No, Mum, Im not coming back, I said, leaning against the old wooden door. Whatever I need, Ill just pick up at the shop.
But what about the supplies? The vitamins! she pleaded.
My dear, I dont need your stock, Emily answered calmly. Let those who truly need it use their own time and energy.
Just twenty more jars of cucumbers and thatll be it for today, Margaret declared, wiping her hands on her apron.
Emily ran a palm over her forehead, wiping away the beads of sweat that had gathered. Her shirt was soaked through, clinging to her skin. The kitchen was stifling, the air heavy with the pungent scent of malt vinegar and dill.
She glanced at the table, piled high with jars, lids, and vegetables. Down in the cellar, tomatoes waited their turn, cabbage for sauerkraut, a dozen different salads. There was still a weeks worth of work ahead.
Alright, Mum, Emily exhaled, reaching for the next jar.
Her hands moved almost on autopilot: cucumbers into the jar, brine poured in, lid screwed on. Again and again. She kept at it, trying not to think how much more lay ahead.
Looks good, Margaret said, admiring the rows of finished jars. Soon our family will be set for winter.
Emily set the jar down and turned to her mother.
Mum, wheres Olivia? Why isnt she helping?
Margaret shifted uneasily, glanced away, and began wiping the nowclean table.
Olivias got a new job. She cant take any time off, you see. Its a responsible position, the boss is strict.
Emily pursed her lips. Of course. Olivia always found an excuse. Last year shed caught a cold the very week the jars needed sealing. The year before that she was on a work trip that coincided perfectly with the harvest. As for Emily, she never had any excuses to fall back on. Her mother had almost commanded her to ask for time off and come home.
Dont look so sour, love, Margaret said softly, noticing Emilys expression. Well be eating our own preserves all winter. Vitamins! Nothing healthier than that.
Emily nodded. That was the only bright sideat least the pickles turned out splendid.
The days blurred into a relentless whirl. Emily sealed tomatoes, prepared salads, fermented cabbage.
She hauled heavy crates of jars up and down the steep stone stairs dozens of times, helped clear away the remnants of each preserving session, mopped the floor, wiped the tables, took out the rubbish. Her hands ached, her back throbbed. Come evening she collapsed onto the bed, utterly spent.
When it was finally over, Emily returned to her modest flat. She was exhausted. She only had one day left of holiday and wanted it quiet. The flat was empty. The fridge held halfempty shelves, but her mother seemed satisfied, and that mattered most. Olivia never called, never asked how things were going, never offered a hand. Nothing.
Winter settled in. Emily would pop over to her mother now and then for a few jarscucumbers, tomatoes, salads. Everything was tasty, homemade. Margaret welcomed the visits, theyd share tea and chat at length.
At the end of January Emily came again. Margaret greeted her with a smile and set the table. Emily sat down, glanced around. There were storebought sausages, cheese, and bread, but no jars of home preserves.
Emily frowned. Odd. Usually Mum would always lay out something from her own stock. The table looked oddly sparse.
They talked about everythingnews, work, the neighbours. Emily almost forgot the strange absence of the jars.
When it was time to leave, Emily stood, pulling on her coat.
Mum, Im heading to the cellar to grab three jars of cabbage with carrots, she announced, heading for the door.
Dont you dare! Margaret snapped, stopping her.
Emily turned, eyebrows raised in surprise.
Why? I was just planning to use them this week
Just dont, Emily. Stay away from the cellar.
Margarets gaze drifted away. Something in her demeanor tightened Emilys chest. She threw the coat onto a chair.
Mum, whats happening? Why cant I take a couple of jars?
Honestly I just cant give them to you, Margaret muttered, looking at the floor.
Emilys eyes narrowed, irritation bubbling up.
Mum, Ive spent a whole week on the preserves. Remember? And now I cant take a few jars? Explain, please.
Emily, its nothing you need to worry about right now I just cant give them, thats all.
Emily spun and hurried toward the cellar. Behind her, Margarets voice rang out, Emily! Dont touch anything, I told you!
But Emily had already swung open the door and descended the stairs. She flicked the light switch; the small room flooded with a harsh glow. The shelves stared back, almost empty.
Where neat rows of jars had stood moments ago, now less than half remained. Emily could swear theyd been full not long before. Where had everything gone?
She climbed back up slowly, entered the kitchen, and found Margaret hunched, head bowed, cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
Mum! Emily gasped. Are you short of money? Selling the preserves? You should have told me! I could have sent what you needed. You shouldnt be out there freezing and selling jars at your age!
Emily tried to take her mothers hands, but Margaret pulled away. Emilys anger cooled, a chill spreading inside.
Its not about that. You arent selling them, are you?
Margaret shook her head. Emily sank onto a chair, staring straight into her mothers eyes.
Tell me then
Silence hung thick. Margaret sighed, ran a hand over her face.
All went to Olivia, she whispered. Shes met a boy from a big family in the city. She told them she was making winter supplies, and now his whole clan keeps asking for jars.
Emily inhaled sharply. She had thought her mother needed help, had worried for her. The reality was far less dramatic.
So you stopped me from taking jars so Olivia would have enough? Emily said slowly.
Margaret stayed quiet.
You only think about Olivia? Emily rose, leaning her elbows on the table. What about me? Who sealed all those jars? Who was here when I was slogging away all week? And now Olivia, as if nothing happened, empties the shelves!
Emily, you must understand Olivias at a crucial point in her life, Margaret began, trying to justify. She needs to impress his family. Its not a big deal for you. Just see it from our side.
Emily shook her head, grabbed her coat, and walked out without looking back. She gripped the steering wheel hard enough to whiten the bones in her fingers. Anger, resentment, bitterness roiled inside, tears threatening to spill. She turned the engine and drove away.
Months passed. Olivia settled with her boyfriend. Emilys visits to her mother became rare, and she no longer asked for jars. Margaret no longer brought up the subject. They talked about the weather, work, the neighbours, but a wall seemed to have risen between them.
Then came another preserving season. One evening the phone rang. Emily saw her mothers name on the screen and answered.
Emily, love, its time, dear, Margaret said brightly. Im expecting you next week. We need to stock up for winter. This year well need even more to make sure everyone has enough.
Emily froze. Again, everyone. So Olivia would be handing out jars left and right, and Emily would be back to the grind.
I wont come, Mum.
What? there was a dead silence on the line. Emily, what are you saying? Of course youll come. I cant do it alone.
No, Mum. I wont come. Ill buy everything I need at the shop.
But what about the supplies? The vitamins! You love them yourself!
My supplies arent yours, Emily said evenly. Let those who need them take the time and effort themselves.
Emily! You cant do that! What about Olivia? Im your mother! You should
Emily slammed the phone down. She wasnt going to be the goodnatured mule who toiled for everyone else any longer. She owed nothing to anyone.
