Midnight Callers! — “That girl will never amount to anything, pretty face or not,” the villagers would hiss as Varie bounded past them, chirping a cautious “hello” and hurrying on, her thick plait bouncing against her back. People would nod curtly and, once she was out of earshot, resume gossiping: — “Her mother was trouble, and she’ll turn out the same. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree!” — “Exactly! That whole family’s odd!” Everyone only ever talked about Varie’s mother—that she was hopeless, and that nothing good would come of the girl either. Dragonfly, they called her! Varie’s gran, Alice, was heartbroken to hear it, for she knew neither she nor her daughter—Varie’s mum, Alina—were to blame for their fate: not her husband dying young, nor her daughter following soon after. Yet Alice made a silent vow: she’d see to her granddaughter’s future, whatever it took. People in the village whispered that Alice had lost her marbles in old age. Many crossed the road to avoid her cottage, muttering “witch,” though they remembered well the day she’d shut down wagging tongues. On the outside, Alice was just a typical country grandmother—a bit batty maybe, but always helping those in need, even though she lived on a tiny pension herself. She didn’t want for much—her beloved woods always provided. Her cupboards were full—potions, pickles, you name it. What vexed her neighbours most was that Alice welcomed lost ramblers as if they were long-lost relatives. The other, more well-to-do villagers (for although they lived deep in the woods, they weren’t poor, commuting to the factory miles away) rarely let strangers past the doorstep—if they offered a cup of water on the porch, that was generous. Let them stay the night? Not a chance. But Alice was different. She’d pour tea, serve whatever food she had, and tuck a wayfarer up if night had fallen. That’s why they called her strange, warned her that letting strangers in when she had a marriageable granddaughter was foolishness—even threatened her: — “Carry on like this, and we’ll see your Varie packed off to care! We’ll call social services and your precious granddaughter will be gone.” But that was the past. Once Varie came of age, they mostly left her alone. In the early days though, Alice was furious with her neighbours and nursed the hurt bitterly. Varie was her only kin, her treasure, her hope and support in old age. Alice had nobody left—she’d buried her husband (dead at 42 of a heart attack), and raised her daughter Alina alone. Alina was bright, made a good match, moved to town, and had Varie. Then the worst happened… Alina’s husband was a geologist, always away. Once he set off on a trip and never returned—missing, presumed dead, no body ever found. The search crews nearly got lost themselves. At least, that’s what Alina was told. Alina crumbled. A baby in her arms and no husband was too much to bear. Alice did her best: — “I raised you alone after your father died, and you’ll raise Varie. I’ll help.” Alina pretended to cope, but she was only putting on a brave face for her mum. A few years on, everything unravelled. She began to drink, first a little, then every single day. — “Life’s lost all meaning without my Andrey,” she’d wail as her mum tried to comfort her. “There’s no getting him back, no chance at happiness. What’s left to live for?” Alice’s every effort was in vain. Alina drank herself to death, condemned by all but perhaps fated so. At fifteen, Varie was orphaned. Alice got custody and brought her to the village. Varie resisted at first—she loved city life. But Grandma persuaded her: — “We can’t live on my pension in the city. Here we have a patch of veg, some hens, and the woods will feed us.” She’d also promise, — “You, my treasure, will have a different fate. Just wait, I’ll find you a husband yet!” — “Where’ll you find me one, Gran? This place is a dead end—just lost tourists or the odd hunter now and then.” — “Don’t fret, love,” Alice would reply. “I know what I’m about. Pay no mind to wagging tongues.” So they lived together in the little house at the edge of the village. Alice kept house, Varie went to the tiny country school, helped at home after lessons. Her classmates teased—everyone knew about her mum. Varie just held her head high and pretended not to hear. Alice eventually ignored the neighbours altogether—let them gossip. This irked them even more: what sort of woman cares so little for village opinion! Still, they couldn’t resist. If Alice took in a wanderer, the rumour mill started up: “There goes the witch trying to marry off her granddaughter to a random passing stranger. No village boy would want her, with that family’s reputation.” — “We don’t need your lads!” Alice would retort proudly. “My Varie’s meant for something else.” — “We’ll see about that!” neighbours would sneer, muttering “witch” as she passed. Time softened the villagers’ spite; less was said. It seemed they’d finally been left