The mother was released on parole after serving time in place of her son, who had sold the family home and wouldnt even let her inside.
Vera Whitaker stood before the familiar little gate, leaning against the wicker fence. She had run from the bus like a woman possessed, and now her strength was gone. Seeing the blue-gray smoke rise from the chimney, she pressed a hand to her chesther heart pounded so violently it might crack her ribs. Despite the chill in the air, her forehead glistened with sweat. She wiped it away with a quick motion, then pushed open the creaking gate with determination.
Her practiced eye noticed the shed had been patched up. Her son hadnt written in years, but he hadnt lied: the old house was still standing, just as hed promised. She bounded up the porch steps, ready to embrace her dear little Eddie.
But the door swung open to reveal a strangera sullen man with a tea towel slung over his shoulder.
“Looking for someone?” he asked, his voice rough as gravel, eyes raking over her.
Vera froze.
“Wheres Eddie?”
The man scratched his chin, staring at her without courtesy. She shrank under his gaze, painfully aware of her appearancethe worn-out quilted jacket, scuffed boots, stained bagclothes fit for a pauper. But you dont return from a walk when youve been away since summer had stolen her, and now it was late autumn. She had only the clothes shed worn in prison.
“Eddies my son. Where is he? Is he alright?”
The stranger shrugged.
“Dunno. Shouldnt you?” He moved to shut the door, then hesitated. “Eddie Whitaker?”
She nodded quickly. The mans expression softened.
“Bought this place off him four years back. Come in if you like”
“No, no!” Vera flapped her hands, nearly toppling off the steps. “Do you know where I can find him?”
The man shook his head. She stumbled back toward the gate. She could go to her old friend Margaret, but the woman had a sharp tongueshed drown Vera in scorn. And a mothers heart knew something terrible had happened to her boy.
Trudging toward the bus stop, she drowned in dark thoughts. What had gone wrong? Eddie had been so hopeful Four years ago, hed trusted a “friend” and ended up tangled in fraud. If Vera hadnt taken the blame, hed have faced a much harsher sentence. Theyd given her, an old woman, just five years. Three days ago, theyd let her out early for good behavioreven paid her bus fare.
Sitting on a cold concrete bench, she whispered:
“Where do I look for you, love?”
Tears welled up. Her heart had lurched when, three years back, his letters stopped. Now her worst fears seemed truehed even sold the house. She dabbed her cheeks with a handkerchief.
Suddenly, a black car pulled up. The grim-faced man from the house handed her a slip of paper.
“Found this address in the old paperwork. If you like, Ill drive you into town.”
She clutched the paper like a lifeline.
“Thank you, lad, dont fretIll manage.” Heartened, she turned toward the rickety bus now approaching.
Half an hour of jolts, dread, and confusion in the city, and at last she stood before a crumbling tenement. She jabbed the buzzer, holding her breath. The door might open to deliver terrible news. Tears streamed freely.
When it swung wide, her joy was boundlessthere he stood, rumpled, slightly drunk, but alive! Her Eddie! She burst into sobs, reaching for him, but he didnt share her happiness. He stepped back, door half-shut.
“Howd you find me?”
Stunned by his cold greeting, she faltered. Eddie turned her toward the stairs.
“Sorry, Mum. You cant come in. My girl hates ex-cons. Sort yourself outIm skint.”
Vera tried to mention the house sale, but the door slammedlike a gunshot to her heart. She didnt cry. Head bowed, she descended. Margaret had been rightshed raised a rotter. Shed have to swallow her pride, face the scolding, with no roof left.
Back in the village, fate mocked herMargaret had died six months prior. The house now belonged to distant, indifferent relatives. Under a fine drizzle, Vera huddled at the bus stop, pondering her future.
Headlights startled herthe man from before leaned out.
“Get in, youre soaked!”
She refused, sobbingno place to go, and this strangers kindness stung. He all but hauled her into the car.
They talked. Vera shared her bitter taleleaving out Eddies rejection. The driver, Andrew, offered her a place to stay. So Vera Whitaker returned to her old home, now his, and remained.
Andrew worked dawn till duskhis sawmill was thriving. She took charge of the house: cooking, laundry, chores. Easy with modern appliances. Andrew, young and divorced, had no thought of remarrying.
Her presence was just what he neededan orphan raised by the state, he now knew a mothers warmth. Whenever she spoke of leaving, hed say:
“Whered you go? This is your home!”
Slowly, her heart thawed. A blood son couldnt be replaced, but Andrew proved kind as few men werealmost a true son. As winter neared, she brought him lunch at the milljust a short walk, and he often worked through meals.
That day, she carried a thermos of steaming soup and meat pies. Shooing a stranger from the office, she spread a clean cloth. Andrew laughed.
“Whitaker, youre a drill sergeant! What if hes offended?”
She frowned.
“You hiring him foreman? Look at his facehes a wrong un. Prison taught me to read folk.”
Andrew shook his head.
“Come on, Mum! His CVs solid. Cant judge by a glance.”
She was righta month later, the mill lost stock; the man had been smuggling timber and vanished with a truckload. Andrew, grim, admitted his mistake.
Hiring a new crew, he decided: since “Gran” had the knack, shed help. Now, Vera Whitaker sat in on interviewsAndrew asked questions, she watched, scribbling verdicts. Whole pages: “brawling drunk,” “proper villain,” “lazy sot”terse, precise.
She spotted good workers too, even scruffy ones. But one candidate made her hesitatehands trembling, she stared at the form.
Andrew glanced at the visitorthe man whod bought the house! Eddie stood stunned, eyes darting between his mother and the boss, fiddling with his cap. His wife had sent himthe mill paid well. He never expected to find her here; hed assumed shed vanished.
In the silence, Andrew took the verdict. Vera had written two words, then fled. Eddie smirkedof course hed be hired. His mum would plead his case.
Andrew read aloud:
“Right bastard.” He shooed Eddie like a fly. “Out! I trust Mums judgment.”
