Chapter 5
“Will,” Maggie called. “Bill’s family will be here soon.” Bill, or Billy as she sometimes still called him, had come up from London on the train with his family, covering in three hours the distance that had once taken months for him, his sister and his mother.
Maggie’s grandsons Ethan, George, and Albert had gone to meet the train at the station in Daventry, taking a cart each, for Bill had a sizeable family.
Will emerged from the shed where he had his workshop.
His hair was white now, and his steps were slower, especially on cold days like today—the old injury pained him more in such weather.
He still stood straight and tall, and—though his face showed the wear of many years—to Maggie, he was still the handsome young man she had married forty-seven years ago.
“All done,” he said, as he walked toward her. “Christmas is more complicated now than it used to be!”
Indeed. Their six children all had children of their own, and many of their grandchildren were already adults.
Liam, Bill’s eldest son, had recently married, and was bringing his wife to a family Christmas for the first time, and Angie, his next in age, was bringing her betrothed for the family’s inspection.
“It will just be Bill and his family tonight,” Maggie reminded Will.
“Eva said she and Harold will drive over tomorrow morning, in time to join us for church.” She went on through the children, reminding Will of the expected arrival time of each of family.
He knew the arrangements perfectly well, of course, but—bless the dear man—he also knew that Maggie felt the need to recite the details again, relishing the fact she would soon have most of her nestlings back under her roof.
Most, but not all. Peter was an officer with the British army, and had been posted to India earlier this year.
Maggie worried about them, of course, but India appeared to be peaceful now, after the dreadful events a couple of years ago.
And Catherine had married a Canadian, and lived with her husband and children on the other side of the Atlantic.
They have been back to visit twice, but it was a very long way to come.
Perhaps, in time, steam ships would make travel across the ocean nearly as easy as trains had made land travel.
Ernest was the son that Will called their reunion baby, since he was born nine months after that memorable Christmas when Maggie first came to Ashton.
He lived just down the road, in the big house that Will had built when his business thrived.
When Ernest left school, he had joined his father, managing accounts and other business details for local enterprises, farms and estates, and when Will was appointed churchwarden, Ernest had taken over the day-to-day management of W.
Parker and Son. He and his wife Susan had moved into the house, and Will and Maggie into the cottage, when Susan’s fourth child was born.
Vicky, Will and Maggie’s baby, was also a local, having married the son of a prosperous farmer ten years ago.
They and their four (and counting) children would meet everyone for a Christmas lunch at Ernest’s tomorrow after church, though they would return to the farm for dinner with Vicky’s in-laws.
Still, there would be many visits between the houses during Bill’s stay.
Maggie could hear their darlings approaching. The clop of hooves, the jingle of bells on the harnesses, the rumble of wheels, the excited chatter of adults and children, the high voices of the latter a melody atop the deeper tones of the former.
She waited on the porch, and Will came to stand beside her, his arm around her waist. He pressed a kiss to her hair. “I replaced that broken board on the wheelbarrow,” he said.
To others, the comment might have sounded out of place, with their loved ones just turning in at the gate, but Maggie knew what her grandchildren were sure to ask, probably as soon as they tumbled off the cart.
And sure enough, once they were all inside, and Bill and his wife Anne had hugged her, the new granddaughter-in-law and prospective grandson-in-law had been introduced, and the other grandchildren had all been greeted, Bill’s youngest child said, “Gran, Gran, can we see the wheelbarrow?”
Anne chuckled. “Bill has been telling them the story again,” she said. “How their Gran walked twice as far as we have come today with their father and Aunt Eva in a wheelbarrow.”
“Gran and Grandpa still have the wheelbarrow,” said the youngest child to his new sister-in-law, puffing out his chest with pride.
“It is in the shed, Liam,” Will told the young man, and Liam went to fetch it, and was soon back inside pushing the barrow that had done her family such good service. Will had known this would happen and had cleaned it.
“Of course,” said Bill, “Pa has replaced every board at least twice and the wheel three times, so it is really not the same wheelbarrow at all.”
The grandchildren didn’t agree, and regarded the object with awe. “That,” said the youngest child to Liam’s wife, “is Gran’s wheelbarrow.”
The End
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Maggie’s Wheelbarrow was first written as a short story for my newsletter subscribers, and was revised and extended for this collection. Subscribe to my newsletter for a free short story once every two months.