Love Not for Show
I remember the days when Annabel would step out of our cottage, arms straining with a heavy pail full of feed for the pigs, passing by her husband George with a huff. It was the third day now, and George still busied himself out by the old well, carving patterns into the wooden frame, determined to make it handsomeas though there werent chores aplenty! His wife swept about the house, tending animals, running herself ragged, while he stood bolt upright, chisel in hand, flecks of wood dusting his sleeves, grinning at her like a simpleton. What sort of husband had the Lord sent her? He’d never say a kind word nor bang his fist on the table; always silent, working away, every so often coming over to look into her eyes and run a gentle hand through her thick blonde plaitthat was all the affection she received. How she longed to hear a “darling” or a “my swan,” sweet words that danced in the hearts of English women.
Annabel found herself lost in thought, pondering over her ladys lot, as she nearly stumbled over old Buster, the family dog. Quick as a flash, George rushed over to catch her, pausing only to cast Buster a stern look.
Look sharp, lad, he chided, youll topple the mistress if youre not careful.
Buster hung his head, guilt-ridden, and slunk back to his kennel. Annabel marvelled yet again at how animals seemed to understand her husband. Shed asked George once how he managed it, and he had simply replied, I love them, and they return the same.
Even Annabel found herself dreaming of loveof being swept off her feet, sweet nothings murmured in her ear, dainty flowers left on the pillow each morning. Yet George was stingy with tenderness, and doubt crept indid he love her at all, she wondered?
God speed the day, neighbours! called out Charles from beyond the hedge, peering over with a grin. Still at it with your whittling, are you, George? Whos going to appreciate all those fancy doodles?
Id like my children to grow up good and proper, surrounded by beauty, George replied.
Ah, but youve got to have those children first, Charles laughed, winking at Annabel.
Georges gaze softened, falling on his wife, while Annabel, cheeks burning, hurried inside. She hadnt been in a rush to have children; she was young still and hadnt quite lived for herself, and George, after all, was rather dull. Charles, on the other hand, had a way about himtall, broad-shouldered, with a smile that flickered like sunlight. Hed greet her at the gate with the gentlest words, like a summer shower whispering, Rain-drops, my bright sun Her heart would race at such times, though shed flee his presence lest her will falter. Annabel had promised herself shed make a faithful wife, her own mother and father having lived in such harmony for all those years, and theyd taught her to cherish family.
Yet why, oh why, did she so often gaze from her window, hoping to catch Charless eye across the hedge?
The next morning, Annabel was driving the cow out to pasture when she met Charles at the gate.
Annabel, my precious dove, why do you keep your distance from me? Are you frightened? I lose my senses every time I see your beauty.
Come to me at dawn. When your George goes fishing in the morning, slip away and meet me. Ill shower you with affection, make you the happiest woman alive.
Annabel flushed, cheeks aflame, heart fluttering, but she said nothing and hurried past him.
Ill wait for you, he called after her.
All day long, Annabel thought of Charles. She yearned for love and warmth, and Charless every look burned right through her, but she simply couldnt bring herself to such a thing. Yet, there was plenty of time before the break of dawn perhaps
That evening, George lit the fire in the bathhouse, inviting Charles over to share the steam. Charles happily acceptedit saved him the trouble of heating his own and wasting firewood. They thrashed each other with birch branches, grunting with contentment, and then took a break in the anteroom. Annabel brought them a small jug of homemade cider and plates of savoury nibbles, suddenly remembering there were a few pickled cucumbers cooling in the cellar. She went down to fetch them and, on her return, caught their conversation through the half-open door.
You’re too timid, George, whispered Charles, Lets go out, you wont regret it. There are widows out there wholl lavish you with affection, real beautiesmakes your Annabel look a bit plain.
No, mate, came Georges soft but steady reply, I want none of your beauties. I dont even care to think of them. My wife is no plain creature; shes the loveliest soul on this earthno blossom or berry as fair. When I look at her, I see no sunonly her dear eyes and slender figure. I am bursting with love for her, like the river in spring. But I cant put it to words, can’t seem to tell her what she means to me. She resents me for it, I feel it. I know its my fault, Im afraid to lose her, for I simply couldn’t last a day, not a single breath, without her.
Annabel stood frozen, only her racing heart betraying her, a tear slipping down her cheek. Then, chin held high with pride, she marched into the anteroom.
Off you go, Charles, she said firmly, go cheer up your widows. My husband and I have more pressing matterstheres still no-one to admire the beauty George has carved. Forgive me, my dear, for my foolishness and my blindness. I held happiness in my hands and failed to see it. Come, we’ve wasted enough time as it is
Come dawn, George did not go out fishing.
