Give me your daughter and Ill keep silent, he whispered.
Im sorry, I didnt seebe a decent man, Albert, dont ruin everything
What am I to you, Albert? Have you forgotten my name? Call me Albert Whitfield, as you will.
Have mercy, dont drag this to the magistrate
Albert rose, straightened his shoulders until his shirt creaked. A fierce fire flared in his dark eyes, scorching the frail George, whose shoulders slumped in terror.
George had led the work crews for years, but Albert had only become the council chairman a year ago. At first people doubted himhe was barely twentyfive, a whisker of a man. Yet the district officials, seeing his grip on farm affairs, his vigor and sensible judgment, gave him their blessing.
Youre a thief, George Archibald, Albert declared, his voice ringing with metallic overtones. When Albert says it, you cannot evade it; the authority vested in me will bend you like a shepherds crook.
There were stacks of hay and they vanishedyes, that was in the spring. You think Ive forgotten? Ill hand you over to the court!
How could this be? Ive toiled honestly in the fields, I swear I took nothing. Albert, perhaps we can strike a bargain? My wife wont survive this, and I have children
Children, you say? Albert murmured, thinking. You want a deal? You wish protection, but whats my risk? If I shield you, there must be a price
George tensed, watching the chairman, feeling a flicker of hope.
And Emilyyour pretty, gentle girlwhat if I marry your daughter? I could become her guardian
George turned pale. Think, Albert, shes still a child.
A child? I saw her on the farm the other day, a budding bride
Shes barely seventeen, still a doll, being nursed by her mother
Shes old enough to be cared for! Heres my condition: give me your girl and Ill keep quiet about your mistake. Defy me and Ill inform the district authorities, and youll face the magistrate. Decidehand me your daughter or bake your biscuits, and Ill decide whether youll ever see your family again.
George fell to his knees before the chairman. What do you demand of me? This burden is unbearable! How can I surrender my child to you? What monster am I?
Albert returned to the table, sat down, and unfolded a sheet of paper. Then we shall record it: George Zwick went against authority, laid a hand on the common good
Wait, dont write, George pleaded, his voice cracking, Ill speak with my daughter today.
Do so. Shes a stubborn little thing, ready to argue, and you call her little.
Youre at fault, you took her, Albert smiled.
George sighed heavily. If only there were a soul to pull us out
He trudged home, collapsed onto the bench, and began untying his boots.
Whats the matter? asked Martha, his wife.
A pot of stew simmered, fresh bread rose in the oven, the whole cottage filled with the scent of baking. Whats the gloom?
Emily! he called. The girl just stepped out of the bedroom, her braid unfinished.
What, father?
He looked at her. Our chairman has his eye on a bride says he wishes to marry you.
Emilys lips quivered, her hands tugged at her tangled hair, and she swayed like a birch in a wind, trembling at his words: Why would he want me? I dont want this
Martha dropped her cuppa, gasped, and sank onto a stool.
George exhaled again. I know you dont want it, and I dont want it either. Its too early but what can we do?
Father, why are we being forced?
Who thought it proper to drag a girl into the council by force? Were not living under a kings edict
The chairman thought it proper, and now the officials have his back
Just refuse, thats all.
Father, I wont go with him, hes cruel, everyone fears him
Their younger son, Tommy, leaning against the hearth, listened to every word.
Im sorry, I slipped, my mind was poor, I missed the hay stacks in spring
Oh, father, theyll put you in jail
Albert promises to jail me he threatens to hide me, he hasnt earned my trust, he says
So whats the point? If he wants to take Emily in marriage, hell just leave you behind
Exactly, George agreed, hand over my daughter for my mistake I dont need such a soninlaw.
Father, you should complain, Tommy interjected.
Silence, Ill manage without your advice, George snapped. If you keep nagging, youll be the one to get a slap, my advisor appears but who will listen to me? Hes still a green chairman
Father, Im scared of him, Emily sobbed.
George glanced at his daughter, then at Martha, sighed, and began to gather his things.
Where are you going? Martha asked.
Pack, dear, a clean shirt, dont forget the biscuits Ill go to Albert tomorrow morning, let him arrest me if he wishes, Im not his enemy, I wont hand over my child by force, and its still too early for her.
Martha rushed to him, embraced him, and shouted. Emily retreated to her room and lay on the madeup bed, listening to her mothers cries and her fathers sighs. She hadnt even noticed the other girls playing outside only her brothers friend, Fred, a year older, seemed close enough. She thought of the chairman, but his grim face and constant barking terrified her; she felt he was a stranger.
