**A Stolen Heart**
This winter in the Yorkshire Dales was downright cruel: biting cold gripped the land, temperatures plunging below minus forty, as if nature itself was testing everyone’s resolve.
“John, wrap up warm! Put on that woolly jumper I knitted for you,” Catherine fussed, sending her husband off to work.
Despite the freeze, the farm wouldn’t run itself. The cows, impatient and hungry, demanded attention. John, no spring chicken and nearing retirement, went about his duties as usual. Meanwhile, Catherine stayed home, expecting their daughter and grandson—but a phone call from the city dashed those plans.
“Mum, we’re not risking the trip till the cold lets up. We’ll come next weekend,” her daughter said.
“Good call, love. What if the bus breaks down in this weather? Keep yourself and the little one safe,” Catherine replied, masking her worry.
Hanging up, she drifted into memories. Fifty winters ago, she’d been young Katie, braving the chill with her best mate, Sophie, on a visit to Sophie’s gran in a remote village. Back then, the mercury had dipped to minus thirty, but youth made them fearless.
“Come on, Katie, you’ve got to see our village!” Sophie had insisted. “Christmas break’s boring alone, and it’s an adventure—though we’ve a bit of a trek after the bus.”
Sixteen and stubborn, Katie had talked her mum into it. Bundled up, spirits high, they’d boarded the bus. But the driver called it quits at the last town: “That’s as far as I go! Road’s buried, not even a tractor’s got through. I’m not risking it.”
Katie and Sophie, along with the other passengers, spilled out into the cold.
“Right, it’s twelve miles to the village from here,” Sophie sighed. “No way we’re walking in this. Let’s crash at Auntie Margie’s—Mum’s sister. She’ll put us up for the night.”
And so they did. Auntie Margie fed them steaming stew, plied them with tea and honey, and tucked them into a cosy little room. By morning, their luck turned. A neighbour, Old Tom, agreed to take them the rest of the way by sleigh—Auntie Margie had sorted it the night before.
“Tom, these girls need to get to their gran’s. Be a love and take ’em?”
“Can’t say no to that, can I?” Tom chuckled. “I’ll get ’em there in style!”
Katie and Sophie clambered into the sleigh.
“Now, lasses, tuck in under that sheepskin or you’ll turn to icicles,” Tom said, adjusting the heavy fur blanket before urging the horse on.
The sleigh glided over the snow-blanketed lanes. Beyond the village, pine woods gave way to endless white moors. The path was rough in places, but the horse trudged on steadily.
“Tom, how old are you, anyway?” Sophie asked, breaking the quiet.
“Seventy-five last summer,” he grinned. “But I’ve still got it! Tend the sheep in season—best job there is. You should see the moors in bloom. Come back in June; it’s a sight.”
**A Storyteller at Heart**
Everyone in the village loved Old Tom. Warm and quick with a tale, he could make even the coldest journey fly by. They chatted about nothing much until, squinting at the horizon, he said:
“Took this very road fifty years ago, girls, when I stole my Annie.”
“Stole her?” Sophie gasped. “Go on, Tom, you can’t leave it there!”
“You mean the lady who saw us off?” Katie added.
“The very same, my Annie,” Tom nodded, eyes twinkling. “Back then, she was just a lass like you.”
Katie and Sophie held their breath.
“Long while ago now,” Tom began. “I’d ridden out to that village you’re headed to—sent by my dad to see his brother, Uncle Albert. I was twenty-five, unwed, searching for a lass who’d set my heart ablaze. None in our village had done the trick.”
Tom reached Uncle Albert’s place, where his cousin, Harry, greeted him.
“Alright, Tommy! Dad’s out with the horses. Fancy the village hall tonight? Lasses there are smashing.”
Music blared at the dance that evening. Girls dragged Tom into the fray, but his gaze snagged on one—just as she walked in. Petite, with a wheat-gold braid, cheeks pink from the cold, she unwound her scarf, and that was it.
“Harry, who’s that?” Tom whispered.
“Annie, Old George’s daughter from next farm over. Sweet as they come, but her dad’s a right terror. Folks steer clear,” Harry muttered.
Tom didn’t hesitate. He danced with Annie all night, laughing, talking—she was quick-witted and bright. Later, he and Harry walked her home. At her doorstep, Harry tactfully vanished.
From then on, Tom visited often. Annie filled his thoughts, but when he mentioned marriage one evening, her face fell.
“Dad won’t let me wed outside the village. Says I’m too young, and there’s already a local lad in mind. Forbade me seeing you.”
“No, Annie. You’re mine,” Tom said firmly. “Wait for me. I’ll come for you.”
**A Midnight Chase**
Tom fell silent, staring at the moors as if reliving it. Sophie nudged him. “Then what happened?”
“Then,” Tom sighed, “her dad told me to sod off. Said Annie wasn’t leaving, end of. But I knew she loved me. Life without her wasn’t worth living.”
Tom had Harry pass a message: three nights hence, he’d come for her. Under cover of darkness, he waited at the village edge. Annie slipped out with a bundle, shaking as she leapt into the sleigh.
“I’m scared. Dad’ll follow,” she whispered.
Tom urged the horse on—but hoofbeats thundered behind them. Pursuit. He could’ve fled, married her at his village, but running from her father? That wasn’t right.
“Annie, I won’t let you go, but I won’t sneak off like a thief either,” Tom said, reining in the horse.
George, purple with rage, stormed up, cracking his whip at Tom’s back. Tom didn’t flinch, meeting his glare. George seized his coat, bellowing threats:
“Come near my girl again, I’ll kill you!”
“Mr. George, kill me if you must, but I love Annie. Neither of us’ll live right without the other,” Tom said, steady.
Maybe the words sunk in, maybe George remembered his daughter’s happiness—but he stepped back.
“Her mother’s in bed sick, thinking Annie’s run off. Turn this sleigh around. We’ll settle this proper.”
Tom trusted him. Harsh as George was, his word held.
“Gave us his blessing in the end,” Tom finished, smiling. “Proper courtship after, a grand wedding. Fifty years together now, girls.”
“Blimey,” Katie breathed. “Like something off the telly!”
Decades later, Catherine still remembered that ride. Old Tom’s tale of love and grit. Back then, he’d seemed ancient—now she knew true love outlasted time itself.
**A Stolen Heart**
