What shall become of us now? Olivia asked, her voice trembling more for herself than for the man beside her.
Nothing more than sending matchmakers your way, he replied, his tone unruffled. Just wait.
Olivia returned from a date that would later overturn the whole of her lifelaughing, enigmatic, eyes bright as lanterns. She told her two younger sisters every detail of the encounter with Basil Hart. They all knew how wildly in love Olivia had become. Basil had promised to wed her in the autumn, after he finished the crucial work on the farm.
Now, after a rather intimate meeting in the golden hayloft, the young man was obliged to offer his hand and heart. Yet the fields had already been reaped, the harvest stored in the barns, New Years bells were ringing, and no matchmakers were to be seen.
Olivias mother, Margaret, and Aunt Gwen began to notice changes in the older daughter. Usually cheerful, Olivia had grown sullen and her shape seemed oddly uneven. A hearttoheart conversation followed. After Olivias bitter confession, Aunt Gwen insisted on looking the prospective soninlaw straight in the eye and also on discovering whether the matchmakers had become lost.
Without hesitation, Margaret set off for the neighbouring village of Ashford, where Basil lived. There she met Basils mother, a woman unaware of her sons private affairs. Aunt Gwen poured out all her thoughts, and the two women turned against Basil. He answered with icy detachment:
I have no idea whose child Olivia might bear. There are many lads in the village. Must I claim every child as my own?
Aunt Gwen fumed. As she left the house for good, she cursed Basil:
May you spend your whole life marrying strangers!
Perhaps those words reached a celestial office, for Basil later married four times.
Seeing the disappointment on Margarets face, Olivia guessed the grim outcome of the two mothers clash. Aunt Gwen warned her daughters sternly:
Dont say a word to the father! Well sort it ourselves.
Olivia was to travel to York to stay with relatives. When the baby arrived, she would leave it in the maternity ward; otherwise, the village women would gossip endlessly, their tongues never resting. God will provide, Aunt Gwen muttered, and the sins will sweeten the air, for people are everfalling.
Aunt Gwens husband, Dennis Valerian, was the villages respected schoolmaster, known simply as MrValerian. He was strict but fair, and villagers came to him for counsel.
Then, unexpectedly, his own daughter delivered a child in the pantryan utter scandal for the whole hamlet! Aunt Gwen could not tolerate such a turn and sent the wayward daughter away to relatives. When Dennis asked why, she replied:
Let Olivia find work in the town. Shes been twenty years old now.
She began to watch the younger sisters more closely. It was hard to keep track: the middle daughter, Stacy, soon left for a teachertraining college in Leeds, while the youngest, Evelyn, headed for London.
In that village, every spoken word echoed. Rumours eventually reached Denniss ears; his own pupils whispered of troubles at home.
Dont put a gate where a strangers mouth stands, he muttered, then unleashed a furious tirade on his wife.
How could you think of sending our child to an orphanage? Shes our first granddaughter! I expect to see the girl at home soon!
Aunt Gwen had not foreseen such a storm. She had been crying all year, fearing the childs visit to the orphanage, fearing the blood that bound them. My daughter ate berries, and I am left with a sour mouth, she lamented.
Soon, Aunt Gwen and Olivia brought the child back to the village. They named her Annabelle. For a year Annabelle knew nothing of her family. Olivia would carry this sin forever. Whatever Annabelle did, Olivia would accept it quietly, without protest.
Annabelles upbringing fell to Dennis, Aunt Gwen, and Olivia alike. Often Olivia recalled the last rendezvous with Basil: the intoxicating scent of dry straw, the stickysweet moments of reckless love in the hayloft. She still loved Basil, despite his disgrace, his lies, his scorching of her soul. Cursed love! she whispered. Love is not a potato you can toss out the window.
Olivia became a single mother. Looking at Annabelle, she saw Basils features and, perhaps, his temperament. She drifted through life as if in fog, nothing brought her comfort. Even Annabelles playful giggles turned her melancholy. Oh, fatherlessness she sighed.
When Olivia turned twentyfive, a familiar suitor, a cousinlike boy named Frederick Freddie Hart, began to pursue her. He had grown up alongside her; Aunt Gwens sister had once married a widower with three children, and Freddie was one of those children. In the village, everyone knew each other.
