I neatly stack four armloads of split logs by the hearth before I stand and dust off my hands on my trousers. “That should keep us for a bit. Wid it bein’ spring, we only need the fire for cooking. Stew pot smells pretty good.”
I smile with satisfaction. We’ve only been married for two months, and Sarah has turned out to be a far better wife than I’d ever expected. Her cooking is adequate for my tastes, and she keeps my bed warm.
“I put pork fat in the porridge.”
“But no pork?” I ask.
“We’ve no coin for that.” Sarah looks at me with dull eyes. “We can’t pay for this cottage.”
I sit down next to my wife on a bench near the fire and turn to face her.
“Goody Good, ye are my wife, are ye not?”
Sarah nods. “Aye.”
“And ye inherited a meadow from yer father. Do ye remember?”
“I did?”
“Yes. Last month, ye and yer sisters inherited yer father’s estate, and we received Thorndike’s Meadow near Wenham, where ye grew up.”
Click Follow to receive emails when this author adds content on Bublish
Comment on this Bubble
Your comment and a link to this bubble will also appear in your Facebook feed.