My husband and I arrived in the village to meet his parents. When we pulled up outside the old cottage, his mum came out onto the doorstep, hands on her hips like a matriarch guarding the teapot, and exclaimed, Oh, William! Why didnt you warn us? And youve brought company, I see!
Will wrapped his arms around me and pulled me close. Mum, meet my wifeEmily.
Mrs. SmithEvelyn Smith, to be propermarched over in a flurry of apron and good cheer. Well, hello, daughter-in-law! she cried, enveloping me in a bear hug and planting three hearty kisses on my cheeks, as is the old custom around here.
She smelled strongly of garlic and fresh-baked bread, a scent so homey it made my stomach rumble. The embrace was so tight I thought I might disappear between her pillowsher ample bosom smothered me for a moment.
She finally held me at arms length, inspecting me like a prize at the village fete. Will, where did you find such a little thing?
He chuckled. In the city, of course! At the library Is Dad at home?
Hes over at Mrs. Barkers, fixing up her stove. Come in, then, take your shoes offI scrubbed the floors this morning. In the yard, a gang of local children stared at us with open mouths.
Charlie, run round to Mrs. Spaldings and tell Tom Smith his sons arrived with his new bride! she called out.
Right you are! shouted a boy, setting off down the lane like hed heard the lunch bell.
Inside, Will helped me out of my coata stylish number from a discount shopand hung it by the warm cast iron stove. He pressed my red, cold hands to the heated tiles, cheek to my knuckles. You keep me fed and warm, love, he whispered.
Pots clattered, cups and cutlery chinked, and soon the kitchen was a flurry of activity. While my mother-in-law bustled about laying the table, I took in the cosy English cottage: a worn rug on the scrubbed wood floor, dainty floral curtains at the windows, and a ginger cat curled up beside the range, blissfully ignoring everyone.
I heard Wills voice, distant, as though through fog. We got married last week, he said, and I marvelled at how quickly a feast appeared on the tableroast pork pie in pride of place, with pickled onions and cabbage, crusty bread, a fresh sponge, and what looked like thick clotted cream. My stomach roared.
Mum, theres enough food here for the week, Will mumbled, already tucking into a hefty slice of bread.
Grinning, Evelyn plonked a chilled bottle of cider by the meat pie and wiped her hands on her apron. Right, now we can eat!
Thats how I met Wills mum. She and my husband looked so alike, both dark-haired and ruddy-cheeked, though he was gentle and soft-spoken, while she was a summer storm: sudden, loud, and with a laugh that rolled across the moors.
I imagined shed wrangled many a stubborn sheep and dashed into burning barnsthere was something indomitable about her.
A door slammed in the back hall, and a short, stout man bustled in, letting in a blast of freezing air. Well now, would you believe it! he boomed.
Still wearing his smoke-scented old jacket and smudged with soot, he reached to hug his son.
All right, Dad? Will greeted, smiling.
Wash those hands before you hug anyone, Thomas! Evelyn ordered.
My father-in-law seized my hand warmly. Welcome! Lovely to meet you, Miss.
His eyes were a sparkling, mischievous blue, and his wild copper hair and ginger beard were a spectacle, like a fox that had somehow learned to smile.
Ev, get us a bowl of the stew, would you? Thomas Smith called, rattling the ancient sink. We raised our glassesTo family!and I finally plucked up my courage.
Mr. Smith, are all the men in your family called Thomas or William?
He winked at me. Its tradition! My grandfather, my father, meweve been builders and stove-makers, every last one. Only Will here, and he nodded to his son, decided to become a machinist.
Even machinists are needed, Dad! Will retorted, grinning.
And is building a stove really so difficult? I asked.
Thomas looked at me, raising an instructive finger. My dear, its an art! Must look tidy, draw well, and bake bread like magic! He flexed his wiry arms with a wink. You see, us gingers are tough, blessed by the sun!
Tom can fix anything! Evelyn chimed in from the kitchen.
We settled in with plates piled high, and Will nudged his father. Spin us a yarn, Dad. Entertain us.
He sighed, stroking his beard with mock seriousness. Shall I tell you about the summer haymaking? We had a cow called Bessieremember, love? Gave milk by the bucket. One July, all of uswomen and menout on the meadow at cockcrow, swinging scythes before the sun even crept over the woods. The heat was punishing, horseflies everywhere.
He launched into a story about how hed played a trick on the haymakers, crying, Wild boar, run! sending everyone clambering up trees. Wills mum landed a mock slap on his shoulder, You rascal, Tom!
Tell us about real wild boar, Dad, Will insisted.
Oh, all right! said Tom, launching into the tale of his youthhow hed once been a keen hunter, out in the woods in the snow, only to miss a shot at a boar and have to spend the night up a tree, shivering, while the whole sounder dug beneath him. My eyes went wide as he described Evelyn gathering the village to seek him out at dawn and how shed half-carried him home once hed nearly frozen.
Youre made of strong stuff, Ev, he said softly.
She tossed her head. Oh, go on. Emily, would you care for some tea? Strong, with a sprig of mint, and a little honey from our own bees?
Id love some, thank you.
She poured out fragrant tea into chunky cups. Wills mum prodded Tom, Tell Emily how you cured my sister, go on.
Tom nearly choked on his tea, laughing. Oh, now. Claire sent a lettersaid she was coming for a visit. She arrived, set herself down at the table, then complained her legs ached something dreadful.
We all leaned in. Did you see a doctor?
Shed never bother. I said, Right, have you tried bee stings? She rolled her eyes but humoured me. Got her out in the garden, hiked her skirt to her knees, and let a bee loose on each leg. She thanked methen within minutes, cursed me blue. Her legs swelled up like turnips! We learned the allergy the hard way.
I laughed until my sides hurt.
Go on, have another spoonful of honey, Tom urged, as long as youre not allergic.
Im not, Mr Smith!
Well, thats a blessing.
We finished our tea. Night was deepening outside, and I felt sleep tug at my bones. Evelyn drew the curtains and asked, Where will you two sleep, Will?
Can we take the top of the stove, Mum? Emily, up for it?
Oh, yes, please!
I made it myself, brick by brick, Evelyn said with clear pride.
Thomas gave her a fond look. And no wondera good stove feeds you, warms you, keeps the family together. Its fire glowed, full and life-giving.
We thanked our hosts and got up. Will helped me onto the warm brick top, patting my back gently.
The darkness from the loft above carried a scent of age and memory: baked brick, drying herbs, lanolin and wool, fresh bread. Will drifted off at once, but I lay awake, tense.
What was that sound? Heavy, rhythmic breathing: Pff-pff, pff-pff
Could it bea brownie? Id read about them in childhood stories
I remembered a little nursery rhyme: Brownie dear, dont you fear, well make no trouble here!
Only in the morning did I find out the truth: no brownie at all, but a bowl of dough my mother-in-law had left to rise near the warmth, completely forgotten.
Well surely return many times to the welcoming cottage of Wills parentsto hear Toms stories, to warm ourselves by the stove, and to break bread together. But those are tales for another day.
