On the day his wife was laid to rest, Frederick Turner felt not a single tear slip down his cheek. You see, whispered Tess, his nextdoor neighbour, I told you he never loved Zoe. Hush now, Lily hissed, what does it matter now? Their children are orphans under such a father. Hell surely marry Katie, Lily promised Tess. Katie? Whats she to him? Gwen is his true lovedid you forget how they used to wander the hayfields together? Katie will never get involved; she has a family already and has long since forgotten him. Do you really know? asked Tess. Of course, Lily replied. Katies husband is a war veteran, she doesnt need Fredericks brood. Shes practical. As for Gwen, shes tormented by her own Mike; theyll soon start a tangled romance.
Zoes funeral was a quiet affair; the children clutched each others hands tightly. Milo and Polly had just turned eight. Zoe had married Frederick out of a great affection, though no one in the villagenor she herselfknew whether he ever returned that love. Rumour had it she fell pregnant, which forced Frederick to take her as his wife. Their first child, a sevenmonthold girl named Clara, lived only a brief spell, and for years Zoe and Frederick remained childless. Frederick was a solemn, terse man, nicknamed Bramble by those who dared call him that, his mouth as closed as a shut gate, his affection even more so. Everyone, especially Zoe, knew this. Yet some unseen grace had touched her; she prayed often, and the heavens granted her twin babies at last.
Polly and Milo were twins. Milo inherited his mothers gentle, tender nature; Polly took after her father, a quiet, lockedaway soul who never let words escape. She sealed herself behind a hundred locks and kept her thoughts hidden. No one could guess what drifted behind her eyes, though she seemed closer to her father, their temperaments alike. Often Frederick would be in the barn, sawing or scraping, while Polly fluttered around him, listening to his halftold stories, learning about life. Milo lingered by his mother, sweeping the floor, fetching water with a tiny bucket, offering any help he could muster. Zoe adored both children, but she could not fathom Pollys coldness, while she adored Milo with her whole heart. When Zoe lay dying she whispered to Milo, Son, Ill be gone soon. Youll be the man of the house. Do not hurt your sister; protect her. Shes a girl, weaker, and needs your care.
What about Father? Milo asked. What? Zoe seemed not to hear. Will Father protect us? I dont know, boy. Life will tell. Then dont die, what would we do without you? Milo sobbed. If it were up to me, Id stay, Zoe said thoughtfully, and by morning she was gone.
Frederick stood beside his wifes empty body, hand still clutching hers, no tears, no words. He hunched, his shoulders bowed, his skin darkening as if the grief had seeped into his marrow. That was all.
Life slipped back into its ordinary rhythm. Polly took on the role of keeping the cottage; she tried to cook, to tidy, though she was still too young. Aunt Natalie, Fredericks sister, visited often, helping Polly with chores and teaching her the ways of the house. Aunt Natalie, Polly asked one afternoon, is Father going to marry again? I cant read his mind, love, Natalie replied, perhaps he will, perhaps not. Natalie had her own husband, Victor, and a bustling family of her own. If anything happens, will you take us in? Polly pressed. Dont imagine that, Natalie warned. Your father loves you and will never let anyone hurt you.
Meanwhile, gossip swirled through the village like autumn leaves. Folks whispered that Fredericks old flame, Gwen, had rekindled her affection for him. Gwen has gone mad with tea, Tess muttered, shes tangled with Frederick again and forgotten her own family. What a foolish woman, the market women scoffed. The chairman of the parish council, Mr. Max Leonard, dismissed the chatter, You gossipers rot the bones of the community. You dont even know your neighbours.
It was true that Frederick and Gwen had once loved fiercely, enough to write verses in their heads. Then Frederick was sent to a faroff county to aid a struggling farm cooperative, staying two months while Gwen became involved with Mike Cherry, a local rogue. When Frederick returned and learned of the affair, he gave Mike a good, hard look and cut all ties with Gwen. Gwen eventually married Mike, a wild man who spent his days drinking and chasing women, while Gwen wept for the loss of a steady, silent husband. Frederick, a sober, hardworking man, remained a man of few words.
Soon the village began to notice Fredericks lingering glances toward Zoes memory, as if she were a bluebell blooming in the fields, impossible to ignore. Love makes people do strange things, the villagers muttered. Zoe had long adored Frederick, keeping her feelings secret, fearing the wrath of Gwen. Yet, as life often does, it tangled their paths. They met secretly, walked together, and eventually signed the register at the parish council. Their wedding was modest; Fredericks only surviving relative was Aunt Natalie, while Zoes mother, an elderly woman named Margaret, had given birth to Zoe late in life. The village council was chaired by Victor Proctor, who had once been involved with Zoes mother, a striking woman named Olivia who never married. The villagers pitied Zoe, especially when she wed Frederick. What a tragedy, sighed old Mrs. Penelope Hart, he does not love her, she will suffer all her life. Yet, oddly enough, Frederick proved faithful, and the villagers, though skeptical, could not imagine a secret hidden in the quiet English countryside.
For fifteen years they lived together without a single quarrel, and the villagers gradually relaxed their suspicions, until Zoe fell ill one bitter winter. The illness was grave, a wasting disease from which there is little hope. On the day Frederick returned from the fields, Tess called out, Freddie, may I pop round for a spell? Ive baked some scones for the children. No, Tess, thank you, Frederick replied. Weve already got biscuits from Natalie. Im just thinking of you, Fred, Tess persisted. And my sister, too. Freddie, lets meet at the mill at dusk, Tess urged. Why? he asked. Did you forget everything between us? she gasped. Whats past is overgrown now. I love my children. I love Zoe. Shes gone, Tess whispered. Love never dies, Frederick answered. You didnt love her. You married her just to spite me. Gwen, go home, Frederick said softly, and hurried away, never looking back, his children waiting at the doorway. Gwen stood alone in the middle of the village lane.
Years slipped by; the children grew. Aunt Natalie still visited, now fully aware that her brother was a onehearted man. Polly, I heard youre seeing Graham Crowe, she said as she entered the cottage. Yes. So what? Polly replied, a hint of pride in her voice. Just be careful, Natalie warned. You know why. I love him forever, Polly declared. Thats just you thinking itll last. Im sure, Natalie replied. And Graham? If he ever betrays me, Ill never love anyone again. Thats my belief, Natalie said.
One evening Milo and Polly waited for their father to come home. Dads late, Milo muttered. Its Friday. What of it? He always visits Moms grave on Wednesdays, Fridays, and weekends. How do you know? Milo asked, eyebrows shooting up. Youre a fool if you dont hear his heart. They slipped quietly to the cemetery, Polly leading him along a hidden garden path. Look, she said, pointing to a hunched figure at the grave. Milo listened as his father whispered, Zoe, thats how it goes. Soon Polly will marry. Ive gathered a dowry, thanks to Natalie. Forgive me, my dear Zoe, for saying few sweet words in life. My heart has spoken louder than my tongue. He shuffled away, his voice raspy, his steps slow toward the iron gates. Polly glanced at Milo; tears glazed his eyes.
