April232025
Im thirty now, and ten years of deployment in hot spots have left their marks. Twice I was shot, the second wound almost costing me my life. The armys medics kept me alive, but the recovery kept me in hospital far longer than Id hoped, and eventually I was sent back to the place I grew upLittleford, a tiny village tucked in the English countryside.
Littleford has changed in the years I was away, and so have its people. All my schoolmates have married and settled down. One day, walking past the old schoolyard, I caught sight of Ethel. I barely remembered her; she was just a shy girl of about thirteen when I left for the forces. Now shes twentyfive, a striking beauty, still single, with no one she feels she could truly marry.
Im broadshouldered, solid, and I carry a fierce sense of rightandwrong. I couldnt walk past Ethel without saying something.
Are you really waiting for me, yet still unmarried? I asked, smiling at her radiant face.
She blushed, her heart fluttering, and replied, Perhaps.
From that moment we began seeing each other. It was late autumn; we strolled through a birch copse, leaves crackling under our boots.
Stan, my father will never let us marry, Ethel said sadly. I had already asked her twice. You know my father.
What will he do to me? Im not afraid of him, I said confidently. If he harms you, the law will have him dealt with, and he wont bother us any longer.
Ethel shook her head. You dont know my father. Hes cruel and controls everything.
Arthur Blackwood, Ethels father, is the most powerful man in the village. He started as a modest farmer, but rumors now swirl that hes tangled with shady dealings. Hes stout, with a cold, calculating gaze, and a reputation for harshness. He built two farms here, raising cattle and pigs, employing more than half the village. Everyone smiles at him, almost bowing, while he sees himself as above the rest.
My father wont approve our wedding, Ethel whispered. He wants me to marry the son of his old friend, Victor Hartley, a heavydrinking, brutish man who only knows how to pour a pint. Ive told my father a hundred times I cant stand him.
We live like its the Dark Ages, I muttered. Who in this day and age can force a woman to marry someone she doesnt love?
I loved Ethel completelyher gentle glance, her fiery spirit. She felt the same.
Lets go, I said, taking her hand and quickening my pace.
She began to guess where we were headed, but she could not stop me.
At the front of the grand Blackwood house, Arthur was deep in conversation with his younger brother Simon, who lived in the adjoining cottage and was always ready to lend a hand.
Mr. Blackwood, Ethel and I wish to marry. I ask for your blessing, I declared.
Ethels mother stood on the porch, hand over her mouth, eyes wide with terror at the sight of her domineering husband, a man who had bruised her many times.
Arthurs eyes flashed with fury at my boldness, but I met his stare headon. He could not fathom where my audacity had come from.
Get out of here, he barked. Youre nothing but a braindamaged clown. My daughter will never marry you. Forget this road. Youre just another soldier.
Well marry regardless, I replied, steady.
The village respected me, but Arthurs world revolved around money, and hed never known what it meant to risk ones life for a cause. Anger rose in me, my fists clenched, and Simon stepped between us, sensing that neither side would yield.
While Simon shoved me out of the yard, Arthur forced his daughter inside, treating her like a child. He never forgave any challenge to his authority.
That night, a fire raged through Littleford, engulfing the garage I had just opened. The flames seemed to mock me.
Its a filthy job, I muttered, certain someone had set it on purpose.
The next evening, I slipped a quiet car to Ethels house. Earlier that day I had messaged her, asking her to gather her things so we could leave together. She agreed. From her window she tossed a sack to me, 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 clung to me.
I feel frightened and uneasy, she admitted.
Ten minutes later we were on the A1, the rush of wind pulling at her hair, a shiver of excitement and fear running through her. The headlights of a car behind us flashed, startling her. Soon a black Mercedes, my fathers, cut us off, rolling to a stop in our path.
No, not this, Ethel cried, curling into herself.
Her father and two men leapt from the vehicle, dragging Ethel away. I tried to intervene, but a blow knocked me down. They beat me mercilessly, never uttering a word, then drove off, leaving me sprawled on the roadside.
I eventually dragged myself home, limped for a week, and the arson case was dismissed as faulty wiring. I understood everything, but what haunted me most was Ethels fate. She stopped answering my messages; her phone was dead.
Her father sent her to the city, to stay with his sister Maud, giving her a modest sum of £3,000 and a strict order: Dont let her leave the house, no phone. If she returns to the village, Ill make sure she never sees the light of day again.
Goddamn Arthur, Maud muttered, horrified at the cruelty. She took Ethel in, knowing she would have to wait out her fathers wrath.
Arthur spread rumors that Ethel was to marry Victor in the city and would never come back to Littleford.
Give it time, love, Maud said. Youll find work, build a lifewithout Stan?
Without him, she replied.
Weeks later Ethel discovered she was pregnant. Maud consoled her, tears in her eyes.
Your father must never know, she whispered.
Ethel wept. She wanted to tell me, but I was a ghost in her life; her father had destroyed her phone, and even if Maud let her use hers, it was useless.
I hate my father, Ethel sobbed, He isnt a man. Maud stayed silent, knowing his cruelty was enough reason for hatred.
Time passed. I drifted, nothing brought me joy. I stopped chasing after women, worked hard, tried to drown my sorrow in a bottle, but gave up. Meanwhile, Ethel gave birth to a healthy boy, Matthew, who took after me in cheek and smile. Maud visited occasionally, spoiling the child. Arthur never learned about his grandson; he never returned to the village.
Four years slipped by. Matthew grew into a bright, lively lad. One spring, when the fields were awash with blossoms, Maud arrived at the cottage, exhausted, and sank onto a kitchen chair.
Oh, dear, she began, tears streaming.
Whats wrong? Ethel asked.
My husband, Arthur, is dying. The doctors found cancer too late. Hed always prided himself on his health.
Mauds voice trembled; despite the bruises hed given her over the years, his cruelty had finally taken its toll.
How will I manage alone? Ethel whispered.
The room fell silent. No one mourned Arthur; his friends gathered, muttering that the man who treated people like trash finally faced his own justice.
Arthur was buried in June. Ethel never attended, unable to forgive. Only a few of his cronies came, some even sneered, saying, He got what he deservedtreated people like rubbish, and now heavens taken him.
Maud gradually healed from the shock. I was still away on a guard shift, returning only briefly, living with my mother, who had finally managed to rid the house of Arthurs portrait so Ethel wouldnt see it.
Two weeks after Ethels return, she learned I was on another deployment. A few days later she walked with Matthew along the lane, the boy chasing butterflies, she perched on a fallen branch, wind ruffling her hair.
She recalled her childhood, the love shed once held, and felt his presence near.
Stan, a whisper called, and she leapt, both of us hurtling toward each other.
I had changed; the war had made me harder, but grief lingered in my eyes. Ethel, still as beautiful as ever, looked at me with softened femininity. We stared, speechless, the love we never let die flickering anew.
Stan, forgive mefor my father, for everything, for not telling you about our son. I never married Victor; that was my fathers lie. I lived with Maud in the city, she confessed.
I was stunned. Matthew, now racing through the grass, ran to us. Without a word, I recognized my own son, the spitting image of a boy Id seen only in old photographs.
My boy, I lifted him high, laughter spilling from us both. Youre my son, and Ill never let you go.
Dad, will you buy me a football? Matthew asked.
Of course, lad. Lets head to the shop now. Anything you want, love, I replied, glancing tenderly at Ethel, who nodded through tears.
I am grateful to fate that it has finally turned its favor. The universe rewards those who stay thankful, and now, more than ever, I feel the warm glow of a familys happiness.
