The Husband by Bequest
A tall, robust woman with a booming voice stepped out of the train compartment. In no time, she sent away every rowdy soul who was disturbing the travellers peace. It was impressive to see even the most brazen lads obey her in a blink, as if at a word of command.
She wore her golden hair in thick plaits wound about her head, her eyes bright blue and her cheeks flushed with health. Glancing towards the lavatory, she just caught sight of a small, slender man darting out, his hair white as dandelion fluff, and a face as open and gentle as a childs.
“Arthur! Id lost you! Hear the commotion out here, the stewardess is too wary to come near. I wondered how you were doing. Folk like these would pick on a person for nothing at all!” she exclaimed.
“Oh, Vera dear! Id have sorted them out, you know. Why did you step out, Vera? Youre a lady, after all!” Arthur smiled shyly and whisked himself into their compartment.
Vera cast her eyes over me and a couple of bored passengers. Clearly, she saw no threat to herself or her husband and disappeared soon after.
Later, we met again in the dining car.
There were no empty seats, so I joined her at her table. Her husband was nowhere about. Once shed polished off her roast beef and potatoes, the woman declared in her resounding voice, “The names Vera Andrews. Just Vera.”
“Are you on your own? Will your husband join you later?”
“Hes resting. Wont be coming. Ive wrapped his throat up with a scarf, given him a good glass of cranberry squash. Imagine, catching ill on a journey! Thats Arthur for you. He popped outside to shake out a rug in just his jumper. I should have kept a closer watch,” she replied.
“You must really love him. I saw you step out when you thought it was rough lads outsidereally, it was you keeping him safe, not the other way around. And the way you speak of him, with such fondness.”
“Ah, Arthurs only my husband by bequest. Hes not really mine, though we live together. Hes still grieving. His first wife, shes only just passed away. A wonderful ladyso kind,” Vera sighed.
“By bequest?”
And so Vera began her tale.
Arthur had lived his whole life with Lydia. Theyd been sweethearts since grammar school, then attended university together, and at last they married.
He was dreadfully clevercould invent just about anything. Work came his way with no trouble, and they wanted for nothing. But in the ordinary ways of life, Arthur was rather hopeless. Hed leave his change behind at the shops, cross the street in the most peculiar places, never knew what to buy or quite how to manage. Utterly naïvewould happily hand his money to any passing soul in need.
“Not quite of this world, your Arthur,” friends would say. “Its as though he landed here by mistake. I dont understand ithard as we try, we cant scrape two pennies together, but for him, fortune just flows!”
Lydia never complained. She had enough energy and sense for the both of them. Every morning, she dressed him for work, checked he had gloves, tucked up his scarf. Later, she bought a motorcar to take him into town herself, after he once gave the taxi the wrong address from daydreaming. They were a perfect fit, odd as it might seem.
But once, when Lydia took ill and had to spend a week in hospital, she arrived home to be shocked. The whole time, Arthur had nibbled on dry noodles and drunk nothing but lukewarm water. He hadnt even bothered to boil the kettle. All the food in the freezer remained untouched.
“Didnt feel like it without you. And I had no appetite,” Arthur explained, smiling.
Their son, Andrew, took after hima mind well beyond his years, but quiet and distracted. At least Andrews cleverness was appreciated. And for a wife, he found a gentle country girl named Emily, reserved and shy. Lydia, however, was still very much the matriarch. Shed made her peace with the fact shed always be holding the family together, especially once her grandson Charles was born. But suddenly, she fell ill and was laid low.
The house grew silent and somber. Arthur was lost and desperate. He called for the best doctors and was ready to pay any sum. But nothing could cure her.
Lydias heart brokenot for herself, but for her family. She braved her illness; her only worry was that her husband, her son, her grandson would be hopeless without her. Like planting an orchid in Yorkshire autumn winds and hoping it might flower!
She prayednot for herself, but that God would help Arthur, Andrew, and Charles. And then Vera appeared. She worked as a nurse and was a distant relation of the doctor looking after Lydia.
