EQMM 1988-09 by Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine

Author:Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine [Magazine, Ellery Queen’s Mystery]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Folk Stories

by Mary Reed

© 1988 by Mary Reed.

Usually broken legs mend easily enough, but Dr. Wells said it was a more complicated fracture, where the bone splinters rather than breaks. Thus the recovery took a long time. It was hard for young Andrew, being so active, and then right afterward there was a very hot spell of weather with no rain for several weeks, which did not help the invalid’s temper. Then, of course, Mrs. Wellerby started up with her stories…

Willows — they use them to beat the boundaries, do they not? An ill-omened tree, if you believe the village gossips. Planting one was, they said, asking for bad luck. Now, of course, they are all saying “Told you so” over their pints at that dreadful public house.

Personally, I’ve no time for such tales, especially ones founded upon folk stories, such as that willow wands were used to chastise the boy Jesus. Now, if the gossips had pointed out that willows clog drains or are notorious for being prone to pests of all sorts, one could understand the prophesies of doom. One must, after all, be practical. But as I doubt that there were willows in what is now the Holy Land in the first place, I dismiss such tales as nonsense. Had I been planting a tree to mark the adoption of a child, I would have chosen something nice and British — a sturdy oak, for example. Of course, things were exacerbated by the ill-informed prattling of Mrs. Wellerby, the daily help. My tenants are city folk, rather vulgar in their tastes — I understand they chose the willow because they liked the look of it on their tea-service — but they are quiet enough and do seem to look after the house very well.

Of course, the garden is somewhat neglected. In the old days when we had a gardener and three undergardeners, it looked wonderful. Trim lawns. Flowerbeds a blaze of color from spring to autumn — then after that, flowers from the conservatory for my mother to arrange. Fresh vegetables. But one can’t get the help nowadays — and even if one could, it would be financially impossible to keep things up in the old style.

When I was a girl, the world was very different. I remember when Father and I walked to church villagers would curtsey or raise their caps to us. Nowadays it’s all push and shove and being called “luv” at the supermarket. Dreadful, truly dreadful, after a lifetime of “my lady” or “ma’am.” Not that I’d like you to think I am a snob. I am not. It is, I admit, rather galling living here in what was the gatehouse cottage with tenants in the big house, but I have adjusted to it quite well, I think. In fact, I quite enjoy growing my own lettuce and tomatoes. The people at the house have the occasional party, so I see a few events still held in the grand style, when the big cars and befurred women sweep by my little house.

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