**A Farewell**
The deafening silence of the night faded, giving way to dawn and the inevitable moment of parting. Margaret had spent the hours at her husband’s coffin, lost in memories of her life with Edward. Both had grown old together.
“Edward lived seventy-six years,” she thought, “he could’ve had more if not for the illness.” She was three years his junior.
“Good husband and father you were, Eddie,” she murmured as daylight revealed his face, sharper now than in the flicker of candlelight. “Most of all, faithful. Temptations were plenty, but… ah, how swiftly time flies.”
All night, her mind had turned like the pages of a book—each memory a chapter of joy and sorrow. Fifty-three years together was no small thing.
When Edward realised he wouldn’t rise again, he’d told her: “Maggie, God’s punishing me for my sins. Must’ve lived wrong, thought wrong.” But she soothed him.
“Don’t scold yourself, love. You lived well. No drinking, no mischief, always loved us. What sins could you have?” And he’d listen, calming.
Dawn broke. Their daughter, Elizabeth, bustled in the kitchen, having come alone from London. No husband—she’d divorced long ago—and her girl, Margaret’s granddaughter, had just had a second child. So she hadn’t come. Couldn’t say goodbye to her grandfather. Ah well, at least she’d spent every childhood summer here.
Elizabeth had flown the nest early—only child left after two others passed, one a day old, the other a week. Margaret had guarded her fiercely. God granted them this one.
Before school ended, Elizabeth declared: “Mum, Dad, I’m moving to the city after exams. Village life isn’t for me. I know I’m your only one, meant to care for you, but London’s where life happens.”
“Fine by me,” Edward said at once. Margaret pressed her handkerchief to her eyes.
“Oh, love, how will we manage?” she nearly wept, but Edward shot her a look.
“Let the girl make her way. No future for her here. Let her rise.”
Margaret understood, but fear gnawed at her. Elizabeth left, studied business, married, never returned.
Margaret and Edward lived out their days together, working the farm, harmony between them. In later years, their granddaughter stayed summers—until she grew up, her visits fading. Her own life now. Though the old couple missed her.
“She loved haymaking, splashing in the brook after.” Margaret smiled faintly, remembering the girl’s squeals as Edward tossed her in, teaching her to swim—and she’d learned, too…
“Mum?” Elizabeth had slipped in quietly.
“Just remembering. Sit with me. Say goodbye properly before the village comes. They’ll crowd in soon. Everyone respected your father—never hurt a soul, always helped. All will come.”
Elizabeth sat, pressed close, arm around her mother.
“Thank God you’re so like him,” Margaret murmured, rocking slightly. “His face will fade from memory, but there you are… So like Edward.”
“Mum… how did you and Dad meet? We’ve never spoken of it.”
“Ah, Lizzy… Odd, it was. He latched onto me the moment we met. Saw me in the county and stuck for life.”
“How?”
“I worked the dairy—top of my team. Sent to a county meeting, even got a certificate and a wristwatch. None of the village girls had one! So proud. They took us on a tour—folk from all over. Mostly women, few men.”
After, they went to the canteen. That’s where Edward spotted her. Neighbouring tables, but he stared so hard she flushed. Tall, handsome—but scruffy. Unwashed clothes. She guessed: no woman’s hand tending him. Intriguing. Back then, young men fled the village—army or city, few returned…
Margaret sighed, reliving it. As she left, a voice spoke beside her:
“Take me with you. Name’s Edward. Yours?”
“Margaret,” she said sternly. “You don’t even know where I live—middle of nowhere. Would you trade city for that?” She laughed.
“I would. Bachelor, unattached. I’ll come, Maggie.” And so he called her ever after.
Kept his promise to be a devoted husband. Came back with her. Stood before her parents that very day:
“Good day. I ask for your daughter’s hand. Forgive the haste, but I’ve no house, no land. Yet Maggie’s stolen my heart. I’ll be a faithful, caring man.”
Her parents gaped.
“Lizzy, sent you off as a star worker, and you bring back a groom?” her father chuckled.
“Just happened,” she murmured, eyes down. “But I’ll have him.”
They agreed, set the wedding for Saturday. A village affair—every soul crowding the yard for the feast. Then came the quiet years, side by side.
Margaret was happy. Walking with Edward, she’d hear the whispers:
“Look at Maggie—nabbed herself a fine one. Tall, handsome… Men like that chase skirts, or skirts chase them.”
“Just wait. A looker like him? He’ll stray yet,” old Martha would say.
Word got back to them, but they shrugged it off. Edward had eyes only for her. But the children… Two lost. Then Elizabeth came—healthy, strong.
“Maggie, how I love our girl. Love you. Had I not met you that day… Like lightning struck me toward you. No woman exists but you.”
She believed him. Yet temptations lurked.
Once, hay season, she noticed Lucy—village flirt—hovering near Edward. Beautiful, widowed young. The women loathed her—men always drinking at her place, always trouble.
Lucy had marked Edward at their wedding.
“Fine catch, that Eddie. Well, I’ll bide my time…”
Margaret saw the bold touches, the whispers:
“Eddie, meet me behind the barn tonight… Learn what fire is.”
Edward worked on, silent. Unmoved. Just glanced at Margaret, smiling—knew it irked her.
At the brook after, Lucy splashed, clung to him, laughing.
“Eddie, save me if I drown!”
“Why? I’ve my own to mind,” he said roughly, gazing at Margaret. Her secret smile—his alone to read.
Margaret’s heart quaked:
“What if he yields? Lucy’s skilled at stealing men.”
But he never faltered. Lucy tried again—waiting after work, offering drink. He passed by, cool, lips quirking faintly.
“Eddie… I love you for resisting her.”
“Maggie, I promised. You’re my life.”
“Such love we had, Lizzy. And you’re his image—beautiful, witty like him.”
In old age, Edward’s sight failed. One eye left.
“Once, he went to town in a blizzard,” Margaret recalled. “I knew he’d not return that night. Roads buried. Come dawn, a knock—a snow-caked figure, voice faint: ‘Ma’am, which village is this?’ Eyes wild. It was him. Walked miles through the storm. How he found the way, I’ll never know.”
Mother and daughter sat entwined by the coffin, weeping softly. The village gathered outside, then filed in. So they bade farewell.
After the funeral, Elizabeth left. Margaret, alone, strained to adjust. Felt Edward’s presence—footsteps, him at the table. She sat, thinking:
“He won’t leave me long. He’ll come for me. He knows I’m lost without him…”
**Lesson:** Love outlasts time. Faithfulness, even when tested, leaves no regrets.
