The Warmth of a Stranger’s Soul: A Tale in a Country Cottage
William set the heavy buckets of water down on the bench in Granny Margaret’s porch and was about to leave when the old woman gripped his sleeve firmly, silently nodding toward the house. He obeyed, following her inside, and took a seat on the wide wooden bench by the door, waiting for her to speak.
Margaret, without a word, pulled a pot from the stove, glanced at the old clock on the wall as if to say it was lunchtime, and ladled a bowl of steaming vegetable stew with cabbage into a deep dish. She added a slice of bacon, an onion, and a crusty piece of brown bread. After a moment’s thought, she set a bottle of homemade cider on the table. Her hunched back, wrapped in a woolen shawl, seemed frail, but in her well-worn boots, she moved with certainty despite the warmth of the cottage.
William lowered his voice and spoke:
“I’ll gladly eat the stew, but the cider—no thanks. I’ve sworn off the drink, Granny Margaret. Made a vow at church, promised the vicar. After that night I got drunk and made a fool of myself over Emily at the pub—don’t even know how I dodged a night in the cells. Had to pay a tidy sum for the broken chairs. Mum said your back’s been paining you, so I came to fetch water. I’ll eat, chop some wood, then maybe you’ll find me another job. If Mum sees me lounging by the telly, she’ll invent work straight away, like pulling it out of thin air.”
William chuckled at his own joke but then choked on a mouthful of stew. Without missing a beat, Margaret thumped his back with her tiny fists, hammering away like a carpenter driving nails. Coughing, he carried on eating, then squinted mischievously and asked,
“Granny, how do you sleep? Back straight as a board or curled up like a hedgehog?”
Margaret looked at him with clear blue eyes, a flicker of a smile in them, and waved a hand dismissively.
“Looking at that old photo on the wall, you were a right beauty in your day!” William said, gesturing toward it. “Thick hair, eyebrows like two rainbows, eyes like stars at midnight. My Emily’s a stunner too! Let me list her virtues—you count on your fingers. Only I reckon you’ll run out: pretty, graceful, modest, kind, hardworking, tidy, thrifty, sings like a nightingale, dances like a dream, never married, doesn’t drink, doesn’t smoke, doesn’t gad about. Well, Granny, fingers all used up?”
William saw Margaret’s eyes sparkle with silent laughter, her chest shaking with mirth.
“Blimey, Granny, your eyes are sharp as a tack, full of life!” he marvelled. “You know Emily?”
Margaret shrugged, palms up, as if to say, “Who can tell if you’re any good?”
“Course, we’re not like your lot back then,” William went on. “You minded your elders, feared crossing them. Us? If we don’t get our way, it’s straight to shouting, charging in like bulls. Got opinions on everything. My dad asks my advice before lifting a finger these days, and Mum treats me like the man of the house. My brothers have scattered to the cities, but me being the youngest and unwed, I’m still here. But I want a wedding, a house full of kids. Emily—oh, she’s a fine lass! I’m a vet—medically speaking, she’s healthy, could birth a whole football team if she fancied. Well, Granny, fingers gone yet?”
Full from the meal and drowsy from the stove’s heat, William noticed how spotless the cottage was despite Margaret’s aches. The enormous feather bed, piled with lace-trimmed pillows, caught his eye.
“Now, that’s a bed fit for a wedding night!” he mused. “Though maybe not—I’d cook like a boiled egg and forget what I was meant to be doing.”
He laughed.
“Emily’s nearly done with her studies—trained as a nurse. Think of it, eh? I treat beasts, she tends to folk. Though Mum sometimes calls Dad worse than a beast. Truth is, we’re not much better. Heard about Tom nicking Fred’s motorbike and drowning it in the pond? Right animal, that one. And Pete smoking in the hayloft, nearly burned the barn down. Brilliant, innit?”
“But the worst is Dave. Led poor Sophie on, got her in the family way, then swanned back from London with a fiancée. Sophie nearly lost her mind—we thought she’d do something desperate. But yesterday, there she was, smiling, belly out, saying God’s blessed her with a boy. And I think—how’s Dave gonna walk past her house, knowing his son’s growing up there? But I’d never do that to Emily! Just looking at her—I want to hold her so tight she melts into me, till we’re one. But she’s proper, says not till we’re wed. And I’ll not drag her across that line. She’ll make a fine nurse—fix your back in no time. Gives injections—mosquito bites hurt worse. Still, when the council gives us a house, I’ll miss you, Granny. Won’t be living close. But I’ll visit—help, chat. What else you got to eat?”
Margaret grabbed the iron hook and pulled a pot of beef and barley from the stove. The smell hit William like a punch, making him jerk his head back. He grabbed a spoon and drummed it on the table like an eager child. Margaret grinned, eyes bright with the pleasure of his appetite.
“Go on, lie on the feather bed while I eat,” William winked. “Or is it just for show? Don’t worry—Emily and I’ll break it in proper one day.”
He choked again, but Margaret didn’t thump his back. She wanted to hug this lively lad, thank him for the warmth, for not rushing off, for sharing his thoughts. Her rough, work-worn hands stroked his back, patted lightly, then she kissed the top of his head.
William stood, stretching.
“How’s a man meant to work on a full stomach? Might as well sprawl on that feather bed!”
Laughing, he headed outside. He hauled in armfuls of firewood, swept the porch, checked the pig in the pen, then bowed to Margaret and started home.
“Where’ve you been loitering?” his mother scolded. “Emily’s rung twice, and you’re nattering with Margaret!”
“Can’t just walk away from her,” William joked. “One story leads to another. Mum—was she born mute?”
“No, love,” his mother sighed. “During the war, she sang like a lark—went door to door with patriotic tunes. When the Nazis hanged the partisans, she belted out *The Battle Hymn*. They cut out her tongue. The resistance saved her, stopped them finishing the job. We thought she’d always been mute till the parish councilman told us. Her village died out, but ours thrived, so the war office helped her buy this house. People can be worse than animals, love—huddled in their corners, not caring a jot for others. But her? She understands everything, even without words.”
“Mum, she speaks with her eyes!” William exclaimed. “I told her about Emily, and she lit up like Christmas! And when I mentioned Dave—lightning in her stare! And her hands, Mum—so gentle. She’s no kin, but it’s like she’s family. Doesn’t gesture like mutes do—just sits there, thoughtful. Promised to fix her shed planks tomorrow—she was dead keen. So don’t go inventing chores—I’m booked solid.”