in peace. But it was calm before a storm that would change everything for granny and granddaughter alike. One wintry night as the village fell dark, strange noises came from beyond the fence—someone struggling to start a dead car. Gritty engine coughs, men’s voices complaining about weather, potholes, bad luck. The neighbour emerged, stubby and cross: — “Oi! Why all the racket? People are trying to sleep!” — “It’s only eight o’clock, mate, not exactly midnight!” — “And who are you anyway? You look like city folk. How’d you end up here in our back-of-beyond?” — “We’re hunters—took a wrong turn on the way to a winter shoot. Car trouble, you see. Any chance you could help us out?” — “Not my problem. I’ve got two daughters, and I’m not a mechanic. You’re on your own.” With that, he stomped off—then, perhaps feeling guilty, called back: — “Alright, try the old woman’s place on the edge. She’s barking mad, lets anyone in. Lives with her granddaughter. You won’t be bored!” He waved in the direction of Alice’s cottage, slammed his gate, and shut off his porch light, leaving the lane black as pitch. The hunters, though peeved by the lack of country hospitality, trudged to the edge of the village, found the gate, and knocked. — “Sorry for the late call! Could we come in and warm up?” one called out. — “What sort of person would turn good people away in the cold? Come in, come in! I’ll put the kettle on,” Alice replied at once, flinging open the creaky door. — “Where are you headed, dears? What brings you to our neck of the woods?” The young men exchanged surprised glances, introduced themselves as Victor and David. David cast his eyes to the carpet, sheepish. — “Why the bashfulness? Folk say what they like about me, but my home will always shelter a tired traveller. Too early for bed—let me fix supper.” That warm, simple meal—potatoes, preserves, homemade bread—tasted of a lost childhood. The hunters marvelled at dandelion jam—David gushed: — “Just like my nan used to make!” Alice glowed. — “There’s a meadow near here—come May, it’s a sea of dandelions. That jam’s pure gold.” The guests relaxed; the cottage felt magical. Only, whenever David rhapsodised about her food, Alice watched him intently, as if recognising something. Suddenly, a young woman’s voice called faintly from the other room: — “Gran, water please…” Their curiosity piqued, the guests guessed—Varie’s the granddaughter on the photographs? Still unwell from the night before, Alice explained, she’d tried chopping wood and now had a fever. David offered medicine from his bag. Later, Alice thanked them deeply, mentioning Varie was all she had left. — “Maybe let me sit with her so you can rest?” David suggested. — “Oh, I’ll rest when I’m dead. She’s all I have. Thank you though, love. Now get some sleep—tomorrow’s another day.” When the house quieted, David, sleepless, watched as Alice tiptoed in, took his jacket, and disappeared into the sickroom. He wondered—was she searching for documents? Did she want their cash? Or dare he believe the villagers—witchcraft afoot? In the morning, though, he found the tear in his sleeve expertly mended—a sign of selfless care. Humbled, he chopped wood for their hosts. Alice praised him: — “What a good lad! Haven’t seen a man’s hands at work here in years. Stay for Pancake Day?” David blushed—he’d more days off to use, why not? Victor refused; David could do as he pleased. A neighbour tried to lure him away with offers to meet his daughters, seeking to match them with the wealthy city man, having overheard David owned a chain of coffee shops. David demurred politely—he planned to return for Pancake Day, as promised. That morning Varie, recovered, came to meet them properly—she and David exchanged glances full of quiet hope. David asked, shyly, if he might invite her to the city when she felt well. Only if she wished, Alice murmured, but watched them both closely. Victor left for town, but David swore to come back for her in two days. Varie doubted—why would such a man choose her? Yet Alice smiled knowingly: — “He’ll be back for you, sweetheart. I can feel the spark between you.” Pancake Day dawned. Alice and Varie cooked together, waiting. Two days passed with no sign of David. Then the neighbour arrived, gloating: — “Your city suitor’s not coming. Why would he, with a fortune in coffee shops? What’s he want with you?” Neither Alice nor Varie had known. Varie ran off, heartbroken, but Alice stood firm: — “Don’t count your chickens yet.” Just then, a familiar car appeared. David stepped out, arms full of roses and treats. — “Grandma Alice, I love your Varie! Will you give her to me?” — “If she wants you, yes, David.” Varie burst out, her face aglow. She flung her arms around David, and from then on, they were inseparable. The village buzzed for months—Alice had bewitched a lucky match for her granddaughter, some said. None were more jealous than the neighbour, whose own daughters David had ignored.

