A/N: after this chapter there'll be two more, I think. (I was definitely thinking of some Kipling story when I wrote this.)

She is not young.

Back home, people wouldn't yet say she's over the hill, but here, it's hills all the way down. That weariness which sometimes crushes her, when all she can do is gasp for breath even lying down, is never too far away. It's her heart; she recalls her own mother taking pills now and then, but there are no pills in Middle Earth.

Bill grumbles about more work falling into his lap when she has 'a wheezy turn'. Wuss. At least something of what he does can be called honest living. Lately, he's been away more nights than not, and there are rumours about a new gang on the road, with a leader who knows his way through the woods and through the hearts.

She tried to talk him out of it.

He beat her up, for the first and only time ever.

The noise woke the kid.

She surrendered at once and did not bring the thing up again. End of story.

Because it's Billy. He's eight, and although she could fight for a divorce, how would she feed them? Where would they live? (Whose side would he take?) And it's not that Bill and her have many arguments; compared to some families here, they are an exemplary union.

Billy is a good helper, by the way. When she's only moderately ill and can move around - slowly - he always lends a hand. They go to the well together, several times a day, stopping for her to catch her breath, and if there are people out, let them snort. She won't rush to her grave just to keep a cheery front. Also, it's nice to talk with her kid without milking, washing, cooking or digging at the same time, and Billy likes to share his thoughts with her.

Right now, as they pass the deaf old Mrs. Higgs sitting in the autumn sun - she nods in greeting, but there is nothing in return, just like always - Billy is weighing Good versus Evil. (The Songs about the war with Sauron have reached even their village and turned his little head.)

'Mom?'

He gets Good, but not the, uh, other side. Orcs, yes. Nazgul, any day. But when she tried to explain to him how some people behave unkindly to others, he drew a blank.

And she cannot explain it without feeling... insincere.

'Yes?'

'When will I get a sister?'

Gotta love the direct approach.

'Billy...'

'Or a brother,' he grins up at her. 'You wanted to keep it secret?'

'Yeah,' she says weakly. What the - ?

'Well, maybe Dad forgot and told Mrs. Lynn, 'cause she told me, and Mrs. Bran heard and said ooh, really, and I thought you were ill 'cause you have a baby inside, but she said no, you know how she can - no-ho-ho...'

'Ah!'

She glares at Mrs. Bran and Mrs. Wimple who walk past with their baskets on their elbows, smiling at her so unbearably smugly, and Bill Ferny is one dead man.

'Mom?'

'Yes, Billy.'

'So, when?'

'I am not sure.' It has to be that flaxen-haired bi... witch, Bessy. That -

'Mom?'

'WHAT NOW?'

Billy jumps back, staring at her like she has grown another head, and she shuts her eyes.

'I am sorry. Go home. Tell Dad to prepare dinner.'

'He can't,' Billy reminds her, confused.

'He'll find that he can.'

Mrs. Higgs snores in her chair, and Billy keeps looking back at her every now and then, and she doesn't know what to do.

Sending Billy home by himself was a mistake. He run into some well-wishers who had no scruples about telling him exactly how things stood.

When she comes back - and it takes her a while to cool down - he is hiding in the shed, and Bill has left to the pub.

They sit together for hours, and Bill doesn't come back, but Billy stops crying and starts planning how he would play with the baby, and something can still be saved. At least, as long as she doesn't meet Bessy. Then, all bets are off.

Next morning, when she sets off to the well, it's a whole new world.

(Yesterday, when Mr. Bran hinted to Bill about Bessy and all, Bill shrugged, put an arm around the other man's shoulders and groaned, 'Live a month with my hag - ', and ordered a pint for every friend of his. Numerous were Bill Ferny's woes, and few were his joys, but that night, he had a brother in every household.)

'Stay - away - from my - son,' she growls at Mr. Lynn when he suggests to the boy that he should just wait a couple more years and seek a job somewhere 'what needed manpower'.

'But why?' asks Billy, staring at him with amazement.

