If anyone had ever warned Blythe that she would become the source of gossip and the wedge between a father and his son, she would have demanded that they take back their words. Blythe was a modest country girl, but she could still stand up for herself. Still, the events unfolded exactly as they did, and even in the most dreadful nightmare she could not have imagined that happiness would demand she pass through seven circles of torment.
Blythe had only recently set foot in Birmingham, although she had begged her mother not to send her to her aunt. Yet the family council decided that Blythe should be the one to go to Martha Whitaker, for there was no one else. George, the patriarch, worked as a tractor driver and now found his fields brimming with work. Her mother kept the farm running, while the brothers and sisters were fewsome still in school, others still at nursery.
With a small suitcase stuffed with the essentials, Blythe travelled to the aunt she had seen only once, at a christening. Rumours said that Martha, because of her sharp temper, had never managed to get on with any of her three husbands. She had no children, and thus no heirs, and Blythes parents secretly hoped she would leave the cottage to their niece. That is exactly what happened, but Martha treated Blythe kindly enough, yet kept a careful distance. She never pried into her nieces life, nor let anyone into her own world. One wonders why she kept Blythe at all. The answer was simple: lately she feared she might die unnoticed, left to rot in a flat until a foul smell prompted a neighbour to call the constable.
Martha had long battled an incurable illness and knew she would not live much longer. To her, Blythe was a ticket to a timely funeral and a proper wake. Blythe sensed her aunts anxieties and asked no questions. She washed, cooked, cleaned, shoppedanything that was expected of her. With no friends, the young woman who was used to ending a hard day chatting with peers on the village bench felt a keen loneliness. In Birmingham she rarely left the flat; the only escape was the balcony, where she could sit for hours watching young mothers stroll with their babes or elderly ladies gather by the entrance to gossip about the latest news. It seemed Blythes life split into two parts: the unpleasant grind of running errands for her ailing aunt, and the pleasant interlude that began when Martha fell asleep after her painkillers. Then Blythe could brew a fragrant cup of tea and enjoy a few tranquil moments on the balcony.
Soon Blythe met a charming neighbour, Andrew Hart, who often appeared on the same balcony at the same hour. At first they nodded politely, pretending not to notice each other, then exchanged greetings, and eventually their conversations took on the tone of youthful infatuation. Both hurried to the balcony, hoping to catch a glimpse of the other and steal a few minutes together. By the time Martha passed away, Blythe and Andrew were already close, having confessed their feelings. After the funeral Blythe told her parents she wanted to stay in the city to study, though they saw through the pretense and simply did not argue.
Certain of her own heart and Andrews, Blythe welcomed his courtship and his proposal. Andrew lived alone; his mother had remarried after a divorce and moved to the United States. His father, Thomas Whitaker, practised medicine in Kenya and visited only once a year on holiday. The wedding was modest but joyous, and the newlyweds felt they would spend the rest of their lives side by side.
Andrew followed in his fathers footsteps, training as a doctor and becoming a junior surgeon at a city hospital. Blythe, wanting to match her husbands standing, enrolled in a nursing course after a brief stint of study. She imagined the two of them working together, saving patients, but not all dreams come true.
Blythe, the fathers arriving in a week! Youll need to tidy up, Andrew said.
Really? What does he like? We should stock up, plan a menu, give the place a good clean
Dont fret! Hes not the king of Kenya, just my simple father.
Yet Blythe worried. She had seen his photographstanned, fit, a hint of Spanish or Turkish lookbut appearances deceive. What if he turned out to be a snob or a perfectionist, finding fault in everything? Or if Andrew later thought she wasnt good enough and left? Thomas Whitaker, however, proved a different man. From the moment he stepped through the door he kissed his son and daughterinlaw, congratulated them, apologised for missing the wedding, and brought a heap of gifts. He praised Blythes stew, saying he hadnt tasted anything better, then set off to visit old friends. A month flew by before Thomas returned to Kenya, leaving the young couple to their own devices.
Sometimes Blythe could not fathom why her motherinlaw seemed eager to replace Thomas with someone else. The man cooked superbly, often rising early to whip up delicate crêpes that would shame any housewife, and he lent a hand with the housework, urging Andrew: What a lucky lad you are, to have such a good wife treat her well, lest you lose your happiness. Andrew smiled silently, thinking Blythe would never stray; she was not the sort to abandon everything. Even if she were unfaithful, she would forgive and carry on as if nothing had happened. In the countryside life was simple: people lived for their children and endured everything.