The first time Vera entered the house, it was Arthur who greeted heran almost delicate man, so quietly spoken Vera could barely hear, surrounded by piles of laundry, dishes stacked in the sink (though a dishwasher stood unused), and the air thick with misery.
On the bed lay Lydiafrail, enormous-eyed, but smiling as Vera entered. Vera set to work without a word.
By evening, the house was transformed. Every room gleamed. The windows were thrown open and the scent of pasties and roast chicken floated from the kitchen. Lydia lay on crisp sheets, at peace. Arthur, planning to scuttle out in a light jacket, was stopped in the doorway by Veras robust voice:
“Hang on! Where dyou think youre going dressed like its July? Its far too chillyyoull fall ill, and what good will you be then? Come, lets have you in this warm coat, and you do up that scarf. Mind your hat and earsright, off you go!”
In Lydias eyes, tears sparkled. The house was, at last, in order; Vera spoke so loudly and moved about as if she were in a crockery shop, but it was clear her heart was good.
“Thank Godtheyll be looked after now,” Lydia murmured.
Not long after, as things became hopeless, Lydia gathered the courage for a private word with Vera. She began in a roundabout way, asking after Veras home and life. Vera confessed she still lived in a cramped flat with her mother and sisters family, always busy at work to avoid the crowd. She wouldve moved out if she could afford it, but rent was dear. She confessed, frankly, she was forty-five and had never marriedromances, yes, but never the march down the aisle. She wasnt troubled by it; shed get on just fine alone.
And then Lydia came out with it:
“Vera, will you take care of him, when Im gone? I leave you my husbandnot in so many words, you understand, but I mean it. Look after him, I beg you. He catches cold so easily and trusts everyone.”
Vera was speechless. When she finally found her words to object, Lydia argued softly, pleading until Vera gave her word shed keep an eye on him, at least for a short while.
Not long after, Lydia passed away. At first, Vera shrugged it off. She could hear the talkfolk would say she fancied Arthur for his house. And truly, she didnt care for him in that way, nor he for her. He was like a lost lamb.
But shed made a promise, and her conscience wouldnt let her rest. So, she went to visit. No answer at the door. She pushed it open; it was unlocked. There, on the floor of what had been Lydias room, sat Arthur, clutching his late wifes dressing gown, sobbing like a dog abandoned by its master, shaking from grief. Vera rushed to his side. When he saw her, he gripped her hand and wept.
“There, there… you poor thing. Lydia was right. Youre lost, arent you? Lets have some tea, shall we? Well muddle through, youll see,” Vera soothed.
She had a soft heart, that Vera. Soon enough, the home was lively again. Arthur waited for her by the door at every visit, eager for company.
“In the end, I decided to move in. No sense leaving him on his own. My family were only pleasedmore room for them. I didnt get a husband really, but a clever, helpless grown child. With money, though, theres never been a problem; he made me give up my jobsnursing in two or three places at once. People gossiped. But I soon silenced them: folk pick up stray dogs and cats off the street, dont they? A person can be just as helpless and abandonedlike a tortoise flipped onto its back, told to run. Hows he to live? Ill help as long as I can. Arthurs a good soulkind and gentle. We need each other, after all! Were off to his sons nowhes asked for help with the little one! And Im only glad to. Id mind ten children, if it came to it!” Vera finished.
Just then, the dining car door swung open. Arthur entered, clutching a bunch of wildflowers, scarf wound round and round his neck.
“Why are you up? Youre still poorly! Cant leave you alone for five minutesyoure sweating, time for a change of clothes!” And off Vera marched, husband by the arm in tow.
Arthur, meanwhile, murmured, “Vera! I bought you some flowers from the grandmas at the stationdo you like them?”
Veras cheeks flushed rosier than ever, and she slipped her hand onto his shoulder.
They left the train before the rest of us, Vera shouldering a huge suitcase, Arthur with a small bag, and her guiding hand always on the back of his coat through the bustling crowdlest he get lost. They grinned as they went, bright as a pair of suns, and it was plain to allshe would, in the end, be truly his second wife.
