Vera Sutcliffe paused before the familiar little gate, leaning against the wicker fence. She had run from the bus like a woman possessed and now stood breathless. Seeing the blue-grey smoke rising from the chimney, she clutched her chesther heart pounded as if it might crack her ribs. Despite the crisp autumn air, sweat beaded on her brow. She wiped it away with a swift motion, then pushed open the gate with resolve.
Her practiced eye noticed the shed had been patched up. Her son hadnt written in years, but he hadnt liedthe old family home was kept in order, as promised. She bounded up the porch steps, ready to embrace her dear Johnny.
But the door swung open to reveal a stranger, grim-faced, with a dishcloth slung over his shoulder.
Looking for someone? he asked gruffly, eyeing her.
Vera stood frozen.
Wheres Johnny?
The man scratched his chin, studying her without courtesy. She shrank under his gaze, conscious of her shabby quilted jacket, worn boots, and stained bagclothes fit for a beggar. But one doesnt return from a walk when released from they took her in summer, and now it was late autumn. She had only the prison-issued clothes on her back.
Johnnys my son. Where is he? Is he all right?
The stranger shrugged indifferently.
Probably. Youd know better than me. He moved to shut the door, then hesitated. Johnny Whitmore?
She nodded quickly. The mans expression softened.
He sold me this house four years back. Come in if you like
No, no! Vera waved her hands, nearly stumbling off the step. Can you tell me where to find him?
He shook his head. She turned back toward the gate. She could go to her friend Margaret, but that woman had loose lipsshed fill the air with spite. And a mothers heart told her something terrible had happened to her boy.
Walking slowly to the bus stop, dark thoughts swirled in her mind. What had gone wrong? Johnny had been so trusting Four years ago, hed relied on a friend and gotten tangled in fraud. If Vera hadnt taken the blame, hed have faced a far harsher sentence. They gave her, an old woman, just five years. Three days ago, theyd released her early for good behaviour, even paying her bus fare home.
Sitting on a cold concrete bench, she whispered:
Where do I look for you, my boy?
Tears welled in her eyes. Her heart had lurched three years earlier when Johnnys letters stopped. Now her worst fears seemed confirmedhed even sold the house. She wiped her cheeks with a handkerchief.
Suddenly, a black car pulled up beside her. The grim stranger, the houses new owner, held out a slip of paper.
Found this address in the papers. Ill drive you to town if youd like.
She took it like a lifeline.
Thank you, lad, but dont fretIll manage. Heartened, she boarded the rickety bus pulling into the stop.
Thirty minutes of jolting rides and anxious wandering later, she stood before a crumbling tenements third-floor door. She pressed the buzzer repeatedly, holding her breath. Would they answer only to deliver dreadful news? Tears streamed unchecked.
When the door flew open, her joy knew no boundsscruffy, slightly drunk, but aliveher Johnny! She sobbed, reaching for him, but he didnt share her relief. He stepped back, keeping the door half-shut.
Howd you find me?
Stunned by his cold welcome, she faltered. Johnny turned her toward the stairs.
Sorry, Mum, but you cant come in. Im with a woman who wont stand ex-cons. Sort yourself outIm skint.
Vera tried to mention the house sale, but the door slammedlike a gunshot to her heart. She didnt cry again. Head bowed, she descended the steps. Margaret had been right: shed raised a rotter. Shed have to endure her friends scolding, homeless as she was.
Back in the village, fate twisted the knifeMargaret had died six months prior; her house now belonged to distant nieces. Under a light drizzle, Vera took shelter at the bus stop, pondering her future.
Headlights startled herthe grim stranger, the houses new owner, called out:
Get in, youre soaked!
She refused through sobsnowhere to go, yet this stranger showed such kindness. He practically bundled her into the car.
They talked. Vera shared her bitter tale, omitting only the visit to Johnny out of shame. The driver, Andrew, offered her a place to stay, at least for a while. So Vera Sutcliffe returned to her old home, now Andrews, and remained.
Andrew worked dawn till duskhis sawmill was thriving. She kept house: cooking, laundry, chores. Easy enough with modern appliances. Andrew, still young and divorced, had no plans to remarry.
Her presence was just what he needed. Under her motherly wing, Andrewan orphan raised in carefinally knew a homes warmth. Whenever she spoke of leaving, hed say:
Whered you go? This is your home now.
Bit by bit, her heart thawed. A blood son couldnt be replaced, true, but Andrew proved rare in his goodness, almost like her own. As winter neared, she decided to bring him lunch at the sawmilljust a short walk, and he often worked through meals.
That day, she carried a thermos of steaming stew and meat pies. She shooed a stranger from the office, laid a clean cloth. Andrew laughed:
Sutcliffe, youre a sergeant majorno arguing! What if hes offended?
She frowned.
Hiring him foreman? Look at his facehes a wrong un. Trust my gut; prison taught me to read folk.
He shook his head.
Come on, Mum! His references are solid. Cant judge by first impressions.
She was right. A month later, the sawmill suffered heavy lossesthe man had been pilfering timber and vanished with a lorryload. Andrew, grim-faced, admitted his mistake.
Hiring anew, he decided: since Gran had the knack, shed help. From then on, Vera sat in on interviewsAndrew asked the questions, she observed, jotting verdicts to hand him. Whole sheets: quarrelsome drunk, proven thief, lazy sotconcise, precise.
She spotted good workers, too, even the rough-edged ones. But one candidate gave her pauseher hands trembled as she stared at the form.
Andrew studied the visitor: the man whod sold the house. Johnny froze, gaping at his mother beside the boss, fidgeting with his cap. His wife had sent him job-hunting; the mill paid well. He hadnt expected to find his mother herehed assumed her lost.
In the silence, Andrew took the verdict slip. Vera scribbled two words, then fled. Johnny smirkedof course theyd hire him; his mother would vouch for him.
Andrew read aloud:
Rotten blighter. He shooed Johnny like a fly. Out! I trust Mums judgement.
