Long ago, in a quiet corner of the English countryside, an elderly couple lived in a humble cottage that had weathered the years as much as they had. Though the walls creaked and the floors groaned, they could never bear to leaveit was home.
Evenings were often spent reminiscing about happier days, of which there had been many. Their children, grown now with families of their own, had long since scattered. Their daughter, Margaret, lived in the neighbouring village and visited often, bringing their grandchildren, who filled the cottage with laughter. But their son, Henry, had moved far awayfirst to London, then beyond. Five years had passed since his last visit, his days consumed by work and his holidays spent abroad with his second wife. His first marriage had ended when his wife, fond of travel and adventure, drifted from him. They had no children, and now Henry was starting anew.
Then, one day, a letter arrivedHenry was coming home.
Joy flooded the old couples hearts. The father, Thomas, cycled to the village at once to fetch provisions, while his wife, Eleanor, pondered what delicacies she might prepare to welcome their beloved son. They counted the hours until his arrival.
Henry came late in the evening, ate his supper, and went straight to bed. His parents sat quietly beside him, content just to gaze upon his face, for he was too weary from his journey to speak much.
Thomas whispered cheerfully, Our boy will sleep well tonight, and tomorrow hell help chop firewood. Well clear the stable, fetch a Yule log, and decorate the housejust as we used to. Its been years since we last celebrated properly.
Eleanor added, And the pantry floor needs mending, else well fall straight through.
Thomas soon retired, but Eleanor lingered, smoothing Henrys blanket, adjusting his pillow, unwilling to leave him.
At dawn, Thomas stoked the hearth so the house would be warm when Henry woke. Eleanor rose just as early to bake a cake. It was nearly noon before Henry stirred, declaring he hadnt slept so soundly in years. After breakfast, he settled before the telly, eager for a film.
Eleanor hesitated before asking, Son, could you help your father with the firewood?
Mother, Im only here a short while, Henry replied. Let Father heat the wash-house instead.
Without a word, the elderly couple hauled water from the well for the bath, their backs straining under the weight.
At midday, Thomas ventured, The stable needs mucking out. Youre young and strongwould you mind?
Henry scoffed. Do you think Im not worn out from work in the city? I came to rest, and here you are, putting me to labour.
That evening, after his bath, Henry opened a bottle of spirits and lamented his troubleshis grand London flat with its costly furnishings, his pedigree hound, the tiresome women hed known, the drudgery of his work. His parents listened wearily until they could bear no more and excused themselves to bed.
Henry, slighted, announced he would leave for his sistershis parents were dull company. Eleanor wept and begged him not to drive, hiding his car keys. Nearly in a rage, Henry stormed to his room, turned the telly to deafening volume, and soon fell asleep snoring.
Thomas, unable to rest, crept in and switched off the noise before returning to bed.
The next morning, Henry wandered the woods, then returned chilled, grateful for the warmth of the hearth and a cup of hot tea as he lounged on the settee. He seemed to have forgotten the previous nights strife. But Eleanors head throbbed all day.
When it was time for Henry to leave, his parents packed a hamper of homemade preserves, jams, and pickles. Henry accepted it graciously.
So much! My wife will be pleasedshes never tasted preserves like these. Not that we lack for anything in London, but I shant refuse. I only regret forgetting your Christmas giftsnext time, Ill bring them.
Eleanor wiped away a tear. Dont come again, son. We love you, we worry for youbut you may as well lie upon your own sofa, watch your own finer telly, in your own grand house.
Henry knew he had wounded them, but no words came. With a wave, he climbed into his motorcar and drove back to the city, where the familiar bustle awaited.