Night-time Visitors!

Shell never amount to anything, that one, pretty face or not, the villagers would say, dripping with spite, whenever little Evelyn skipped past with a careful hello, her long plait bouncing as she ran along. The same villagers would nod politely back, then, once she was out of earshot, resume their gossip:

Her mother was a lost cause, and shell turn out just the same. The apple doesnt fall far from the tree!

Youre right there! That whole familys touched, if you ask me.

No one in the village ever spoke well of Evelyns mother, saying she was no good, so why expect anything different from the girl? Flighty, they called hera dragonfly!

Evelyns gran, Mildred, would nearly burst into tears hearing it. For she alone knew that neither she nor her daughter AliceEvelyns motherhad done anything wrong. They werent to blame that Mildreds husband had died young, nor that Alice suffered the same fate. Still, Mildred promised herself shed shield her granddaughters future whatever it took.

There were whispers that Mildred had lost her marbles in her old age. People skirted her cottage, muttering about witchcraft, though theyd never forget the time she put the gossips in their place.

Outwardly, Mildred seemed just another elderly country lady: eccentric, yes, but kind to anyone in need, even though she lived on a meagre pension. She didnt need muchher garden and the surrounding woods provided. There was barely a thing she didnt forage, and her storeroom was always full of peculiar medicines and tasty preserves.

But what annoyed the villagers most was the way Mildred welcomed lost hikers as if they were family. Folks here werent poorthere was a coach to the factory in town just over twenty miles away and most had steady jobsbut no one, strictly speaking, made a habit of letting strangers inside. If someone asked for water, they might get a mug at the front step, but to offer shelter for the nightnever!

But Mildred was different. To every stray wanderer shed give hot tea, a meal of whatever she had, and, if it was late, a warm bed on the couch or by the fire. Thats all it took for people to call her oddtoo trusting, letting strangers in when a girl was growing up in the house. Sometimes thered be threats:

Keep carrying on like that and well have to call in Social Services and take Evelyn away. Dont think we wont.

But that was all long ago. When Evelyn came of age, people left her alone. Mildred still felt bitter about how she and her only grandchild had been treated. Evelyn was all she had lefther treasure, her hope, her comfort.

Mildred had buried every relative: first her husband, heart attack at forty-two; then she raised Alice alone. Alice grew up bright and beautiful, made a happy marriage, moved to the city, had Evelyn. But then tragedy struck.

Alices husband, Richard, was a geologist, always off on digsgone for months on end. Then, during one of his trips, he disappeared. Not a trace ever found. The police and rescue services searched for weeks, to no availthey nearly lost some of their own hunting for him, or so they told Alice.

Alice broke down. A child on her lap, no husbandshe couldnt cope. Mildred gave all the help she could.

I raised you alone after your father died, Alice. Youll manage. Ill help you raise Evelyn.

At first, Alice seemed to recover, or so Mildred thought. She only put on a brave face for her mothers sake. Two years later, the unthinkable happenedAlice took to drink. At first, only a little, then every day.

I cant go on without Richard, shed sob when Mildred tried to comfort her. No husband, no happiness. Whats the point?

It didnt matter what Mildred did. Alice deteriorated and died young. No one showed much sympathy. Fate, they said.