'Eh, just a thought,' mumbles Lynn, glancing at her uneasily.

She fumes.

'Stuff that - nonsense - back - where it - came from - understood?'

'Outsiders,' Lynn mumbles softly, turning away, and that's a curse if she's ever heard one.

That's how it goes from then on. Outsiders. When applied to Bill it means 'huh', to Billy - 'will learn the proper ways in time', and to her - 'hopeless.'

Billy, her faithful champion, gets a taste of people being unkind to others, and still can't wrap his head around it.

And all the time, the days are getting shorter, and she sees shadows growing by inches when she looks at them out of the corner of her eye.

She meets Bessy. Nothing happens! They just walk past each other. She doesn't spit. Not that Bessy would blush, or Mrs. Higgs chivvy her - the old woman has not been out in a week, claiming 'bad weather' despite sunny days. Still, she's proud of herself.

And then, just as the first frosts silver the fallen leaves, just as the mutters and whispers die down a bit, just as the peddlar leaves -

there comes the Red Spot.

It is a kind of contagious illness, spread by touch. Adults lose movement in arms or legs, children die from fever. She calls the Professor an outsider and stocks up for a month that the outbreak is expected to last, and just as she has Billy learn all things he can't do, Bill comes in and clears his throat.

So now he wants to talk? She sends Billy to his room, just in case.

'Bess, er... She doesn't have anybody right now.'

'Doesn't she?'

Bill glowers. 'It's my house, woman, I can just have her come over and - '

'And I can have her leave.'

He steps forward. 'You can't. You won't.'

She looks him in the eye, because watch it, gents, she so can.

And then she takes off her apron, and shakes her head resignedly.

'You are a worm and a half, Bill Ferny, but this one time, I will suffer her under my roof.'

It's strange, how he looks like he knows and agrees.

Bessy the Big Belly is installed in the 'masters' bedroom' before the sun sets.

Which means, coincidentally, that the lady of the house has no place to sleep. Even Bill himself has to take the floor. And besides, somebody has to tend to the cow and the chickens and to bring water.

It's warm in the shed. Only the nights are somewhat chilly.

And Bessy swore on her life not to hurt her golden boy.

People don't come to the well together, now, they try to keep to themselves. Still, she hears about the Brans. Their little Daisy was only just learning to talk...

She is unwell, and there is no water in the trough, and Billy is scooped inside with the others. The days are cold now, too. There is not much food to be had, with four mouths instead of three. That's life; she hopes Billy gets it this time.

The Red Spot takes eight lives and ruins ten more, but at last, no new people fall ill. Bessy moves back to her place, in a cart, since she is due any day now. Sorrow fades quietly, and even black lumps of cloth - the eldest of the village - come back out to sit on the frozen chairs and benches when the sun peeks through the snow-laden clouds. Billy runs around like mad, so glad to be let out, and maybe some women who had been mothers turn away from his whoops of happiness, but she doesn't care. Her boy is safe and sound, she saved him, and nothing else matters.

Not her heart.

Not her reputation.

Not her husband.

'Mom?' Billy asks, breathing at his hands as they join the growing queue - Mrs. Tinny certainly never hurries - and jumping up and down because he can.

'Yes?'

'How old is Mrs. Higgs?'

'I don't know, and you shouldn't ask. It's not polite.'

'Huh,' says Billy frowning. 'I just thought she was really old, 'cause she always just sits, she's sat there for ages, and now she stands up?'

'What?'

She turns around, and sure, the old woman is shuffling forward, leaning on her grand-niece's arm. They go straight to Billy and her.

'Good morning?' she says uncertainly, because heads are turning, and really, what is happening -

But Mrs. Higgs just grabs her by the shoulder and tugs forward, past Mrs. Lynn and Mrs. Wimple, and orders Mrs. Tinny to draw water for her and stop muddling around. Then, she limps back to her throne and smiles toothlessly at the gaping women.

Out-siders, Mrs. Ferny thinks wryly, nodding her thanks. Just what we are.