**Apples of Fate: A Return Home**
I stood in my garden in Ashford, gazing at the apple trees, their branches bending beneath the weight of the harvest. This year’s yield was extraordinary—crimson and golden apples, their cheeks rosy, tumbling to the ground, filling the air with sweetness. I hadn’t even tried gathering them. There was no one left to eat them.
The village was nearly empty now. The young had gone to the city chasing better lives, and the elderly could be counted on one hand. In winter, only four or five houses in Ashford still had lights in their windows.
“Lost in thought, Mrs. Thompson?” A voice came from behind me. “Still planning to leave?”
It was Eleanor, my neighbour, pushing a wheelbarrow toward the trees.
“Oh, it’s you, Eleanor,” I sighed. “Take the apples, love. At least your goats will enjoy them. Take as many as you can carry… Change my mind? I wish I could, but my son’s already arranged the sale. Even took a deposit.”
“Shame to lose you,” Eleanor shook her head. “Who knows who’ll move in next? Probably just weekenders, not proper residents.”
She fell silent and began picking apples. Watching her, I murmured,
“Such a fine harvest. Don’t remember one like it. Just as I’m set to leave, the garden, the land—it’s like they’re holding me back. Lord, it was hard to decide. And still, I don’t understand why I’m doing this.”
“Robert thinks it’s more convenient,” Eleanor replied. “No need to trek out here. Everything’s close in town—shops, doctors. No more chopping wood or tending the garden.”
“True,” I agreed, though my voice shook. “But my heart stays here. I know it’s sensible, but my soul won’t let go. Ellie, I’m leaving Whiskers and Rex with you. Look after them till I sort things out. Might take Whiskers with me, but Rex is too old for a flat. What a mess…”
“Don’t fret, Margaret,” Eleanor nodded. “I’ll fetch Rex tomorrow. Whiskers will come on his own—clever thing. Just don’t miss the bus. Hope we’ll see you again. Maybe you’ll change your mind… And don’t forget to visit.”
“Yes, yes…” I mumbled. “Packed my bag already. My son’s fetching the rest this weekend.”
I lingered by the old stove in the kitchen, tears blurring my sight, but time was ticking. Stepping outside, I sat on a weathered tree stump by the road.
Soon, the little bus rattled into view, groaning and clattering. I greeted the driver and took my seat by the window—Ashford’s last stop meant I was the only passenger.
The road was rough as ever. Rain had turned potholes into ponds, and the bus crawled forward. Then, with a sickening crunch, it lurched to a halt. The driver muttered under his breath and climbed out.
“What’s wrong?” I called through the window.
He crouched by the front wheel, shaking his head. “Bad news. Need to call for help, or we’re stuck here all night.”
As he dialled, I felt an unexpected lightness. Stepping out, I said,
“We’re not far. I’ll walk back. If help doesn’t come, join me in the village. It’s late.”
“They’ll be here in an hour or so,” he said. “Sure you won’t wait? Might take a while to fix.”
“No,” I said firmly. “It’s only a mile. I’ll manage.”
“You certain?” he frowned.
“Absolutely!” I smiled. “Worse roads than this I’ve walked—mushroom picking, or fetching bread from the next hamlet.”
I strode back toward Ashford, my bag suddenly light, my heart singing. Eleanor, wheeling her barrow home, spotted me.
“Well, I never!” she exclaimed. “What’s this mean?”
“It means the house won’t let me go,” I laughed. “I’ll ring Robert—tell him not to wait. Bus broke down just past the village. Wheel trouble. You know these roads.”
“Good riddance!” Eleanor grinned. “Come for supper. Your place is bare, but I’ve hot food. We’ll catch up.”
Rex barked joyfully at the sight of me, tail wagging. Whiskers darted inside, straight to his bowl.
I dropped my bag and declared, “Lord, forgive me! What am I doing? I’m not leaving. That’s final.”
Whiskers mewed in reply.
“Speaking for the Almighty, are you?” I chuckled. “Or just agreeing?”
He rubbed against my legs and leapt onto my lap.
“Wait—I must call Robert. He’ll worry,” I said, dialling.
“Rob, listen—the bus broke down… Yes, just outside the village. Fate’s decided. I’m home. Don’t wait—I’m staying. No, really, something with the wheel. I was the only one. And you know what? I’m keeping the house. Forgive me, son.”
“Mum, you’re sure?” Robert asked. “Funny thing—the buyers backed out today. Can you believe it? Left a couple hundred quid as compensation.”
“Even better!” I laughed. “No sale, then. Now I’m certain.”
“We’ll sort it later,” he sighed.
“Sort what? Home is home,” I said. “Sorry, love.”
“What can I do with you?” He chuckled. “That money’ll buy firewood for winters. I’ll order it tomorrow.”
“Perfect!” I beamed. “See you with the wood then. Off to tell Eleanor the news.”
Eleanor and her husband Nigel were preparing supper. They cheered as much as I did.
“This calls for a toast,” Nigel declared, raising his glass. “Enough of this moving nonsense, Margaret. Stay put and put our minds at ease. We’re used to you—won’t let you down. And think of all you do for us.”
“Agreed,” I sniffled, hugging them. “No more scares, I promise.”
“Besides,” I added, “every sign said I should stay. Must listen to the good Lord.”
“And us while you’re at it,” Nigel winked.
We toasted, ate, and long after, laughter and chatter still spilled from their cottage.
A week later, Robert and his wife delivered the firewood. Eleanor and Nigel helped stack it all day. That evening, we gathered at mine, the mood bright, as if selling had never crossed my mind. The sunset was breathtaking. Sitting on the porch, we watched in silence.
“No place lovelier than this,” I murmured.
Robert squeezed my shoulder. “Ours, Mum. Always ours.”
