Eat Up. The Story Of Sweet Vera
Chapter 4 — The Stew
We’re nearing the end now—and this chapter gives us the taste of something Vera can’t quite name. The stew is warm. The smiles are sweet. But none of it feels safe.
Thank you for sticking with this story, one heavy chapter at a time.
🖤
—Skelly
Chapter 4 — The Stew
Vera didn’t remember being moved.
She only knew that when her eyes opened again, she was no longer in her bed. She was bundled in heavy blankets, propped in a chair near the fire. Her body still screamed with pain—especially her legs and ribs—but she could sit upright now, at least with support.
The fire crackled beside her. She could smell the sweetness of woodsmoke and something savory floating in the air. Her head throbbed, but her senses were sharpening.
She blinked slowly. Her father was building up the fire. Her mother was at the stove, humming.
It could have been a normal day.
Except it wasn’t.
Her limbs still remembered the cellar. The weight of the bags. The rough cloth against her palms. The metal scent in the air. Her back ached as though it still bore the weight of what she’d carried.
Vera tried to speak, but her voice caught in her throat.
“Oh, my sweet girl!” Alice turned, rushing to her side with a bright, too-wide smile. “You’re awake. Thank heavens.”
She held out a bowl of stew. It was thick and reddish-brown, steaming and strange. The chunks of meat were unfamiliar—too soft, too dark. The vegetables looked soggy, wilted. But the smell was mouthwatering.
“Eat up,” Alice said, as if this were a celebration. “You need your strength.”
Vera took the spoon weakly. Her hands trembled, but she managed a small bite. It was… good. Warming. Rich. Too rich.
Her stomach twisted almost immediately.
Alice beamed. “It’s my new recipe. Scraps and ends, turned into something no one can resist. I’ve been selling it at the market—it’s flying off the tables.”
Vera forced another bite, then set the spoon down.
“It’s… heavy,” she whispered. “My stomach…”
“Of course,” Alice said gently, taking the bowl. “You’ve been asleep for days. You’ve barely had anything to eat. The doctor was worried you wouldn’t wake at all.”
Vera blinked. “How long was I out?”
Alice glanced at Wallace. He came over from the fire, crouched beside Vera, and gently brushed a hair from her cheek.
“Almost two weeks,” he said.
Alice added softly, “We took care of you. And the doctor and his wife helped, too. They were kind enough to stay when we had to go to the market.”
Vera didn’t know how to respond. Her body felt lighter, but her mind was still spinning. Bits and pieces of that night flickered at the edge of her memory—how she collapsed, how Alice had grabbed her arm so coldly, how Wallace had looked at her like she was something useful instead of something loved.
And yet, here they were—smiling, warm, talking as though nothing had happened.
Alice sat beside her, smoothing the blanket around Vera’s legs.
“We have some news,” she said. “Something important.”
Vera’s heart skipped.
Wallace stood. “We’re leaving, Vera. It’s time.”
“Leaving?” Vera repeated.
Alice nodded eagerly. “America. A fresh start. We’ve saved enough from the stew sales. It’s all arranged. The ship leaves in days.”
Vera’s throat tightened. “Why?”
Wallace’s voice darkened just slightly. “The mines are shut down. Too many men missing. No one wants to stay. But we… we’ve been blessed.”
Vera looked down at her lap. She didn’t feel blessed. She felt hollow.
Alice leaned in closer. “You helped us. You helped us feed people. You were part of this, whether you remember or not. And we’re grateful.”
There was something else in her eyes now. Not just gratitude. Something sharper.
“I know you don’t understand it all yet,” Alice continued, “but this move… it’s a gift.”
Vera swallowed hard. “Are we running?”
“No,” Wallace said. “We’re surviving.”
Alice stood and kissed Vera’s head. “We have to finish packing. And you need rest. The doctor will check you one more time before we go.”
She wrapped a scarf around her neck, grabbed her coat, and slipped out into the night.
Vera sat in silence with her father. The shadows flickered along the walls, long and crooked.
She wanted to ask him everything.
She wanted to scream about the cellar.
But Wallace broke the silence first.
“You may hear things in the next few days,” he said. “Rumors. Whispers. Don’t listen.”
He looked at her carefully.
“You remember what I told you about the good people, the bad ones… and the ones God intervenes for?”
Vera didn’t answer right away.
Her mind wandered to the market. The day she overheard the gossip. A man had found something in his fishing net. A boot. Then, a foot. The townspeople laughed nervously and said it was probably a cow’s leg.
Vera knew better.
She nodded, eyes fixed on the fire.
“Yes, Father,” she said. “I remember.”
SK–
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