Chapter 4 Four

The smell of chicken soup and roasted nuts filled my nose the moment I stepped inside, and I knew straight away that Grandma Anna was making dinner. The fireplace was already lit, filling the little cottage with a comfortable warmth that made the cold evening outside feel a world away, and after the dreadful day I had just endured, I was more than ready to forget everything that had happened at the shop.

“Is that you, Nellie?” Grandma called from the kitchen, her voice carrying warmly through the little cottage.

“Yes, Grandma,” I replied, removing my coat and hanging it upon the wooden peg beside the door.

“You are late.”

I smiled to myself as I made my way towards the kitchen. “I was detained.”

“By whom?” she asked as I approached her, slipping my arms around her in a warm embrace from behind.

She laughed softly as she turned towards the soup, carefully stirring the pot before glancing over her shoulder at me.

“Your daughter,” I said.

The spoon in Grandma’s hand paused above the pot, and she slowly turned to look at me. “Your mother came around?” She asked surprised.

“Yeah,” I whispered. She studied my face for a moment before turning back to the soup. “And what trouble has she brought with her this time?”

I pulled out a chair and sat down, letting out a long sigh. “I should think it would be easier to ask what trouble she has not brought with her.” Grandma gave a quiet laugh, though the amusement quickly faded when she noticed the tiredness written across my face.

“Rest a bit, child. You look exhausted.”

“I am exhausted,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “And starved.”

Grandma continued stirring the soup. She had always possessed an uncanny ability to make an ordinary meal feel like a special occasion, even when it consisted of nothing more than soup, bread and whatever she had managed to rescue from the garden.

She carried two bowls to the table and placed one in front of me before taking her seat opposite.

“Now,” she said, settling herself comfortably, “tell me what your mother wanted.”

I picked up my spoon and took a mouthful before answering. “She is getting married.”

Grandma’s gaze lingered on me, her surprise plainly evident.”Again?”

“Yes.” I took another spoonful of the delicious soup and smiled. “This is nice, Grandma.”

“Thank you, my love,” she said with a smile. “Who is your mother marrying?”

“A gentleman named Bernard.”

Grandma lowered her spoon and stared at me for a moment. “Bernard?”

“Yes, Bernard.” I took another spoonful of soup while she frowned, as though she were searching through the long procession of men who had wandered in and out of my mother’s life, trying to recall whether Bernard had ever made an appearance before.

“And how long has she known this, Bernard?”

“Four months.”

Grandma’s eyebrows rose. “Four months? Apparently, that is quite enough time for your mother to make another foolish choice.” She sighed softly and returned her attention to her soup. “And when is the wedding?”

“Three weeks.”

My spoon had barely reached my mouth before Grandma’s stopped halfway to hers. She stared at me over the rim of it, her expression saying precisely what her words did not.

“Three weeks?” she repeated, her eyebrows lifting in surprise.

I nodded.

Grandma gave a small shake of her head. “She has always been rather quick when it comes to these things.”

“Quick is one word for it,” I said, taking another spoonful because, quite frankly, the soup was far more pleasant than my mother’s romantic history.

Grandma gave me a knowing look before settling her spoon back into the bowl. “And did she think to mention you to Bernard?”

I paused with my spoon halfway to my mouth. “The same old story. He knows nothing.”

“Nothing?” Grandma’s brows rose. “She did not tell him about you?”

“Not a thing. Apparently, Bernard has no idea that my mother has a grown daughter.” I watched the displeasure settle across Grandma’s face, and I could hardly blame her. I was quite accustomed to my mother’s ways by now. Every man she married was told I was someone else entirely. A cousin when it suited her. An auntie when that was more convenient.

Grandma stared at me for a moment before asking, “And what excuse did she give this time?”

I gave a small shrug. “She said she wanted a fresh start.”

Grandma sighed and leaned back in her chair. “Your mother has been looking for a fresh start since the day you were born. She should be quite sick of it by now.”

“That sounds about right.” I smiled faintly, though there was very little amusing about it.

She shook her head before giving me another knowing look. “And what did she want from you to make her show up after all these months?”

I took another spoonful of soup, already wishing I could simply enjoy my dinner without discussing the woman who had managed to ruin my evening before I had even made it home.

“A potion.”

Grandma looked at me suspiciously. “What sort of potion?”

“One that would help her conceive.” Her spoon stopped moving, and she stared at me as though waiting for me to laugh and tell her I was joking.

“I wish I were joking,” I added.

Grandma slowly placed her spoon beside her bowl. “She wants another child?”

“Yes.”

“At her age?”

“That was rather my point.”

Grandma rubbed her forehead and let out a long sigh. “And she came all the way here to ask you for this?”

“Apparently.”

“Did this Bernard ask her to have a child?”

“Yes.” Grandma closed her eyes briefly, and I could tell she was trying very hard not to say something unkind about her own daughter, which was rather considerate of her.

“She has always had a talent for making life unnecessarily complicated,” she finally said.

I smiled faintly. “That is one of the kinder ways of describing her.”

Grandma reached across the table and gave my hand a gentle squeeze. “You do not have to make the potion, you know.”

“I know.” I whispered

“You owe her nothing.” Grandma said, placing her hand in mine

“I know that too.” I looked down at my bowl, watching the steam curl gently above the soup before disappearing into the warm air. “I just don’t understand how she can come back after six months, ask me for something like this, and expect me to forget everything that happened before.”

Grandma was quiet for a moment, her hand still resting over mine, before she finally said, “Because she is your mother, and sometimes people mistake blood for easy access to forgiveness.”

I looked up at her, but she had already reached for her spoon again, apparently deciding that she had said enough.

“Eat your soup, child,” she said with a small smile. “We can discuss your mother’s foolishness after you’ve finished.”

I smiled and picked up my spoon again. “Yes, Grandma.”

For a little while, we said nothing more, and the cottage settled into the comforting sounds of spoons against bowls and the gentle crackling of the fire, while the warmth around us slowly chased away the cold that had followed me home. I let myself enjoy the quiet, grateful for the simple comfort of Grandma’s cottage and the fact that, for a few precious minutes, my mother’s latest disaster could remain outside the door.

Unfortunately, peace had never been particularly good at staying in my life for very long.