Oh, My Son Has Come Home!” Exclaimed Evdokia with Delight.

I remember that day as if it were a scene from a faded photograph. My mother, Edith Whitaker, brightened the moment she saw my son pull up the gravel drive.
Ah, youve come home, lad, she exclaimed, smoothing the hem of her shawl.

Nicholas Whitaker, my husband, thrust his cap onto the doorstep and called out, Hello, Mum. Im not alone today. He nudged forward a thin, bespectacled boy with a knapsack slung over his shoulders.

Good heavens, my dear, who have you brought? Is that Harry or Tommy? I cant tell without his glasses, Nicholas chuckled, easing into a wooden chair.

Its Vince, my illegitimate son, I said, trying to keep my voice steady. Do you recall that year Zoe and I spent apart? Thats when I became involved with Valerie, and Vince was born. I foolishly listed him as my own on the birth register. I sighed heavily.

You shouldnt be speaking of such matters in front of the child, I scolded Nicholas. Hes still too small to understand your tangled life. Vince, why dont you go into the sittingroom and watch the telly while I sort things out with your father?

Vince slipped out without a word and disappeared down the hallway. I whispered, Does Zoe know about him?

She never liked a son-inlaw, a quarrelsome and meddlesome sort, Nicholas muttered.

You think Id let her find out? I snapped. If she did, shed have thrown him out long ago. I built him up with my own hands from the ground.

My heart sank. Youre a reckless fellow, Nicholas. Not a man but a scoundrel, forever under Zoes heel. How did you manage to bring a child from a side affair into our home? When Zoe learns, it wont end well for any of us.

Nicholas, agitated, tried to explain. Valerie, that snake, was about to marry. She ran off south with a new lover for a monthcan you imagine? She called me, said, Take the boy wherever you like, even home. I went mad; I thought my wife would throw us both out. She threatened me, said shed make life miserable if I didnt comply. Ill give Zoe the birth certificate and youll have to sort it out yourself. Thats the end of it for me. Valerie barely forgave me; she didnt speak to me for six months. So I thought, let him stay with you for a month, then Ill fetch him. He never lifted his eyes to meet mine.

I shook my head. Youve been that way since childhood, and you never change. Whatever youve done, Ill have to help. All right, where shall we put him? He isnt of our blood, is he? I hesitated.

My boy, no doubt, Nicholas replied, waving his hand. Valerie isnt sweet, but Im a faithful old man.

Silence fell. I sprang up. What am I doing standing here? Lets at least give him something to eat.

Nicholas rose. Forgive me, Mother, but I must be off. Zoe is waiting at home. I told her I was heading to London for spare parts. Feed Vince, and Ill be gone.

I embraced my wayward son and whispered, God be with you, my dear.

Vince ate quickly, never taking his eyes off the plate.

More? I asked, seeing how fast he cleared the bowl.

No, thank you, he replied, standing.

Take a walk outside while I finish dinner. Whats in that knapsack of yours? I inquired.

Just my things, he muttered.

Will you wash them yourself, or shall I?

He looked at me, frightened, I cant. Mum always did the washing.

I lifted his little pack. Go ahead, Ill rinse whatevers dirty.

He left, and I began sorting through his modest belongings: two Tshirts, a pair of shorts, a few underpants.

Hardly enough, I mused, shaking my head. Not even a warm sweater. Typical of a mother whos never had a proper home herself. I soaked the clothes in a basin and turned to a cherrytart I was baking.

A sudden shout came from the garden. I dropped the tarlatan and ran out, flour still on my hands.

What happened? I called.

Vince wailed, clutching his leg. A goose pecked me! It hurts, he sobbed, tears streaming.

Why were you near the geese? I asked, noticing the bright red bruise on his shin.

I only wanted to look at them, he sniffed. Ive never seen geese up close before.

Alright, lets get you inside, Ill apply some ointment, I said, guiding him back.

After supper, I set him on the sofa and lay awake, the house unusually quiet. My thoughts roamed to my own mother, a stern woman who would have never sent her child to a strangers house. The night was broken by a soft whimper. I leaned closer and whispered, Whats the matter, my boy? Dont you like it here?

He lifted his head, eyes wide. Theyll take me away to some boarding school if Uncle Victor and Aunt Zoe arrive. I heard them saying Ill be sent away, only coming back for holidays. I dont want that. Im happy here with Mum. Uncle Victor isnt needed; he never even calls me by my name. Youre kind, Gran, but Im not wanted.

My heart clenched. I pulled his frail frame close. Dont cry, dear Vince. I wont let anyone hurt you. Shall I speak to your mother? You could stay with me. We have a good school here, teachers who care. Well pick mushrooms, berries, milk the cow. Youre small now, but strong milk will make you hearty. If you dont believe me, tomorrow Ill introduce you to Paul, a sturdy lad whos as solid as a bun. What do you say?

He hugged my neck. Ill stay, if you wont deceive me.

I kissed his brow gently. I promise.

Years passed. Valerie would sometimes visit, bringing small gifts, but always hurried away by Victor, who was ever in a rush. Nicholas appeared now and then, but rarely. Zoe learned of Vince and blamed not her husband but me, Edith, for the trouble, saying she had no need for grandchildren, only for the occasional nuisance.

It mattered not to me. The skinny boy grew into a sturdy youngster. Each morning I prepared his favourite meals, peering through the kitchen window, hoping to catch a glimpse of his smile. One day, a young soldier slipped into the house, calling softly, Gran, Im here, where are you?

I rushed to him, clasping his neck. Vince, my beloved grandson!

Will you go to mothers? he asked. He set his fork down, bewildered. Which mother? The one who abandoned me and only once a year sent trinkets? No, I wont go. You are my mother now, and thats settled. He resumed his meal calmly.

I wiped away a tear in secret, grateful for the grandson who gave me purpose in my old age. The house felt warm with his presence, a balm for the years gone by.