Life, its like that.
Little George, sniffling, dragged a dry pine log on a large sledge. It had fallen right at the edge of the villagestrictly speaking, he shouldnt have taken itbut old Tom, the local woodsman, had whispered to him, “Wait till dark, then fetch it.”
The boy strained against the weight, his breath ragged.
“George, Georgie!” someone called. Of courseit was sharp-eyed Lucy, his classmate.
“What dyou want?”
“Let me help.”
She was such a lively thingwhere did a girl get such strength? Still, it was easier with two. They hitched themselves to the sledge and hauled it together.
“Whos minding the little ones, George?”
“Gran, who else? Mums at work.”
“Oh. I came by to help with your homework, but your door was locked. Little Andrew told me through the crack youd gone toward the woods. Said you told em to sit tight.”
“Had to lock it…”
“She still running off?”
“Still does. Always muttering about going home, back to Mum.”
“Poor soul. Suffers herself and makes you suffer too.”
“Aye.”
The pair dragged the log to Georges house.
“Thanks, Lucy.”
“Dont mention it. Fetch the sawwell cut it quick.”
“I can manage. Youve helped enough.”
“Oh, sure. Either youll nick at it for hours, or well have it done in no time.”
They took up the saw together, and soon neat, dry logs lay scattered on the ground. In the window, the faces of six-year-old Andrew and two-year-old Anna peered out.
George grabbed the axe, drove it clean into a log, and split it with a few sharp blows. Lucy gathered the chips while he worked. Once the pile was ready, they carried it inside. The boy lit the stove, and soon warm light danced across the ceiling.
The room grew cosy.
“Let me make you some soup. When Aunt Lydia comes home, she wont have to cook.”
“Nah, well manage,” George muttered, flushing. “Granll do it.”
“Oh, no, no, Georgie!” Andrew piped up. “Let Lucy cook, eh? Remember last time Gran made that awful slop? Threw in cabbage, peaseven Mums dill seeds she uses when Annas poorly!”
“Ill cook, Andy. You help.”
“And who might you be?” A voice rasped from the stove. An old woman in felt boots, a quilted jacket, and a shawl shuffled down.
“Gran, get undressed. Its warm now.”
“Freezing, my Jimmy.”
“Jimmy? Im George, your grandson.”
“Eh? Wheres Jimmy gone?”
“Away… hell be back soon.”
“Is she talking about Uncle Jim?”
“Yeah… she doesnt understand. Ever since he left, shes been worse.”
“Why didnt he take her? His own mother!”
George shrugged. He hated this talk. Jimmyhis father, Lydias husbandhad run off to his fancy woman. Left Gran with them, and not just that: hed gone just before winter, sly as a fox. Slaughtered the pigs, took the meat, led away their only cow and the heifer, Daisy.
Mum had begged”At least leave the heifer, well raise her for milk.”
Hed laughed. “What sort of groom shows up empty-handed?”
George had hated him from that moment. The man had stripped the pantry bareeven divided the cutlery, taking half. And his mistress, Rose, had stood there counting the spoons…
Lydia came home to find the children huddled by the kerosene lamp. George was reading Andrew a fairy tale; Gran dozed by the stove, and Anna slept behind her, thumb in mouth.
“Mum,” Andrew whispered, “its so warm now. Georgie brought wood, and he and Lucy sawed it. Lucy made soupits good! Annas asleep. Gran ran off twice, but we caught her.”
Lydia unwrapped her scarf, smiled faintly, and ruffled Andrews tousled hair.
“Georgie… its too much for you.”
“Its nothing, Mum. Eatthe soups proper tasty.”
After supper, Lydia mended clothes. A knock came at the window.
“See who it is, Georgie.”
The door burst open, letting in a gust of frosty air. A round, bundled-up woman hurried in.
“Blimey, its bitter out! Reckon itll drop below freezing tonight. Here, Lydiasome lard and a bit of bacon.”
“Thanks, Val, but you shouldnt”
“Dont be daft. You got flour?”
“A bit.”
“Well, heres two jugs of milkfrozen since winterand some eggs. Youll manage till spring, then the gardensll help. And dont fret over seed potatoesJohn said well spare some. Eat what youve got.” She leaned in, whispering.
Lydia paled. “Val, what if they find out?”
“Who? Youve got crowds visiting, have you? Our sows about to farrow. Dont fret, Lyd… well manage.”
Two nights later, Val smuggled in a piglet no bigger than a mitten.
“Its risky, Val. What if?”
“They wont know. Hed have diedthirteen in the litter. I took the strongest.”