She felt sorry for herself, for being thrust into marriage with a man she barely knew, and for her father about to be taken away. She began to braid her hair, pulling at it fiercely, feeling only anger and despair. She went back to her parents, took the sack from her fathers hands.
Dont go anywhere, father, she said, for the first time addressing him as father instead of dad, Ill stay.
If I were willing, George struck his chest, it wouldnt hurt me so much. Youll have a hard time with him Ill serve my term, but youll live without tears.
Father! Emily clutched him. Dont go! Theyll lock you up and not blink. Theyll condemn us, blame me, Tommy, and even my sister Antonia, who already has a husband and children.
George slumped onto the chesthigh bench by the door, which doubled as a storage seat. I know, Antonia will also be blamed, the whole family will be shamed thats terrifying.
Tell him tomorrow Ill agree, let the matchmakers do their work, Emily pleaded.
Martha gathered the packed belongings and placed them by the stove, wiping her eyes as she set the table.
That night George and Martha lay awake, murmuring, shifting, breathing heavily. From the next room Emilys sobs could be heard.
No, Martha, she fears him, marriage would be a burden, especially now. You must get my sack early tomorrow, Ill handle the yard and go to Albert, let him do what he likes, but I wont give my daughter away.
Martha, hearing this, clung to her husband: George, as you wish, well manage without you
* * *
At dawn they rose, careful not to rouse the children. While tending the yard, they didnt notice Tommy slipping through the gate. By the time they stopped, the sun was already high.
Wheres our little one? George asked.
I dont know, maybe he ran to school, Emily answered, I havent seen him since morning.
Hell come back. Ill stay a while longer
George, stay home till lunch, the enemy Albert wont have a chance to catch us, Martha said, still hoping the trouble would pass on its own.
And why rush to prison? George thought.
Meanwhile Tommy rode a cart with his uncle Harold to the district centre.
Tommy, why the rush to the centre? asked Harold.
I have an errand from schoolcollect the certificates, Tommy replied, inventing a story, his face solemn as if it were true.
Harold kicked the horse, clattering barrels, and the cart rolled into the centre.
Tommy leapt off, thanked the clerk, and ran to the district office. The first secretary, Mr. Gresham, a sturdy, taciturn man of fortyfive, was there. By chance Tommy thought him the one who could help his father and Emily.
What do you want, lad? asked Gresham, surprised.
Im looking for Alex Mitchell.
And why?
I have business with him.
Children have no place here.
Then Gresham himself appeared. Tommy, flustered, babbled, confusing the secretary.
Hold on, thats impossible to untangle. Come in, the chief is here.
Do you know whose tail youre wagging? Youre slandering the chairman, the secretary warned.
Its the purest pioneer spirit! My mother and sister wail, my father faces prison, and he didnt take those hay stacks, I swear
Where did you hear that?
I know! Its all Albert Archibalds doing, trying to force Emily into marriage
Alright, I was just coming by wait by the doorway until Harold brings the carriage.
Back at the council, Albert Zorin, issuing orders, inspected the fields and scolded the lackada tractorist Pete. When Mr. Gresham entered, everyone fell silent. Albert straightened, ready to report on pressing matters.
Tommy lingered, glancing at windows, never one to complain even when wronged. Yet he felt pity for his father, wondering why he might be sent to gaol. And his sisterwhat could they ask of her? Shed be taken like a stray hen.
So, tell us how you govern here? Gresham asked.
Alex Mitchell, its as usual, we try
I see youve lost the hay this spring, yet you only now raise a storm. Why stay silent before? Waiting for a convenient moment? And why are you so sure my foreman Zwick is guilty? Because your daughter refused you, so you resort to blackmail?
The secretarys questions fell like peas, catching Albert off guard.
Albert grew pale. Understood. Im at fault, he admitted. Its not proven; it wasnt me, someone else took it I tried to scare him.
Youll answer for that, Gresham said softly, his words striking like a whip. I appointed you, I can dismiss you youll stand trial for overstepping.
Tommy burst in, flinging the door wide. There turn it on, he pointed at the radio, the wars on.
Gresham and Albert looked at the receiver, hearing a broadcast: June 22, 1941.
Tommy raced home, the news fresh.