When a young nurse tried to flirt with Andrew, he fell into a new romance, caring little that his own wife was grappling with a severe morning sickness that left her unable to cook. He would come home full, share dinner with his colleague Karina, drive her home, then feign fatigue and retreat to his own bedroom. Blythe seemed oblivious to the shift, lost in her own feelings. She rejoiced at the thought of motherhood yet feared she might not manage, though how could she, with such a caring husband?
Soon Blythe gave birth, and the workload multiplied. Milk ran short, the infant woke crying at all hours, and Andrew grew irritable, demanding that Blythe calm the child while he retired to the lounge. When Thomas returned, he barely recognised Blythe. The oncecheerful, rosycheeked woman had become pale and gaunt, a shadow of herself; Andrew, meanwhile, had lost weight and stayed out late.
Help a bit with the wife, will you? Thomas said.
Dad, shes at home all day; she could at least look after the child.
Anyone else in your life?
Why do you ask?
Because I see you light up when youre out and grow sour when youre back.
Nothing serious, Father.
Make sure nothing serious turns into a disaster.
Blythes to blame herself. Shes no longer a woman. Look at her hair, her face.
Its your own doing, Father. She barely rests.
Im off, work calls!
Andrew seemed unwilling to listen to his father; he believed Blythe should manage everything at home, while Thomas alone understood her without words and did what he could to help. Blythe, go to bed, and Ill watch the grandchild. What if she gets hungry? Do you think I cant mix a formula and feed the baby? Remember I raised a lout like you, your husband. Thanks to her fatherinlaw, Blythe finally managed a few hours of sleep. Thomas would stroll with the baby, feed and tuck her in while Blythe was occupied, giving her a brief respite. She thanked him nightly, praying that God would grant him a woman with whom he could find his own happiness. It must have been lonely for Thomas, far away in Kenya, while Blythe had Andrew and their daughter.
Gradually, Blythe thought more and more of Thomas. He became more than a fatherinlaw; he was a father, brother, friend, confidante. He could talk about anything, always listen and support. Yet a dark thought lingered: what if he left? Blythe grew melancholy.
Blythe, you look downcast.
Just nothing.
Here, take some money, get yourself to the salonhaircut, colour, makeup, manicure. Then shop for something nice. Dont worry about the child; Ill look after her.
In a flash, she kissed Thomas on the cheek and raced off to obey his instructions. By evening she returned, radiant and happy, strolling home with a spring in her step. She thought of surprising Andrew and turned toward the clinic where he worked.
Good afternoon, Im looking for Dr Andrew Hart.
Hes in, please come in.
Blythe imagined his delight at seeing her, his surprise at her new look, but what she saw made her stomach drop. A young nurse, her coat halfunbuttoned, sat on his lap, not for a medical examination but for something far more intimate. Blythe fled the room like a startled hare, hailed a cab, and wept all the way home.
Whats happened, love? she sobbed.
Andrews cheating
Who told you?
I saw it with my own eyes.
Thomas drew Blythe close, smoothing her hair. Cry if you must; itll ease the pain. Ill speak to him, and well sort it out.
I wont stay here. Ill take our daughter and leave.
You fool, where would you go? Think of the child! Life in the country isnt a cakewalk, work is hard, and you have a toddler in your arms.
No one had embraced Blythe like this in years. She and Andrew had been sleeping in separate rooms for months, but the scent of his aftershave and his soothing words had once steadied her. Thomas, too, felt a fierce pull toward Blytheher vulnerability, her softness. He lifted her gently, carrying her to the bedroom, and she did not resist. They shared a secret, hidden from Andrew, who, distracted by his own affairs, barely noticed. Blythe felt shame for the fleeting lapse yet a strange joy at being cherished. She began to compare Andrew with Thomas, and to her dismay, Thomas seemed the better man in every way.
Then Blythe discovered she was pregnant again. She knew not what to do; she and Andrew had been intimate only a few months before, and he would surely suspect infidelity.
What are you thinking about? This is wonderful! I never thought Id become a father at fifty. Its up to youwill you marry me?
And Andrew?
What about Andrew? I know we both erred, but hes partly to blame. Hell eventually leave you, and I love you; I cant imagine life without you.
After the divorce, Blythe and Thomas married and moved to Kenya. Their families could not comprehend the decision; villagers whispered that Blythe had merely played the demure card while in truth Andrew spent years recounting how harshly his wife and father had treated him. Yet they cared little; they were happy to have found each other and treasured every moment they shared.