The next day, Lydia was summoned to the office. She hugged the children.
“Mum,” George wept, “maybe itll be all right?”
“I dont know, love. Look after the little ones…”
The chairmana friend of Jimmyswouldnt meet her eyes. “Go to the farm, Lydia.”
“What for, Mr. Fletcher?”
“Take a piglet. Val will pick you a good onemaybe two. And heres a note for milk. The children need it.”
“How will I feed them?”
“Youve got the milk. Come April, the farmll give you a heifer. Take it?”
“Ill take it.” Her lips were dry. “May I go?”
“Lydia…” He stopped her at the door.
“Aye?”
“Forgive me.”
“For what?”
“For Jim. Never thought hed turn out such a rotter. A bit of fun, finebut leaving you with the kids, his own mother… and stripping the place bare. My missus only just told me. Why didnt you speak up? Potatoes left?”
“Some.”
“Well, go on. And if youre short, say so. Well bring firewood too.”
So Lydia carried onwith the children, Gran (who barely knew her own name), and George always lending a hand. Lucythe chairmans daughterhelped too, minding the little ones or pitching in where she could. Andrew did his bit. They scraped by.
The piglet thrived, and soon two more joined it, trotting about with curly tails and snuffling snouts.
One evening, as Lydia trudged home, a neighbour called out.
“Lyd, love…”
“Aye, Mrs. Clark?”
“Listen, dearcould your George fix my roof? Ill pay him in lard from last autumn…”
“No, ta. Wont have the lad working for scraps. Were not starving.”
“Well, I heardwent to see Mrs. Ives today, and your Jim and that Rose… oh, what a sight! Sledding past, him grinning, her clinging on, laughing fit to burst…”
“And you think were starving?” Lydia snapped. “Were fine!”
“Fine, are you? Youre blue with cold, and the kids no better. We all know Jim took everything!”
Lydia hurried off, ducked into the shed, and let the tears come. A scrape at the door.
“Mum? You in there?”
“Lydia… Im a burden. When my mind clears, I see it… Ive tired you out, worn the children down.”
“What? Whats this?” Lydia yanked the rope from her hands. “Why would you do this to me? What have I done?”
They wept together, Grans tears tracing the deep lines of her weathered face.
“Come inside. Well bake turnovers today.”
“Lets, dear.”
By spring, Gran took to her bed, calling for her son.
“Val, I dont know what to do. She keeps asking for Jim. I cant fetch him.”
“Ill tell John…”
Jim never came to say goodbye. Sent money for the funeral, muttered to John it should cover it.
The village judged him, of course. But what did he care? When hed left for Rose, thered been talk then too. But Lydia was dull, he saidboiled cabbage compared to Roses fire.
Hed married Lydia on a whimshed been assigned to the village, small and shy, unlike any girl hed known. Hed had her the first night, no struggle. Another lass mightve fought back, but shed just cried softly, clutching her nightdress.
Hed kept at it. She was an orphanno one to defend her. When shed swelled with child, hed done the decent thing. Raised without a father himself, hed stepped up.
Oddly, hed grown fond of her. She was a good wife, got on with his mother, kept a clean house. Shed loved him, plainly.
By the time the second boy came, hed met Roselusty, hot-eyed, smelling of wild herbs. Hed meant it as a fling, but shed coiled around him like ivy.
Hed walked out, stepped off the edge. Left three kidsthough hed loved them, truly. But Rose had dazzled him.
Kids? Theyd manage. He had. And Rose would give him more.
George turned away in the streetknifed him to the heart. The little ones barely remembered him. What could he do? Hed fallen in love…
Let them call him a monster. Whod peered into his soul? Maybe it was black. Maybe so.
Jim knelt by the fresh mound, the cross draped with a white cloth.
“Forgive me, Mum…”
“She already has, Jim. Came to her senses at the end.”
“You… why are you here?” He glowered at Lydia.
“Brought you food. Christian custom, isnt it? Have a drink… remember her.”
Silence.
“Ill go. You… talk to her.”
“Will she hear?”
“Shell hear, Jim. A mothers heart… its like that. And lifewell, lifes just life. Twists you where it will. Jim knelt there until the light faded, one hand on the cold earth, the other clenched around a pine needle hed pulled from his coatthe kind that used to stick to his mothers shawl. Evening settled in silence, broken only by the rustle of the piglets rooting near the shed and the distant laughter of Andrew calling Anna to come in. Inside, Lucy stirred the pot, George split kindling by the door, and Lydia sat by the stove, mending a sock with steady hands. The fire crackled, the room glowed warm, and life, for all its weight, went on.
