Love Carried Through the Years
A new family moved into the village just as the new school was built. The old headmaster had retired, and the new one, Rodney Peterson, arrived with his wife—a maths teacher—and their fifteen-year-old daughter, Bethany.
Bethany wasn’t like the other village girls, so all the boys noticed her, and the local girls couldn’t stand her. She was always neatly dressed, her thick plait tied tight, her shoes spotless—even in autumn, she’d wash the mud off in a puddle before stepping into school.
“Beth’s got nothing better to do than splash about in puddles,” the village girls sneered, though soon they started washing their shoes too—after seeing how much the lads liked Beth’s tidy ways.
One of those lads was Mike, a broad-shouldered, hardworking sixteen-year-old who’d left school after year eight. He worked the fields, mowing hay with the men, and stacking it so perfectly that the village women marvelled.
With girls, though, Mike was weak—he’d been chasing them since he was fourteen, and they didn’t mind, since he was handsome. By sixteen, he was romancing them under the haystacks. But all that changed the first time he saw Bethany. She was walking to the village shop with her mother, neat as a pin.
“What on earth is she doing here?” Mike muttered to his mate, red-haired, freckled Eddie.
“That’s the new family. Her dad’s the headmaster, and the mum teaches maths.”
From that moment, Mike was lost. He forgot all his flings as if they’d never happened—like he’d fallen in love for the first time. There was something ethereal about Beth, something that made his wild heart stutter.
He knew she was still young, so he kept his distance, watching from afar. But the whole village knew Mike had fallen hard.
Winter came, freezing the river solid. The village boys strapped on their old hockey skates and raced across the ice. The girls never joined—except Beth. One day, she stepped onto the ice wearing proper figure skates, gliding and spinning like a dream. The kids stood gaping as she carved shapes into the frost.
Mike wasn’t there to see it—he was coming back from work when he heard shouts.
“Help! Help!”
Someone was flailing in a hole by the far bank, where the spring kept the ice thin.
“It’s Beth—she’s gone under!”
Mike bolted across the ice, shedding his coat as he ran. He could see her terrified eyes as she clawed at the breaking edges. Without thinking, he yanked off his belt, tossed one end to her, and hauled her out, dragging her to safety before carrying her home, soaked and shaking.
By evening, the whole village knew how Mike had saved Beth. Her mother came to thank him.
“Mike, love, thank you—Beth wants you to come by. She’s feverish, but she asked for you.”
He went. Beth lay in bed, weak but smiling, her hand warm in his.
“Thank you,” she whispered, a tear slipping free. He wiped it away with his thumb.
From then on, he visited every evening. She talked, he listened, enchanted by her voice.
Beth turned sixteen. They walked hand in hand, and soon he kissed her. At eighteen, Mike left for the army.
“Time’ll fly,” he promised. “Wait for me.”
She did. But fate had other plans.
Mike was sent to a warzone, wounded, and lost a leg. He lay in hospital, telling no one—especially not Beth.
“I won’t go back like this. Not for her to see me broken.”
Once he could walk with a prosthetic, he left for a nearby town with a mate from the ward. He got a job, married a kind woman named Vera—though his heart still belonged to Beth.
Years passed. Mike visited the village occasionally, seeing Beth—now a mother of three, still lovely but softer, her husband long gone.
Then Vera died, leaving Mike alone in his flat, staring from the balcony.
One day, he told his daughter, “I’m going home.”
“What for? There’s nothing left!”
But he insisted.
They drove to the village, now overgrown, his old house in ruins.
Word spread fast. Beth came, leaning on a stick, and took them in.
As they talked that evening, Mike said, “I want to stay here. Die here, near my parents. Maybe with you?”
His daughter protested, but Beth finally agreed.
“Just a week.”
Mike smiled.
His daughter left.
For five days, he and Beth talked. Then, one morning, he didn’t wake.
Beth closed his eyes, weeping.
They buried him beside his parents, in the village where his love for her still lived.
