THE ACCURSED LOVE
“What happens now?” asked Elsie anxiously, more to herself than to her sweetheart.
“What do you mean? I’ll send the matchmakers over. Be ready,” he replied coolly.
…Elsie returned from the rendezvous (the one that would turn her life upside down) giddy and mysterious. She recounted every detail to her two younger sisters—how she’d met Borislav in the hayloft, how he’d promised to marry her come autumn, after the harvest.
The sisters knew Elsie was madly in love. And after such an intimate evening, surely he’d propose properly now?
Yet… the fields lay bare, the barns were full, Christmas loomed—and still no sign of the matchmakers.
Elsie’s mother, Aunt Hattie, noticed the change in her eldest. Usually cheerful, Elsie grew melancholy and oddly round in places. A heart-to-heart followed. After Elsie’s tearful confession, Aunt Hattie decided to confront the would-be son-in-law herself—and ask why those matchmakers kept getting lost.
She marched to the next village, where Borislav lived. His mother answered the door, clueless about her son’s misdeeds. Aunt Hattie didn’t hold back. Soon, both women were fuming. Borislav, when cornered, scoffed:
“How should I know if the kid’s even mine? Plenty of lads in the village. Should I claim every brat as my own?”
Aunt Hattie stormed out, hissing one final curse: “May you marry a dozen times, you wretch!”
Perhaps the heavens heard. Borislav went on to marry four times.
Elsie read the bad news on her mother’s face. Aunt Hattie laid down the law: “Not a word to your father. You’ll go to your aunt in Leeds. Leave the baby at the hospital. The village gossips would never let us live it down otherwise. We’ll manage.”
Aunt Hattie’s husband, Denis, was the village schoolmaster—respected, stern, fair. The thought of his daughter turning up with a fatherless child? Scandalous! So off Elsie went. To Denis, Hattie lied: “She’s old enough to work in the city. She’s twenty, for heaven’s sake.”
But secrets have wings. Eventually, the truth reached Denis. He erupted: “You sent my granddaughter to an orphanage? Bring her home. Now.”
Hattie never expected such fury—though she’d cried herself to sleep all year, too terrified to visit the baby. “The berry’s sweet, but the bramble’s sharp,” she’d mutter bitterly.
…Soon, little Annie came home. The girl, nearly a year old, knew nothing of her family—a guilt Elsie would carry forever. No matter how wild Annie grew (and she did), Elsie bore it patiently.
Denis, Hattie, and Elsie raised her together. Elsie often recalled that last night with Borislav—the sweet, reckless haze of hay and youth. She still loved him, the rotter. Love’s not a potato; you can’t toss it out the window.
Elsie became a single mother. Annie, sharp-tongued and bold, mirrored Borislav in looks and temper. Elsie moved through life like a ghost. Even Annie’s laughter brought pangs. Ah, the weight of a father’s absence…
At twenty-five, Elsie caught the eye of Freddie—her “cousin” by marriage, though they’d grown up like siblings. Reluctantly, she let him court her. A woman alone had it hard, and Freddie? He’d have married her with three babies, let alone one.
They wed in a boisterous village affair, then moved to London—away from prying eyes. Freddie adopted Annie without a blink. When Elsie bore a second daughter, Lucy, he doted on them equally. Their home brimmed with warmth.
…Ten years flew by.
One summer, Annie and Lucy—along with four cousins—stayed with Granny Hattie. The old woman swelled with pride: three daughters married, six grandchildren!
While tidying the attic, a cousin stumbled upon Elsie’s old diary. The shocked girl blurted everything to Annie, who snatched the damning evidence and stormed to Granny Hattie for answers.
The truth spilled out. Annie demanded to meet her “real” father. Hattie relented, handing over Borislav’s address.
Borislav’s mother recognized Annie at once—the girl was his mirror. Over tea, she wept: “I always longed to know you, but my son forbade it…”
When Borislav finally appeared, he squinted at the sisters. “Which one’s mine?”
Annie shot back, “I *could’ve* been your daughter.”
They spoke outside. She returned seething. “He tried to pay me off!”
Granny Hattie wrung her hands. “Should we tell Freddie? Elsie?”
Annie snapped, “Freddie’s my only father.”
But she nursed the grudge, scorning Elsie for caving to shame.
Years passed. Annie and Lucy married. Annie’s eldest son was Borislav made over.
And Borislav? He never forgot Elsie. They met occasionally in London—her decked in finery, determined to prove she’d thrived without him.
She never mentioned Annie’s decade-long estrangement, or how she’d been barred from seeing her grandsons. Old sins cast long shadows.
Freddie, though—her rock, her sun—never once reproached her. “A worm in the apple doesn’t spoil the bunch,” he’d joked before their wedding. She adored him for it.
At their golden anniversary, surrounded by family, Annie pulled Elsie aside. “Forgive me, Mum. I had no right to judge.”
Borislav called too, maudlin. “Four wives, and I’ve not made fifty years with any. Why did I let you go?”
Elsie cut him off. “Because you didn’t love me. But I’m happy now. Truly.”
And she was.
