Louis was woken up by sunlight shining on his face. He looked down and was surprised to see that he was under the covers. His face turned red as he realized that Mister Weaver must have come in to tuck him in. There were things that you just didn’t do to a teenage boy.

He rolled out of bed and stalked out of his room, ready to give Mister Weaver a piece of his mind when he noticed that the cooking fire was going, bathing the room in a warm glow. Lunch was swinging in a pot above it and was beginning to bubble. Louis’ stomach rumbled and he felt slightly mollified. For all his faults, Mister Weaver was a proper considerate bloke.

A knock on the back door made Louis jump. He looked through the side window and saw Mrs Parsons waiting standing outside the door. Her eyes looked around and she was rubbing her palms nervously as she waited.

“Oh, Louis, get the door, would you please?” came Mister Weaver’s voice from the main room.

“It’s Mrs Parsons,” Louis called over his shoulder as he opened the door.

The diminutive lady blinked, looking momentarily confused when she saw Louis open the door. She was a short lady, thin lady, who was bundled up under layers of summer clothes. “Oh,” she gasped as she stared at Louis, trying to match his face to a name, “Louis…was it?”

“Yes, Mrs Parsons,” the boy replied, “Can I help you.”

The old lady rubbed her hands together nervously and looked around, as though she was ashamed to be seen at the inn’s backdoor. “Well… is Mister Weaver in.”

“He is,” Louis replied, “Shall I fetch him?”

“Louis!” Winston cried as he entered the kitchen, “Let poor Mrs Parsons in, can’t you see she’s freezing?”

“Please my dear, do come in,” Winston continued in a rush as he brushed past Louis.

“No no, I don’t mean to be of any trouble,” she protested feebly as the wiry man took her firmly by the arm and guided her inside.

“Louis, put the kettle on, please.” Winston asked as he led Mrs Parsons over to one of the two kitchen chairs.

“Oh that isn’t necessary, thank you,” Mrs Parsons said as Winston ladled a heaping bowl of last night’s stew into a wooden bowl and set it in front of her.

“Please, I insist,” he smiled broadly, “It’s a very special recipe of mine and I’m dying to know what you think about it.”

Louis watched from a corner of the kitchen as Mrs Parsons devoured the stew as quickly as manners would allow and felt a pang of guilt. He remembered being that hungry and was furious at himself for not noticing it himself. The guests had often remarked about how hard this winter was, and the Parsons weren’t that well off to begin with…

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The kettle began to sing, and Louis took it off the fire as Winston took Mrs Parsons’ empty bowl. “More?” he offered.

The old lady looked conflicted, but finally, her pride overcame her hunger. “No, thank you,” she said at length.

“I’ll give you the rest of the leftovers and you can tell me what Mr Parsons thinks of it,” Winston declared as he walked over to the sink.

“Oh no, that’s far too generous,” she began, but was cowed by Winston’s tutting.

“I’m afraid Louis and I had more than our fair share last night and cannot bear to eat another bite,” Winston said as he did the washing up, “you would be doing us a favour.”

Louis swallowed a curse as he busied himself preparing the tea leaves. He had gotten over his squeamishness and sneaked a bite of the stew last night, and it had been divine. He had been looking forward to having some for lunch, but he couldn’t possibly voice his objections now.

“Thank you, Louis,” Winston said as the boy set the teapot and a pair of cups on the kitchen table. The wiry man then focused all his attention on the mother of four children sitting before him. “Now then Mrs Parsons, how can I be of service today?”

The old woman’s lip trembled briefly, and she took a deep breath to compose herself while Winston waited patiently for her to begin. “The thing is, this winter has been difficult, you see…”

“Indeed it has,” Winston agreed as he poured out the tea, “However, we have been more fortunate than most, here at the Happily Ever After.”

“I… I was hoping I could borrow some…” she stammered, “Some potatoes to tide us over the winter.”

She exhaled when she was finished speaking, looking as though she a great weight had been lifted off her chest.

Winston’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Is that all?” He looked over at Louis. “Louis, please go to the cellar and fetch Mrs Parsons a sack of potatoes and a sack of carrots.”

It was Louis’ turn to look surprised. “That much, Mister Weaver? We need them to…”

His words trailed off when he saw the annoyed look Winston was giving him. It was a rare thing to be on the receiving end of, and everyone took it very seriously. “I’ll go at once,” he said meekly.

“You really are being too generous,” Mrs Parsons protested, “Ten pounds of potatoes. That’s all I need, really.”

“Nonsense,” Winston said with a wave of his hand, “never you mind what the boy said, I have plenty. Think nothing of it.”

Louis descended into the dimly lit cellar and frowned. They were already looking to end up short for the winter as it was. Parting with that much would leave them without potatoes or carrots by the end of next week, and they were only halfway through winter. Knowing it was futile to argue, he carried one of the fifty pound sacks up the stairs, out the back door and heaved it onto a well maintained wheelbarrow.

Winston was pouring Mrs Parsons tea as they chitchatted about how her children were coming along as Louis went down for the second sack. When he had loaded the second sack onto the wheelbarrow, Winston escorted Mrs Parsons to the door.

“Louis, once you’re done helping her with the potatoes, could you go to Nigel’s house and invite him over?” he asked.

Louis blinked. “Nigel… the blacksmith?”

“Yes, he should be in his workshop at this hour,” Winston confirmed. “I’d go see him myself, but we do have a lot to do before we open for lunch.”

“What should I tell him you want to see him for?” Louis asked, puzzled at what his boss wanted with the town’s blacksmith.

“Tell him I want to buy him lunch.”

Louis blinked. “Lunch?”

Winston nodded. “Lunch.”

He then turned to Mrs Parsons, who clutched a covered pot containing the leftover stew in her hands. “It was lovely catching up with you Mrs Parsons. We really should do it again soon.”

“Oh bless you, Winston, you’re far too kind,” the old lady beamed.

“Off you go then, Louis,” Winston called out, “And please don’t dally, we really do have rather a lot to do before lunch service.”