Margaret Elizabeth stood in her garden in Applebrook, gazing at the apple trees bent low under the weight of their fruit. This year’s harvest was nothing short of extraordinary. Apples—crimson, golden, with cheeks blushing pink—tumbled to the ground, filling the air with their honeyed scent. She hadn’t even tried to pick them. There was hardly anyone left to eat them.
The village was nearly empty. The young had fled to the cities chasing better prospects, and the old could be counted on one hand. In winter, only four or five houses in Applebrook had lights in their windows.
“Penny for your thoughts, Elizabeth?” came a voice behind her. “Changed your mind about leaving?”
It was Eleanor, her neighbour, wheeling a trolley for apples.
“Oh, Ellie,” Margaret sighed. “Just take them, love. At least your goats will enjoy them. Take as many as you can carry… Changed my mind? I wish I could, but my son’s already arranged the sale. He’s even taken a deposit.”
“Shame to lose you,” Eleanor said, shaking her head. “Who knows who’ll move in next? Probably just weekenders. Doubt they’ll stick around.”
Eleanor fell silent and began gathering apples. Margaret watched her, then murmured,
“Never seen a harvest like this. Just when I’m about to leave, the garden, the land—it’s like they’re clinging to me. Lord, it was hard enough deciding to go. And even now, I don’t know why I agreed.”
“It’s easier for your son,” Eleanor replied. “No more trekking back here. Shops, doctors—everything’s right there. No chopping wood, no digging veg plots.”
“True,” Margaret agreed, though her voice wavered. “But my soul’s still here. My head knows it’s sensible, but my heart won’t let go. Ellie, I’m leaving Whiskers the cat and old Rover with you. Look after them till I sort myself out. Might bring Whiskers to the city, but Rover’s too old for a flat. That’s the real trouble…”
“Don’t fret, Margaret,” Eleanor nodded. “I’ll fetch Rover tomorrow. Whiskers will turn up on his own—clever thing. Just don’t miss your bus. Hope we’ll see you again. Maybe you’ll come back. You’d better visit, promise?”
“Yes, yes…” Margaret mumbled. “Got my bag packed. My son’s coming at the weekend for the rest.”
She wandered through the house, lingering by the Aga in the kitchen. Tears blurred her eyes, but time was ticking. Margaret stepped outside and perched on an old tree stump by the lane.
Soon, the little village bus rattled into view, creaking and clattering. After exchanging pleasantries with the driver, Margaret took a seat by the window. She was the only passenger—Applebrook was the end of the line.
The road was, as ever, a patchwork of potholes. The recent rains had turned them into miniature lakes, and the bus inched along. Then, with a groan and a thud, it lurched to a halt. The driver muttered something unsavoury and climbed out.
“What’s happened?” Margaret called, leaning out.
The driver crouched by the front wheel and shook his head. “Not good. Need to call for help, or we’re spending the night here.”
He started dialling, and to her surprise, Margaret felt a wave of relief. She stepped off the bus and said, “We’re not far. I’ll walk back. If help doesn’t come, you’re welcome in the village. It’s getting late.”
“They’ll be here in an hour or so,” the driver said. “Sure you don’t want to wait?”
“Not a chance,” Margaret said briskly. “Only a mile and a half. I’ll manage.”
“You sure?” he frowned.
“Course!” She grinned. “Walked worse roads—mushroom picking, popping over to the next village for bread.”
Margaret set off, her bag suddenly light, her heart oddly buoyant. Eleanor, hauling her trolley home, spotted her on the lane.
“Well, I never!” she laughed. “What’s this mean?”
“It means the house won’t let me go,” Margaret chuckled. “Best ring my son so he doesn’t wait. Bus broke down just past the village—something with the wheel. You know our roads.”
“Brilliant!” Eleanor beamed. “Come for supper. Your place’ll be bare, and I’ve got hot food. Let’s have a proper chinwag.”
Rover barked joyfully at the sight of her, tail wagging like mad. Whiskers darted inside, making a beeline for his bowl.
Margaret dropped her bag and declared, “Lord forgive me! What was I thinking? I’m not going anywhere, full stop.”
Whiskers meowed in reply.
“Speaking for the Lord, are you, Whiskers?” Margaret smiled. “Or just agreeing with me?”
The cat rubbed against her legs and leapt onto her lap.
“Hold on, I’d better ring William before he worries,” she said, dialling her son.
“William, listen, the bus broke down… Yes, just past the village. Suppose it wasn’t meant to be. I’m back home now. Don’t wait, I’m not coming. No, really—something with the wheel. I was the only one on it. And you know what? I’m staying. Sorry, love. Tell the buyers it’s off, and apologise for me.”
“Mum, you sure?” William asked. “Funny you should say that—the buyers backed out today. Can you believe it? Left a couple hundred quid as compensation, didn’t even want it back.”
“Well, there you go!” Margaret laughed. “Means the house isn’t meant to be sold. Now I know for certain.”
“Alright, we’ll sort it later,” William sighed.
“Nothing to sort!” she said. “Home’s where the heart is, love. Forgive me.”
“What am I going to do with you?” William chuckled. “That money’ll buy firewood for a couple winters. I’ll order some tomorrow.”
“Even better!” Margaret cheered. “I’ll expect you with the wood. Better tell Ellie the good news.”
Eleanor and her husband Nigel were already fixing supper. They were just as pleased as Margaret when they heard.
“Toast is in order,” Nigel announced, raising his glass. “Enough of this moving nonsense, Elizabeth. Stay put and give us some peace. We’re used to you—we’ve got your back. And you’ve been a good neighbour.”
“Agreed,” Margaret said, hugging them both, tears in her eyes. “No more scares, I promise.”
“More importantly,” she added, “all the signs said I should stay. Must listen to the good Lord.”
“And us, while you’re at it,” Nigel winked.
Glasses clinked, supper was shared, and laughter spilled from their cottage late into the night.
A week later, William and his wife delivered the firewood. With Eleanor and Nigel’s help, they stacked it all day. That evening, they gathered at Margaret’s, spirits high as if the thought of selling had never crossed their minds. The sunset that evening was breathtaking. They sat on the porch, watching it.
“Nowhere’s lovelier than here,” Margaret murmured.
William squeezed her shoulder. “Home sweet home, Mum. Home sweet home.”
