I remember how I, young Matthew Clarke, was roused by my mothers low moan. I slipped out of my thin blankets and knelt beside her bed.
Mother, does it hurt? I asked.
Matt, fetch me some water! she rasped.
Coming right away, I shouted and bolted for the kitchen.
A minute later I returned with a steaming mug.
Here, Mum, drink.
Just then a sharp knock sounded at the door.
My boy, answer! It must be Aunt Nora, called a voice from the hallway.
Aunt Nora Whitfield stepped in, clutching a large jug.
How are you, Emily? she cooed, patting my sisters hair. Youve a fever, love. Ive brought hot milk with a knob of butter.
Ive already taken the medicine, I whispered.
You need a proper hospital treatment, she said, eyeing the empty pantry. Your fridge is bare.
My savings are spent on the drugs, my sister, Martha, cried, tears glistening in her eyes. Nothing helps.
Alice, you must lie down in hospital.
And who will look after me, Matthew?
What will you do if I pass? Youre only thirty, with no husband or money, Aunt Nora murmured, smoothing Marthas hair. Dont weep, dear.
What now, Aunt Nora?
Ill call a doctor, she said, pulling out her mobile.
Within moments she had spoken to the practice and learned they could send someone that very day. When the doctor arrives, Matthew will stay with me, she promised.
She led me into the hallway, and I followed.
Will Mother die? I asked, my voice trembling.
I cant say. We must pray to the Good Lord; your mother doesnt believe in Him.
Will God help? I asked, hopeful.
Shell need to go to church, light a candle and ask for His aid. Ill go with you.
Soon after, I returned to my mother, my mind heavy.
Matt, youre probably starving, but we have nothing. Bring two glasses.
When I poured milk into them, she said, Drink!
She sipped, then wanted more. Seeing the need, she rose with effort, fetched her purse and counted the coins.
Only fifty pounds left. Go buy two pastries on the way, and Ill whip something up here. Off you go!
She escorted me to the door, then lingered by the kitchen wall. Inside, the larder held cheap tinned fish, a slab of margarine, a few potatoes on the windowsill and a solitary onion.
A soup must be made she muttered, her head swaying. She sank weakly onto a stool.
Whats become of me? Im drained. Half my holidays gone, my funds are gone. If I dont work, how will I send Matthew to school? Hell start firstgrade in a month. No relatives, no one to help, and this illness I should have gone to the infirmary at once. If they take him, who will look after Matthew alone?
She forced herself up and began peeling potatoes.
Hunger gnawed at me, but my thoughts were elsewhere.
Mother lay in bed all day yesterday. Will she truly die? Aunt Nora said I must ask the Good Lord for help. I paused, then turned toward the village church.
The memory of the war lingered in the mind of Nicholas Hart, a veteran now living a civilian life. Hed returned twenty years ago, limping with a cane, his body scarred but his spirit unbent. No one will marry a scarred man now, he thought, yet he still walked to the church each Sunday, lighting candles for lost comrades.
Hed saved a few hundred pounds in his bank, enough for a modest pension, but wondered why he should keep it all to himself. Outside the church, a few beggars huddled. Nicholas slipped a few tenpound notes into their hands.
Pray for my fallen friends, Thomas and Edward, he whispered.
Entering the nave, he bought candles, lit them, and recited the prayer the vicar had taught him:
Remember us, O Lord
As he prayed, the faces of his friends seemed to stand before him, vivid as if alive. When he finished, he lingered, reflecting on his hard life.
A frail old lady approached the boy standing beside a cheap candle.
Let me help you, she said, kindling his flame.
Now cross yourself, she instructed, showing the proper way. Tell the Lord why youve come.
Matthew stared at the saints image, then spoke:
Help me, Lord! My mother is ill. I have no one else. Make her well. She has no money for medicine, and Im about to start school with no schoolbag.
Nicholas, hearing the boys plea, felt his own worries shrink. He imagined shouting to the world:
How could anyone ignore this child, unable to buy his mother medicine, let alone a schoolbag?
The boy waited, eyes fixed on the holy picture, hoping for a miracle.
Boy, come with me, Nicholas said firmly.
Where to? the boy asked, fear flickering in his gaze at the mans cane.
Well find out which medicines your mother needs and go to the chemist.
Do you speak the truth?
The Good Lord sent me your request.
Really? The boys eyes brightened.
Lets go, Nicholas smiled. Whats your name?
Matthew.
Im Nicholas Hart.
From the flat came the voices of Mother Martha and Aunt Nora:
Aunt Nora, the doctor said the medicines expensive. Where will I find five hundred pounds?
Matthew threw open the door; the voices fell silent. Aunt Nora emerged, eyes wide at the unfamiliar man.
