Old Nan on the bench before the house that was hers no longer.
Granny Margaret sat upon a wooden bench, gazing at the old cottage where she had spent all her days. Yet now, it belonged to strangers, and she lived there only by their kindness. She could not fathom how it had come to this. She had lived rightly, never wishing harm upon a soul, raising her only son as best she knew how.
But her boy had not turned out as shed hoped. Margaret sighed, bitter tears tracing the lines of her aged face. Memories came unbiddenher wedding day to her beloved William. A year later, their son Thomas was born. Then came twins, a lad and a lass, but they were frail and did not survive the week. Soon after, William succumbed to appendicitis. The doctors had not caught the ailment in time, and by the time the infection took hold, it was too late.
She wept long for her husband, but tears could not bring him back. Life must go on. She never remarried, though suitors had come calling. She feared Thomas might struggle with a stepfather, so she poured all her love into raising him alone.
Thomas grew and took his own path, leaving for the city. There, he made his fortune, wed, and carried on without her. Granny Margaret remained in the little cottage William had built when they were newlyweds. There she stayed, growing old with the years.
Sometimes Thomas visited, chopping wood, fetching water, doing what little he could. But with each passing year, the cottage grew harder to manage. She kept only a goat and a few hens, yet even they needed tending.
Then one day, Thomas arrived with a stranger.
“Good day, Mother,” he greeted her.
“Good day, my lad.”
“This is my friend Edward,” Thomas continued. “Hes come to see the cottage. Its time you left this place. Youll come and live with me in town.”
Granny Margaret sat down hard, stunned.
“Dont fret, Mother. My wife doesnt mind. Well look after youyoull be comfortable, and you can help with the grandchildren. They keep asking when Granny will come.”
And so, it was decided for her. What could an old woman do? She could no longer keep house alone, but at least she would have her grandchildren.
***
The cottage sold quickly. Before leaving, Margaret wandered through every room, bidding farewell to the walls that held her memories. Stepping into the garden, she was met by silence, heavy as a stone upon her chest. Once, cows had lowed, pigs had grunted, her goat had bleated, and hens had clucked. Now, all was still.
She scooped a handful of earth, soil she had worked with her own hands. It pained her to leave the village where she had been born, wed, and grown old. Neighbours wept as they saw her off, promising prayers for her well-being in her new home.
One last look at the cottage, then she climbed into her sons motorcar. What else could she do? Such was the cruel way of age.
At first, life with Thomas was pleasant enough. No heavy chores, no stove to tend, no livestockjust electric lights and running water. She played with the grandchildren, watched the telly.
Then, with the money from the cottage, Thomas bought a motorcar. Margaret tried to protestsuch a reckless expensebut he cut her off. She need not trouble herself with matters of money, he said. She had warmth, food, and comfortthat should be enough.
From that day, she never spoke of it again, though his sharp words left a wound. Worse still, she noticed a change in him, in his wife, even in the grandchildren. They grew distant, cold.
No one asked if she had eaten. No one cared if she slept well. In time, they scarcely spoke to her. If she spoke out of turn or was in the way, they snapped at her, shouted even.
Margaret was wretched. Had she known she would become a burden, she would never have sold the cottage. Better to starve or freeze in her own home than live like thisunwanted, worse than a stranger beneath her own sons roof.
Every night, she wept for her little house. If she could go back, she would in a heartbeat. But it was sold, and others lived there now.
At last, she could bear no more.
“I never thought, Thomas,” she said, voice trembling, “that my old age would be so bitter in your house. It seems money mattered more than your own mother. Im leaving. All of you.”
Thomas looked away, saying nothinguntil she stood at the door, her meagre bundle in hand.
“When you tire of wandering, Mother,” he called after her, “you may come back.”
She shut the door without a word. Only when she reached the stairwell did she let the tears fall. It cut deep, that he had not tried to stop her, had not embraced heronly flung cruel words to hasten her departure.
***
It took Granny Margaret more than a day to reach her village again. She slept in the station, hitched rides where she could. Tears never left her eyes. But when she saw her dear cottage, her heart stilled. The new owners had repaired it, painted itit looked almost as it had when she and William first moved in.
Though it was no longer hers, she did not care. She crept into the old pigsty loft and made a bed there. So long as she was near the walls she knew, it was enough.
All she feared was discovery. If they turned her out, as her own son had, she would have nowhere left to go.
It did not take long for them to find her. Next morning, the master of the house came to feed the pigs. He poured the slops, then looked up.
“Come down, Granny Margaret,” he said. “We must talk.”
She had not expected to be found so soon. Trembling, she climbed down, resigned to whatever fate awaited.
What she heard next, she could never have imagined.
“Granny,” said Edwardthe very man her son had brought to buy the cottage”my wife and I know all about you. Your son rang us, said you might return. We know you didnt settle with his family.” He spoke gently. “Weve talked it over. Youll live with us. A pigsty is no place for you. Besidesthis is your home. You and your husband built it, kept it all these years. Theres always room for its true mistress. Now, come inside, wash up, and have a hot meal. My wife makes a fine stew.”
Fresh tears sprang to Margarets eyesnot of sorrow, but gratitude. Strangers had shown her more kindness than her own flesh and blood.
Stepping over the threshold, her legs nearly failed her. The smell of the placeit was her life. And yet, because of her son, she had become a beggar in her own home. Her heart ached, even as her lips moved in silent prayerforgiveness for Thomas, if God would grant it.
