Fortune favors the grateful
Im now thirty, and the past decade has been spent in combat zones the Balkans, the Middle East, a couple of tours where I was wounded twice. Luckily, I survived each injury, though the second left me in hospital for months before I was finally sent back to my home village of Littlebrook.
Littlebrook has changed a great deal in those years, and so have its people. All my schoolmates have married and settled down, yet one day I spotted Ethel again. The last memory I had of her was from when I left for the army; she was just a shy girl of about thirteen. Now shes twentyfive, a strikingly beautiful woman, still single. Shed never met a man she felt compelled to marry, and she wasnt eager to start a family on a whim.
Im broadshouldered, solid, with a sharp sense of right and wrong, and I couldnt let Ethel slip by unnoticed.
Are you really waiting for me? And you still havent married? I asked, smiling at the lovely girl.
Perhaps, she replied, a faint blush crossing her cheeks, her heart fluttering.
From that moment we began seeing each other. It was late autumn; we walked along a narrow lane, the fallen leaves rustling under our boots.
Stan, my father will never allow us to marry, Ethel said sadly. Id already proposed twice. You know my father.
What can he do to me? Im not frightened of your father, I declared confidently. If he tries to hurt me, hell end up in prison, and then he wont be a problem for us.
Stan, you dont understand my father at all. Hes a hard man, and everything he does is controlled.
George Whitaker was the most influential man in the village. Once a modest businessman, rumors now swirled that he had shady connections. He was short, stout, with a cold, sly look, and a reputation for cruelty. Hed built two farms in his youth, raising cattle and pigs, and employed more than half the villagers. Everyone bowed to him, even almost to the point of worship, while he fancied himself a god.
My father wont permit our marriage, Ethel continued, and he wants me to wed the son of his old friend from the district that brute, heavydrinking lad Victor. Ive told him a hundred times I cant stand him.
Ethel, were living like its the Dark Ages. Who in this day and age can force a girl to marry someone she doesnt love? I wondered aloud.
My love for Ethel was total; I adored everything about her, from her gentle gaze to her fiery spirit. She, too, could not picture life without me.
Lets go, I said, taking her hand and quickening my pace.
Where to? she began to guess, but could not stop me.
In the courtyard of the grand Whitaker house, George was deep in conversation with his younger brother, Samuel, who lived in the adjoining cottage and was always ready to help.
Mr. Whitaker, Ethel and I wish to marry, I announced. May I have your daughters hand?
Ethels mother stood on the porch, hand over her mouth in fright, watching the tyrannical husband who had long bullied her.
Georges eyes narrowed at my boldness. He glared, but I met his stare headon. He seemed bewildered by my audacity.
Get out of here, George roared. Youre a drunken fool. What were you thinking? My daughter will never marry you. Forget this road, you soldier.
Well marry regardless, I replied, steady.
The villagers respected me, but Georges father knew nothing of war. To him, money was everything. Anger rose in me, and I clenched my fists. Samuel stepped between us, sensing that neither side would yield.
While Samuel was shooing me away, George forced his daughter inside as if she were a child. He never forgave anyone who challenged him.
That same night, a fire broke out in Littlebrook, engulfing the garage I had recently opened.
Damned scum, I muttered, certain it was sabotage.
Ten minutes later we were on the A1, heading north.
The following night I quietly pulled up to Ethels house. 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 suitcase, then slipped out, landing gently 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 nervous and frightened, she admitted.
Ten minutes later we were already on the motorway. The thrill made Ethels breath quicken and a chill run through her. She sensed a new life ahead. The headlights of a car flashed behind us, startling her, but soon a sleek Mercedes Georges roared up, stopped, and blocked our path.
No, not this, Ethel cried, curling into herself.
George stepped out with two henchmen, seized his daughter by the arm. I tried to intervene but was struck hard, knocked to the ground, and beaten mercilessly without a word spoken. The thugs then drove off in Georges car, leaving me sprawled on the roadside.
I eventually made it home, spent a week recovering. The arson case was closed, blamed on faulty wiring. I understood everything now, but my greatest worry was Ethels fate. She stopped answering my messages; her number was dead.
George sent her to the city to stay with his sister, Mabel, leaving a tidy sum of £5,000. He ordered:
Dont let Ethel leave the house, dont give her a phone. If she returns to the village, Ill make sure she never sees daylight again.
Mabel, horrified, muttered, Oh George, why ruin your own daughters life?
She ushered Ethel to a bedroom, knowing she needed to wait out Georges fury.
George spread rumors that Ethel was to marry Victor in the city, that she would never come back.
Soon youll find work, settle down, Mabel told her. Without Stan?
Without him, Mabel replied.
Weeks later Ethel discovered she was pregnant. Mabel comforted her, feeling a deep pity for her niece.
Your father must never know, she whispered.
Ethel wept; the thought of her father mattered little now. She wanted to tell Stan, but his number was gone George had destroyed her phone. Even if Mabel let her use hers, there was nowhere to reach him.
I hate my father, Ethel sobbed, hes not a man. Mabel stayed silent; there were many reasons to loathe him.
Time passed. I couldnt forget Ethel. I drifted, doing nothing that pleased me, avoiding other women, working hard, even tried drinking, but it left me empty. Meanwhile Ethel gave birth to a healthy boy, Matty, a spittingimage of me. She visited occasionally with the baby. We kept the childs existence secret from George; he never learned, never visited, never suspected.
Four years later Matty grew into a bright, lively lad. One spring, when everything was in bloom, Ethels mother came to Mabels house, sank into a kitchen chair and sobbed.
Father is dying, she announced. They found cancer; its too late now. Hed always prided himself on his health, never went to a doctor.
Shed endured bruises from his hand all her life, and now his illness had finally taken him down.
How will I survive alone? she asked, tears streaming.
No one mourned George. He was buried in June; few attended, only his old cronies, who whispered, He treated people like trash; now heavens justice catches up with him.
Ethel never went to the funeral; she could not forgive him, nor could she bear to see his face. The village whispered, What goes around comes around, God sees all.
Meanwhile I was on a temporary posting, moving between the base and home, living with my mother. When I finally returned after five years, the village seemed calmer. My mother had recovered a bit, the weight of her abusive husband finally lifting. She even removed his photograph from the wall.
Two weeks after my return, I learned I was still on duty elsewhere, but a few days later I walked with Matty along the hedgerow. He chased butterflies, rolled in the tall grass, while I perched on a fallen branch feeling the wind on my face.
Memories of my childhood flickered, and suddenly I sensed a presence beside me.
Ethel, a soft voice called, and she sprang up, we both lunged toward each other.
I had changed, grown more tempered, yet a lingering sorrow remained. Ethel retained her beauty, a gentle femininity. We stared, silent, our love never truly fading, only the pain had dulled.
Stan, forgive me for everything my father, the lies, not telling you about our son, she whispered. I never married Victor; it was my fathers rumor. I lived with Mabel in the city.
I was stunned. Matty, now darting through the grass, ran to us. In an instant I realized this was my own child, the spittingimage of me as a boy. I lifted him high, laughing.
My son! I exclaimed. I wont ever let you go.
Dad, Matty asked, will you buy me a football?
Of course, lad. Lets go to the shop right now, get you a ball and anything else you want. He beamed at his mother, who nodded through tears.
I am grateful to fate for bringing Ethel back into my life. Fortune truly favors the grateful, rewarding us now with a familys happiness.
