She fled to the country and, in the end, found true happiness.
Agnes hurriedly packed her belongings. Her hands trembled, tears welled in her eyes. After twenty years of marriage, her husband George announced that he was leaving her for a younger, lively womannothing like Agnes, who was weary from work, forever juggling housework and the upbringing of the children.
The children were already grown. Her son studied in another town and visited only on rare occasions. Her daughter had married and moved in with her husband. Agnes was left alone in a spacious flat that suddenly felt empty and foreign.
She threw her things into a suitcase without bothering to sort what she really needed. What did it matter? All she wanted was to run, to hide from the pain and humiliation.
The phone rang as she was fastening the suitcase. The screen displayed the name of her friend Clare, and Agnes sighed. She didnt feel like speaking to anyone.
Hello, she answered reluctantly.
Agnes, love, I just heard How are you? Clares voice sounded worried.
Fine, Agnes replied flatly. Packing.
Where are you off to?
I dont know, Agnes admitted honestly. I just cant stay here any longer.
You still have that cottage in the village, the one your grandmother left you. Why not go there?
Agnes froze. Indeed, she owned a little cottage in Marlbrook, a hamlet her mothers side had handed down. They used to go there when the children were small, then stopped. George had always complained that country life bored him, preferring seaside holidays.
Youre a genius, Clare! Agnes exclaimed. Thats where Im going!
Is it habitable? Does it have heating?
Theres a coal stove and electricity. Thats all I need.
An hour later Agnes was on the commuter train heading toward Marlbrook, fifty kilometres from Londonanother world entirely.
The village greeted her with quiet and the scent of lilac. The grannys cottage sat on the edge, surrounded by ancient apple trees. She struggled to open the creaky gate and stepped into the yard.
Everything looked neglected. Grass reached her knees, the porch sagged, a window was broken. Agnes let out a heavy sigh. What could she possibly do here? She was a city dweller, accustomed to comforts.
Whos there? croaked a hoarse voice, and a small, stooped old woman shuffled out from behind the house, a wooden stick in hand.
Good day, Agnes stammered, Im the granddaughter of Mary Peterson. This is her house.
The Peterson house? the old woman squinted, eyeing the stranger. And youre Agnes, I presume?
Yes, Agnes answered, and who are you?
Im Mabel, a neighbour. Your grandmother and I were close. Why have you come?
To live, Agnes said suddenly, with a firmness that surprised her.
To live? Mabel shook her head doubtfully. You cant live here. The house is falling apart, needs repair. And what would a city girl do?
Ill manage, Agnes replied stubbornly and walked toward the cottage.
She found the key in her bag, turned the lock, and entered. The interior reeked of damp and dust. Old furniture lay under a blanket of grime, a coal stove sat in the corner, a table, two beds, and yellowed photographs on the walls. One picture showed a young, radiant grandmother.
Agnes sank onto a bed and wept. For the first time in years she let the tears flow, sobbing fiercely, releasing all the hurt and shame.
When the tears dried, a strange calm settled over her. In that old house she felt shielded from the world; no one would judge her sorrow.
The next morning she awoke to birdsong and bright sunlight streaming through the window. She washed her face with cold water from a bucket and stepped into the yard.
Morning, neighbour, called a familiar hoarse voice. Mabel stood by the fence, a braid of herbs in her hands.
Morning, Agnes replied.
I thought youd be hungry. Brought you milk, bread, and a few potatoes. The shops a trek away.
Thank you, Agnes said, touched. Youre very kind.
Manners, dear. Neighbours look after each other. So, youre really planning to stay?
Yes, Agnes nodded, but I have no idea where to start.
Start with cleaning, Mabel suggested, pulling out a bucket and a broom. Ill help you. I have rags and a brush.
They spent the whole day sweeping, washing, airing out the rooms. By evening Agnes collapsed from fatigue, yet for the first time felt a genuine sense of accomplishment.
Tomorrow well check the stove, Mabel said as she left. May can be fickle, the cold will return.
Agnes nodded, beginning to understand that country life meant constant work, a thought that oddly steadied rather than frightened her.
In the days that followed they repaired the stove, glazed the broken window, and straightened the porch. Agnes learned to cook on the coal stove, draw water from the well, and heat the washhouse. Her hands grew calloused, her back ached, but her body grew accustomed to the labour.
One evening a woman entered the cottage with Mabel.
This is Eleanor, she works at the village library. I heard we have a new resident and wanted to introduce myself, Mabel said.
Pleasure, Eleanor smiled, shaking Agness hand. New faces are rare here, especially ones who intend to stay.
Agnes blushed. Im not sure how long Ill be.
What did you do in the city? Eleanor asked.
I was an accountant, Agnes replied.
Whats your education?
Economics, she said. And?
The school here lacks a maths teacher. Perhaps you could help, even temporarily?
The idea struck a chord. Agnes had never thought about teaching, but it seemed appealing.
Ill think about it, she said.
A week later Agnes stood before a small group of village childrenfifteen in total, of various ages. The oneroom school ran a mixedage programme.
Good morning, children, she began, voice trembling slightly, my name is Agnes Peterson, and Ill be teaching you mathematics.
The children watched her cautiously. She inhaled deeply and began the lesson. To her surprise, teaching proved exhilarating. The youngsters asked keen questions, their curiosity spurring her own enthusiasm. By the end of the session she felt a lift she hadnt known in years.
Thus Agnes became woven into village life: teaching, tending the garden she revived, chatting with neighbours. Her phone rang only rarely. Her son sent a message asking how she was; her daughter called to arrange a visit. Agnes answered simply, Im well, and meant it.
London seemed a distant echo. She sometimes recalled the flat, the office, the marriage, but those memories no longer cut like knives; they were merely chapters left behind.
