Love Is Not for Show
Annabel steps out of the cottage, carrying a heavy bucket of feed for the pigs, and marches sternly past her husband, George, who has spent the last three days tinkering with the well. He wants to carve it so it’s decorative, as if hes nothing better to do! Her husband stands with a chisel in hand, covered in shavings, grinning at her as she bustles about feeding the animals. What sort of husband has fate given her? He never says a sweet word, never bangs his fist on the table, just works in silence, and now and again comes over to look into her eyes and run his hand gently over her thick blonde braidthats all she ever gets for affection. Oh, how she wishes hed call her my darling, or my swan
Annabel ponders her lot as a woman and nearly trips over old Buster, the dog, who lies snoozing by the gate. Instantly George springs forward, steadies his wife, and shoots a stern glance at the dog.
Keep out from underfoot, or youll put the mistress in a plaster cast, he scolds.
Buster, eyes apologetic, slinks off to his kennel. Annabel marvels again at how well animals understand her husband. She once asked George about it, and he just replied, I care for animals, and they give me the same in return.
Annabel dreams of love too, of being swept off her feet, whispered sweet nothings, and waking to find a daisy left on her pillow each morning But George is so sparing in affection that she sometimes doubts he even loves her at all.
Good day, neighbours, calls out Peter, poking his head over the hedgerow. George, are you still mucking about with that? Wholl notice your fancy carvings?
I want my children to grow up seeing beauty and learning from it, George answers.
Aye, but youve got to have children first, laughs Peter, winking at Annabel.
George glances wistfully at his wife, Annabel, who blushes and hurries indoors. She’s not eager to have children yetshes still young, pretty, and wants to live for herself a little longer, especially as her husband is neither one thing nor the other. And oh, what a man the neighbour is! Tall, broad-shoulderedGeorge is perfectly decent, but Peter is quite the charmer! Whenever he meets her by the gate, he speaks softly, his words as gentle as summer rain: Rosebud, my shining sun Her heart flutters and her knees grow weak, yet Annabel always rushes away, not succumbing to Peters advances. She married George and promised to be a loyal wife; her parents lived together in harmony for years and taught her to cherish her family.
Yet, why does she so crave a glance from Peter over the fence?
Next morning, Annabel drives the cows to pasture and, at the gate, bumps into Peter.
Annabel, my dove, why do you always avoid me? Are you frightened? I cant take my eyes off youmy head spins when youre near. Come to mine at dawn, once your George is off fishing. Ill shower you in affection and make you the happiest woman in the village.
Annabel flushes bright red, her cheeks ablaze, heart pounding, but she says nothing and hastens past him.
Ill wait for you, he calls after her.
All day, Annabel cant stop thinking about him. She yearns for love and tenderness, and Peter is handsome and looks at her so warmlybut she simply cant bring herself to cross that line. Still, dawn is a long way off, and perhaps…
That evening George fires up the old English bathhouse, inviting Peter to join him. Peters delightedless work, no firewood to waste at his! They swap birch switches, busily swatting at each other in a cloud of steam, grunting with pleasure. After bathing, they step into the dressing room to cool off. Annabel herself brings in a decanter of home-brewed gin and lays on a spread, then remembers a jar of gherkins in the larder. She fetches some pickles and is about to return, when through the crack in the door she overhears their conversation and pauses to listen.
Whats wrong with you, George? Peter murmurs. Come on, youre missing out. The widows there will spoil you rotten, and theyre beauties! Not like your Annabela drab little mouse.
No, mate, Annabel hears Georges voice, quiet but firm, I dont want any beauties, I dont even want to think of it. My wife isnt a little mouse; shes the most wonderful woman on this earth. There isnt a flower, not one berry, finer than her. When I look at her, I cant even see the sunjust her beloved eyes and slender waist. Love overwhelms me like a river in spring, but Im no good with words, cant tell her how madly I love her. She feels hurt for it, I know… Im to blame, I fear losing her, because if she ever left me, I couldnt breathe, couldnt last a single day without her.
Annabel stands frozen, tears rolling down her cheek, heart drumming in her chest. Then, head held high, she strides into the dressing room and declares,
Off you go, Petercheer up your widows, weve got more important things to do here. Theres still nobody to appreciate the beauty George is carving. Forgive me, my dear husband, for my foolish thoughts and blindness. I held happiness in my hands and never noticed. Come, lets not waste another moment
At dawn the next day, George doesnt go fishing.
