Gloves
The attempts were pitiful, but they were also futile. And she had taken pity on him.
Bert had assured her that he could knit his own pair of gloves, now that autumn had come, but his fumbling efforts had hardly amounted to much. Besides, the hem was crooked and he didn't seem to mind nor even to notice.
Mary had flinched when she saw them, holding them by the tip of her forefinger and thumb, as if she were cautious to even touch them. Demanding to know what they were.
"Gloves," he had said, simply.
She was so astonished, she didn't even find it amusing. Her look was so sympathetic that he laughed, even if she didn't. He knew they were bad, but they surely weren't that awful. And then she had sighed his name, as if he couldn't possibly understand.
"You could teach me," he offered.
Perhaps. But that would take time- the cold was already here. So, she offered to knit him a new pair before teaching him. At least then, his hands would be free from the cold. By the time he was able to do it himself, it would be summer and they didn't have that long.
"Thank you, Mar'."
She sniffed, as if she were offended, dropping the gloves back into the small basket by the chair. A disgusted glance in their direction as she headed towards the kitchen.
"Don't thank me, Bert. It's the least I could do."
