**Smoke Above the Chimney**
“Anyone home?” Jeremy hunched his shoulders as he stepped over the high wooden threshold. “Come greet your guest, Auntie!”
Behind the floral screen, an old iron bed creaked. The screen trembled, bright peony blossoms dancing across the burgundy cotton.
“Jeremy, is that you?”
“Its me, Aunt Barbara. Brought you some treats for Lady Day.”
Barbara sat up, swung her swollen legs over the side of the bed, and fumbled for the slippers beside it. Then she shuffled out from behind the screen and embraced him, pressing her head against his chest like family.
“Well, hello there, my dear! Not seen you since Candlemas. And here I was, all snug and dozing!”
“Here, take this.”
Jeremy handed her a bag, and with her usual grumbling affection, she began unpacking the groceries onto the table.
“Why so much? What do I need with all this? That box of tea you brought last time, I only just opened it. You fuss over me too much!”
Jeremy paid no mindwhen had she ever accepted a gift without grumbling? He glanced around the cottage, remembering summers spent here as a boy. Back then, shed been quick on her feet, full of life. Shed buried her husband young and managed the household alone ever since.
Now only a tabby cat remained, though once the yard had been alive with animals. Her sons, though they lived in town, knew their way around country workhaymaking, digging potatoes, mending fences. Jeremy had visited too; after all, she was his own flesh and blood.
Her eldest had died after a long illness, the younger wrecked his back and took to bed. Months passed before he could move again, and now he was bound to a wheelchair. Not much traveling in that. No one came to see her anymore, yet she still bustled aboutgathering herbs for remedies, drying apples and pears for compote, pickling cucumbers, knitting socks
Once, flowers filled the house. Now, only a half-frozen aloe clung to life on the windowsill. The chores had become too much.
Jeremy walked to the hearth and pressed his palm to the whitewashed brick.
“A bit chilly in here, Aunt Barbara.”
“Well, its not summer, is it?” she evaded, scolding the cat twining round her ankles.
“Did you not light the hearth today?” He felt no trace of warmth.
“Got the stove going this morning, thats enough. Its not like theres a frost biting outside!”
“Still not summer, either,” Jeremy echoed her words. “Whyve you taken up the rugs? Cant you feel the damp and cold seeping from the cellar?”
“Took ’em up because I kept tripping! Just you waitwhen youre my age, you wont fancy dancing around them either.”
“Run out of firewood, have you?” he pressed.
“Ive enough wood for twenty years!” She waved him off, tucking a wisp of grey hair under her shawl. “Two sheds full, and another stack in the barn.”
Barbara planted her hands on her hips and faced the hearth.
An old quilt dangled dangerously from the edge. Instead of pushing it back, she nudged it further toward the drop.
“The stove does me fine.”
“Lets see what youre hiding,” Jeremy muttered, shoving the quilt aside.
A sinister crack snaked across the whitewash.
Shed noticed it in early autumn, praying the flue wasnt damaged, that it might hold. But the crack had other plansacrid smoke seeped through, hanging like a grey veil between floor and ceiling. After breathing her fill of the bitter fog, Barbara kept silent. Her son had worries enough, and he was poorly besides. Shed wintered without the hearth, relying on the stove built snug into it.
Jeremy frowned. How had he missed this in February? Clever auntieshed draped the crack with the quilt and weighted it with an onion crate. Whod guess what lay beneath?
“How longve you been hiding this beauty?” He nodded at the hearth.
“Oh, I cant recall. Not too long.” She flustered. “Covered it good with the quilt, hardly any smoke now. When the frost bites, I light itcant sit in the cold. You know how the draft pulls when its freezing. But when the snow clouds gather, I manage with the stove. Dont need much warmth at my age.”
“What nonsense, Aunt Barbara! Ive not lived half your years, and even my bones crave heat! Dont you know an old soul thrives best by a hearth?”
Jeremy scowled, tossed the quilt aside, and studied the crack. His grandfather had once apprenticed as a bricklayer, though hed passed none of that knowledge ontime had stolen the chance. Jeremy had asked around, learned enough to rebuild his own chimney. No great mystery in it.
Proper hearth masons were scarce in the countyhe knew that much. The local paper still ran ads for repair work, but villagers eyed them with suspicion: too costly, too shoddy. City hands built hearths that hoarded their warmth.
A hearth was the heart of a home. Warmth, a kitchen, a healers touch all in one. What else could seep heat right into your bones? And whod ever tasted stew from a proper hearth and not known heaven?
“Well mend it by autumn,” Jeremy said at last. “Too cold nowyoud freeze without the stove.”
“Oh, Jeremy, dont be silly!” She flapped her hands. “Forget the thought! Im past eightythis hearth will see me out!”
“Dont fret so! We wont tear it all down, just reset the fireback.”
“Fireback or not! This winter mightve been my lastyou cant know!”
“But do you?”
“No. Thats for the good Lord alone!”
“Exactly!” Jeremy raised a warning finger. “What if Hes given you a full measure? When your time comes, youll go to Him with warm bones. For now, Ill fetch you an electric heater to tide you over.”
By the next morning, hed wheeled in a grey oil radiator, its smooth glide easing over the varnished floor. An extension cord let her keep it bedside. He showed her the dial, promised to return by summer, and left.
Barbara switched it on and basked in the warmth, drowsy with comfort. Ah, the blessing of modern heat!
But that blessing vanished when she woke and glimpsed the electricity meter spinning like a scalded cat. From that moment, the radiator stayed off. If she needed warmth, she cracked open the stove doorthank heaven April had arrived.
Jeremy left for his next shift with a clear conscience. Summer wasnt far, and the last chill days could be weathered with electric heat.
Work in his town was scarce; he had to roam, though he hated it. His children were grown and gone, his wife long used to his absences, but sometimes the ache of distance gripped him. Still, nothing could be changedhe lived between shifts, coming home only briefly, spinning out his days in foreign places.
* * *
Autumn came before he could mend the hearthhis bosses wouldnt spare him sooner. Hed thought to hire help, then changed his mind. His grandfathers blood ran strong in him; hed always had a knack for fixing things. With little fear, he set to work.
Aunt Barbara fretted endlessly over the dismantled brickwork, sweeping soot into a bucket, helping haul out blackened bricks, sighing at the gaping hole where the fireback had been.
The repairs lasted his whole leave, but when he left for his next shift, his heart was lightlightest when, glancing back, he saw a wisp of blue-grey smoke curling from the chimney.
At Christmas, he visited again. From afar, he spotted that same lilting smoke above the roof. So long as it rose, the house lived.
Inside, the heat was fierce. Barbara stood by the hearth, raking glowing coals with a poker. The warmth, the scentnothing else compared.
“Jeremy! I knew youd come! Got porridge warming and soup on the boil.”
“This is for you.” He set a heavy bag on the table. “For the feast. Tonight, well celebrate proper!”
The cottage smelled of mint tea. Before the icon, a sooty lamp flickered cheerfully.
Barbara laid out her best dishes, saved for high days.
“Nothing like hearth-cooked food,” Jeremy praised, spooning buckwheat from the cast-iron pot.
“This pots got a spoonful of butter just for you.” Her eyes shone wet.
“Dont be daft. Ive not touched it!”
Barbara sighed. She hesitated, then spoke softly.
“These past winters, Jeremy Ive feared them. You were rightold bones love warmth best. When that crack spread, I thought my time had come. How could I last a winter without my hearth? But the Lord gave me strength, and you brought that
