My last word hangs in the mist. You, my dear, may stew in resentment against your father as long as you wish, I whisper, while the scent of old oak hangs heavy in the air.
His spirit is rotten, I say, so do not argue, Poppy. Go for Harold and that will be that. With him youll live behind a stone wall, never hearing his harsh syllables. He is a good man, you hear? Albert Townsend tried to embrace his daughter.
She knew she could not defy her fathers will, yet she slipped his arm, burst into tears and shouted, Theres no strength left for a cuddle!
Albert gazed into the blue eyes of his stubborn, willful girl. He would not let her be unhappy. Youll be forced, my love! Go, Poppy! he declared, his voice echoing like a church bell.
By the Thames a figure waited for herHarold. Her heart thumped again, as if the river were a drum. He was lovely, and she imagined a whole lifetime with him.
In those moments she loathed her father with a ferocity she had never known. He had been her pillar, her example. Yet pleading and coaxing fell on deaf ears.
Whats wrong with father? Evil or melted? Harold asked, his hand brushing her dark curls, his dark eyes framed by thick lashes.
He said we cannot be together. Its all futile He wont listen, she sobbed, the words turning to ash on his chest.
Try again! I wont be his bride! We have a house, a herd, and yet he stands stubborn, Harold snapped, kicking a waddling duckling that skimmed the riverbank.
Watch out, duck! Poppy shrieked.
The duckdont touch it, itll bounce back, Harold muttered, leading her toward the woods.
On the way back home she collided with Arthur. The moment he saw Poppy his cheeks flushed a brilliant crimson.
Arthur was short, freckled, with sandy hair and skyblue eyes that Poppy mockcalled bleached. He was nothing like Harold. Why did her father cling to the old man? She wanted to hurl an insult, but then saw Arthur cradling a tiny duckling.
Where are you off to? she smiled.
I was at the river, bathing. I found this little thing, it was squeaking pitifully. Its leg must be hurt. Ill show father; he can heal animals, Arthur replied, his gaze meeting Poppys.
She realized the duckling Harold had stepped on lay helpless in Arthurs hands. Shame flushed her, and she hurried away.
She felt mortified that the lover who had harmed the chick was now being rescued by the man she despised. Why this twisted fate?
From then on the duckling clung to Arthur, trailing him through the village, even sleeping on the haystack beside him. It waddled, eyes ever watchful for its master.
There are pigherders, and then theres this duckherder fool, Harold jeered, theyre only good for a dinner plate. Arthur ignored the mockery and kept walking.
Soon the wedding day was setArthur and Poppy. She wept endlessly. Harold urged her to run away together, but even though she loved him with a reckless heart, she refused, picturing her fathers angry face.
He could bar her from the threshold. Her mother had no words against the father. Poppy was an only child; her mother was ill, her two brothers had vanished in childhood. If families had five or six kids, she grew up solitary.
On the wedding morning she stood before the mirror. Alberts eyes softened; the white dress was splendid, her golden hair shimmering.
The most beautiful bride! Albert kissed his daughter, then added, Are you angry with me, my dear? I wish you happiness, my golden girl! Thank me later!
Never! Poppy turned to the window. I did as you wanted, but thank No, Father, she snapped.
Harold danced with Emily at the reception, a woman Poppy had always envied, watching how Emily’s eyes lingered on him. Poppy, now married, could only bite her elbows and watch her former lover with another.
She glanced slyly at Arthur, who sat sober, the duckling twirling at his feet.
What a fool! she thought, bitterness rising.
Her mother helped her undress, casting horrified glances at the door where an unwelcome man should appear. He stepped in, paused, stared at her clenched lips, then turned away.
What? Youre leaving? What will people think? That Im unliked? Poppy sprang from the bed, lunged at him.
He stood mute, draped a scarf over his shoulders, and whispered, Youre lovely, dear. I see youre disgusted. Nothing more, well manage. But until you come to me, I cannot and he left.
This will never happen! she yelled after him.
She met Harold later, his breath ragged, trying to lure her into the woods with a kiss.
What are you doing? Have you lost your mind? Poppy shouted.
What? You have a husband now. Could you love me still? Harold hissed.
She walked away.
Days stretched on. The newlyweds lived apart, and Arthur was always occupied. One autumn they went mushroompicking; Poppy twisted her ankle, and her husband carried her on his arms. In the evenings they swung on a garden swing over the pond, the duckling paddling behind. Harolds hatred began to dissolve.
She knew he still saw Emily, that the wedding was still a topic, but jealousy had faded. She could not grasp why these strange currents moved her. Arthur made no attempt to draw nearer.
One night a neighbours house caught fire. Poppy awoke to flames, ran outside, where villagers gathered. The neighbour, a plump woman with three children, praised Albert: Youre a champion, you saved us all! She patted Poppys hand.
Arthur? Where is he? Poppy asked, feeling the chill inside.
Hes inside. Our dog, Gull, got stuck somewhere. I shouted at him, hes looking again. The children are wailing for the dog, the neighbour said, wiping her face with a kerchief.
Then the roof collapsed. Poppy screamed and fainted.
She regained consciousness to a hand stroking her cheek. A mans eyes watched her from the grimestained face.
You you okay? The roof fell, she managed.
He slipped through the window. Gull was barely found, hiding under the bed. He barely made it out, he said, Arthurs smile appearing.
I was scared, for you. I I love you! she wept, nestling against his shoulder.
Nine months later a son was bornJames. Arthur, having learned his fathers trade, healed cows, horses, even the most hopeless beasts. People came from far and wide to seek him.
Poppy loved her husband. She could never understand how she once fell for Harold, who married Emily, drank heavily, roamed the streets, beat his wife, and eventually crippled himself. Looking at their life, she shivered, fearing she could have become like Emily if not for her fathers iron will.
She stepped outside. Albert was playing with little James.
Dad I wanted to thank you. For not letting me marry Harold. For seeing what was best for me. Forgive me, Poppy said, kissing her father.
Ah, youth, Albert chuckled. Weve learned enough to know whos a beast and whos not. I could not hand my only beloved daughter to that monster. I knew you were angry with me. But it passed. Listen to your elders, child. Weve lived, we see. May God grant you happiness! he smiled.
Poppy lived to old age. She and Arthur worked the fields side by side. They raised five children, were blessed with countless grandchildren. A happy family. The old saying No strength for a cuddle took on a new, tender meaning.
