Lawrence Fenton limped down the stairs in the dark. He gripped his cane with one hand and the bannister with the other, and only breathed out when he reached the bottom. He had to steady himself for a few moments to make sure his leg would hold out before taking the few steps to the room at the back of the shop. As he got older, the hip that had been deformed since birth seemed to get worse. Particularly in the cold.
He needed to get the fires banked and the porridge on before Christy arrived. Lawrence shivered as he raked out the ashes and reset the fire. Once flames began to lick the coals he carefully placed some logs so they would catch, filled the kettle with water, and poured porridge into the pan. As the months turned colder he worried about him. Even to the point where once he had
