It was a bitter winters evening when the matter was settled: guests were soon to arrive, and the old couple would have to leave.
“Listen,” their son Edward said, “weve company coming, and youll need to go somewhere. You understandhaving you here just wont do for the festivities.”
“Son, where are we to go?” Margaret asked softly. “Weve no one here.”
“Well, how should I know? Mrs. Thompson from the village invited you oncego there.”
Victor and Margaret had regretted a thousand times that theyd listened to their son and sold their little cottage. Yes, life had been hard there, but it was theirs. Here, they were strangers in their own home.
They hardly dared leave their room, fearing the sharp tongue of their daughter-in-law, Catherine. Everything about them vexed herthe way they shuffled in slippers, the sound of their tea-sipping, even the way they ate. The only soul in that house who cared for them was their grandson, James. A fine young man, he adored his grandparents fiercely. If his mother raised her voice in his presence, he answered just as sharply. But Edward, their sonwhether from fear of his wife or simple indifferencenever once stood up for them.
James often dined with his grandparents, though he was seldom home, lodging near his apprenticeship. He returned only on weekends.
For the old couple, his visits were like Christmas come early. And now, with the New Year approaching, James arrived at dawn to wish them well. He brought giftsthick woolen socks and gloves, knowing how they suffered the cold. Plain leather for Grandfather, embroidered for Grandmother.
Margaret pressed the gloves to her face and wept.
“Grandmother, dont you like them?”
“Oh, my dear boy,” she whispered. “Theyre the finest Ive ever had.”
She held him close, and he kissed her hands as he had since childhoodhands that always smelled of baking, of apples, of warmth and love.
“Now, my dears,” James said, “youll have to manage without me for three days. Im off with my mates, but Ill be back.”
“Go on, love,” Margaret said. “Well be waiting.”
He left, and the old couple retreated to their room. An hour later, Catherines shrill voice carried through the house. Guests were coming, and the elderly would have to go. Where? She didnt carejust out.
Edward muttered something about having nowhere to go, but Catherine wouldnt hear it. The old pair sat like mice, not daring even to make tea. Victor fetched biscuits from his secret stash, and they ate by the window, silent, afraid to speak. A tear trembled in Margarets eye. What pain, to live so long only to become a burden.
As dusk fell, Edward returned.
“Listen, the guests will be here soon. Youll have to go.”
“But where, son?” Margaret asked.
“How should I know? Mrs. Thompson invited you oncego there.”
“The last bus has gone,” Victor said quietly. “And we dont even know where the station is.”
“Catherine says youve an hour to pack.”
They dressed in their warmest thingsJames gifts a cruel comfort nowand stepped into the freezing night. People hurried past, wrapped in their own affairs.
Margaret took Victors arm, and they walked slowly to the park. At a small café, they ordered tea and sandwiches, having eaten nothing all day. They lingered an hour, dreading the cold outside. Snow had begun to fall. In the park, they found a sheltera small wooden pavilionand huddled close. Margaret studied her gloves.
“At least our grandson has a kind heart,” Victor said, “unlike his parents.”
“Yes,” Margaret sighed. “We promised him wed manage.”
Time passed. Lights flickered in windows as families gathered for the New Year. Then, a small spaniel trotted up, whining, paws on Margarets knees.
A womans voice called, “Lord! Where are you?”
The dog barked, and soon a young woman appeared.
“Forgive himhes harmless. Have you been here long?”
Margaret smiled. “A while. Hes a dear thing.”
“But why arent you home? Its freezingand nearly midnight.”
They said nothing.
“Youve nowhere to go, have you?”
Margaret shook her head.
The girl hesitated. “Well, you cant stay here. Come home with me.”
“Oh, child, we couldnt”
“Nonsense. Lord and I live alonewed be glad of the company.”
The old couple exchanged a glance, then rose stiffly. Even with their warm socks, their feet were numb.
At her flat, warmth and the smell of cooking welcomed them. They drank tea while Lord wagged his tail. Then they sat to a proper meal, the tree twinkling in the corner.
In the morning, the girlAlicewouldnt hear of them leaving. “Stay the week,” she insisted.
When James returned, he found his grandparents gone.
“Mother, where are they?”
“How should I know? They left.”
“You turned them out? On New Years Eve?”
“Dont be dramatic. We only asked them to step out for a bit.”
James stormed off, searching the streets in despair. Then he saw a girl with a spanieland his grandmothers gloves on her hands.
“Where did you get those?”
Alice smiled. “You must be James.”
She led him home, where the smell of pancakes filled the air. Margaret wept as she embraced him. They talked long into the night. Alice convinced them to stay. James brought their things. Soon, the quiet flat was full of lifewarmth, laughter, and Lord, who now chose whose bed to share each night.
As for James and Alicewell, thats another story. But kindness, as they say, is never wasted. Sometimes all it takes is a smile, a question, a small act of grace.
And that, in the end, is everything.
