The Singer and the Song
A present from Banbury fair was expected. But a bright ribbon or a swatch of cotton lawn. Not this.
He sat, gruff and unreadable, before the strange contraption.
‘But how?’ she asked.
Recalling the demonstration, he began to coordinate the movements of his large feet. The sharp needle danced up and down, uncertainly at first, then faster and faster.
In a blur of shining metal her wide blue eyes saw curtains and cushion covers for her tiny cottage, a little extra money; while he saw a comely wife, a companion against loneliness and, god willing, a young mother for his children.
M J Lewis 2016
Welcome to Friday Fiction, hosted by the talented writer and artist Rochelle Wisoff- Fields.