My husband and I arrived in the countryside to meet his parents for the first time. Edwards mother emerged onto the doorstep, planting her hands on her hips just like some character out of an old English painting, fussing as soon as she saw us.
Oh, Eddie! Why didnt you warn me? And look at younot alone, I see! she exclaimed.
Without a moments hesitation, Edward pulled me close, holding me tight. Mum, meet my wifeher names Florence.
Mrs. Edith Barnaby was a formidable woman, wrapped in a ruffled apron and beaming at me. She strode towards me, gave me a hearty, threefold kiss, and enveloped me in an embrace so strong I almost lost my breath. Her perfume was an unmistakable mixture of garlic and freshly baked bread.
Held tightly between Ediths ample bosoms, I felt more than a little bewildered. She suddenly pushed me back, eyeing me up and down before calling out, Eddie, where did you find such a little scrap of a thing?
Edward just laughed. In the city, Mummet her right there in the library. Is Dad at home?
Hes at Mrs. Pearsonsfiddling with her fireplace again. Now, come on in, and mind those shoes. Ive just scrubbed the floors.
Curious village children gawped at us from the garden gate. Charlie, go fetch Mrs. Spalding, would you? Tell her Mr. Barnabys sons come homewith his new bride!
Alright! the boy shouted as he shot down the lane.
Inside, Edward took my coata stylish piece Id found discounted in Londonand hung it carefully by the old-fashioned range cooker. He pressed my chilled hands to its warm side and whispered with a smile, Still warm, just like you, my love.
Suddenly, the kitchen was abuzz: pots clattering, crockery tinkling, glasses and old spoons rattling. While Edith laid the table, I curiously scanned the cottageframed watercolours above the mantel, floral curtains, and home-woven rugs on the polished wooden floor. Beside the range, a ginger cat stretched out, ignoring us in favour of its nap.
We signed the papers only last week, I heard Edward say as I gazed around, marvelling at how quickly the spread appeared. In the centre, a grand dish of pork pie took pride of place, surrounded by pickled onions, homemade chutney, and a crusty loaf still warm from the oven. There was a savoury tart with eggs and scallions next to a jug of creamy milk straight from the dairy.
My stomach gave a rumbleI hadnt realised how hungry I was.
Alright, Mum, thats more than enough! Feeds an army, Edward muttered, munching a thick slab of bread.
Edith plonked a frosted bottle of homemade elderflower wine on the table, wiping her hands on her apron with an air of satisfaction. There, now were all set.
And so, I was introduced to Edwards mother. Mother and son were as similar as could beboth dark-haired with rosy cheeks, though gentle Edward was the calm to his mothers storm.
More than once, I suspected Edith could wrangle a wild horseor save a burning barn herself.
Suddenly, a door slammed in the hallway. The kitchen door swung open to admit a wiry, short man, trailing the scent of woodsmoke behind him. He burst out, Good gracious, whats all this then!
Still in his sooty jacket, he hugged his son. Evening, Dad! Edward greeted.
Wash your hands before you hug anyone else! Edith barked.
Mr. William Barnaby grinned as he shook my hand. His twinkling blue eyes, wiry ginger beard, and curls seemed to glint with mischief. Well hello, young lady!
Mum, pour us some stew, would you? he called, grabbing the battered washbasin.
We raised our glasses. To you both, I toasted nervously.
After a round of food and drink, I found my courage and teased, William, why are there so many Williams in your family?
Its simple, Florence! My granddad, my father, and mewere all stove-makers, you see. Only Eddie here decided to become a machinist instead!
The country needs machinists too, Dad, Edward replied.
And building a stove, Florence, thats an art! William declared, raising a finger. Has to be pretty, never a whiff of smoke, and the bread must come out just right. We gingers are tough stockhardy and kissed by the English sun!
My Wills handy as they come, Edith chimed in. Dad, why dont you tell us one of your stories?
William stroked his beard, eyes glinting. Well, if youre in the mood First story then.
