ONE TRUE LOVE
On the day of my wifes funeral, I didnt shed a single tear. It was the talk of the village that morning. Just look at that, I told you he never truly loved Emily, I overheard Mrs. Thatcher whispering to her neighbour, Mrs. Green.
Hush now. What does it matter anymore? His poor children, orphaned with a father like that, muttered Mrs. Green back.
Youll see, hell end up marrying Lucy, mark my words, Mrs. Thatcher said confidently.
Lucy? Why her? Its Abigail hes always loved, surely you havent forgotten their little meetings behind the stables? Lucys got her own family, she wouldnt go near him now, Mrs. Green replied.
You sound sure of yourself.
Course I am. Lucys husband is one of the top lads in the village. Why would she want George and his two children? Shes got her head screwed on. But that Abigails had nothing but trouble with her husband Simon. You watch, theyll be up to their old ways again, Mrs. Thatcher concluded.
Emily was laid to rest. The twins held hands tightly, so close they could hardly be separated. Michael and Molly, both eight, were all we had left in this world. Emily had married me for love, but whether I loved her in return, she never quite knew, and neither did the rest of the village.
Rumour was, shed fallen pregnant and Id had no choice but to marry her. Our first, little Sophie, came early and didnt live long. After that, there were no children for many years, and I grew more withdrawn, saying little. People called me Old Badger. That was my nickname, earned because I was quiet with my words, even stingier with affectionno one knew this more than Emily.
Yet God must have had some mercy left for us. Only He knows how many prayers that poor woman said in those silent nights. Then, out of nowhere, He gave us twinsa boy and a girl.
Michael took after his mother, kind and gentle, while Molly was all me: reticent, guarded, revealing nothing of what went on in her young mind. She seemed closer to me for it, always hanging near when I worked in the shed, listening to my stories and lessons. Michael stayed with Emily, always helping around the housesweeping, fetching water with his tiny bucket, always trying to help, though he was small.
Emily loved both our children fiercely, but had a special bond with Michael, never quite understanding Mollys quiet ways. When Emily was dying, she spoke to Michael.
Son, Ill not be here much longer. Youll be the man now. Be good to your sister. Shell rely on you. Shes a girlshe needs looking after. Promise me youll protect her.
And Dad? Michael asked.
What, love? Emily struggled to understand.
Will Dad protect us?
I dont know, son. Only time will tell.
Then dont die, Mum. How will we cope without you? Michael wept.
Oh, if only it were up to me, Emily said softly. By morning, she was gone.
I sat by her side, holding her hand. There were no words, not a single tear. I just shrank in on myself, felt the world turn dark and heavy. That was it.
Life settled into a kind of pattern. Molly took on the housecooking, tidying up, though she was just a little girl. My sister, Aunt Natalie, came by, helping her learn how to keep the home going.
Aunt Natalie, Molly asked one day, is Dad going to get married again?
I dont know, poppet, Natalie replied. He never tells me whats in his heart.
Natalie had her own familyher husband Alan and their children. A good, loving household.
If something happens, would you take us in? Molly persisted.
Dont talk such nonsense. Your father loves you, he wouldnt let anyone harm you, Aunt Natalie assured her.
All the while, the village was buzzing with talk that the old flame between me and Abigail had sparked up again.
That Abigails lost her head, Mrs. Thatcher gossiped, shes sneaking around with George, forgetting her own family.
Daft woman, that Abigail, another muttered outside the village shop.
Alright, women, enough trouble-making, said Councillor Mark Edwards, head of the parish council, scattering the gathering.
Youre all too eager to stir up stories you know nothing about, he added sternly in my defence.
It was trueI had cared for Abigail once, enough to fill the pages of a romance. But Id been sent off to another county to help out on struggling farms for a couple of months. When I came back, shed taken up with Simon Harris, and that was that. We never spoke again after I gave Simon a well-deserved black eye.
She married Simon in the end, though he was a layabout, fond of the bottle, always chasing other women. Abigail often wept for losing a good man. I never drank and worked hard, but I was a quiet soul.
That was when folks noticed me paying more attention to Emily. She blossomed under my gaze, brighter than anyone could recall.
See what love does for a person, they all said.
Emily had loved me for ages, but kept it quiet with Abigail always around. Life, though, takes its own path.
We ended up together, simply enough, and married in the village hall. It was a modest celebrationjust my sister and Emilys elderly mum. Folks whispered about her mother, knowing whod fathered Emily, but kept it to themselves. The chairman then, Walter Pearson, had taken a shine to Emilys mum. She was a beauty, but never married and was never well liked, known for chasing after men and living for herself. Emily, though, was nothing like her.
People pitied Emily, especially when she married me.
Poor lass, hell never love her. Shell have a hard life with that one, Mrs. Harris would sigh.
But strangely, I was faithful. Everyone in the village seemed certain, as if you could hide anything in a place like ours.
We lived together for fifteen years without a single row. The years ticked by, until Emily fell ill last winter. A terrible sickness, no hope of cure.
It was hopeless.
That day, walking home from work, Abigail caught up to me.
George, mind if I pop in for a chat? Baked some scones for your little ones, she said, waving a tin.
No need, Abigail, Natalie baked for us yesterday, I replied.
But I made these out of kindness, George.
So did my sister, Abigail.
She grew more insistent. Lets meet by the old mill after dark?
What for?
Dont you remember everything we were to each other? She seemed surprised.
That was long ago. My heart belongs to my children. It belongs to Emily.
But shes gone, George, Abigail replied.
But love doesnt die, I told her quietly.
You never loved her. You only married her to spite me.
Go home, Abigail, I said softly.
I hurried away, never looking back, to where my children were waiting.
Abigail stood there in the dusk, alone on the village green.
Years passed. The children grew up. Aunt Natalie still visited, firm in her conviction that her brother was a one-woman man.
Molly, I hear youve been spending time with young Tom Warren, Aunt Natalie said to Molly as soon as she walked through the door.
Thats right. Why? Molly answered, a grown woman now, strikingly pretty.
Just asking, be careful with him.
Careful why?
You know why, dont pretend you dont, Aunt Natalie replied, sternly.
Aunt Natalie, I adore himits for life, it really is.
You only think it is, love.
Im sure. I know it.
You may be sure, but what about Tom?
If Tom ever betrayed me, I could never love anyone again, Molly declared.
That, I believe, Aunt Natalie said gently.
That evening, Michael and Molly waited for me to return home from work.
Dads late, Michael said.
Its Friday, thats why, Molly replied.
So?
He always visits Mums grave Wednesday, Friday and on weekends.
How do you know that? Michael asked, eyebrows raised.
Silly, if you knew Dads heart, youd understand.
In the quiet, they slipped away to the churchyard. Molly led Michael along a secret path through the gardens.
There, look, she said, pointing to my huddled figure.
Michael listenedthey heard me talking to someone, my voice rough.
Well, Emily, thats how things stand. Mollys to be married soon, Ive put together her trousseau with Natalies help. Were getting by. Forgive me, love, for not saying kinder things while you were here. But my heart said them all along. Im no good with wordsI love with my whole heart, I whispered, turning to leave the graveyard slowly.
Molly looked at Michaeltears shining in his eyes.
That night, as I sat in the empty kitchen warming my hands by the fire, I finally understood something: Love isnt always spoken out, but it can fill a whole life in the quietest ways. Its in what you do, not just the words you say.
