The Sun After the Rain…
“Alice, come here a moment. I’ve been down to the cellar and fetched you some potatoes.”
Alice turned toward her neighbour’s yard.
“Oh, thank you, Auntie Margaret. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”
“And how’s that, then? Bless your heart. Make it up, she says. Should’ve thought twice before bringing so many little ones into the world. That Tom was never a proper man, was he?”
Alice swallowed the harsh words. She knew payday was still a week off, and milk alone wouldn’t keep them going long. She could manage, but the three children waiting at home needed more. Tom, the man her neighbour spoke of, had been her husband—once. Last year, he’d learned the government wouldn’t hand them a house or a car just for having three children. So he’d packed his things and declared he wouldn’t live in such poverty. Alice had been washing dishes at the time. She’d even dropped a plate.
“Tom, what are you saying? You’re the man of the house. Find proper work, the kind that pays well, and there’ll be no poverty. These are your children. You always said you wanted more, that you loved having a big family.”
“Wanted them, aye. But I didn’t know the state would treat us like dirt. I won’t slave away for nothing,” Tom had replied.
Alice had let her hands drop.
“Tom, what about us? How am I supposed to manage alone?”
“Alice, I don’t know. And why didn’t you insist one was enough? You’re the woman—you should’ve known this might happen.”
She hadn’t had time to answer before Tom bolted out the door, nearly running to the bus stop. Tears had welled up, but then she’d seen three pairs of eyes watching her. Jack was the eldest, due to start school that year. Little Michael was just five, and their bright star, Rose, was only two. Alice had swallowed hard and forced a smile.
“Right then, who’s up for pancakes?”
The children had squealed with delight—all except Jack, who that evening asked, “Mum, is Dad never coming back?”
Alice had struggled for an answer, then simply said, “No, love.”
Jack had sniffled for a bit before declaring, “Well, we’ll manage without him. I’ll help you.”
Coming home from the evening milking, Alice often found the little ones fed and tucked in. She marvelled at how quickly her son had grown up.
***
Thanking her neighbour again for the potatoes, Alice trudged home. “Lord, when will it warm up? This winter’s been cruel.” The potatoes would’ve lasted, but a bitter frost had ruined even those stored in cellars. The village folk pitied them—villagers were kind like that—but never missed a chance to remind her what a fool she’d been. A fool? She couldn’t imagine life without any of her children now. Hard as it was, they managed. New clothes and toys would’ve been nice, but the children never asked. They knew Mum would buy what she could when she could. This year, she and Jack had even planned to put up a big greenhouse—just plastic sheeting for now, but they’d worked out how many extra jars of tomatoes and cucumbers they could preserve.
Shifting the bucket to her other hand, Alice spotted a crowd. Well, a crowd for the village—three folk gathered by her fence was enough. As she neared, she heard murmurs.
“Big brute, that one. Must’ve been a hunting dog.”
“Looks like a boar got him. He’s done for.”
Alice followed their gaze and gasped. “Why are you just standing there? He needs help!”
The neighbours turned. Old Mr. Harris shook his head. “Don’t be daft, Alice. Look at those fangs—who’d dare go near him? Nothing to be done now.”
“Nothing to be done? He came to us for help!”
On the snow lay a dog—hunting breed or not, Alice couldn’t tell—but his side was badly torn. The beast was enormous, yet Alice felt no fear. The pain in his eyes was plain. The villagers chuckled and drifted off. Nobody wanted trouble.
Alice carefully ran her hand between the dog’s ears. “Hold on, just a little longer. I’ll fetch a blanket, get you home.”
A rustle came from behind. “Mum, I brought the blanket. And we can use the old fridge door as a stretcher.”
She turned sharply. Jack stood there, tears in his eyes. Alice saw how much the dog was suffering. The hound gripped the blanket in his teeth, whimpering softly. He went still as Alice cleaned the wound—passed out from the pain. The younger ones watched wide-eyed from the sofa.
“Mum, will he live?”
Jack stroked the dog’s head as its cloudy eyes fluttered open.
“He has to. We’ll take care of him.”
The next morning at the dairy, the milkmaids cornered Alice.
“Alice, what were you thinking? Dragging some strange, half-dead beast into your house—with children!”
“Aye. As if she hasn’t got enough mouths to feed already. Waste of time—he’ll die anyway, or turn on them.”
Alice raised her voice. “Haven’t you got troubles of your own? Lizzie, didn’t Cathy vow to tear your hair out after someone told her about your little garden meetings with her man? And Sue—best tidy your own house before sticking your nose in mine. Your Billy was drinking behind the shop again at fourteen!”
The women fell silent, backing away. Alice had never spoken like that before. She turned back to her work. “Mustn’t forget the milk. Maybe Duke’ll drink some.”
Jack had named the dog Duke. He scarcely left its side—fetching water, propping its head, tucking a boot beneath for comfort. That evening, the stray lapped weakly at the milk.
“There’s a good lad. You’ll pull through…”
And he did. Alice fed him as she fed her children—going without herself. Three weeks later, Duke was wobbling about the house. The children petted him gently, still wary. He’d claimed a spot on a rug by Jack’s bed. Alice knew the village still gossiped, but she paid no mind. Let them talk—idle hands and all.
***
Spring came sudden. Alice and Jack hurried to cover a bed with plastic, eager for the soil to warm. After taking in the dog, the villagers stopped helping. Well, fair enough—if she could feed a hound, she could feed herself. Alice bore no grudge. They were right, in their way. She’d chosen to have her children, chosen to save the dog. And nobody else was to blame for her uninsulated cellar, not with frosts like these.
While she and Jack worked the garden, Duke, Michael, and Rose played outside. The children seemed oblivious to the beast’s fangs—riding him, tumbling in patches of sun-dried grass. Their laughter drew even the neighbours to peer over the fence.
“Rex!”
The dog froze, then yelped and cleared the fence in one bound. He nearly bowled the stranger over, licking his face wildly as the man hugged him tight. Alice and the children gaped. The neighbours edged closer. It took a quarter hour before man and dog calmed. The stranger finally looked at Alice.
“Good day, missus. I’ve searched six months for my dog—thought he was dead after that scrap. But here he is.”
Jack sniffled, realising Duke—Rex—would be taken.
“Mum nursed him, stayed up nights bandaging him.”
The man studied Jack, then Michael and Rose—the boy trying not to cry, the girl on the brink.
“Now, now—no tears. I’m not taking him this instant. Might I trouble you for a cuppa?”
Alice stirred. “Of course—come inside.”
The man hesitated. “My motor’s parked down the lane. I’ll fetch it. Rex might not understand…” He glanced at Jack. “Come with me, lad?”
Ordinarily, Alice would’ve refused. But she knew Rex wouldn’t belong to a bad man.
They returned swiftly. Alice stared at the sleek, expensive car—as did the villagers. The dog’s true owner, Edward, turned out to be an artist, businessman, hunter, and, above all, a good soul. That day in the woods, they hadn’t even been hunting—just walking. Nobody knew where the boar had come from. Edward and his friends had combed the woods till dark, then snow had buried any trail. He’d spent months visiting nearby villages. Theirs was the last.
Jack persuaded him to stay a few days—to Alice’s surprise, Edward agreed.
“Why not? Been too long since I worked with my hands. That fence needs mending, and Jack mentioned a greenhouse.”
Alice flushed. “Oh no—we’ll manage.”
Edward fixed her with a look. “Don’t say such things. You cared for Rex when you could hardly
