By the time I turned thirty, Id logged ten years in the armed forces, serving in hotspot theatres from the Balkans to the Middle East. Id been wounded twice, yet somehow the Good Lord kept me safe. After my second serious injury I spent months in a military hospital, then was sent back to my home village in the Yorkshire dales.
Littleford had changed a great deal while I was away, and so had its people. All my old schoolmates were married, but one day I caught sight of Emily, a girl I could barely recall. When I left for the army shed been a shy thirteenyearold; now she was twentyfive, strikingly beautiful, still single. Shed never found a man shed want to settle down with, and she wasnt in any rush to start a family.
Im a broadshouldered, sturdy sort, with a keen sense of right and wrong, confident and stubborn enough not to walk past a woman like Emily without a word.
Are you waiting for me? And youre still not married? I asked, smiling at the pretty lass.
Maybe, she replied, blushing, her heart fluttering at once.
From then on we began seeing each other. It was late autumn; we walked along a narrow lane, leaves crunching beneath our boots.
Steve, my father will never let us marry, Emily said sadly, even though Id already asked her twice. You know my father.
Whats he going to do? Im not afraid of him, I declared boldly. If he hurts me, hell end up behind bars and cant bother us any longer.
Steve, you dont understand my father at all. Hes a hard man, everything is under his thumb.
Harold Whitfield was the most powerful man in Littleford. Hed started out as a trader, but rumours now linked him to shady dealings. He was stout, with a cold, calculating stare, and a cruel streak. In his youth hed built two farms, raising cattle and pigs, employing more than half the village. Everyone bowed to him, almost to the point of worship, and he fancied himself untouchable.
My father wont approve our wedding, Emily whispered, especially since he wants me to marry the son of his old friend from the town. I cant stand that hulking drunk, Victor. Hes a rotter who only knows how to waste his days in the pub. Ive told my father a hundred times.
Emily, were living like its the Dark Ages. Who in our day can force a woman to marry someone she hates? I said, bewildered.
I loved Emily fiercely; everything about her her gentle gaze, her fiery temper drew me in. She felt the same, couldnt picture life without me.
Come on, I said, taking her hand and quickening my pace.
Where to? she began to guess, but she couldnt stop me.
In the courtyard of the big Whitfield house, Harold was chatting with his younger brother Simon, who lived in the adjoining cottage and was always at his brothers beck and call.
Mr. Whitfield, Emily and I wish to marry, I announced. I ask for your daughters hand.
Emilys mother stood on the porch, hand over her mouth, eyes wide with terror at her domineering husbands cruelty.
Harolds eyes narrowed at my boldness, a sneer forming. He stared me down, but I met his gaze unflinchingly. He seemed baffled by the nerve Id shown.
Get out of here, he bellowed. Youre a drunken fool. What were you thinking coming here? My daughter will never marry you. Forget this road, youre nothing but a soldier.
Well marry regardless, I replied calmly.
In Littleford everyone respected me, but Harold had never known the cost of war. To him, money was everything. I felt a sting of anger. I clenched my fists, and Simon stepped between us, sensing the inevitable clash.
While Simon ushered me out, Harold dragged his daughter inside, treating her like a tenyearold. He never forgave any affront to his authority.
That very night, a blaze lit up the village. My newly opened garage went up in flames.
Rat! I muttered, certain someone had set it alight.
The next night I slipped to Emilys cottage under cover of darkness. Earlier that evening Id texted her, asking her to pack a bag so we could leave together. She agreed. From her window she handed me a sack, then slipped out, landing in my arms.
By morning well be far away, I whispered. You have no idea how much I love you. She pressed close.
I feel nervous and scared, she admitted.
Within ten minutes we were on the A1, the road humming beneath us. The wind whipped at Emilys face, a mix of excitement and dread. Behind us, headlights flashed the flash of her fathers Mercedes. He pulled alongside, blocked our path, and shouted, No! Not this!
His men lunged, grabbed Emily, and I tried to intervene, only to receive a brutal blow. They knocked me to the ground and battered me mercilessly, saying nothing. Then they climbed back into the car, drove off, and left me lying on the hard shoulder.