Mr. Mitchell, I bear no guilt, but now isnt the time, Albert, now pale, said. Dont bring this to court, let me go to the front; theyll call me anyway.
Gresham, stunned, leaned over the desk, pondering Alberts fate.
The hay was eaten, Albert continued, by whose cattle we do not know. Im needed at the front now
Who will stay here? Gresham asked.
The men will, even old Harold, whos past conscription age, could step in as chairman
Very well, Zorin, I have other matters now. Ill think on yours later.
A week later, carts lined the council square, villagers gathered, some weeping, some laughing.
Albert bowed, took off his sack, and entered a circle. The village fiddler stretched his strings, the rhythm rising. Albert, usually stern, suddenly swayed, his arms outstretched, stamping in time. The crowd formed a tight ring around him.
Ah, Albert Whitfield, your hands could cradle a wife, yet now you must hug a rifle, muttered Harold Ivy, the new chairman, his voice bitter.
The Zwick family saw their soninlaw depart, Antonia clung like a lash, not letting go until a command sounded: Off the carts!
* * *
Hard years fell over the empty hamlet, women now sweeping the fields, the farms, the woods. George Zwick escaped the draft but worked as if three men were on his back.
Cold winters, unpredictable springs, and grim days brought sorrowful news.
Oh, Martha sighed, glancing at her daughter, the trouble passed, yet another sorrow arrives. Todays grief pales like a dying fire in the hearth.
Four years thinned the village, widows and orphans multiplied. Yet spring of 45 revived hope, bringing victory nearer.
Fedor returned in March, wounded but home, once conscripted at eighteen, now a handsome bachelor.
Why do you turn away from Fedor? asked Martha, now older, to Emily. Where else will you find a suitor? He could be your match.
I understand, Mother, but I feel nothing I dont love him.
What feelings, Emily? Youll remain a maid forever.
A month later Albert Zorin came back. Women stared as he trudged the dusty road, noting his coats empty sleeve.
Good day, ladies! How fare you? Where is my mother?
Oh, joy shes on the farm, where else? Come, cheer her, todays a celebrationour sons returned.
Albert quickly threw himself into work. At the first council meeting, he was suggested for chairmanship.
We have a chairman, Albert said, Harold Ivy tended the farm through the war; isnt he fit to stay?
A selfremoval? the villagers asked.
Exactly.
He changed. His demeanor softened, pride vanishedperhaps the war had sanded his edge.
Good day, George Archibald, Albert greeted first, glad to see you.
Good day, Albert Whitfield.
Forget the patronymic, Im younger now. I used to boast I thought of you through the war, regretted not asking forgiveness. So I say now: forgive me for those hay stacks; I knew I wasnt at fault
George coughed, blinked. Then forgive me too, Albert, I also moved those stacks
How so?
The farm had a calf, no feed, and we were ordered not to touch the stacksjust a reserve. I went against it.
George removed his hat, clenching it, feeling a flood of emotion. I took none for myself, thats not my fault
Thats the story, Albert said. You fed our cows, after all lets not dwell on old times, before the war.
Father, why are you babbling now? asked Tommy as George walked away. He was a snake, now his sting is gone.
Tommy received a swift smack.
You understand little! You havent lived, yet you judge. Alberts medals show he didnt shy from battle, not a snake.
What, father? I recall the past
Forget it know this: its easy to err, hard to amend. He gave his son a gentle shove. Alls well, son, the wars over, well live.
* * *
The cart yard clattered, and Emily, delighted, ran to meet it. Large milk barrels waited for transport.
Albert tethered a pony with one hand, turned, and Emily, carrying a barrel, approached. Hold on, lets do this together, he said, taking the other side. As he moved the barrels, she untied the pony, feeling his hand on her shoulder. He lowered it softly, not to scare her. Dont worry about me, Ill manage even onehanded, he whispered.
I only wanted to help.
You already did, he nodded toward the yard, everyones moving goods.
He nudged the horse, and she watched, her heart swelling with pity. An inexplicable compassion for Albert rose within hera strange mercy for a wounded soldier.
Days passed without Albert; teenagers, the Voloshin brothers, visited instead. One warm May afternoon Emily spotted a familiar silhouette, a lone sleeve drifting in the distance.
He leapt from the cart, approached, smiling. The wars overIn the quiet hush that followed, Emily reached out, felt the phantom warmth of his hand dissolve into mist, and whispered that love, even forged in the crucible of war, would forever linger like the echo of a forgotten lullaby.
