Margaret greeted Frank with a kiss at the back door.
“Ah’ve yer clean clothes, Frank.” She handed over a freshly washed set of clothes for him as he put his grimy, coal-covered shirt and trousers in the laundry basket by the back door. He smiled at her and leaned over to give her a kiss after he pulled on his clean trousers.
“A letter came th’dee from yer da.” Margaret went into the front room and picked up a letter off the table.
Frank tore into it, reading.
“He says the weather in Winnipeg is awful! Never saw so much snow and wind – up to the windows!”
Frank read a bit more.
“Not worth the land offer, he says. Poor rainfall in the summer – hard to grow crops.”
Frank read some more. Then he looked up.
“The lot of them are leaving to move to the United States. They’re going to Detroit. He says it’s the richest city in the world. Always looking for men to work in the motorcar factories.”
Margaret smiled as she put the dirty clothes by the washboard.
“Ah’ve made shepherd’s pie fer dinner. It’s ready an’ on th’ table.”
“Shepherd’s pie! That’s a treat!”
Margaret smiled again. “Ah ken ye lik’ it, Frank.”
Frank grinned broadly and lifted Margaret up in his arms.
“You take such good care of me, wee wifey.”
“An’ noo ye kin put me doon, Frank. Gie an’ eat yer dinner afore it gits caud.” She shooed him to the table.
“Did you hear? Winston Churchill lost his MP seat. Dundee was taken by a Prohibitionist and the Labour Party. Strange times, Margaret…strange times.”
“Ah dinnae follow politics, Frank. But did ye ken tha’ the butcher cut his arm an’ closed th’ shop fer th’ week?”
Frank scooped up the last of the mashed potatoes topping the chopped lamb and onion hash beneath them.
“Wonderful, lass. Really delicious.” He pushed the plate away.
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