So, at fifteen, Evelyn was left an orphan. Mildred became her legal guardian and brought her to the village. Evelyn was reluctantshed grown used to city life. But Mildred persuaded her.

Wed never last in the city on my pension, love. Here we have the garden, the chickens, the woods for foraging.

Mildred would often reassure her, Youll have a grand life ahead, sweetheart. When youre older, Ill find you a fine young man!

Here? Where? Youll never find anyone in this backwater, Granny, Evelyn would mutter.

Never you mind, Mildred replied, I know what Im about. And dont listen to the villagers and their spite.

And so they lived together in a little cottage on the edge of the village. Mildred kept the place, Evelyn went to the village school, helped around the house. Classmates sniggeredthey all knew her mothers historybut Evelyn held her head high and ignored the jibes.

Mildred learned to ignore the neighbours opinions altogetherit made them even madder. What sort of woman doesnt care what people think! theyd say, indignant.

Whenever Mildred put up a traveller for the night, gossip flared up again: That old witch is looking for a husband for Evelyn amongst all those strangersnone of our own lads will have her, not from that bloodline!

No need for your boys, thanks all the same! Mildred would retort. My Evelyn will find her own fate.

Well see about that! the neighbours would sneer.

These days, though, the talk became milder, and for a while it seemed as if Mildred and Evelyn were finally left in peace. But it was only the calm before a storm that would change their lives forever.

It happened one silent winters evening, darkness already settled over the land. From beyond the fence came the sound of a car in distresssomeone struggling with a stalled engine, cursing the weather, the rutted lanes, their own bad luck.

Their closest neighbour, a thickset man named Mr Turner, emerged from his cottage, cross at having his peace disturbed.

What are you lot doing making that racket? Some of us are trying to sleep!

Its hardly night! Its only eight, for goodness sake!

And who are you, anyway? You lot look awfully city. What brings you to our forgotten corner of England?

Were hunters. Heading for the winter shoot, lost our way, and now the cars given up. Any chance you can help, mate?

And what if youre not who you say? Folk here dont put up strangers, especially with two daughters of my own. Car troubles not my thing eithersort it out yourselves.

The hunters looked disappointed. Sorry to bother you. Could you at least tell us where we might put up for the night?

No hotels here, this isnt the city, snapped Mr Turner, turning to go.

Then, perhaps conscience pricked him, he grunted: Try the lady at the edge of the village. Shes odd, takes in anyone. Lives with her granddaughter; you wont be bored!

He waved them vaguely in Mildreds direction and stomped off, slamming the gate so hard the feeble porch light went out, plunging them into darkness.

The hunters shrugged, locked their car, and set off through the gloom. They were used to friendlier welcomes in other villages, but needs mustnight had fallen, no way to leave, so all they could hope was that that odd old lady might shelter them.

At the cottage gate, the young men hesitated, then, thinking morning is wiser than evening, hopped over and knocked on the door.

Sorry for coming so late! called out one. Could you possibly give us shelter?

Why not, if youre good lads? Come indoors, warm yourselves, Ill put the kettle on, came Mildreds cheery voice as she opened the old door wide.

Where do you hail from, then? What brings you to our wild woods? she asked.

Were hunters the men began, taken aback by her welcome.

Im Ben, and this is my mate Harry, they introduced themselves.

Harry ducked his head, shy like a schoolboy.

No need to be shy with an old woman like me. They say what they like in the village, but anyone is welcome heretheres warmth, a place by the fire. Not too late for supper, lets see what we have.

The lads gave each other glad looks; they hadnt seen a proper home-cooked meal for days.

As Mildred fussed in the kitchen, the friends took in the witchs lair. On the mantel hung a faded embroidery, and in one corner, an old photograph of a young woman with a manher daughter and son-in-law, the lads guessed. Next to it, a photo of a girl with sorrowful eyesthat must be the granddaughter.

As they puzzled over the family, Mildred returned, bringing steaming potatoes and homemade pickles. Soon, she set warm, fresh-baked bread upon the embroidered tablecloth; the comforting smell of childhood filled the room.

