The Lychgate by Devon De'Ath

Author:Devon De'Ath [De'Ath, Devon]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-12-05T22:00:00+00:00

10

Community Cohesion

Naomi Hargreaves stirred a cast-iron pot of stew, suspended above the fireplace in their comfortable - if basic and compact - single-storey thatched hovel. The damp of late October fenland mist seeped into her bones, causing the woman to pull a woollen shawl closer about her shoulders. Steam from a hearty meal of mutton, veg and potatoes bubbled as she inscribed a circle into the thickening sludge with a wooden spoon. She reached for a pot of salt stored in a tiny alcove of the inglenook, to keep it dry in the damp climate. The crystals glittered in light from the dancing flames as she dropped two good pinches into her cooking vessel. Joe clicked the door open, allowing a blast of chill air to follow him inside. He secured it fast and stomped over to a simple cabinet that doubled as a worktop.

“Is this warm?” he pointed at a tall pottery jug of water next to a matching clay bowl. The fruits of Connie’s labour and one of many traditional skills the community founder possessed.

“Should be. I used some not long ago.” Naomi pulled back a bunch of the layered mahogany hair from one of her over-sized ears, as she studied him with soulful blue eyes.

Joe poured water into the bowl to wash his face and hands. “Is dinner almost ready?”

“It’s been ready a while.”

The builder bristled. “I can’t help it if my work took longer than expected.”

Naomi fidgeted. “I didn’t mean it like that. You can’t overcook a stew unless it goes dry. This should be a good meal; warm and filling.”

Joe grunted.

Naomi went on. “It’s a sad way to have a surplus of mutton. Dean ensured we’ll all get an ample supply of cuts from suitable carcasses.”

“It wasn’t my fault. I fixed that fence, Naomi. Those animals were fine when I left them.”

His wife rose from the fireplace and edged closer. “That wasn’t an accusation, Joe. You don’t have to be so defensive all the time.”

The builder remained pensive and sullen.

Naomi spooned out stew into two beautifully turned wooden bowls Dan Charter had produced on his pole lathe. More than a master smith, his skill with shaping, carving and turning wood on the foot operated device of ancient design, was a joy to behold. Naomi always appreciated her interactions with him. The craftsman was quiet, gentle - mysterious in some ways. He could listen to a request for an object, then create something way beyond your expectations.

She placed a bowl of stew in front of her husband, then sat down at their tiny trestle table opposite. Joe didn’t wait for her to settle before spooning some fragrant brown liquid into his hungry mouth. His strong forearms reached forward and ripped a hunk of bread from a homemade rustic cob Naomi had baked in the community’s communal clay oven. He slurped and chewed with no regard for manners or propriety. Naomi watched him as she sipped stew from a spoon balanced in one delicate hand. Thoughts of calling the man out on his slovenly table habits, vanished from her mind.

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