In the next room, something fragile clinked. Dropping the pot, Agnes rushed over. Her grandson stood in the middle of the room, staring helplessly at the shards of a broken heirloom vase.
“What have you done?!” the grandma screeched and snapped a wet dish towel across the boy’s back.
“Grandma, I’ll clean it up!” he stammered, lunging to gather the pieces.
“I’ll show you ‘I’ll clean it up’!” The towel whistled across his back again. “On the bed! Don’t move!”
She picked up the shards and went back to the kitchen. A puddle had spread across the floor, potatoes floating in it—at least they weren’t boiled yet. She scooped them up, rinsed them, shoved the pan into the oven. She sat by the window, and the tears came on their own. Bitter thoughts churned in her head:
“Why does everyone else live normal lives? And me? No husband, and my daughter doesn’t have one either. I’d rather it stayed that way. But she’s gone into town, to the station, and she’ll bring me a new son-in-law to hang around my neck—a prison guard. Says he’s a good man. She wrote letters with him for three years. ‘In love,’ and never even saw his face. And now he’ll live here. It’s not enough that I feed her and the grandson—now I’ll have to feed him too. Well, I’ll make that son-in-law’s life so hard he’ll run off on his own!”
“Grandma, can I go outside?”
“Go, go! Put on your coat. And don’t go near the river—the ice is about to give way.”
“Okay, Grandma!”
Looked like they had arrived. Agnes glanced out the window. Even from here she could see—his face was all scars. What nonsense is in my daughter’s head? As if it weren’t enough that he’s a prison guard—he’s scary-looking on top of it.
The door flew open. They came in.
Megan had brought her fiancé.
“I’m actually here to see him,” the sheriff smirked. “Need to check his release papers. And see what kind of man your future husband is.”
“Go ahead! They’re at the table. And he’s not my son-in-law and never will be!”
Agnes went to look for her grandson. Where would he be? There—running with the boys. But she didn’t feel like going home yet. She stood and chatted with the old ladies. Like it or not—it was time.
She glanced at the big rounds by the shed. No way you could split those. She grabbed an axe and started shaving kindling off the smallest one. She raised the axe—and a strong hand caught the handle.
“Aunt Agnes, let me give it a try,” said Gabe.
“Try,” she grumbled, peering at him from under her brow.
He ran a finger along the blade and shook his head.
“Got a sharpening stone?”
“In the workshop, in the shed. My husband’s tools are still there.”
Gabe stepped into the shed and his eyes widened. They had everything. He flipped on the bench grinder—it worked. He sharpened the axe and grabbed a splitting maul, too.
He came out and started splitting the rounds in half, then into firewood. By evening, all the wood was split and stacked.
His mother-in-law stepped out, shook her head. A shadow of a smile flickered.
“Aunt Agnes,” Gabe said, “there are some logs by the fence.”
“Nah, the chainsaw’s not working.”
“I’ve got the same model. Maybe we can make one good saw out of two.”
They went to Old Man Anthony. His chainsaw was barely breathing, but the sprocket was good and the chain wasn’t bad either.
“Take it all!” the old man rasped with a laugh. “If you get it running—come cut my logs.”
Then the neighbor—the small-business guy—shows up and says,
“Hey, split my wood and stack it in the shed,” and slips him two fifties.
Gabe did the job like he was asked. Came back and set the money on the table.
“Aunt Agnes, take it.”
She shook her head, but there was a satisfied spark in her eyes. In that town, people rarely paid with cash—more often in goods.
The next day, Gabe took to the walk-behind tiller. Time to turn the gardens. He sat in the yard sorting parts. Suddenly a boy burst in, eyes wild:
“We were riding the ice floes, and your Johnny got carried off! He can’t jump off!”
Agnes and Megan rushed out—everyone ran to the river.
Johnny’s ice floe was drifting slowly toward mid-current. Downstream, huge slabs of ice were barreling along—the jam must have broken somewhere upstream.
Megan screamed.
But Gabe had already dived into the freezing water. He swam, hauled himself onto the floe. A monster sheet of ice was bearing down—it would crush them any second.
“Listen, Johnny,” he leaned to the boy. “Are you a man or not? When the big floe comes alongside—we jump to it. Otherwise we’re done for. We’ve got one second. Give me your hand! Get ready! Jump!”
He flung the boy onto the big floe and leapt after him, smashing his leg against the edge. His pant leg darkened with blood at once. Johnny stared, terrified, at his scraped-up palms.
The floe was already caught by the current and carried downriver.
People on the bank watched in horror as the floe drifted away.
“They’re done for!” someone yelled.
“Maybe not,” muttered the sheriff. “The river bends ahead, and Gabe’s no slouch.”
And he tore off toward his car.
Gabe hugged Johnny, trying to warm him. “Listen, kid. First test passed. Now the second. This floe is going to slam into that bank. Hard. We move to the edge.”
The bank was closer, closer… Crash! They were thrown over the floe and onto the gravel.
“Alive!” Gabe lifted the boy.
“My arm hurts. And my leg.”
“It’s nothing!” he grinned. “You’ll be fine before your wedding.”
“Yeah? It’s bleeding.”
“Bear it. Men don’t whine.”
A few minutes later they reached the road. Just then the sheriff’s car shot around the bend. The door flew open.
“Looks like you’re in one piece?”
“Alive,” Gabe nodded.
“Oh, you two are a mess! Get in the car! To the hospital, now!”
Megan sobbed on the bed. Agnes never left the window. The phone buzzed—the screen read: “Sheriff.”
“What happened to them?!” Megan screamed, pressing the phone to her ear.
“Your Johnny’s sitting here, all bandaged up. I’ll put him on.”
“Mom,” came a small voice.
“Son, are you okay?”
“I’m fine! I’m a man!”
“Everything’s alright, Megan,” said the sheriff.
Agnes grabbed the phone. “And Gabe?”
“They’re stitching him up… Hold on, he just came out.”
“Well, how are you?”
“I’m fine, Aunt Agnes.”
“Hear that?” the sheriff cut in. “I’ll bring your grandson and your son-in-law right over.”
Agnes exhaled and waved to her daughter. “Enough tears. The men will be home hungry. They haven’t eaten a thing since morning.”
