**Matilda**
In our village, they said shed lost her marbles in her old age. Most people avoided her cottage, whispering she was a “witch,” though to this day, they still talk about how she silenced the gossips once and for all.
Matilda was, at first glance, an ordinary countrywomanaged, with a touch of eccentricity. She helped those in need, though she scraped by on a measly pension, and welcomed lost travellers when no one else would. The wealthier villagers (for the place was prosperous enough) rarely let strangers cross their thresholdsperhaps offering a cup of well water, but never shelter for the night.
Matilda was different. Every wanderer got a hot drink, a simple meal, and a bed if the hour was late. The villagers called her odd for it, muttering about letting strangers in when she had a granddaughter coming of age. Some even threatened her:
“Keep acting strange, and well have little Emily taken to the orphanage. One call to social services, and theyll whisk her away.”
But that was years ago. Emily came of age, and the spiteful lot backed off. Still, Matilda had seethed with anger back thenEmily was her treasure, her only comfort in old age, her hope and support.
She was all Matilda had left. Shed lost everyoneher husband, taken too young by a heart attack at forty-two. Shed raised her daughter, Lily, alone. Lily had been bright and lovely, married well, moved to the city, and given Matilda Emily. Then came the tragedy.
Lilys husband was a geologist, always away on expeditionssometimes for half a year at a time. From one, he never returned. Lost without a trace, not even a body found. Search parties from the emergency services scoured the wilds, until one of them vanished too. Thats what they told Lily, at least.
Lily grieved terriblyleft with a small child, no father to guide them. Matilda held her tight.
“I raised you alone after your father passed, and youll raise Emily too. Ill help.”
At first, Lily seemed to steady herself, resigned to her cruel fate. But shed only been putting on a brave face to spare her mothers heart. Two years later, the unthinkable happened.
Lily drowned her sorrows, and not gentlyfirst occasionally, then daily.
“The worlds grey without my darling Andrew. Ill never see my love again, never know happiness. Whats the point in living?” shed weep whenever Matilda tried to console her.
Matilda tried everythingnothing worked. Lily bound her life to the bottle and died in her prime. The village judged her harshly, but perhaps it was simply her fate.
Matilda was left with fifteen-year-old Emily, an orphan. She took guardianship and brought the girl to the village. Emily resistedused to city lifebut Matilda persuaded her.
“In the city, my pension wont keep us. Here, weve a garden, chickens.”
And shed often say:
“You, my treasure, are meant for greater things. When youre older, Ill find you the finest husband!”
“Where, Gran? In this backwater? Only lost tourists pass through.”
“Leave that to me, dear. Let the gossips chatterpay them no mind.”
So they lived, just the two of them, in a creaking cottage on the village edge. Matilda tended the house; Emily went to the village school, helping after lessons.
Classmates taunted herthey knew her mothers fate. Neighbours loved to whisper:
“Her mother was a lost causewhat hope for the girl? Nothing good will come of her.”
It stung Matilda. No fault of hers that her husband died young, nor that Lily lost hers. But she sworeEmilys future would be secure.
She ignored the neighbours entirelylet them talk. They despised her for itnothing fazed her; their words meant nothing.
Yet sometimes, they couldnt resist. Whenever Matilda housed a traveller, rumours flaredshe must be scouting suitors for Emily, since no local lad would wed a girl with *that* past.
“Your village boys are no match,” Matilda would retort proudly. “Emilys destiny lies elsewhere.”
“Well see,” theyd sneer, calling her “witch” under their breath.
Time passed. The villages malice cooledfewer cruel words. It seemed theyd been left in peace. But it was the calm before the storm, one that would change everything for the old woman and her orphaned girl.
One winter evening, as the village sank into darkness, noise erupted beyond the fencea stalled engine, mens voices cursing the weather, the roads, their rotten luck.
A burly neighbour stomped out, irked by the disturbance.
“Whats all this racket at night? People are trying to sleep!”
“Night? Its barely eight!”
