The Village Professionals
“Tess, love, have you heard? A new maths teachers moved to the village from the city. Old Mrs. Thompson finally retired. Bless her, shed been past retiring age for years, but there was no one else to teach the children. Now this chaps arrived,” chattered old Mrs. Whitby, the neighbour who always had the latest village gossip.
“No, I hadnt heard,” Tess replied. “A man, is it?”
“Thats right. And no young lad, eitherforty-six, they say, and single.”
“Forty-six and still unmarried?” Tess raised an eyebrow. “Maybe his wifell follow later. Or not City women dont fancy village life.”
“Well, never mind. Plenty of single women here, arent there? Take our nurse, Marthawidowed three years now, and a lovely woman. Perfect match, reallya teacher and a nurse.”
Rumours swirled before Gregory Turner had even met Martha. The village had already decided theyd marry.
Weeks passed, yet no wedding whispers surfaced. No one saw the teacher and nurse together muchthough of course theyd met. How could they not, in a village this small?
Gregory settled into the old cottage once reserved for teachers and medics, back when the village had more of them. Tall and pleasant-faced, he charmed the children with his lively lessons.
But the village womenperched on benches or doorstepscouldnt let well enough alone. Theories about Gregory flourished.
Mrs. Whitby led the charge: “Mark my words, ladieshes a widower. Buried his wife in the city, came here to start anew. Grief does that to a man.”
Mrs. Archer, who claimed to know everyones business, countered: “Ill tell you whathes mixed up in some city scandal. Debts, maybe. Or a fling gone wrong. Mark my words, hes hiding out here.”
No consensus was reached, but the tales spread. Martha, busy at the clinic, heard them secondhand from patients.
Forty-one and widowed, with a daughter at university, Martha had no interest in Gregory. Their paths barely crossedschool at one end of the village, clinic at the other.
“Martha, the whole villages talking about you and that teacher,” chuckled Lydia, the elderly nurse. “Theyve got you married off already.”
“Oh, Ive heard,” Martha sighed, sorting papers. “What nonsense. Weve barely spoken. He seems decent enough, but far too polishedfancy glasses, soft hands. Probably useless in a pinch.”
“Hes no boy, though,” Lydia said.
Martha smirked. “You know what they sayat forty-five, a mans a berry anew. And those berries last till theyre leaning on walking sticks.”
Lydia chuckled. “Fair point. If a mans alone at that age, theres a reason.”
“Exactly,” Martha said. “Let them gossip. Ive no time for dalliances.”
Eventually, the talk died down. Gregory earned respect as a good teacher; Martha as a steady nurse. Theyd exchange polite nods at the shop and go their separate ways.
Winter came, then the new year. Fresh gossip eclipsed the oldthe mayors daughter had returned from London, unmarried and pregnant. The village buzzed anew.
But one January morning, everything changed.
Old Mrs. Archer fell ill. Summoned to her cottage, Martha trudged through snowdrifts, exhausted. Inside, she found Gregory waiting.
“Youre here?” she asked.
“Brought young Tommy home from schoolhes feverish. His mothers at work,” Gregory explained. “But Mrs. Archerits serious. Ive called an ambulance.”
Martha examined the old womanstroke symptoms. “You did right. But how will the ambulance reach here?”
Gregory spotted a wooden ladder in the yard. “Tommy, fetch me some belts.”
Soon, theyd strapped Mrs. Archer to the ladder and were dragging her through the snow. As they worked, Martha asked, “Why *are* you single?”
Gregory didnt falter. “Wife left me seven years agoran off with some businessman. When they needed a teacher here, I volunteered. No regrets.”
At the clinic, as the ambulance took Mrs. Archer away, Martha studied Gregory anew.
*He didnt panic. Didnt complain. Just acted.*
That evening, villagers noticed Gregory walking Martha homehis cottage lay in the opposite direction. Soon, they were seen together daily, laughing like old friends.
“Martha,” Lydia teased during surgery hours, “whens the wedding?”
Martha laughed. “This summer. Gregorys on holiday then, and works quieter for me.”
The village had been right after all. As the saying goes, *where theres smoke, theres fire.* And sometimes, the rumours see what the heart takes longer to admit.