Just like my own grans house! Harry couldnt help but exclaim, eyes shining.

Tuck in, boys, dont be shy, Mildred encouraged. Next, Ill bring tea with dandelion jamyou wont find anything like it in the city.

Dandelion? Ben said, surprised.

My gran used to make that too! Harry cried, warming to her even more.

We have a patch of dandelions in the woods each May. The jams as sweet as honey, Mildred explained, her pride clear.

In that cosy kitchen, the guests felt a magic they couldnt put words to. Mildred didnt pester them with questions, just watched Harry with a thoughtful look as he praised the food and raved about the dandelion jam.

Suddenly, a faint voice came from the other room:

Gran, a glass of water

The lads looked at each other nervously, then nodded at the photo of the sombre girl.

Your granddaughter? Is she ill? they asked.

My silly girl, Mildred sighed. Yesterday she tried to chop woodhad to keep the stove going, but by bedtime her temperature soared. Im nursing her with herbs; no medicine in the house and I cant tramp to the chemist in this weather.

Mildred poured tea, added a scoop of dandelion jam, and hurried off to tend her granddaughter.

Wait, weve a first-aid kit, Harry said quickly, rummaging in his holdall for some paracetamol. Give her this, please. If shes no better by morning, well think of something.

He didnt venture into the sickroom; it didnt feel right.

Mildred returned after a while, looking tired.

Youll want your rest, lads. Long day. Ill make up beds for you and get back to my girlIm all shes got left in the world, my poor Evelyn.

There was such aching love in her words that Harry nearly wept. He stood up, faltering.

Let me sit with Evelyn while you have a rest?

Ill find plenty of time to rest when Im dead, son. While Ive life, I wont leave her alone. Off to bed with youmornings wiser than night. Were used to fending for ourselves.

With that, Mildred disappeared into the next room; there was nothing to do but get ready for sleep.

I dont see what they mean about her being a witch or daft, Ben muttered once the door had closed.

Shes just like my gran. Wish mine was still here

People are cruel. Maybe she just rubs them up the wrong way.

Sleep pulled at them. Yet, before long, Harry heard footstepsMildred again. Feigning sleep, he watched as she tiptoed to the coat rack, took Harrys jacket and vanished into the sickroom.

Thats odd, thought Harry. Was that for spells? Looking for documents? Money? But why let us in at all if she meant mischief?

He didnt have any answers, only more questions, but hed wait for morning to ask.

Ben was already snoring. Harry slept fitfully, but woke at first light. Quietly, he reached for his jacket on the peg and went outside.

There, he saw the sleeve had been mended perfectly, neat as you please. Even a tailor couldnt have done better. How had Mildred noticed the tear? Hed forgotten it himselfprobably snagged it on a branch.

Of course, in his late twenties, running his own small chain of coffee shops in London, he could have bought ten new jackets at once, but Mildred couldnt have known that. Her simple kindness moved him.

With everyone still sleeping, Harry grabbed the hatchet and headed to the woodpile.

At least Ill split some logs. Soon well be gone, and what will an ill girl and an old woman do for firewood?

He thought about that photo on the mantle. Shes stunning, and she works hard too. Wouldnt mind getting to know her.

He pictured inviting Evelyn to his fanciest café, and his mood lifted so high his axe swung twice as fast.

Suddenly, Mildreds voice came from behind: Well done, lad! Ive not seen a pair of hands like that around here in years. So lucky to have you!

Harry blushed. Just habit, Mrs Graham. Always did the logs for my gran.

She was clearly delighted. Thank you, truly. Pancake Days coming, now well have wood for the oven!

After a pause, You must stay for the holiday!

Harry coloured again. Such kindness from near-strangers, who lived so simply but opened their home, just as his own gran had.

Why not? Ive four days leave left.

Mildred lit up. Splendid, you must, you must! Ill start the preparations!

Soon Ben emerged. Harry enthused about staying for Pancake Day.

Are you mad? What, stay for Shrove Tuesday in this nowhere? Im heading home, Ben snapped.

