Small Kindnesses

“You’re so good to me.” I reached for Anne’s smooth, small hand. “You and your family.”

The young mother squeezed my ice cold hands and offered a weary smile. It must have been a hard day at work for her. And still, she took the time to check in on a lonely old woman.

“I’m so glad you all moved in down the street.” I peered through the drapes to the snow just beginning to cover the road. “How are you liking the new house?”

Anne nodded, pulling a burnt orange afghan from the faded loveseat across the room. She shook out the knitted blanket and tucked it around me.

“Thank you.” I smiled. My heart warmed as I wrapped my cold hands in the soft cover. “My grandmam made this.” I brought the blanket to my nose, though it had long ceased to smell of her Christmas cookies. “When I was just a little girl.”

Anne opened her mouth to speak, but shook her head. “Tea, then?”

“Oh,” delight colored my voice. Her small kindnesses soothed my splintered heart. “That would be lovely. The kitchen is just through there, dear. Do you need me to show you?”

“No, ma’am.”

“A warm drink would be perfect, especially on a day like this.” My eyes drifted back out the dirty window to the gray, dreary day. Perhaps Anne’s husband would be kind enough to clean it for me, once the weather let up. I breathed against the window to fog it up even more and drew a smiley face with my finger before it all vanished. I so liked watching the neighborhood children play.

My chest tightened.

There should be children in my house. Laughter. Warmth.

The rhythmic creak of my rocking chair interrupted the sporadic crackling of the fire. I could get lost in the gaze of that fire. My father had built the hearth with his own hands. The rough red brick rose to the ceiling, leading the smoke up the chimney. He’d told us countless stories at the foot of that fireplace.

Knights and dragons and princesses. Princes.

He’d cried when he walked me down the aisle. Father had been the one to marry us. Fifty years. My husband had bought this chair for our last anniversary. My fingers brushed the coarse fibers of the rocker I spent most of my days in. A boorish mustard color. He’d said it reminded him of me, of my smile, like sunshine on a rainy day.

“Be careful.” Anne returned with a lopsided clay mug. “It’s hot.”

“Where did you…?” As my gnarled fingers wrapped around the mug, I looked up, but Anne didn’t meet my eyes. “I haven’t seen this in years.” Tears brimmed in my eyes as a bittersweet longing rose in my throat. Warmth seeped into my fingers.

I’d thought this precious, pitiful mug shoved deep back in the recesses of some black hole of a cupboard, hidden from prying hands. A hazy face swam before my eyes, but I couldn’t quite grasp it. I wasn’t sure I wanted to.

Memories. So many memories, slippery shadows in every part of my small home. I’d give anything for the people I loved to fill it again.

My fingers trace the initials carved into the bottom of the mug by an elementary school teacher. “Did you know my daughter’s name is Anna?” This time Anne’s big blue eyes fixed on me. “You remind me of her sometimes.”

Did I imagine the shimmer in her eyes? Or was that just my own clouding up?

“You’re kind to me,” I smiled, hoping to cheer her up. “Like a daughter should be.” Gently, I blew on the tea. “I haven’t seen my Anna in so long, I…so long.”

Anne looked away. She sat on the ottoman, staring into the fire. Her slender fingers swiped at her eyes, then tugged at her caramel cardigan—a gift from me. A hand-me-down that had been Anna’s, though I’d never told her.

The silence ate at me.

“Yes, she up and married some lawyer man, my daughter.” There was a hitch in the rhythm of the rocker as my socked-feet slowed. I pressed against the shaggy carpet and started the familiar movement again. “Hasn’t spoken to me since.”

It wasn’t right. A daughter should care for her mother.

I glanced at Anne. Her shoulders shook.

Anne had recently lost her mother, if I remembered correctly. Perhaps it was too soon for her to talk of mothers and daughters.

“Oh, I’m sorry, dear.” I reached out to pat her hands. “I know John is a lawyer, but he’s one of the good ones. I’m sure he treats you well. I see him playing in the yard with your sons. He knows how important it is for a father to be home with his family. He’s a lot like Bertram. Now there was a good man. My husband, he…you’d have liked him.”

Blinking away the tears, I cleared the tang from my throat and took a sip from the steaming, memory-filled mug.

“My goodness!” I grinned down into the creamy drink. “You certainly know how to make a cup of tea.”

“Dessert in a mug,” Anne said softly with a sniff.

A bright laugh escaped my lips. Something familiar about the phrase tugged at me, but perhaps she’d used it before. It was fitting. So much cream and sugar you barely taste the tea. That’s how I liked it. “The only proper way to have it!” I leaned in toward her, my afghan slipping. “You know, it always reminds me of when I studied abroad as a young woman. Have I ever told you about England?”

Anne nodded, a small smile touching her pretty pink lips.

“Ah, the art! The buildings.” I closed my eyes, humming my favorite ballroom tune. “The dancing.” Without much prompting, my swollen feet moved to long-forgotten steps. Or perhaps not-so-forgotten. If I’d had the strength, I’d have stood and sashayed across the tiny living room. Though I’m sure it would have looked far more like my glory days in my mind than in this old, decaying body.

I could hardly walk on my own, let alone dance. My fingers only worked when they wanted to. And my mind…

A knock on the great oak front door drew me from the reverie. Anne stood from her place by the fire and returned the iron stoker to its stand.

I started to rise, but Anne held out a hand. “I’ll get it.”

The wind blew in a draft of that icy air and a flurry of snow as a young boy bounced in.

“Hurry,” Anne shooed the boy in, “you’ll let in all the cold air.”

Too late, but it was sweet of her to think of it. I set my tea on the wooden coaster on the end table before it ended up in my lap.

I grinned as Anne’s boy laid against my chest in a quick hug. “And how are you today?”

His rosy cheeks broadened with a gap-toothed smile, and his blue eyes twinkled just like Anne’s. He tugged a mitten off with his teeth and rubbed his red little nose. “Can I have a cookie?”

“Bertie!” Anne swiped at the boy, but he dodged and made a run for the kitchen.

“Go! Go!” I cheered him on. “They’re in the jar by the sink!” Made them fresh this morning.

Anne muttered under her breath, but I caught the first real smile I’d seen from her all afternoon.

“I’d better check on him.” Anne headed after the boy, but he met her in the hall.

“Pop wants ta know”—Little Bertie’s words clipped short with each munch of the cookie— “if Gram needs anything from the store.” Crumbs fell to the floor, but I couldn’t mind when he brought such joy to my home.

The boy looked from me to his mother. Baby blues in a child’s face I’d kissed a thousand times.

No. That couldn’t be right. They’d only just moved in.

“He forgot the carrots for the stew and has to make a trip anyway.”

Anne gave me a long look. One I’d seen before—but no. Not from Anne. She was so kind to me. Always so kind.

She glanced back at her son, and the haze set in again. “Let’s take a look.” Anne ushered him into the kitchen and their voices faded.

He was a sweet boy. And she was a darling girl. I was thankful to have them. And I hoped that somewhere out there my Anna thought of me. Maybe one day she’d visit and I’d get to meet my own grandchildren.

Until then, I sipped my tea, rocked in my chair, and hummed with the crackle of the fireplace as the snow outside turned to rain.