With hesitant, uncertain steps Mary crossed the kitchen to the range and bent forward to lift the kettle from the hearth.
“Sit yer self down, I’ll do that”, the boy said, walking with purposeful steps to meet her. Mary smiled and brushed her hand through his tousled hair. William twisted his features and pulled away in mock affrontery. Still kneeling on the floor, Emma shuffled to one side and patted the polished wooden seat of the chair as her mother put her hands to her back and stretched painfully.
William sat the kettle on the hob above the glowing embers. “What’s for supper?”
“There’s a pie in the oven…and rice pudding”, Mary said pushing air through her lips and prodding the air with her finger as she settled awkwardly back into the chair.