Loneliness
I remember the time when a lady named Ethel, at the age of thirtytwo, was courted by a stout farmer from the hills, yet she turned him down. Better one true love than a cheap, fleeting promise, she would say. A man should not wander alone; a woman must always have a partner. Otherwise it feels all wrong, and no one will look upon you kindly. Do you know what loneliness is?
Loneliness? the farmer scoffed, his laugh thin as a cracked teacup.
It is a bitter taste, muttered her sister Martha, her eyes clouded with a sorrow that no one could disguise. It is like needing water for a thirsty child yet finding none.
Where? Ethel asked, trying not to stumble over her words.
Where where in Leeds! she finally understood, realizing that Marthas grief was nothing but a mask, and she fled the scene with a hurried step. You will have everything, and I will stay by your side. Being alone is hard, but the soul, though bruised, can be mended. Let us make a pact, shall we? The farmer is a good man, though some may not endure his haste.
Ethel had been a widow for ten years. Her late husband, the kind man she adored, had left her a modest farm ten years prior, and he had returned only once, briefly, to check on the fields. When Ethel learned of his brief return, she sent her son to work on two neighboring farms, then to the two farms cottages. Though the son tried to convince her that once is enough and nothing strange ever happens without a cause, Ethel remained steadfast. The farm stood still.
When the husbands brother arrived, he behaved gentlemanly, leaving the cottages former wife and the two children a modest allowance. The children grew and scattered: the eldest son stayed and laboured in York; the daughter soon married and crossed the Channel to join her husband. Ethel remained alone in a modest tworoom flat in the heart of London.
Living alone never embarrassed her. She took a modest job as a clerk, her steady earnings allowed her comfort, and she lived to her own satisfaction, often entertaining children and her sister Martha for tea. Though not a great scholar, she always found occupation and lived without boredom. She read much, swam, walked her dog, loved travel, and sometimes joined her friends for a night out at the local inn. In all, she lived contentedly.
Until that day, when Martha could not settle Ethels fate.
Listen to me, Ethel, said Martha, the farmer is a fine fellow, still young, sixtyone, and you have a sevenyear gap. He owns a large house, a good estate, with cattle, goats, pigs, and even a few chickens. He offers wholesome foodmilk, eggs, meat. You would live comfortably, you know! Moreover, he is kind, educated, and speaks like a gentleman in all his letters.
Ethel sighed, Very well, Martha, I shall meet my neighbourmy farmerjust to see. I promised nothing else.
A good saying goes, A job does not change ones nature. So Martha did not delay, quickly arranging a meeting between Ethel and the farmer.
The farmer turned out to be nothing more than a solid, muscular man, dressed neatly, with clean hands and wellkept nails. He wore a short coat, spoke mildly yet firmly, and, though a joker, could be serious when needed. His name was Edward.
At the second meeting, Edwards eyes lingered on Ethel. She began to think perhaps a calm soul was what she needed. Edward seemed intent on a union, urging her to marry soon, Let us travel together, my dear, and see the world.
Ethel wrote to Edward, asking him to meet at his farm for a visit. His estate lay on the outskirts of a green valley, with cattle lowing, pigs squealing, and chickens clucking. There were two workersa pair of men of Asian descentwho tended the land. Edwards business extended to selling meat and milk. He even hinted that he might sell a few coats.
Your farm needs help, Ethel, he said. You should tend the cows, milk the goats, collect the eggs. The house will be yours, and I will arrange a proper marriage. A good wife will keep the home in order, and we shall prosper together.
Ethel returned home, pondering all this. She owned a small plot in the city, a modest job, a tiny cottage where she liked to plant herbs in summer and bake loaves in winter. She had a modest carriage she had bought eight years earlier. She wondered what she would do with the farm, the pigs, the goats, the chickens, and the goose that never laid eggs.
She still had to prepare a midday meal for her husband, post letters, gather firewood, and keep the large house tidy. Of course, the income from the farm would be decent, yet she lived simply, with a modest pension and a few savings. These were all the necessities for a comfortable life for Ethel.
One evening, she called Martha.
Mash, do not be angry. I must decline Edwards proposal to marry him. Perhaps some lad will find happiness with a diligent man, but not me. He never showed any respect, Mash. He does not merely seek a wife; he seeks power. I cannot let him rule my heart.
Martha wept, then forgave herself, remembering the kindness of the farmer who had once spoken to her.
Ethel sent Edward a telegram, stating she would no longer attend his gatherings, for her wishes had changed and the bond between them was no longer favourable. Edward, after a few days, replied briefly, his tone now distant.
She rose at eight, made a simple breakfast, and sat down with a cup of tea, looking out the window. She thought of her childrenher son in York and her daughter in Francewho she ought to visit, and of the coat she needed to buy for the winter. She also thought of calling Lena, the village doctor, to arrange a checkup.
She recalled how, long ago, she had thought that all she needed was a husband to share the load of the farm, the cattle, the chickens, and the endless chores. Yet now she saw that a life lived alone, with modest means and a steady heart, was enough. She smiled, remembering the old saying: A quiet hearth keeps the soul warm.