One evening Thomas, the local farmer, knocked on her door. Tall, broadshouldered, with a kindly face and a full beard, he asked, Agnes, may I have a word?
Of course, Thomas, come in. Would you like some tea? she offered.
Thank you, he replied, stepping inside.
They sat over honeysweetened tea, Thomas speaking of his farm and future plans, Agnes listening intently.
Agnes, I need a hand with the accounts. The farm is expanding, and Im not good with the paperwork. Could you help?
The proposition was unexpected but tempting; she missed professional work.
Ill consider it, she said.
A short while, if you can, Thomas added, the seasons starting, theres much to do.
A few days later she agreed. Mornings were spent at the school, afternoons assisting Thomas, evenings in her garden.
Thomas later offered to help with the overgrown plot.
You cant manage it alone, he said, wheeling a tractor up the lane. Let me give you a lift.
He ploughed the soil in a few hours, then they sowed potatoes, onions, carrots together, laughing and occasionally bickering.
Youve a fine yard, Thomas noted, eyeing the fence that had collapsed.
My funds are thin for a new fence, Agnes sighed.
Well share what we have, Thomas replied, smiling, youll feed me with your famous pies. Deal?
She agreed, grateful for his straightforward generosity.
The whole village pitched in to rebuild the fenceMabel with her son, Eleanor with her husband, and others. After a days hard work they celebrated with a makeshift feast in Agness garden.
To new beginnings! Thomas raised a mug of homemade cider.
To fresh lives! Eleanor added.
Agnes watched these simple, open folk, feeling she had finally found her placea life grounded in nature and kindness, far from the pretence of the city.
One autumn, her former husband George arrived unexpectedly, his polished car grinding to a halt at the gate.
Agnes, he called, may I come in?
She brushed a stray hair from her apron, nodded, and let him in. He looked around, bewildered.
You live here? he asked.
Yes, she replied simply.
But you have a flat in London, all the comforts
I like it here, she shrugged.
George studied her. She was sunnier, slimmer, moved with confidence, her eyes sparkling with a new light.
You lookdifferent, he said.
I am different, she answered, offering tea.
They sat on the verandah, sipping tea with a spoonful of her own blackberry jam. George talked of his new life, but his words no longer pierced her.
I came to ask you to return, he said finally. I was wrong. That other woman was a mistake. I love only you.
Agnes looked at him, astonished. Not long ago those words would have set her heart racing; now she felt only calm.
George, she said softly, Im grateful for your honesty, but I will not go back. My home is here.
But this is a village! he exclaimed. There are no theatres, no restaurants, no shops!
Here we have a real life, Agnes replied evenly, and real people.
What about our marriage? Twenty years together
It ended when you left, she said without blame. If you hadnt walked away, I never would have discovered myself.
George stared, bewildered by this confident woman who bore little resemblance to the Agnes he once knew.
Are you happy here? he asked at last.
Yes, she replied, I am happy.
When he left, Thomas appeared with a bucket of apples from his orchard.
Agnes, fresh apples for you! Merton Gold, the sweetest! he called.
Thank you, Thomas, she said, could you help me pull the carrots? One hand is hard.
Anything for you, he grinned, and they worked side by side as the sun painted the sky pink, the air heavy with apple scent and autumn leaves.
Who visited you? Thomas asked later, wiping his hands. A city car?
My exhusband, Agnes answered. He wanted me back in the city.
What did he want?
Just that, she said, smiling. I turned him down. Im content here.
Thomas laughed, and they returned to the garden in companionable silence.
That evening Thomas lingered at the gate.
Theres a barn dance on Saturday at the village hall. Would you like to go with me?
Agnes smiled at his shy expression.
With pleasure, Thomas, she replied.
On Saturday she donned her best simple dress. Thomas arrived, a bouquet of wildflowers in hand.
You look radiant, he said, handing her the flowers.
The hall was filled with folk songs, poetry, and dancing. Thomas asked her to a waltz. He was clumsy but earnest; Agnes felt his steady, gentle arms around her.
Thomas, he whispered, eyes meeting hers, Im a simple man, no city manners. Yet Im completely smitten with you.
She saw the earnestness in his kind eyes and felt the same.
I feel the same, Thomas, she replied softly.
They danced until the night grew late, then he escorted her home, taking her hand at the gate.
May I come tomorrow? he asked.
Come anytime, she answered, Ill be waiting.
She stood at the window, watching his sturdy figure disappear down the lane, and realised, for the first time truly, that she was happy.
Winter cloaked the village in snow. Thomas cleared the paths each morning, and they spent many evenings together over tea, talking of hopes and plans.
Eleanor remarked one day, You and Thomas make a fine pair. Whens the wedding?
Agnes blushed. Were just friends.
Friends who stare at each other with lovers eyes, Eleanor teased.
When spring arrived Thomas knelt in the garden and simply said, Will you marry me, Agnes? I love you.
Yes, Thomas. I love you too, she answered, and the whole village celebrated the union. Agness son and daughter arrived, initially shocked, but seeing their mothers radiant joy, they embraced her choice.
Just seeing you happy is enough, Mum, her daughter said, hugging her.
Agnes truly was happy. She had found her place in a modest village, among plain folk, beside the man she loved. The happiness was genuine, free of pretence.
Each morning she awoke with a smile, eager for the day aheadteaching, farming, caring for her home, evenings by the fire with Thomas. The old city life, with its frantic pace and hollow conversations, now seemed a distant, irrelevant story.
She finally understood that happiness is being where you belong, doing work you love, surrounded by people who truly value you. She had escaped to the countryside, fled pain, and discovered love and herself. And she lived, at long last, happily ever after.
