No, Mum, Im not coming back, I said. Ill get everything I need from the shop.
But what about the supplies? The vitamins! she protested.
My dear, I dont need your stock, Emily answered calmly. Let anyone who wants it use their own time and effort.
Just twenty more jars of cucumbers and thats it for today, Margaret said, wiping her hands on her apron.
Emily brushed the sweat from her forehead. Her shirt was drenched, clinging to her skin. The kitchen was stifling, heavy with the sharp 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 was ready for sauerkraut, and a dozen different salads lay in wait. A weeks work still lay ahead.
Alright, Mum, Emily exhaled, reaching for another 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 about how much was still left to do.
Look, Margaret said with satisfaction, surveying 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 Lucy? Why isnt she helping?
Margaret hesitated, glanced away, and began wiping the nowclean table.
Well, Lucys got a new job. She cant ask for time off, you see. Its a responsible post and the boss is strict.
Emily pursed her lips. Of course. Lucy always found excuses. Last year shed caught a cold the very week we were sealing jars. The year before that she was on a work trip that coincided perfectly with the harvest. Emily never had any plans to get herself out of the chores. Her mother, in an almost commanding tone, had demanded she quit work and come home.
Dont look so sour, love, Margaret said gently, noticing the set of Emilys face. At least well be eating our own preserves all winter. Vitamins! Nothing better than that.
Emily nodded. That was the only bright side. The pickles did turn out splendid.
The following days merged 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 clean up after each batch, mopped the floor, wiped the tables, took out the rubbish. Her arms ached, her back throbbed. By night she collapsed on the bed, spent.
When it was finally over, Emily returned to her flat, exhausted. She had only one day of holiday left and wanted nothing more than peace and quiet. The house was empty. The fridge held halfempty shelves. Yet her mother was content, and that mattered most. True enough, Lucy never called, never asked how things were going, never offered a hand.
Winter arrived. Emily drove to her mothers once a week for a few jars of pickles, tomatoes, saladseverything homemade and tasty. Margaret beamed at each visit, they shared tea and long talks.
At the end of January Emily came back again. Margaret greeted her with a smile and set the table. Emily sat down, looked around. There were boughtin sausages, cheese, bread, but no jars of her mothers preserves.
Emily frowned. It was odd; Margaret always made a point of laying out something from her stock. The table looked rather sparse.
They chatted about everythingnews, work, the neighbours. Emily almost forgot the strange absence of the homemade jars.
When it was time to leave, Emily stood and pulled on her coat.
Mum, Im going to the cellar for three jars of cabbage with carrots, she said, heading for the door.
No, dont! Margaret snapped.
Emily turned, eyebrows raised.
Why? I was just going to take them for the week
Just dont. Dont go into the cellar.
Margaret looked away, something in her demeanor set Emily on edge. She threw the coat onto a chair.
Mum, whats happening? Why cant I have a couple of jars?
Honestly, I just cant give you any more preserves, Margaret muttered, staring at the floor.
Emilys eyes narrowed, irritation bubbling up.
Mum, Ive spent a whole week making those preserves. Remember? And now I cant even take a couple of jars? Explain whats going on.
Emily, just I cant give them to you, thats all.
Emily spun and rushed toward the cellar. Behind her, Margaret shouted, Emily! Dont touch it, I told you!
But Emily had already opened the door and stepped down the stairs. She flipped the light switch; the small room flooded with light. The shelves were emptier than shed seen moments before. Where neat rows of jars had stood, now less than half remained. She remembered them being almost full. Where had they gone?
She climbed back up slowly, entered the kitchen, and looked at her mother. Margaret stood with her head bowed, cheeks flushed with shame.
Mum! You short of money? Are you 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!
Emily reached for Margarets hands, but the woman pulled away. Emilys anger cooled a little, but the air grew cold inside.
Its not that, Margaret whispered. Im not selling them.
Emily sank into a chair, met her mothers gaze.
Then what is it? Tell me.
Silence hung. Margaret sighed, ran a hand over her face.
Its all Lucys, she admitted quietly. Shes dating a lad whose family lives in the city. She told them she was stocking up for winter, and now his whole clan keeps asking for jars.
Emily held her breath. Shed thought her mother needed help, worried for her. The truth was far less dramatic.
You stopped me taking jars so Lucy would have enough? Emily said slowly.
Margaret said nothing.
You only think about Lucy? What about me? Who sealed all those jars? Who was here all week while I was working my shift? And now Lucy, as if nothing happened, empties the shelves!
Emily, understand Lucys at a crucial point in her life, Margaret tried to explain. She needs to impress his family. Its not vital for you.
Emily shook her head, grabbed her coat.
Ive figured it out.
She walked out without looking back, slid into the drivers seat, gripped the wheel until her knuckles turned white. Rage, hurt, and bitterness churned inside. She fought back tears, started the engine, and drove away.
Months passed. Lucy married the city lad. Emily visited her mother rarely, but never asked for more jars. Margaret no longer brought up the subject. They talked about the weather, work, the neighbours, but a wall seemed to have grown between them.
When the next preserving season began, Emilys phone rang one evening. She saw her mothers name on the screen and answered.
Emily, love, I need you next week. We have to stock up for winter even more than last year, so everyone has enough.
Emily froze. Everyone. That meant Lucy would be handing out jars again, and Emily would be back at it, like a hamster on a wheel.
I wont come, Mum.
What? The line went dead. Emily, what are you saying? Of course youll come. I cant do it alone.
No, Mum. Im not coming. Ill buy whatever I need from the shop.
But the supplies! The vitamins! You know I love them!
My own stock isnt what I need, Emily said evenly. Let those who want it use their own time and effort.
Emily! You cant do that! What about Lucy? Im your mother! You should
Emily hung up. She wasnt going to be a goodnatured workhorse any longer. Shed had enough. She owed no one anything.
