“Dont be cross with me, TanyaI wont be living with you.”
“Might we at least try, Simon?” Tanya gazed at him, barely blinking, her cheeks flushing.
“Ive said my piece, Tanya.”
Emma Birchwood was born when Simon was in first grade. He remembered her mother, Laurathe local beautywith her swollen belly and her proud father, Robert. Later, Laura would wheel a pram out the gate, and Simon would ache to peek inside. Back then, it felt like magic.
Simon grew up; little Emma did too. Soon she was dashing out in a bright dress, a big bow in her blonde hair. Shed play with friends near the garden, building makeshift houses. Simon watched from his parents house across the street, right opposite the Birchwoods.
“Simon, could you walk Emma to school?” Laura asked one day.
He agreed, and for nearly a year, he escorted young Emma. At first, they walked in silence, but Emma broke it, chattering about lessons and little stories. Her school day ended earlier, and shed wait patiently for him. Sometimes hed walk home with classmates, Emma tagging along. Soon, he got used to itwaiting by the gate each morning, taking her hand as they walked.
The next September, Emma whispered, “Can I walk with my friends now?”
From then on, the girls went ahead, Simon trailing behind, watchingready to step in if needed. And he did. One day, a hissing goose blocked the path, flapping its wings, terrifying the girls. Simon stood between them, and they scampered past, squealing.
The year after, Simon left for a bigger village with a proper school, coming home only on weekends and holidays. Emma seemed to forget him, eyes down, no hello. Later, he trained as a navigator, visiting even less.
“Mum, whos thatEmma?” Simon looked up from dinner as a tall, striking young woman stepped out of the Birchwoods gate.
“Thats our Emma!” His mother smiled, glancing out the window.
“When did she grow up?” Simon marveled.
“Time flies,” his mum sighed fondly. “Shes got the best of her parents.”
He glimpsed Emma a few more timesluckily, the net curtains hid him. Once, she carried buckets on a yoke to the pump, the wind teasing her blouse open. Another morning, she wore a smart trouser suit, off to exams. Simon even wished he could walk her again.
But the final straw was her voice. Helping his dad mend the fence, he overheard, “Youd follow that voice to the ends of the earth!”
Then, fetching water one day, he met her at the pump.
“Hello!” Emma greeted first, piercing his heart.
“Hello, Emma,” Simon stammered, suddenly shy.
The buckets filled slowly, his mind blank for conversation.
He left that time with a quiet ache. At last, hed fallen in love.
After swearing his oath, he was posted to snowy Aberdeen.
***
Next visit, Simon arrived hopeful. Maybe now hed confess She was old enough.
Day one, he slept off the journey. Then work beganhis dad had plans. They cut firewood in the forest, split and stacked it. His dad even replaced the bathhouses rotten beams, relaid the floor, then decided to redo the cowsheds flooring too. Two weeks vanished.
Simon glanced at the Birchwoods usually shut gate. Only Laura or Robert came outno Emma.
“Mum, wheres Emma?” he finally asked.
“Gone to uni. Lives in town now.”
So Simon returned to Aberdeen empty-handed.
A year later, he saw her onceand hated it. Peeking through the curtains, he watched her walk with a lanky local lad. The boy joked, laughing at himself; Emma smiled, gazing at him with a fondness that stung.
Later, Simon learned shed married him and moved to the county town.
Visiting his parents, hed see herworse, hear her.
“Simon, stop mopingyoure not a boy,” his mum said.
“Is it that obvious?”
“Clear as day. Find someone up in Aberdeenease your heart. Like they say, ‘The grass is always greener…’ Let her go.”
“I try not to think of her. But I do.”
***
Simon visited less. His job took him to distant bases. Unmarried, he had no tiestruthfully, he sought the harshest posts, as if punishing himself.
He missed his dads funeral, arriving on the ninth day. Four years later, he was late for his mums too. But the village didnt abandon its ownneighbours had handled everything.
Seeing Simon at the gate, Laura came out, handing him the key. Shed sent the telegram about his mums passing.
Next day, he tidied the graves. Then he cleared years of clutterhis parents kept everything. His mum, ill lately, had let the house go; he scrubbed it spotless. Evenings, he pored over old photos and found a yellowed newspaper folded small.
A picture of him and Emmawalking to school or home, he couldnt recall. A reporter had snapped them during harvest week, mistaking them for siblings.
Before leaving, he asked Laura and Robert to tend the house, offering them the garden. They were thrilled.
“Now Emma wont need to buy potatoes in town. That layabout husband of hers never worksno money,” Laura grumbled.
“How is she?” Simon asked carefully.
“Not well. They lodge with his aunt, barely scraping by. He drinks, bullies them”
“Why stay?”
“Love, she says. I think his aunt bewitched her!” Laura whispered. “They live off the aunts pension and Emmas wagesshe sews handbags. Sometimes they pay her in bags! What they cant sell, he drinks. Ive got a dozen. Want one?”
Simon nearly refused but took it. Well-madeif he didnt know it came from home, hed never guess. He imagined Emma stitching it.
***
After his service, Simon returned. He remodeled the housenew heating, windows, a septic tank, a well. He drove to work in a modest new car.
The village seldom saw him, just glimpses when he left for work or locked the gate. He had no friends here; old classmates were busy with their own lives.
“Oi, landlord! Back so soonand locking up?” A womans voice, vaguely familiar.
Simon, halfway through shutting the gate, turned. An older woman smiled at him.
“Hello!” He squinted, tracing familiar features.
“Dont recognise me?”
“Sorry, no.”
“Your old teacher!”
“Mrs. Thompson!” It clicked.
“Come in.” He reopened the gate.
“So youve come home?”
“Had my fill of wandering. Fancier being master of my own house.”
“Good! But no mistress, eh?”
“True enough.”
“Two of your classmates are divorced, two widowed. Fine womendecent men are scarce now.”
“Remember?” Mrs. Thompson chatted on. “Sarah and Tom got together in school, married after his service. Lasted years, then split. He left; shes still waiting for Prince Charming. Or Lisatwenty years with Mike, though he strayed. She kicked him out, runs things alone now. Tinas a widowgood man, but health failed. And Rachelher Alex died young, their lads grown…”
Simon realised hed never once thought of his classmates. Theyd meant nothing. He couldnt picture any in his home.
“Such choice you have!” Mrs. Thompsons eyes twinkled.
“Ill think on it.”
“Do. A man like you, aloneits not right.”
Finally, she left. Simon locked the gate, done with visitors.
***
Driving home one evening, Simon spotted a slender woman ahead.
“Emma?” slipped into his mind.
He slowed, stopping beside her.
“Emma! Need a lift?”
“Hello!” Her voice froze him again.
Her parents house was just ahead, but she climbed in.
“Visiting?” Hed talk about anything to keep her speaking.
“For good. Vals dead.”
“So youre a widow?”
Silence.
They stopped at her gate. Emma got up, murmuring, “Thanks”a word that echoed in him all night.
He proposed the next evening after work. Laura met him in the yard.
“Aunt Laura, is Emma in?”
“Where else would she be?”
“Ive come to ask for her hand. Loved her all my lifesince you walked her to school.”
“I know. Your mum and I talked of it. But Emma was too young, then you left. And Valrest his soulwasnt worth much.” She crossed herself. “Started drinking. Emma tried to distract him, reform him… Fired from jobs, drank his wages, hit her… She borrowed for his binges, repaid from her wages… Lost a