He launched into a tale about making hay one July, back when they had Daisy, a cow who gave milk by the gallon and nearly walked on stilts. Whole familieswomen and menwould be out swinging scythes before the sun had even crept above the woods. The heat was sweltering, and horseflies bit like mad.
That summer, wild boar were everywhere! he declared, eyes wide.
By lunchtime, everyone was exhausted. I thought Id liven things up, he said with a smirk. Suddenly, I dropped my scythe, shouting, Everyone run! Wild boar! And scrambled up a tree. Next thing I know, everyone else is in the trees too!
We all burst out laughing. What happened next? I asked.
Well, nearly got thrashed by everyone once they realised there werent any boar. But after that, the work went twice as fast!
Edith couldnt resist giving him a playful slap. You rascal, William!
Dad, tell us a story about real wild boar, Edward piped up.
Alright then. Back in the day, your mum and I were youngbefore Eddie was even thought of. I was an avid hunter until one snowy evening changed my mind. Told Edith, Im off to hunt. She just said, Go on, then. I wandered through the woods for ages with nothing to show. As dusk fell, I heard boar close by. I waited as they came near and firedmissed! Next thing I know, a great boars charging at me. I legged it up a tree, heart pounding.
You nearly died of fright! Edith interjected.
Let me finish! I sat up that tree, clutching the branch for dear life, while the boar rooted beneath it. When he gave up, he settled under meand so did the whole herd. There I stayed, hugging that tree till dawn.
My eyes widened. How did you get out?
Eventually, I managed to slip home once they left. Lucky the frost wasnt strong, or Id have been frozen to the core.
And I searched all night for himhad half the village out looking, Edith added. When we found him, he was in such a daze I had to drag him home myself.
Youve got the strength of an ox, love.
Oh, you nuisance! she said, laughing.
It was about then Edith put the kettle on. Florence, would you like some teaa nice strong one with lemon balm, and weve honey too, from Williams hives.
Thatd be wonderfulthank you, I replied.
She poured out steaming mugs of fragrant tea. Edith turned to Edward, Remember how your dad healed my sister?
William nearly choked on his tea, laughing. One time, your aunt Mary sent a telegramsaid shed be visiting. When she got here, she complained at lunch that her legs ached terribly. Kept saying she needed to see the doctor but never seemed to go.
Have you tried bee therapy? we joked, half in earnest.
Where could I find bees in the city? Mary scoffed.
Come on then, I said, Ill fix you up quick, just down by the hives.
Hes hopeless! Edith laughed.
Well, I made her lift her skirt a bit, sat one bee on each leg. She thanked me and alltill a half hour later, started swearing blue murder! Turned out she was allergic, legs swelled up like balloons, couldnt walk at all!
Told you, hes Doctor Doolittles double, Edith teased.
How was I to know about allergies? Neither of us had a clue!
I grinned. No allergies here, William. Thanks for the honey.
Thank goodness for that!
We finished our tea as darkness crept outside. I realized how tired I was. Edith drew the curtains.
Eddie, where shall we make up your bed then? she asked.
Mum, can we have the box bed near the range? What dyou reckon, Florencefancy sleeping there tonight?
Absolutely! I replied, genuinely excited.
Ill make it up in a jiffy. Your dad built that bed, brick by brickitll keep you warm all night, Edith said with a proud look at William, who straightened his shoulders in quiet satisfaction.
It really was a bed to be proud ofa true heart for the home, giving warmth, food, and gathering everyone together.
Edward helped me climb up, patting me kindly. I lay there, breathing in the centuries-old scent of warm brick, dried lavender, lanolin, and fresh-baked bread.
Edward was asleep in moments; for me, sleep didnt come so easily.
What was that sound to my rightwheezing and whistling? Was it a house spirit? I whispered a rhyme from childhood: Old house spirit, dont mind mewere just passing through!
Only in the morning did I learn the truth: no goblin, but a loaf of prove rising near the warmth, which Edith had completely forgotten.
Well return again to the Barnabys warm and lively cottageto hear Williams stories, warm ourselves by the range, and eat real homemade bread.
But those are tales for another day.