I managed to crawl back home, spent a week in bed, and the arson case was dismissed as faulty wiring. I understood what had happened, but what haunted me most was Emilys fate. She stopped answering my messages; her number was dead.
Her father sent her to the city to stay with his sister Diane, giving her a decent sum and issuing strict orders: Dont let her leave the house, no phone. If she comes back to the village Ill he threatened, pointing a finger, make her disappear in the woods.
Harold, you monster, Diane hissed. Why ruin your own daughters life?
She put Emily in a spare room, hoping the girl would wait out her fathers fury.
Harold spread rumours that Emily was to wed Victor in the city and would never return to Littleford.
Dont worry, dear, Diane said later. Your father will calm down. Find a job, build a life.
Without Steve? Emily asked, eyes shining.
Without him, Diane replied.
A few weeks later Emily realized she was pregnant. Diane tried to comfort her, feeling sorry for her niece.
Your father must never know, she whispered.
Emily wept, her thoughts no longer on her tyrant father but on telling me about the baby. She couldnt remember my number; Harold had smashed her phone. Even if Diane let her use hers, there was nowhere to call.
I hate my father, Emily sobbed. Hes no man. Diane stayed silent there were plenty of reasons to despise him.
Time passed. I could not shake thoughts of Emily. I drifted, doing my duty, drinking to dull the ache, then stopping. Meanwhile Emily gave birth to a healthy boy, whom she named Mason. He was a spitting image of me. Sometimes her mother would visit to spoil the little lad, but we kept the childs existence secret from Harold. He never learned that he had a grandson.
Four years went by; Mason grew into a bright, cheeky boy. One spring, as everything blossomed, Emilys mother arrived at Dianes house, trudging up the steps and collapsing into a kitchen chair.
Oh dear, she wailed.
Mother, whats wrong? Emily asked.
Harold is dying. The doctors found cancer; they said its too late. Hed always been strong, never visited a doctor. The old woman sobbed, bruises from a lifetime of Harolds abuse still evident.
How will I manage alone? Emily whispered.
No one offered sympathy. Harolds neighbours felt no pity for the man whod treated people like rubbish. As his condition worsened, everyone turned their attention to Mason, cooing over the boy. Harolds wife, now frail, wanted to tell him about the grandson, but held her tongue. Hed wasted his life on petty cruelty.
Harold was buried in June. Emily never attended the funeral; she could not forgive him, and few mourners showed up besides his cronies. Some even muttered, He got what he deserved. God sees everything. He treated people like trash; now heavens retribution has found him.
Emilys mother gradually recovered from her shock. I was away on a watch, coming and going, living with my own mother. When Emily finally returned to Littleford after five years, her mother had finally steadied herself, having shaken off the last of Harolds grip. The picture of her husband was taken down from the wall; Emilys mother didnt want her to see it.
Two weeks after Emilys arrival, she learned I was still on watch duty, as her mother told her. A few days later she walked with Mason along a country lane. He chased butterflies through the tall grass, and she sat on a fallen log, a gentle breeze brushing her face.
Emily thought back to her childhood, then felt a familiar presence close to her heart.
Emily, a soft voice called, and she leapt up, both of us rushing toward each other.
I had changed, grown more tempered, yet a sorrow lingered in my eyes. Emily, still as lovely as ever, seemed a touch softer. We stared, silent, the love that had never truly faded flickering between us.
Steve, forgive me for everythingmy father, my silence, not telling you about our son. I never married Victor; that was my fathers lie. I stayed with Aunt Diane in the city, she confessed.
I was stunned, my breath catching as Mason burst from the grass, running toward us. Without a word, I recognized my own son, the boy Id only ever seen in old photographs, now standing before me.
My boy, I lifted him high, laughing. Youre my son! Ill never let you go.
Dad, Mason shouted, will you buy me a football?
Of course, my lad. Well go to the shop right now and get you a ball, whatever you want. I glanced at Emily, tears glistening, and she nodded.
I thanked fate for bringing Emily back into my life. Fate smiles on the grateful, and it rewarded us with a familys happiness.
