This story is part of the Wanderer series
In the distance, behind the middle pane of the house, there was a silhouette. The old man, sat at the table with one arm resting on it, gazed out at the children, watching them play with stones by the road.
Footsteps sounded behind him. In came Becky, holding two newly knitted shirts in her hands. Seeing the scene unfolding outside with the siblings, the grandma smiled warmly as she raised an arm to her abdomen and hung the shirts there.
“Look at them. They’ve never been more excited to have playmates.”
The grandpa said nothing at first. He focused on the red-haired girl in particular as she stared dubiously at the stones being shoved into her arms by both the siblings and the pink-haired girl.
“They’shd run home soon as they can. This’s no place for farm kids.”
The grandma’s smile faded a little. Her arm subtly drooped, lowering the shirts in her arm ever so slightly. “They’re free spirited. They’ll move on once they recovered.”
“You shouldn’t have told them it’s safe here.”
“It’s safe right here,” she emphasized.
“That’s also a lie.”
The old lady lightly sighed. “Isaac’s children were there. What else could I say?”
“Say nothing. Tell them later.”
Getting up from his chair, the grandpa took a hold of his cup on the table and turned away from the window, walking towards the kitchen.
“Telling lies to children never works out in the long.”
The grandma did not follow him, keeping her glazed gaze stuck to the window. “Yes. I know, dear. Yet, we do so because we must.”
Dipping his head a little as he crossed under the threshold, the grandpa moved to the stove with his cup.