He was so annoyed with Harry, he didnt notice Mr Turner, the neighbour, walking up. It looked like he’d overheard their talk.

Gentlemen, I found someone to fix your car.

Thanks for that!

Come along, Ill introduce you to our mechanicbest in the county.

Ben fumed and stayed put; Harry followed Mr Turner. The mechanic was only part of the errand. As soon as theyd left Mildreds, Mr Turner leaned in:

Youve got a posh carcant be short of a bob or two. If youre after a country bride (all the rage with chaps from town, these days), there are better families than that pair. My daughters are lovelywell brought-up, proper girls. Pop round any time.

Now it made sensehed overheard about the coffee shops. Harry smiled politely.

Ill be back for Pancake Day and perhaps meet them then. Thanks for your help.

Hes gone after that waif, hasnt he? Mr Turner grumbled as they parted.

When Mildred called them for breakfast, Evelyn joined them. Her fever had broken, and Gran let her up to meet their guests.

This is Ben, and this is Harry, Mildred announced. At the sight of Evelyn, both lads straightened. “They got lost and stayed the night, and Ive invited them for Pancake Day.”

Im Evelyn, she said quietly. Shall we have tea and jam?

Sit, my darling, youre still convalescing. Ill see to everything, Mildred fussed.

Im really better, Gran, let me help.

Soon, the table was set with tea, dandelion jam, fresh bread, and yesterdays potatoes.

I havent tasted anything as good since my grans kitchen, declared Harry, tucking in.

Evelyn stared at him, clearly taken. And Harry looked back at her with warmthnewly met, but curiously familiar.

Mildred was the very image of composure, but one could seeshe already sensed what everyone else could only guess.

Mrs Graham, could I take Evelyn to town with me, for tea at my café? Harry ventured, unsure.

If she wants, when she’s fully recovered, Mildred replied, hiding a smile, and quickly changed the subject. So will you stay for Pancake Day, dear guests?

Maybe Harry will, but Ive things to do in town, Ben huffed.

Well have the car sorted by tonight, but Iwell, wewill come back for Pancake Day, Harry promised, catching Evelyns eye, searching for a sign she wanted him to return.

For the rest of the day, Harry and Evelyn talked as if theyd always known each other, until it was time to say goodbye.

Ill be back in two days. For you, Harry whispered at the gate.

Evelyn longed to believe him, but who would want hera country girl from such a family? Certainly not a successful city man

As the car disappeared, she stood watching after them, never guessing he owned cafés in London, and that shed fallen for him at first sight, just because.

Just dreaming… she whispered, glancing at her gran.

Hell come for you, darling. Im sure of it. Theres a spark between you, brighter than any fire, Mildred replied, confident.

On Pancake Day, from first light, Mildred and Evelyn made stacks of golden pancakes and waited. But the first day passed, then anotherno sign of Harry.

On the third day, Mr Turner came to gloat.

So, your city gent hasnt turned up? I told you not to hope. He owns coffee shops, what does he want with you?

Both women were stunnedthey had no idea. Evelyn rushed indoors, stinging with shame, but Mildred thought, Could I have been right all along?

Dont you sneer, its too soon for that, she snapped, shooing Mr Turner away.

He stumbled to the gate, muttering, but stopped deadhed seen something.

What are you gawping at? Off with you! We dont need your poison around here!

Mildred turned to lookround the bend rolled a familiar car.

Harry got out, holding a massive bouquet of red roses and a basket (as theyd later see, full of feasts). Coming closer, he announced,

Mrs Graham, Im smitten with your Evelyn. Will you let her be mine?

I will, Harry, if she wishes it, the old woman replied.

Evelyn rushed out, her face alightMildred hadnt seen her so happy in years. Evelyn hugged Harry around the neck, and said, Lets go inside, my beloved. From that moment, they were inseparable.

For months, the village buzzed with gossipthe mad old woman had bewitched her granddaughter a wealthy suitor! No one grumbled more bitterly, nor looked on with more envy, than the neighbour whose own daughters Harry never spared a glance.