The Wedding of the Elder Brother
The strip of sky above the horizon had already turned pink, and soon the sun would rise. Everyone in the train compartment was asleep except for Edmund, who lay on the top bunk, watching the new day begin. Scattered villages and empty platforms flashed by outside. Would he really be home so soon?
The door slid open, and the conductor peered in.
“Your stop in half an hour,” she murmured. “Two-minute halt.” Then she shut the door softly.
Edmund heard her rousing other passengers nearby. He turned back to the window, but the dawn had lost its magic. He sat up, then swung down lightly. The man on the lower bunk sighed and turned to the wall.
Edmund grabbed his towel and stepped into the corridor. Most compartment doors were ajar in the stifling heat, and passengers stirred within. The lavatory was occupied, so he leaned against the window, his thoughts drifting. Four years since he’d been home. No one expected him—he’d wanted it to be a surprise. Now he questioned that choice. His own nerves had kept him awake all night. What would his mother do when she saw him at the door?
Since his father’s death, her health had been fragile. Joy could shake her as much as grief. He should’ve at least called his brother, Arthur—let him prepare her.
Back in the compartment, Edmund dressed, slung his rucksack over his shoulder, and checked the bunk for forgotten things. Then he stood by the corridor window, waiting.
Arthur. Mother always called him by his full name. After Father died, he’d taken his place in the family—her confidant, her pride. Edmund had always been “Ed,” the scamp, the troublemaker. He’d often wondered if she loved Arthur more. But Father had preferred Ed.
“Where do you get this from?” she’d sigh at his notebook, scrawled with misbehavior reports.
“Someone’s got to be the fool in the family. Like in the stories. Don’t worry—you’ll be proud of me someday.”
Arthur had left school with top marks, breezed into university to study economics. Mother praised him endlessly, holding him up as an example. Ed, meanwhile, loved football, piratical adventures, and dreams of traveling.
Her adoration of Arthur rankled. When she extolled his virtues, Ed rebelled—if only to prove he wouldn’t follow in his brother’s footsteps. Even the hand-me-down clothes irked him. Why buy new trousers when Arthur’s were barely worn?
After graduation, Ed enlisted. The army was tough at first, but he made friends—one even convinced him to head north for work. When he called to tell Mother, she wept, begged him to return. Arthur scolded him down the line. But Ed stood firm.
Why should he live Arthur’s life? His father would’ve understood.
He called home rarely, claiming all was well, though he couldn’t visit—too much to do. Now, four years later, as the train slowed into London, the ache for home surprised him.
He’d saved enough for a flat, furnished it decently—respectable enough to bring a girl home. But love had eluded him. A dalliance with a bookkeeper named Clara ended when he learned she was married. Heartache drove him home.
The platform outside teemed with early commuters. Edmund adjusted his rucksack and stepped into the city. The sun climbed higher, promising a scorching day.
The streets were familiar yet changed. He imagined Arthur still at home, Mother opening the door—gasping, embracing him. How he’d missed her.
At the door of the flat, he hesitated, then rang the bell.
A sleepy-eyed woman in a dressing gown squinted at him, then clutched the doorframe as recognition dawned.
“Ed! Why didn’t you call?”
“Wanted to surprise you.”
She cupped his face, tearful. “You’ve changed! Are you back for good? Oh—you must be starving.”
The kitchen smelled of fried eggs and toast. He devoured the meal while she watched, smiling. Then the doorbell chimed.
A young woman stood outside—petite, golden-haired. “We’ll come for supper, then! Arthur’s brother’s home?”
She caught sight of Ed and blushed. “I’ll ring Arthur straightaway—he’ll be thrilled!”
When the door closed, Ed frowned. “Who was that?”
“Arthur’s fiancée. Eleanor. From upstairs—remember old Mrs. Whitby’s granddaughter?”
“Pretty,” Ed mused.
“Hands off. They’re marrying next month.”
That evening, Arthur arrived, broader-shouldered now, with a neatly trimmed beard. They embraced, clapping each other’s backs.
Over supper, Ed stole glances at Eleanor. Their eyes met too often. She didn’t suit Arthur—too bright for his staidness.
The next day, he found her carrying groceries. “Need help?”
They sat on a bench. “You and Arthur—I don’t see it. He’s dull as dishwater.”
She laughed. “He was kind when my parents died. Helped with everything. I couldn’t refuse him.”
“Gratitude isn’t love.”
“I do love him,” she insisted, standing.
Ed let her go. But he wouldn’t let this wedding happen.
Days passed in secret meetings. On the eve of the ceremony, he bought a train ticket.
“You should leave,” Mother said. “I know what you’re plotting.”
He found Eleanor struggling with bags. “Let me help. Arthur’s too busy, I see.”
She faltered when he mentioned his departure. “Stay for the wedding.”
“I can’t watch you marry him. Come with me.”
For a moment, doubt flickered in her eyes. Then she shook her head. “I won’t betray him.”
“Meet me at midnight if you change your mind.”
She didn’t.
At the station, he hesitated. The wedding car was already parked outside when he returned.
Arthur emerged with Eleanor in white. Ed stepped forward.
“You didn’t leave.” Arthur grinned.
Ed ignored him. “She doesn’t love you. She’s marrying you out of gratitude.”
Arthur turned to Eleanor. She looked away.
The ceremony went ahead—but with Ed as groom.
On the train north, the conductor chuckled. “A wedding on the rails! First in my thirty years.”
That night, wrapped in his jumper, Eleanor laughed. “Will I live in this forever?”
Ed kissed her. “We’ll buy you something proper tomorrow.”
Six years later, at Mother’s funeral, Ed and Arthur reconciled. Eleanor, heavy with their second child, stayed home. Arthur never married. He promised to visit for the christening.