“Who *are* you? City folk, by the looks. What brings you to our godforsaken village?”
“Hunters. Got lost on our way. Now the cars acting up. Any chance you could help?”
“Help? What if youre not who you say? We dont take strangers innot with my daughters about. And Im no mechanicsort it yourselves.”
The hunters exchanged glances.
“Sorry to trouble you. Anywhere we might stay the night?”
“No inns herethis isnt the city,” the villager snapped, turning to leave. Then, as an afterthought:
“Only one placed take you inold Matildas cottage. Shes a bit touched, mind, but shell open her door to anyone.”
He jerked a thumb toward the village edge, adding spitefully,
“Lives with a young lasswont be dull for you gentlemen.”
With that, the bitter man trudged home, his gate slamming shut. The last light vanished, leaving the hunters in darkness.
Undaunted, they locked the car and trudged toward the cottage.
The lads were baffled by the hostilitycountry folk were usually kinder. Still, with night fallen and no options, they knocked on the rickety door.
“Goodwoman, forgive the late hour! Might we warm ourselves?”
“Why not? Come in, come inteas brewing,” Matilda answered at once, swinging the door wide.
“Where might you be from, lads? What brings you here?”
“Hunters,” they mumbled, taken aback by her warmth.
“Im Oliver, and this is my childhood friend, Harry,” the guests offered.
Harry flushed like a maiden.
“Dont mind me, lads. Folk here call me odd, but youll be warm and fed. Early for bed yetsupper first.”
The guests shared a glance but brightenedhot food was a rare treat lately.
Matilda bustled off. The lads eyed the “witchs den.” A dusty icon hung in one corner, framed by embroidered linen. On the sillphotos. A daughter and son-in-law, perhaps. Beside thema young woman with sorrowful eyes. The granddaughter?
As they puzzled, Matilda returned with boiled potatoes and pickles. Soon, the table bore fresh bread, its aroma stirring memories.
“Just like Grans!” Harry blurted, delighted.
“Eat up, lads. Ill fetch the teadandelion jam, our own recipe. Youll not taste its like elsewhere!”
“Dandelion jam?” Oliver gaped.
“My gran made it too!” Harry said, earning Matildas fond glance.
“Weve a meadow in the woodsdandelions like gold in May. The jams pure honey,” she boasted, keen to impress.
The hunters didnt mindthe cottages warmth was a balm. Only Harry noticed Matildas odd glances when he praised her cooking, rolling his eyes at the jams sweetness.
From another room, a faint voice called,
“Gran water”
The guests glanced at the photos.
“Your granddaughter? Is she ill?”
“My silly girlchopping wood yesterday, though weve little to burn. Fever took her by nightfall. No medicines here, and the chemists too far for these old bones.”
Matilda sighed, filling a mug with lime-blossom tea and jam, hurrying off.
“Waitweve medicine.”
Harry rummaged in his bag, producing fever tablets.
“Give her these. If shes no better by morning, well think of something.”
He didnt follow.
Minutes later, Matilda returned.
“Time you rested. Ill make bedsmust tend to Emily. My only kin, my poor orphaned girl.”
Harrys eyes stung, heart aching. He stepped forward.
“Let me sit with her. You rest.”
“Ill rest in my grave, lad. While I live, Ill not leave her. But you sleepmornings wiser than evening.”
She left. The lads settled in.
“Witch? Mad? Shes just like my gran,” Harry murmured once the door shut.
“People are cruelmaybe she crossed them,” Oliver mumbled, already drowsing.
Harry dozed lightly, stirring at footsteps. In the dark, Matildas shape moved toward their coats. She lifted Harrys jacket, vanishing with it.
*Strange,* he thought. *Is she truly a witch? Or checking our papers? Then why let us in?*
Questions plagued him, but he wouldnt disturb her.
At dawn, he rose, finding his jacket on the hookthe torn sleeve neatly mended, stitches finer than any tailors. How had she noticed? He hadnt even remembered tearing it.
