Ive money, and they sent gifts!”
“Stay as long as you like!” Mary glowed.
A month passed. Mary watched from her bench as Emma expertly tended the gardenno city girl now. With Nicholass help, theyd revived the long-neglected plot, built a greenhouse, and filled it with seedlings.
Nicholas, too, was busy. With his savings, hed begun a modern farm, hired workers to fix Marys roof, and installed proper heating.
Mary smiled more than she had in years.
Only one shadow remainedEmma would leave soon. Shed grown so fond of her. But time flew, and Emma packed.
“However will I manage the garden alone?” Mary fretted, wrapping pastries for her journey.
“Just keep the water barrel full. Nicholas will water. Ill be back to weed!” Emma grinned.
“Youre coming back?”
“Of course! I cant stay away. I love you dearly. And Nicholas proposed! Autumn weddingwhats a girl to do? Hes a country man now!”
A year later, Mary rocked her great-great-grandsons pram in the sun while Emma and Nicholas worked the thriving farmits success spilling over into the village.
Gazing at the sleeping baby, Mary smiled.
“Not yet, my time isnt near. These children still need me.”
Kindness finds its way home, and love, once given, returns tenfold.
