No, Mum, I wont come. Ill get everything I need from the village shop.
But but what about the stores? The vitamins!
You love them yourself!
My supplies arent for you, Emma said calmly. Let those who need them waste their own time and effort.
Just twenty more jars of cucumbers, thats all for today, declared Margaret Clarke, wiping her hands on her apron.
Emma brushed the sweat from her forehead. Her shirt was soaked through, clinging to her skin. The kitchen was stale, the air thick with the scent of vinegar and dill.
She glanced at the table, a mountain of jars, lids, and vegetables. In the cellar, tomatoes waited their turn, cabbage for sauerkraut, a dozen different salads. A weeks work still lay ahead.
Alright, Mum, Emma sighed, reaching for the next jar.
Her hands moved almost on autopilot: cucumbers into the jar, brine poured in, lid twisted shut. Again and again. She kept at it, trying not to think about the endless tally.
Here we are, Margaret said, satisfied, eyeing the rows of sealed jars. Soon our family will be ready for winter.
Emma set the jar down and turned to her mother.
Mum, wheres Lucy? Why isnt she helping?
Margaret looked away, smoothing the nowclean table.
Lucys got a new job. She cant get time off, you see. Its a responsible position, strict bosses.
Emma pressed her lips together. Of courseLucy always found an excuse. Last year she caught a cold the very week the jars had to be sealed. The year before that she was on a business trip that neatly coincided with the harvest. Emma, however, never had any plans of her own. Her mother had almost commanded her to quit work and come home.
Dont look so glum, love, Margaret said softly, noticing Emmas expression. At least well have our winter stores. Vitamins! Nothing better than that.
Emma nodded. That was the only bright spot. The pickles did turn out splendid.
The following days became a blur of endless cycles. Emma canned tomatoes, prepared salads, fermented cabbage. She hauled heavy boxes of jars up and down the steep stone stairs, dozens of times. She cleared the cellar after each batch, swept the floor, wiped the tables, took out the rubbish. Her hands ached, her back throbbed. By night she collapsed onto the bed, utterly spent.
When it was finally over, Emma returned to her flat, exhausted. She had one day of holiday left and wanted nothing more than peace and quiet. The house was empty. The fridge held only halffilled shelves. Yet her mother was content, and that mattered most. Lucy never called, never asked how things were going, never offered help.
Winter arrived. Emma would drive to her mothers from time to time, taking a few jarscucumbers, tomatoes, salads. Everything tasted homemade and comforting. Margaret welcomed the visits, serving tea and chatting at length.
At the end of January Emma came again. Margaret greeted her with a smile, set the table. Emma sat down, looked around. There were boughtin sausages, cheese, bread, but no jars of her mothers preserves.
Emma frowned. It was odd; her mother always laid out something from the cellar. The table now looked rather bare.
They talked about everythingnews, work, the mundane. Emma barely noticed the missing jars.
When it was time to leave, Emma stood and slipped on her coat.
Mum, Ill pop into the cellar and grab three jars of carrotandcabbage mix, she said, heading for the door.
Dont, Margaret snapped, stopping her.
Emma turned, eyebrows raised in surprise.
Why? I was just planning to?
Just dont. No, dont go down there.
Margarets gaze drifted away. Something in her demeanor tightened Emmas chest. She tossed her coat onto a chair.
Mum, whats happening? Why cant I take a couple of jars?
I I just cant give you any more, Margaret muttered, looking at the floor.
Emmas eyes narrowed, irritation bubbling up.
Mum, Ive spent a week on the preserves. Remember? And now I cant have a few jars? Explain, please.
Emma, its not you just cant have them, thats all.
Emma turned and hurried toward the cellar. Behind her, Margarets voice rose, Emma! Dont touch it, I told you!
But Emma had already flung open the door and descended the steps. She flicked the light switch. The small room flooded with harsh light. The shelves were nearly empty. Where tidy rows of jars had stood a few weeks ago, only a fraction remained. Emma could swear the shelves had been full yesterday.
She climbed back up, entered the kitchen, and found Margaret with her head bowed, cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
Mum! Emma gasped. Youre short of money? Selling the preserves? You should have told me! I could have sent what you needed. You shouldnt be out in the cold selling food at your age!
Emma reached for her mothers hands, but Margaret pulled away. Emmas anger cooled to a dull ache.
Its not that, Margaret whispered. Its not about selling.
She shook her head. Emma sank into a chair, meeting her mothers eyes.
Tell me then
Silence hung. Margaret sighed, her hand tracing her cheek.
Its all because of Lucy, she admitted quietly. She met a lad with a big family in the city. She told them she was stocking up for winter, and his relatives started demanding jars.
Emmas breath caught. She thought her mother was suffering, but the reality was painfully ordinary.
You stopped me from taking jars so Lucy would have enough? Emma asked slowly.
Margaret said nothing.
Are you only thinking of Lucy? Emma stood, leaning on the table. What about me? Who sealed all those jars? Who was here when I was slaving away for a week? And now Lucy, as if nothing happened, empties the shelves!
Emma, Lucys at a crucial point in her life, Margaret began, trying to justify. She needs to impress his family. It isnt critical for you. Understand me, understand Lucy, dear.
Emma shook her head, grabbed her coat, and said, Enough. Ive understood.
She walked out without looking back, slipped into the drivers seat, and gripped the steering wheel until her knuckles whitened. Inside, rage, hurt, and bitterness roiled. Tears threatened to spill as she turned the engine over and drove away.
Months slipped by. Lucy married the city lad. Emma visited her mother rarely, no longer demanding jars. Margaret no longer raised the subject. Their conversations drifted to weather, work, neighbours, but an invisible wall had risen between them.
Then the next preserving season, a phone rang one evening. Emma glanced at the screenher mother. She answered.
Emma, love, I need you next week. We must make supplies for winter. This year we need even more, so everyone will have enough.
Emma froze. Everyone. That meant Lucy would be handing out jars again, and Emma would have to work like a madwoman.
I wont come, Mum.
What? a heavy silence fell on the line. Emma, what are you saying? Of course youll come. I cant manage alone.
No, Mum. I wont come. Ill buy everything I need from the shop.
But the stores! The vitamins! You love them yourself!
My supplies arent for you, Emma replied calmly. Let those who need them waste their own time and effort.
Emma! You cant do that! What about Lucy? Im your mother! You should
Emma slammed the handset down. She was done being the obedient beast that toiled for others. She owed no one anything.