He could buy a hundred such jacketsat twenty-seven, his restaurant empire brought obscene wealth. But Matilda didnt know that. Her kindness moved him deeply.
He stole outside, heading for the woodshed.
“Chop some woodtheyll need it after were gone.”
Then he recalled the girls photo.
*Pretty, and hardworking too. Id like to meet her.*
Dreaming of inviting Emily to his restaurant, he split logs with gusto.
Matildas voice startled him.
“What a fine lad! Years since a mans hand worked herewhat luck!”
Harry flushed.
“Just habitchopped wood for my gran as a boy.”
Matilda beamed.
“Bless you, lad! Shrovetides soonwell have fuel for pancakes.” Then, slyly:
“Stay for it?”
Harry reddened furtherbarely acquainted, yet invited to feast. Her generosity, despite their poverty, reminded him of his gran.
“Why not? Ive four days free.”
“Then stay!” Matilda declared, bustling inside.
Oliver joined him outside. Harry mentioned the invitation.
“Are you mad? Shrovetide in this dump? NoIm leaving. Suit yourself.”
Their bickering masked the neighbours approachthe same whod directed them here.
“Lads, found a mechanic for your car.”
“Thank heavens!”
“Come meet himbest in the village.”
Oliver stayed, fuming. Harry followed, but the neighbours motives soon showed.
“Fine carcost a pretty penny, eh? Youre no paupers. Take advicesteer clear of that mad hag and her waif. Paupers, the lot. If you fancy a village girl (city men do these days), Ive daughtersfar better stock.”
Harry understoodthe man had heard of his wealth and sought a match. He demurred.
“Ill return for Shrovetideperhaps visit then. But thank you for the mechanic.”
“Shrovetide? Smitten with that paupers girl, is it?”
At breakfast, Emily joined themfever broken.
“This is Oliver and Harry,” Matilda said. “Lost last nightIve asked them for Shrovetide.”
“Im Emily,” she said softly. “Teas readywith jam!”
Matilda fretted, but Emily insisted. Soon, the table bore the same humble feast.
“Nothing this good since my gran died,” Harry said, devouring bread.
Emily watched him, enchanted. Harry gazed backthis stranger who already felt like home.
Only Matilda seemed unmovedthough her eyes hinted she knew something no one else did.
“Gran, might I invite Emily to the city?” Harry ventured.
“If she wishesonce shes well,” Matilda said cryptically, hiding a toothless smile. “Staying for Shrovetide?”
“Harry mightIve business,” Oliver snapped.
“Well leave tonightcars fixed. But Ill return.”
Harrys look asked Emily if she wanted that.
Till evening, they talked like old friends. At parting, Harry whispered,
“Ill be back in two daysfor you.”
Emily longed to believe himbut why would a city lad want her?
The car vanished around the bend. Emily kept staring. Shed no idea he was a millionaireshed fallen at first sight.
“Enough dreaming,” she sighed, glancing at Matilda.
“Hell come, dearI feel it. The spark between you burned hotter than his firewood.”
Shrovetide dawned. Matilda and Emily baked pancakes, awaiting their guest.
He didnt come the first day. Nor the second.
On the third, the neighbour swaggered in.
“Well? Your city boy promised Shrovetidewhere is he? Owner of some posh restaurantwhats he want with you?”
Emily fled inside. Matilda stiffened*so its true.*
“Dont gloatits early yet,” she spat, shooing him off.
He stumbled away, then froze.
Matilda gaspedround the bend came Harrys car.
He stepped out, bearing crimson roses and a hamper (later found full of treats).
“Gran Matilda,” he said. “Ive fallen for Emily. May I marry her?”
“If shell have you.”
Emily burst onto the stepsmiling as she hadnt since her parents died. She threw her arms around Harry.
“Come inside, my love.”
From that moment, they were never parted.
And the village? They whispered for yearshow the mad old witch enchanted a millionaire, bewitched her granddaughters fate. The neighbour gnashed his teeth hardesthis daughters, after all, had been passed over.