Olivia reluctantly accepted Freddies attentions. Life with a child was not easy, and she was still a young woman. Freddie would have made a fine husbandif only Annabelle were not in the picture. He wondered how he would treat her. Freddie knew the whole tragic story of Olivias love for Basil, but he idolised her from childhood. He would have taken her as his wife, children and all, if not for Annabelle
They staged a bustling village wedding, and Freddie moved his new family to London, away from prying eyes. Their fragile secret stayed hidden.
Soon Olivia bore a daughter, Lucy. To Freddie, both girls were his own; he even adopted Annabelle, making no distinction between the sisters. He lived and breathed his family.
Olivia proved a capable housewife, mother, and wife. Freddie breathed new life into her cracked spirit. Their home became a haven of peace and understanding.
Ten years slipped by. One summer, Annabelle, Lucy, and four grandchildren spent holidays at Aunt Gwens cottage. Gwen, proud and happy, walked through the village with three married daughters, each with childrennow three grandsons and three granddaughters.
One day, the middle niece was tidying a dusty attic. Among old newspapers and grandfathers scribbled notebooks, she found a tiny diary. She settled down, opened it, and gasped. The pages were filled with the name Basil on every line. The diary belonged to Aunt Olivia!
The revelation burst from her lips; she told her cousin Annabelle. Annabelle snatched the diarysuch evidence!and sprinted to Aunt Gwen for answers.
The kindly old woman poured out her heart, regretting she had never burned the cursed notebook. Annabelle could not comprehend the news: why had her true father been hidden for so many years? She begged to meet him at once. Aunt Gwen, with a sigh, gave her the address of a man who might be her father.
Annabelle took her sister, the exposer, and they set off for the neighbouring village. At the gate, Basils mother recognized the girl instantly, no words needed. Annabelles features mirrored his.
The woman hurried to set a modest spread on the table, then broke down, apologising to her granddaughter. I always thought of you, but my son forbade us from meeting
From the next room emerged Basil himself. He examined the two blueeyed sisters and asked:
Tell me, which of you is my daughter?
Annabelle answered boldly:
I could have been your daughter!
Basil nodded and invited Annabelle into the garden. She stepped out, returned a minute later, scowling.
Seeing tension rise, Basils mother invited everyone to a generous tea, pouring the girls strong whisky. The sisters laughed:
What? In the city we dont drink at our age! Were still too young for spirits.
And they drank.
They later could not recall how they reached their own cottage. On the walk home, curiosity won, and the sister asked Annabelle:
What did you talk about with your father in the garden?
Nothing, Annabelle replied. He offered me moneywas he trying to buy me off? I refused. I didnt like him at all. He didnt even recognise me, even though Im his spitting image!
Aunt Gwen extracted every detail from the grandchildren.
How did you meet? What did you serve? Should we tell Freddie and Olivia? she asked anxiously.
Annabelle cut in:
Besides Freddies father, I have no other fathers!
Since then she harboured a quiet resentment toward her mother, chastising Olivia for fearing gossip, blaming her for delivering a child to an orphanage.
Olivia spent the rest of her life pleading:
Forgive me, Annabelle, your misunderstood mother!
Years passed. Annabelle and Lucy grew up, married, and Annabelle bore two sons. The elder was a mirror of Basil in his youth.
What of Basil? He never forgot Olivia. Occasionally he met her in London, their meetings rare and ceremonious. Olivia attended these fleeting encounters, showing Basil that she lived well, loved, and needed nothing from him. She never told him that Annabelle had barred her from seeing the grandchildren for ten long years. Annabelle herself kept her distance. Old sins cast long shadows.
Olivia understood and suffered. Her consolation was Freddie, who saw her as a spotless sun. He never reproached her, and at their wedding he joked:
A blemish on a red apple does not spoil it.
Olivia had long been bound to Freddies soul; such a man could not be unloved.
They reached their golden wedding anniversary. Children, grandchildren, and greatgrandchildren gathered with gifts. In the bustle, Annabelle pulled Olivia aside, tears brimming, and whispered:
Forgive me, mother, for everything. I had no right to judge you.
Basil called to congratulate the family over the telephone.
I wont live to see my own golden anniversary, he sighed. Ive been with my fourth wife ten years now. Forgive me, Olivia, for turning away from you. I still dont understand why I rejected you.
Olivia cut him off:
Dont continue. If you turned away, you never loved. Imagine, I am very happy now. Yes, I paid for youthful mistakes, but now I have everythingespecially my Freddie. I bear no ill will. I forgave you long ago.
Farewell, Basil, she said, and the line went silent.
