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An early morning mist swirled as Charlotte crossed the yard to the hen coop. Quickly entering and picking the eggs, her mind turned to her work for the day. “Eggs, baking, weeding, what else…?” she muttered to herself as she fed the chickens before heading back inside, the light wind stirring her russet curls about her head. “Oh yes, the meat! Perhaps a roast?”
Nodding to herself, Charlotte puttered around the kitchen, making herself breakfast and tidying up. Getting out the ingredients for bread and raspberry almond tarts, she found herself staring at the butcher’s paper wrapped parcel in the bottom of her fridge. “Yes,” she thought, “a nice roast for dinner. That’s been there far too long as it is.”
The day went by slowly, as they often did on Charlotte Murray’s little farm. She busied herself with her daily chores and was content to settle herself in the living room with a cup of tea and her knitting once she was done. Her quiet calm was broken harshly by frantic knocking at the door a few hours later as Charlotte was getting ready to start dinner.
Peering out the window, Charlotte opened the door to find her best friend and neighbour, Marsali James standing on the front porch looking harried. Ushering her inside, Charlotte asked, “What on earth’s got you in such a state, love? Where are the children?” Marsali collapsed onto the couch, head in her hands. Taking a deep breath, she sat up and brushed her hair back from her face, revealing bruising in various lurid shades across the left side of her face and down her neck.
“What happened, Marsali?” Charlotte exclaimed upon seeing the bruises, blue eyes going stormy. “What’s going on?”
“Johnny…” She started, eyes bright but steady. “We got into another row about his drinking. Tommy and Edmund got him off me before things got too bad, though. Shoved him out the door; we haven’t seen him since. It’s been three days and the police came this morning, saying they’d found his car wrapped around a tree! No one seems to know where he is.”
“Oh, love,” Charlotte crooned as she moved to sit beside her distraught friend, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. “it’ll be alright. Your boys are big enough now to work the farm and I’ll help out. You’ll get on just fine. Are the boys with the little ones now?”
“Yes, them and Poppy. You should have seen her, Charlotte. Stood her ground at the bottom of the stairs the whole time he raged, wouldn’t let him near the little ‘uns. Next thing I know, she’s handing me a cold compress; Baby Michael on one hip and the wash basket balanced on the other. Could have knocked me over with a feather, the way those three took charge.”
“You’ve raised them well, love. Tell you what, why not bring your lot over for supper tonight? I’ve got a large roast I’ve been meaning to make up, should be enough for all of us. Give you and your girls a break for the night, eh?”
With that, Marsali went on her way with a promise to return in two hours’ time and Charlotte went about getting dinner ready. By the time she returned with her brood, the house was full of all sorts of good smells and was a like a beacon of warmth and comfort to the James clan. All eight of them tumbled into the house, the children happily greeting ‘Aunty’ Charlotte with a hug and a smile. Soon enough everyone was clustered around the table, plates full of creamy mashed potatoes, green beans, ginger carrots and thick slices of meat covered in gravy. Chatter ran rampant and the plates may as well have been licked clean for all that they sparkled.
Sending the children into the living room to amuse themselves with a raspberry almond tart each, Charlotte and Marsali settled at the kitchen table with a pot of tea to share and revelled in the peace and quiet of Charlotte’s home.
Looking up from her mug, Marsali asked, “Where did you get that roast, Charlotte? I’ve never gotten anything so good from the butcher! So tender and juicy with fat.”
“Oh, it was one of my hogs,” Charlotte said, taking a deep draft from her mug. “He was getting too old and mean.”
“Oh, what a shame. At least he was tasty.”
“True, true. Tart, Marsali?”
“Don’t mind if I do.” She said with a smile, biting through the golden crust as she went to join her children in front of the fire.
Charlotte stayed in the kitchen for a moment, watching the pretty picture Marsali made with her babies. Thomas, her eldest, was letting her lean on his shoulder as he held Alex in his lap, while the little boy’s twin, Amelia, curled up with their mother. Edmund sat off to one side, reading to Jean, uncaring of the sticky fingers mucking up his shirt, and Poppy sat beside Marsali, rocking Baby Michael to sleep with a lullaby in the fire’s warm glow, looking every inch her mother’s daughter.
Smiling at her chosen family, Charlotte found herself even more sure of her decision. She’d do whatever it took to keep her family safe, no matter what.
Besides, Johnny had been rather succulent.