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Living With The Buckets

It was cold. A chilly evening, rather.

I was walking back to my home after picking up some bread as a treat for my adopted family: the Buckets.

They took me in when I was a wee child of, oh, age of five, maybe? It had been so long ago. After all, being two weeks from today, it'll be my twenty-seventh birthday.

My mom died at my birth, and a few years later, my father was killed in a factory accident. He was good friends with the Bucket family, and asked them to take me in if anything was to happen to him.

So the Bucket family did just that. They took me in as their own. I was old enough to know that they weren't my real parents, and they knew I was. So I called them by Mr. and Mrs. Bucket.

The Bucket family might not have been the richest, nor the most powerful, nor well-connected. They rarely had anything to eat, with a little cabbage patch in their small yard for food. And their son, Charlie, was not as fast, clever, nor strong as the other children may be, but he certainly was the sweetest to everyone he met.

Charlie called me his older sister, despite me being unrelated to him. The young boy was born the month I turned fifteen. And just a couple days from today, he will be turning the joyous age of twelve!

I reached the Bucket's door, and knocked, letting myself in.

"Evening, Buckets!" I called to them all, shutting the door behind me.

"Evening, Mary!" Grandpa Joe and Grandma Josephine replied gladly.

"Evening," Grandpa George said.

"I love soup!" Grandma Georgina chirped gleefully. I chuckled at her random notation.

"Hi, Mary!" Charlie exclaimed, tackling me into a hug. I nearly stumbled back, but managed to regain my footing, wrapping my arms around my younger brother.

"Hey, Charlie," I said. I let him go and walked to the kitchen where Mrs. Bucket was stirring her pot of cabbage soup. I stood right next to her, bringing out my loaf of bread.

"Thought we ought to have a treat today, so I bought us this with this week's wages of mine," I told her.

She looked at the bread, her eyes widening by the second. "Oh my! That is far too kind of you, dear! Thank you!"

She hugged me quickly and took the bread from my hands, slicing off some pieces. I smiled and headed over to the grandparents, turning on the television.

"Anything new today?" I asked them.

"Not today," Grandpa Joe answered me. "It's been the same news about the weather."

Just then, I heard the door open and close. Mr. Bucket's voice carried throughout the small house. "Evening, Buckets!"

Grandpa Joe replied, "Evening."

Charlie, who came to sit next to me, called back, "Hi, Dad!"

Mr. Bucket waved at him and walked into the kitchen to greet Mrs. Bucket. Mrs. Bucket told him quietly, "Soup's almost ready, darling."

She gave him a light peck on the cheek in greeting. Returning her focus to the soup, she asked him, "Er, don't suppose there's anything extra to put in, love?"

I leaned on the door frame to the kitchen, and watched them, smiling softly. Mr. Bucket shrugged slightly, and Mrs. Bucket sighed. "Oh well. Nothing goes better with cabbage than cabbage."

Mr. Bucket turned and smiled at me, hugging me tightly. "Mary, how are you?"

"I'm splendid! I bought us a loaf for a side tonight. Thought we should have a little treat," I said. He beamed at me. Charlie leaped up and hugged his father. He then went to the table, pulling out his school books and starting on his homework.