The Sun After the Rain…
“Lily, come here a moment. My Tom’s been down the cellar and fetched you some potatoes.”
Lilian turned toward her neighbour’s yard.
“Oh, thank you, Aunt Martha. I’ll pay you back, I promise.”
“And how’s that, then? Bless your heart. Pay me back, indeed. Should’ve thought sooner before bringing three little ones into the world. That Jack of yours was never a proper man.”
Lilian swallowed the sting of those words. The next payday was a week off, and milk alone wouldn’t keep them fed long. She could manage, but not the children—three of them waiting at home. Jack, the man her neighbour spoke of, had been her husband. Now he was gone. Last year, he’d learned the government wouldn’t hand them a house or a car for having three children. So he’d packed his things and declared he wouldn’t live in such poverty. Lilian had been washing dishes at the time, and a plate slipped from her fingers.
“Jack, what nonsense is this? You’re a man—get proper work, earn decent wages, and we won’t be poor. These are your children. You always said you wanted a big family.”
“I did, but I didn’t know the state cared so little for folk with more than one child. What’s the point of working for nothing?” Jack had retorted.
Lilian’s hands fell limp.
“Jack, what about us? How will I manage alone?”
“Lil, I don’t know. And anyway, why didn’t you insist one was enough? You’re the woman—you should’ve known this might happen.”
She hadn’t a chance to reply. Jack bolted from the house, sprinting toward the bus stop. Tears blurred her vision, but then she saw three pairs of eyes fixed on her. Alfie, the eldest, would start school this year. Little Tim was just five, and their darling Rosie, barely two. Lilian swallowed hard and forced a smile.
“Right then, who’s for pancakes?”
The children squealed—all but Alfie, who that evening asked, “Mum… is Dad really not coming back?”
She fumbled for words, then simply said, “No, love.”
Alfie sniffled, then squared his shoulders. “Good riddance. We’ll manage. I’ll help.”
When Lilian returned from the evening milking, she’d find the little ones fed and tucked in. She marvelled at how quickly her boy had grown.
***
Thanking Aunt Martha again, she trudged home. “Lord, when will this cold break? This winter’s been cruel.” The potatoes would last, but a bitter frost had ruined many a root cellar. The village folk pitied them—country folk were kind, but never missed a chance to remind her what a fool she’d been. And what of it? Now she couldn’t imagine life without any one of her children. They managed, though it was hard. New clothes and toys would’ve been nice, but the children never asked. They knew Mum would buy what she could when she could. This year, she and Alfie planned to put up a greenhouse—just polythene for now, but they’d already reckoned how many more jars of tomatoes and cucumbers they could put up for winter.
Shifting the pail to her other hand, Lilian noticed a small crowd. In a village like theirs, even three folk gathered was a crowd. They stood by her fence. Before she reached them, she caught their words.
“Big brute, that one—must be a hunting dog.”
“Looks like a boar got him. No, he’s done for.”
Lilian followed their gaze and gasped. “What are you standing about for? He needs help!”
The neighbours turned. Old Mr. Higgins shook his head. “Don’t be daft, Lil. See them fangs? Who’d dare go near him? ’Sides, nothing to be done now.”
“Nothing to be done? He came to us for help!”
The dog lay in the snow—whether a hunting breed or not, Lilian couldn’t tell. But she saw the deep gash in his side. A massive creature, yet she felt no fear. Only the pain in his eyes. The villagers chuckled and wandered off. No one wanted trouble.
Lilian ran her fingers gently between the dog’s ears. “Hold on, just a little longer. I’ll fetch a blanket, and we’ll get you home.”
A rustle sounded behind her.
“Mum, I brought the blanket. And there’s the old fridge door—we could use it as a stretcher.”
She spun round. Alfie stood there, eyes glistening. The dog whimpered softly, gripping the blanket in his teeth. He stilled as Lilian cleaned the wound. Dogs didn’t faint often, but this one had. The younger ones watched wide-eyed from the sofa.
“Mum, will he live?”
Alfie stroked the dog’s head as his cloudy eyes fluttered open.
“He has to. We’ll take care of him.”
***
Next morning at the dairy, the milkmaids cornered her.
“Lil, what were you thinking? Dragging some strange beast into the house, and with children about?”
“Aye. As if she hasn’t enough mouths to feed. Waste of time—he’ll die anyway, or turn on them.”
Lilian raised her voice. “Haven’t you troubles of your own to mind? Bess, didn’t young Kate vow to scalp you for sneaking about with her man? And Molly—best tend your own before meddling. Your Billy was drinking behind the shop again, and him only fourteen.”
The women fell silent, stepping back. Lilian had never spoken so sharp before. She marched off to work. “Must remember extra milk. Maybe Duke’ll drink it.”
Alfie had named the dog Duke. He scarcely left his side—fetching water, propping his head, tucking a boot under for comfort. That evening, the stray lapped a little milk.
“There’s a good lad. You’ll pull through…”
And he did. Lilian fed him as she did the children, skimping her own meals. Within three weeks, he wobbled about the house. The children petted him gently, still wary. Duke claimed a spot by Alfie’s bed. Lilian knew the village still clucked, but she ignored them. Let them gossip—tongues were made to wag.
***
Spring came sudden. Lilian and Alfie covered a bed with polythene to warm the soil. Since taking the dog in, the villagers stopped helping. Well, fair enough—if she could feed a hound, she could feed herself. She bore no grudge. They were right, of course. She’d chosen to have children, chosen to save the dog. And whose fault was it her cellar hadn’t been winter-proofed? Everyone knew the cold was coming.
As they worked the garden, Duke and the little ones tumbled in the drying grass. Their laughter drew neighbours peering over fences.
“Rex!”
The dog froze, then yelped and cleared the fence in one bound. He bowled into a stranger, whining, licking the man’s face as they clung to each other. Lilian and the children gaped. Villagers edged closer. Fifteen minutes passed before man and beast calmed. The stranger turned to Lilian.
“Greetings, missus. I’ve searched six months for my dog—thought him dead after that boar fight. Yet here he is.”
Alfie sniffled, understanding. “Mum nursed him. Stayed up nights bandaging him.”
The man studied Alfie, then Tim and tearful Rosie.
“Now, now—no weeping. I shan’t take him this instant. Might I trouble you for tea?”
Lilian flushed. “Of course. Come inside.”
He hesitated. “My motor’s parked down the lane. I’ll fetch it.” Glancing between Duke and Alfie, he added, “Best you come along. Rex might not understand.”
Another time, Lilian would’ve refused. But she knew no bad man owned such a dog…
They returned swiftly. Lilian stared at the gleaming motorcar—as did the gawping villagers. The dog’s true master was Edward: artist, businessman, hunter, and good soul. That day in the woods, they hadn’t even been hunting—just walking. No one knew where the boar came from. Edward and friends had searched till dark, then snow fell. Months he’d ridden through nearby villages. Theirs was the last.
Alfie begged him to stay a few days. To Lilian’s surprise, Edward agreed.
“Why not? It’s been years since I worked with my hands. Your fence needs mending, and Alfie mentioned a greenhouse.”
Lilian flushed. “That’s kind, but we’ll manage.”
Edward met her gaze. “Don’t speak so. You cared for Rex when I couldn’t. Do you think I don’t see the sacrifices?”
***
A week later, Edward seemed part of the family. The children adored him. He could mend anything, do anything. Lilian wondered how they