Emily, look! she whispered, trembling.
Emily peeked out, frozen.
Mother, which medicines do you need? Nicholas and I will fetch them, Matthew announced.
Who are you? Martha asked, startled.
Everything will be alright, Nicholas replied, offering a gentle smile. Give us the prescriptions.
I have only five hundred pounds left.
Well find the money, Nicholas said, hand on Matthews shoulder.
Mum, hand over the prescriptions!
Martha complied, handing over the papers, feeling an odd warmth in the strangers eyes.
Emma, you dont know him at all, Aunt Nora protested as the pair left.
Hes a good man, Emma replied, trusting her intuition.
Soon, Martha sat waiting for her son, her illness momentarily forgotten. The front door burst open, and her boy ran in, his face alight.
Mum, we bought the medicine and some treats for tea.
A man, no longer frightening, stood beside him, smiling.
Thank you, Martha said, bowing slightly. Please, come in.
He struggled to remove his boots, clearly nervous, and shuffled into the kitchen.
Please, have a seat, she said.
He sat, unsure where to place his cane.
Allow me, she offered, setting it within reach. Im sorry, there isnt much to offer you.
My mother, Nicholas, and I have bought everything, Matthew declared, laying out the groceries.
Oh dear, why all this? Martha exclaimed, noting the surplus of sweets and a bag of pricey tea. Ill brew the tea now.
She began steeping it, feeling her sickness ease, perhaps only because she wanted to appear well before the stranger. He sensed her thoughts.
Mrs. Clarke, you look pale, he observed.
Nothing, nothing Ill take my medicine now. Thank you.
They all sipped the fragrant tea, sharing soft conversation while glancing at the boy, who seemed unusually animated. The pleasant moment lingered, though all good things must eventually end.
Thank you all, Nicholas rose, taking his cane. I must be on my way. You need to see the doctor.
Thank you very much! the hostess replied, also standing. I dont know how to thank you enough.
He headed toward the hallway, followed by Mother and son.
Will you return, Uncle Nicholas? Martha called after him.
Of course. Once your mother recovers, well all go together to buy a schoolbag for you.
Nicholas left, and Martha cleared the table, washing the dishes.
Son, watch the telly while I rest a while, she said, lying down and soon drifting into a deep sleep.
Two weeks passed; the illness had faded, the expensive medicines evidently working. By the months end, Martha was back at work, grateful for the extra pay shed earned. August had arrived, and she needed to prepare her son for school.
On Saturday, they rose as usual, ate breakfast.
Matthew, get ready! Well go to the shop. Lets see what you need for school.
Did you get any money? she asked.
Not yet, but next Saturday Ill have it. I borrowed a thousand pounds; well buy provisions on the way back.
They dressed when the intercom buzzed.
Whos there? the housekeeper asked.
Its Nicholas, came the reply.
She pressed the button, and the door swung open.
Mother, whos that? Matthew called from his room.
Uncle Nicholas! Martha exclaimed, her joy evident.
Hurrah!
He entered, leaning on his cane, now dressed in fine trousers and a crisp shirt, his hair neatly cut.
Uncle Nicholas, Ive been waiting for you, Matthew cried, rushing to him.
I promised you, Nicholas said, eyes sparkling. Hello, Martha!
Hello, Nicholas!
Their informal you surprised them both, yet it felt right.
Are you ready? Lets go!
Where to? Martha, still a little dazed, asked.
Matthews school is soon, Nicholas replied.
I promised Matthew, and promises must be kept.
Martha, ever frugal, always chose the cheapest items, for she had no surplus, no relatives, no husbandexcept a fleeting college boyfriend who had vanished. Now a generous man stood beside her, eager to buy everything Matthew needed, never worrying about cost, simply asking her opinion.
They returned home in a taxi, bags heavy with school supplies.
Martha, Nicholas called, shall we all have a walk and a bite to eat?
Mother, lets go! Matthew shouted, sprinting to her side.
That night, Martha lay awake, replaying the days events. His eyes, full of affection, haunted her thoughts. Reason whispered, Hes crippled and plainlooking. The heart answered, Hes kind, caring, and looks at me with love.
Hes fifteen years older, reason persisted.
So what? He treats my son like his own.
You could find a handsome, tall peer.
I dont need a handsome mate; Ive had one. I need someone reliable and good.
But you never dreamed of such a man before, reason argued.
Now I do, the heart replied.
Do your preferences change so fast? reason asked.
I met him I love him!
Their wedding took place in the same village church where Nicholas and Matthew had first met three months earlier. Nicholas and Martha stood before the altar; his cane lay forgotten, and Matthew stared at the saints image hed once spoken to. From the depths of his being, the boy shouted:
Thank you, Good Lord!
