Sue looked forward to the winter every year since she and Charley tied the knot ten years ago. That was when they harvested the apples from their orchard, crushed and drained their juice into bottles for fermentation to make cider.
Their marriage was fun and working together was enjoyable. Charley made rib-cracking jokes and Sue would laugh her heart out. When the bottles were ready, they would haul them into bigger containers and store them in the barn.
They would retire to their bedroom after a hearty meal and curl up together. "Brr, yer feet could freeze a pint!" Charley would exclaim, his lips twitching and Sue would reply in between chortles, "Aye, but only you can thaw them, my love."
Charley stopped teasing his wife about her cold feet in their first year together and bought her red woollen booties. She screamed with delight, hopped into his arms and hugged him tight. He'd never felt prouder.
Image credit: @wakeupkitty
Ten years later, as the snowstorm hit harder than expected, this memory made Sue scream in anguish as she looked around the barn to make sure the apple juice was fermenting properly.
Whenever she and Charley woke up to red dots on their bedsheet, sadness would engulf them for the day. Her husband would go about his work on the orchard in silence. At the end of the day, he would hold her and say, "We'll have another go at it."
They'd woken up to red stains on the sheet again three weeks ago. Exhaustion had set in and the rib-cracking jokes had stopped. Their home was in a depressing silence. Once the apples had been crushed and bottled in the barn, and the ground thawed and safe for driving, Charley packed a few things into his Jeep and drove away.
Sue did not stop him. She had no strength left. Then the snowstorm began.
She huddled in bed for a week getting up to eat when she felt hungry and taking a hot bath.
The red woollen booties sat on the leather sofa and their cat, Skye, watched over it. Every morning, Skye would stand by the window and watch the front lawn, waiting for Charley to come home.
After a month, Sue picked herself up and cleaned the house. She wouldn’t hold her breath. Anytime she tried to pick up the red woollen booties to put them away, Skye would hiss at her and stand guard beside the sofa. Sue let her be.
Spring came and Sue felt a little better. But deep down, her heart was still sore. She wrapped a sweater around her slender shoulders and walked into the barn. It was time to re-bottle the apple cider for sale at the town's supermarket.
Just then Charley's Jeep drove onto the front lawn. Sue watched as Skye hopped out of the house to welcome the prodigal husband. Charley held and petted her for some minutes before putting her down gently.
How dare he? The lonely cold nights. The depressing days!
Her eyes spotted some of the bottles on a shelf, they had cracks on them because of the pressure of the yeast. Her chest heaved in vengeful anger as she picked up a bottle and smashed it on the ground.
The sale of cider was their source of income. So he came for them? She picked up another and smashed it, smiling in satisfaction at the sound of running footsteps behind her.
"Sue, please stop. I'm beggin' ye," Charley said. Sue turned to look at him. His rugged handsome face almost made her forgive him.
"Why? Ye've come for yer cider and the siller ye'll make from it? Here. Take them and be aff."
Charley moved towards Sue gently and knelt before her, not minding the broken shards. She watched as he took off his neckerchief and tied it around her knee. That was when she noticed glass had cut her and blood stained her gown. She burst into tears.
Glass cracking under his boots, Charley stood and carried his wife from the barn into their bedroom. "I was daft and truly sorry. Forgive me, if ye will."
Sue wrapped her arms tight around his neck and her cold feet touched his. Charley flinched.
"Don't ye dare say a word," Sue whispered and felt her husband's body shake in laughter.
What I see
I see a pair of red woollen booties placed on a leather sofa and a cat resting on the floor in front of the sofa.
What I feel
The booties are an object of affection and memories.
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