A Trial Encounter
“Life is full of surprises,” mused Eleanor to herself. “People live together for years, then suddenly part ways—astonishing, really. I’ve known many like that, and I suppose I’m no different. Though I didn’t endure my tyrant for long, that chapter is behind me now.”
Eleanor had recently retired and lived alone. Her daughter, married with her own family, had left their village after finishing school, attended college, and settled in the city. Visits were rare—both she and her husband worked, and their granddaughter was still in school.
Back when Eleanor was still working, her colleagues often urged her, “Ellie, why stay alone? There are plenty of single men about—widowers, divorced fellows whose marriages didn’t work out. Why not place an ad or answer one? They’re in the papers, magazines, even online.”
“I’d be too shy to make the first move,” she’d demur. “And if a man’s divorced, there must be something wrong with him. Good husbands aren’t left, and good ones stay taken. I don’t trust them.”
“Ellie, no one’s forcing you to marry the first man you meet,” insisted Vera, who’d found her own husband through a newspaper ad and now happily doled out advice. “Just talk. If you don’t like him, don’t call again. What’s the harm?”
The Advertisement
In the end, Eleanor decided to try it. The first call was awkward, even frightening, but she soon reasoned, “What’s the fuss? We’re just talking on the phone. If I don’t like him, I’ll hang up.”
She rang a few men, all different, and quickly sensed which to avoid. Her views softened slightly. “Perhaps it’s not always the man’s fault. Women can be difficult too, and sometimes they’re the ones to blame for a divorce. After all, who knows what goes on behind closed doors?”
Occasionally, she answered ads, but none stirred her interest. She avoided divorced men when she could, distrust lingering. Yet fate led her to one. His name was Geoffrey, and she liked him at once. They spoke for hours over weeks.
Geoffrey lived in a nearby village, his own house with land, so he invited her first. “Come visit, Eleanor. We’ve talked enough. If you didn’t like me, you’d have stopped by now. I’ll meet you—agreed?”
“Agreed,” she promised.
She admired his manners, his respect for women. He never spoke ill of his ex-wife. They’d divorced after decades, once their two children were grown and independent. Eleanor didn’t pry—she hated such questions herself. Why dredge up the past?
Yet one answer unsettled her. “Geoffrey, do you see your children? Do they visit?”
“No. They sided with their mother. They don’t call, let alone visit.”
That troubled her. “Whatever happens between husband and wife, children shouldn’t cut ties with a parent,” she thought. “If they’ve stopped speaking to their father, there must be grave reasons.” But she kept this to herself.
The Visit
Nervous on the bus, she gradually calmed. At the crossroads Geoffrey described, she stepped off to find a tall, pleasant-faced man grinning at her.
“Eleanor?”
“Yes,” she smiled, and he liked her smile.
“Well, I’m Geoffrey. That’s my motorcar—we’ll drive to mine.”
She appreciated the flowers, his punctuality. The house was a fine two-story with a tidy yard—clearly, hardworking folk lived here. His ex-wife’s touch lingered in the homely details.
“Geoffrey must be tidy himself,” she noted. “They split years ago, yet it’s all so orderly.”
Touring the house, doubts crept in. “She left everything behind. What drove her out? After pouring her life into this place…”
Tea and Revelations
“Sit,” he said. “I’ll pour the tea.”
“Need help?” she offered politely.
“No, I’ve got it.”
He fetched cups, poured tea, and sliced cake with care.
“Lovely house,” she remarked. “You’ve kept it well.”
“Of course. A home needs a firm hand, or it crumbles.”
After tea, he dropped his test. “Now, Eleanor, I’ll see what you’re made of. Clear the table, wash up, then mop the floor. After, we’ll milk the cow.”
She stared, stunned. Even unasked, she’d have cleaned—but this?
“I’ll wash the dishes, but I won’t mop. And I won’t milk your cow. You could’ve just said, ‘Make yourself at home.’ I know how to clean. This isn’t to my liking.”
He tried joking, but pressed about the cow. She refused. Then he laid bare his terms:
“Any woman joining me must bring a dowry—equal shares. You’d bring your livestock. Don’t sell them to kin; I’ll fetch them myself.”
Eleanor laughed. “You’re a sly one! I’ve promised nothing, yet you’ve planned it all. Admiring your house doesn’t mean I’m desperate to move in. Your terms—and you—don’t suit me. You want others to labour while you command? Not with me. I want neither you, your cow, nor your fine house. Heaven spare me from men like you!”
She grabbed her bag. “Don’t bother seeing me out.”
Walking to the bus stop, her thoughts churned. A local woman caught up, recognising her.
“That Geoffrey’s had plenty of women clean and cook for him, yet none please him. He tormented his wife too. After the divorce, she left with just a suitcase—he kept everything, even the houseplants. She sued for the house’s worth, but who knows if she won? Steer clear of him.”
Now Eleanor knew for certain: from good husbands, wives don’t flee.