No, Mum, Im not coming. Ill buy everything I need at the shop.
But but what about the stores? The vitamins! You love them yourself!
I dont need your supplies, Harriet says calmly. Let those who need them use their own time and effort.
Just twenty more jars of cucumbers, and thats it for today, Margaret Clarke says, wiping her hands on her apron.
Harriet runs her palm over her forehead, wiping away a bead of sweat. Her shirt is soaked through, clinging to her skin. The kitchen feels stifling; the air is heavy with the sharp scent of vinegar and dill.
Harriet scans the table, piled high with jars, lids, and vegetables. In the cellar, tomatoes wait their turn, cabbage sits ready for fermenting, and a dozen different salads sit in waiting. Theres still a weeks worth of work ahead.
Alright, Mum, Harriet sighs, reaching for the next jar.
Her hands move almost on autopilot: cucumbers into the jar, brine poured in, lid twisted shut. Over and over again. Harriet keeps at it, trying not to think about how much more there is to do.
There, Margaret says with satisfaction, looking over the rows of finished jars, soon our family will be ready for winter.
Harriet cant hold it in any longer. She sets the jar down and looks at her mother.
Mum, wheres Eleanor? Why isnt she helping?
Margarets face tightens. She averts her gaze, starts wiping the now-clean table.
Well, Eleanor just started a new job. She cant take time off, you see. Its a responsible position, strict boss.
Harriet presses her lips together. Of course. Eleanor always finds an excuse. Last year the younger sister caught a cold the very week they needed to seal the jars. The year before that she was sent on a work trip that coincided perfectly with the preservation schedule. Harriet never has any plans of her own; her mother almost orders her to take leave from work and come home.
Dont look so glum, love, Margaret says softly, noticing Harriets expression. At least well be eating our own preserves all winter. Vitamins! Nothing healthier.
Harriet nods. Thats the only bright side. The pickles do turn out wonderful.
The following days blur into one endless loop. Harriet jars tomatoes, prepares salads, ferments cabbage. She hauls heavy boxes of jars to the pantry, climbing the steep stairs dozens of times. She helps clear up after each batch.
She sweeps the floor, wipes the tables, takes out the rubbish. Her arms ache, her back throbs. In the evenings she collapses onto the bed, exhausted.
When it finally ends, Harriet returns to her flat. Shes drained. She has one day of holiday left and just wants peace and quiet. The house is empty. The fridge holds halfempty shelves. Yet Margaret is pleased, and that matters most. Still, Eleanor never called once, never asked how things were going, never offered help. Nothing.
Winter arrives. Harriet drives to her mothers every now and then for a few jarscucumbers, tomatoes, salads. Everything tastes homemade and delicious. Margaret enjoys the visits; they share tea and long conversations.
At the end of January Harriet comes back again. Margaret greets her with a smile, sets the table. Harriet sits, looks around. On the table lie storebought ham, cheese, and bread, but no salads, no homemade preserves.
Harriet frowns. Its odd. Usually Mum always puts something from her own stores on the table. Tonight it looks strangely sparse.
They chat about everything. Margaret updates her on the neighbourhood, asks about Harriets job. Harriet almost forgets the missing jars.
When its time to leave, Harriet stands and pulls on her coat.
Mum, Im going to the pantry to grab three jars of carrotandcabbage mix, she says, heading for the door.
No, dont! Margaret snaps.
Harriet turns, eyebrows raised in surprise.
Why? I was just planning to
Just dont, Harriet. Dont go to the pantry.
Margaret looks away. Something in her demeanor unnerves Harriet. She tosses her coat onto a chair.
Mum, whats wrong? Why cant I take a couple of jars?
I I just cant give you any more preserves, Margaret mutters, staring at the floor.
Harriet squints, irritation bubbling up.
I spent a whole week preserving, remember? And now I cant even take a few jars? Explain, please.
Harriet, its nothing I just cant give them to you, thats all.
Harriet spins and rushes toward the pantry. From behind comes her mothers shout:
Harriet! Dont touch it, I told you!
But Harriet is already at the door, pulls it open, and descends the stairs. She flips the light switch. The small room floods with light. Harriet freezes. The shelves are empty.
Where neat rows of jars once stood, now less than half remain. Harriet remembers them being almost full yesterday. Where did they go?
She climbs back up slowly, steps into the kitchen, and looks at Margaret, who stands with her head bowed, cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
Mum! Harriet gasps. You running short of money? Selling the preserves? You could have told me! Id have transferred what you needed. You shouldnt be out in the cold selling food at your age!
Harriet reaches for her mothers hands, but Margaret pulls away. Harriets anger deepens, the room grows colder.
Is that it? Youre not selling them?
Margaret shakes her head. Harriet sits down heavily, meets her mothers eyes.
Tell me then
Silence hangs. Margaret sighs, runs a hand over her face.
Its all gone to Eleanor, she admits quietly. She met a lad with a big family in the city. She told them shes stocking up for winter, and his whole clan started demanding jars.
So its one thing after another. Eleanor cant say no, you know? She wants to marry him. His familys wealthy, influential. Everything fell apart quickly.
Harriet draws a breath, thinking her mother needs her. But the truth is far more mundane.
You stopped me from taking jars so Eleanor would have enough? Harriet asks slowly.
Margaret says nothing.
Youre only thinking about Eleanor! What about me? Who sealed all those jars? Who was here all week while I was working? And now Eleanor, as if nothing happened, empties the shelves!
Harriet, you have to understand Eleanors at a pivotal moment in her life, Margaret starts to explain. She needs to make a good impression on his family. It isnt critical for you. Try to see it from both sides.
Harriet shakes her head, grabs her coat.
I get it. Im done.
She walks out without looking back, slides into the drivers seat, grips the steering wheel until her knuckles whiten. Anger, hurt, bitterness churn inside her. She fights back tears, starts the engine, and drives away.
Months pass. Eleanor moves in with her boyfriend. Harriet rarely visits her mother, and she no longer asks for jars. Margaret no longer brings up the subject. They talk about the weather, work, neighbours, but an invisible wall has grown between them.
Then the next preservation season arrives. One evening the phone rings. Harriet looks at the screen: Mum. She answers.
Harriet, love, Margaret says brightly. I need you next week. We have to stock up for winter, more than ever, so everyone has enough.
Harriet freezes. That means Eleanor will be handing out jars again, and Harriet will be back at the grind.
Im not coming, Mum.
What? Silence on the line. Harriet, are you serious? Of course youll come. I cant manage alone.
No, Mum. Im not coming. Ill buy everything I need at the shop.
But what about the stores? The vitamins! You love them yourself!
Your supplies arent for me, Harriet says evenly. Let those who need them use their own time and effort.
Harriet! You cant do that! What about Eleanor? Im your mother! You should
Harriet hangs up. She decides she wont be the obedient mule who carries everyones burden any longer. She owes nothing to anyone.
