**Farewell**
The deafening darkness of night faded, bringing the inevitable moment of parting ever closer. Dawn approached. Evelyn had sat by her late husband’s coffin all night, lost in memories of her life with William. Both had grown old together.
“Seventy-six years—William might’ve lived longer if not for the illness,” Evelyn thought to herself. She was three years younger.
“You were a good husband and father, Will,” she murmured aloud as daylight revealed his face more clearly than the flickering candlelight had. “Loyal, above all—and God knows there were temptations… Oh, how swiftly life passes.”
All night, memories had stirred her soul like pages turned in a book—chapter after chapter of sorrow and joy. Fifty-three years together was no small thing.
When William realised he wouldn’t rise again, he kept telling her, “Evie, this is God punishing me for my sins. I must’ve lived wrong, thought wrong.” But she soothed him.
“Don’t blame yourself, Will. You lived a good life—no drinking, no nonsense like some. You loved me and our daughter. You don’t even know what you’re saying—what sins?” He’d listen and grow calm.
Morning came. In the kitchen, their daughter Margaret bustled about. She’d arrived alone from London—divorced long ago—while her own daughter, Evelyn’s granddaughter, had just had her second baby and couldn’t come. No farewell from her, then. Still, she’d spent every childhood summer here.
Margaret had been the only one to survive. Two others had died—one after a day, the other a week. Evelyn had clung to her, protecting her fiercely. But God let Margaret live.
Before finishing school, she’d announced, “Mum, Dad—I’m leaving for the city after school. I don’t want to stay in the village. I know I’m your only child and should care for you in your old age, but life’s more exciting out there.”
“Fine by me,” William said at once. Evelyn lifted the corner of her headscarf to her eyes, fighting tears.
“Oh, love, how will we manage without you?” she almost wept—but William shot her a stern look.
“Let her make her way, Mother. No point keeping her here. Let her rise in the world—we’ve enough milkmaids without her.”
Evelyn agreed in her heart, but letting Margaret go alone terrified her. Off she went, studied at college, became a shop manager, married, and never returned to the family roof.
Evelyn and William spent most of their years working on the farm, living peacefully. In their old age, they’d host their granddaughter each summer—until she grew up and forgot the way. Her own life now, though the grandparents missed her dearly.
“She loved haymaking, then splashing in the river,” Evelyn smiled faintly, recalling how the girl squealed when William carried her into the water, teaching her to swim. And she learned, too…
“Mum, what is it?” Margaret had slipped in unnoticed.
“Oh, just remembering. Sit with me—let’s say goodbye to your father quietly before the neighbours arrive. They’ll crowd in soon—everyone respected him. Never did harm, only helped. They’ll all come.”
Margaret sat beside her mother, leaning into her embrace.
“It’s good you look so much like him, love. Time will blur his face in my memory, but I’ll still see him in you,” Evelyn said wistfully, swaying gently.
“Mum… how did you and Dad meet? We’ve never talked about it.”
“Well, Margie… it was odd. He latched onto me the moment he saw me in town—stuck like glue for life.”
“How? What were you doing there?”
“I worked on the farm, always a top worker. They sent me to a county meeting for achievers—I even got a certificate and a little wristwatch. None of the village girls had one! Such joy. They took us on a tour—fascinating, women from all over, a few men too.
Then we went to the canteen. That’s where I met your dad. He wouldn’t stop staring—made me uneasy. Tall, handsome, but shabby clothes. Unwashed, messy. I figured no woman cared for him. Truth was, young lads were scarce in our village—off to the army or city, never returning…”
Evelyn sighed deeply, reliving it. As she left the table, a man’s voice spoke beside her:
“Take me with you. I’m William—and you?”
“Evelyn,” she said sharply. “You don’t even know where I live—some backwater. You’d trade city life for that?” She laughed.
“I’ll go. A bachelor like me? I’ll come, Evie,” he said—and called her that ever after.
And he *did* go. She’d liked him at once. He arrived at her village, marched to her parents, and declared:
“Good day. I ask for your daughter’s hand. Forgive the haste, but I’ve no house, no land. Yet I’m taken with Evie. I’ll be a devoted husband.”
Her parents were stunned.
“Margaret, we sent you to a meeting, and you’ve brought a groom home?” her father said.
“It just happened,” she murmured. “But I’ll have him.”
They agreed, set the wedding for Saturday. Her parents saw he was decent and prepared. Village weddings then were simple—neighbours of all ages feasting outdoors. Then came the routines of married life.
Evelyn was happy. Walking with William, she’d hear whispers:
“Where’d Evie snag *him*? Handsome devil—men like that either chase skirts or have skirts chasing *them*.”
“Just wait—soon enough, he’ll stray. Too pretty to resist,” old Agatha would mutter.
Word got back, but they ignored it. William had eyes only for her.
Children came hard—two lost, then Margaret, strong and healthy.
“Evie, how I love our girl—how I love *you*. Had I not met you that day… it was like lightning struck me toward you. No other woman exists for me.”
She believed him.
Yet—temptations arose. Once, haymaking, Evelyn noticed Fanny—the village flirt—hovering near William. Beautiful, widowed young when her husband drowned.
Women loathed Fanny. She lured men with homemade gin, endured hair-pulling from wives, yet thrived. She’d marked William at the wedding.
“Fine man, that Will. Where’d she find him? No matter—I’ll get to him.”
Evelyn saw Fanny’s bold touches, whispers: *”Meet me past the barn tonight… You’ll learn what heat is.”*
William worked on, silent. Unmoved, he’d glance at Evelyn and smile. Saw how Fanny’s antics irked her.
After haymaking, they bathed in the river—sticky with sweat and chaff. Fanny trailed him, sulking.
*What’s he see in Evie? I’m prettier, hotter.*
In the river, she grabbed his arm, splashing, flirting:
“Will, if I drowned, would you save me?”
“Why should I?” he said gruffly. “I’ve someone to watch over.” He nodded to Evelyn, who smiled her secret smile—known only to him.
Evelyn’s heart quivered: *What if he yields? Fanny’s a master at stealing men.*
But William never glanced Fanny’s way. She tried again—lingering after work, offering drinks—but he passed by, polite, barely smirking.
“Will… I love you for resisting Fanny,” Evelyn once said.
“Evie, I promised you—and your parents—I’d be true. Life’s nothing without you.”
“That was our love, Margie. And you’re just as fair—spitting image. Oh, the joker he was…”
In age, William went blind—one eye left.
“Once, he went to hospital in the next town—blizzard raging,” Evelyn recalled. “I knew he’d not return that night. Snowed in—no buses. I lay awake, dawn near, when a knock came. Opened to a snow-clad figure: *‘Ma’am… what village is this?’* Eyes wild. It was William—walked miles through the storm. How he found the road, I’ll never know.”
Mother and daughter sat embracing by the coffin, weeping softly. Soon, neighbours filled the house. So they bade farewell.
After the funeral, Margaret left. Evelyn stayed, aching. She’d hear William’s steps, see him sipping tea. She’d whisper:
“He won’t leave me long. He’ll come for me—knows I’m lost without him.”
**Lesson:** Love worn true leaves no room for regret—only the quiet wait for reunion.
