Fate, like a trickle down a windowpane…
Oh Betty, soon well be raising a glass at your own wedding!
The village shimmered in a haze of songs and skipping feet. It was too early for the fields yet; rain fell in silver ropes and the marshes held onto their watery grip. This was the third wedding of spring already. Cackling aunties and sharp-eyed matchmakers paraded the brides pillowcases and sheets for all to see, their white linen as proof of spotless virtue.
Everyones head buzzed with cider, gossip bridging every lullabout the groom, the bride, the coming union.
Oh Betty, your day will come soon! Lets dance! Sarah, her sister-in-law, bounded toward the table, pouring herself a mug of ginger beer. Stop with the sad face, come on! Even sweet cider makes its own music tonight.
Sarah tugged Betty up by her hand, the girls twirled into the boisterous ring.
Bettys feet stamped to the fiddlers tunewhat else did you do at a wedding, after all? You laughed, you danced, you let the joy pull you into its current.
But Bettys eyes drifted again and again to the bride, Ruth. Sometimes their gazes met with a ripple, Ruth immediately lowering her lashes, as if burdened by a secret shame.
They understood each other with a glance, like two accomplices bonded by a secret so profound they need not speak a word.
The groom, John Archer, sturdy and broad-chinned with a mouth drawn in an unbending line, sat beside Ruth. He was striking, a proper couple, people said. But Betty, sharp-eyed and quiet, saw the cruelty in his handsome face, a coldness others laughed off. She knew too wellhe had forced Ruths hand and her father had nodded his silent assent.
Ruth slipped from the stuffy storage shack where John had waited in shadow, fled across muddy kitchen gardens, her shoes dragging up gouts of black earth as she ran. Snow still glazed the hedgerows; spring was still a fragile rumour, the earth was soft and raw. Bareheaded, hair wild with rain, Ruth vanished into the old treehouse theyd built as children.
No one else found her, but Betty did.
Ruth did not weep or speak, she stared right through Betty as though she were a wisp of mist.
Ruth! Theyre looking for you, I ran here straight away, no one saw meplease, speak… dont leave me in suspense
Without a word, Ruth lay her head in Bettys lap, trembling like a rabbit. Betty draped her jacket and scarf over her friend, warming her with what comfort she could.
In silence it was clear. Ruths heart still beat for Henry, the tow-headed boy whod built that hideaway years ago, now banished by her fathers will. Their fates were not their own.
Bettys hands formed fists; silent tears washed her cheeks.
That night, Betty could not sleep. Thoughts of Ruth crowded her mind, and of herself as well. Memories tumbled and scattered; she sensed great changes just aheadher life, herself, everything was about to be recast. It unnerved her. She watched the wavering gaslight hover on the timbered walls, listening to the shifting house.
In her dream, her tiny nephew clucked in his cradle and her father snored in the sitting room.
Their cottage was crowdedher father with his second wife, Grandma Pru, her teen brother Edward, and older brother William with his wife Sarah and two children.
Her father would never give her to Charlie. She knew it. Charlie had no roof, almost an orphan, lodging with an aunts family.
The wedding spun and whirledthe young people started games. Blindfolds, laughter, row upon row of hopeful girls. Charlies turn came, and his searching hands landed on Bettys slight shouldersrecognition, delight; he whipped off the cloth. Betty blushed, eyes averted, hiding her joy. By the games law he kissed her cheek. Laughter, staring eyes, her fathers grim look.
In autumn, she and Charlie began to exchange glancesin the hayfields at first, then at the village shop on market days, and in winter he pulled her behind his sledge for a Christmas ride. Once, they tumbled into a drift, only Charlie encircled her, urgent and trembling, and pressed his lips to hers. Something scared and thrilled hersomething she had no words forher whole being surrendered, melted into snow, letting him kiss her again and again.
After, she sprang up, cheek pressed to his arm, then staggered uphill through the frosted field. By tacit agreement, neither spoke of it; still, Betty knew: she was in love.
A look, a touch in passing, he was always near, she always sought him out. Charlie grinned easily, hair wild. Girls watched him; Betty seethed with jealousy, but she dared not let herself go to him openlynot with her father watching her every footstep, even now, cider-loose but always strict. Her stepmother was no comfort, always deferring, letting her husband rule the house with resolution.
Her father was set on marrying her off to someone well-to-do and had already picked two suitors. Sarah confided it first, and then her father began mentioning it with pride.
The housealways the house. The groom must have one, solid and proud, with a good roof and sturdy stone. Their cottage, half-priced pine still running with sap, was tight for space; plans for an addition went on and onrooms for sons and wives, and, of course, when Betty wed, she must have a home too.
He was weighing two houses (the houses, mind, not the men). The first, shown by Sarah on a market-day detour, sat at the village edge. Squat but broad, painted windows with lacy trimmings; carved rails curved on the roofline, a swing set in the yard. Tempting.
But the owner, a balding widower named Hugh Martin, had two young children and was years Bettys senior. He sought a practical wifehis mother, half-blind Eleanor Martin, kept the hearth.
The second house was in the village heart, a six-gabled behemoth with barns and gardens, kept by three bustling ladiesMrs. Mallow and her two daughters. The lone heir, Samuel Mallow, was said to be spoiled and slothful, but young enough and not unhandsome. Betty encountered him most at churchhis mother and aunts parading him with pride.
Their other brother kept a shop in town; they lived well, took on staff when needed. Samuel, red-cheeked and puffed up, did not charm her in the least.
Perhaps it was the music, the cider, but suddenly Betty felt the urge to dance with all her heartfly away, anywhere but here, anywhere but seated like Ruth, forced to wed a man she didnt love.
She whirled away from Sarah. The setting sun flared vermilion at her, her gingham skirt flickered, her feet rang bells on the half-frozen earth. She made her way in a circle, pausing before Charlie, face set and mournful, then stamped again wild and bright.
Hurrah, our lovely Betty! Go on, girl! voices cheered.
She danced faster, pausing before each fellow, beckoning with a glance. Old Percy followed, tried to keep up, but was soon out of breath.
Her father, mouth lost in whiskers and beard, stared in disbeliefnever expected such boldness from his shy, quiet Betty. Not proper for a girl to dance so wild.
Then, all at once, Betty dropped her arms, stopped sharp, and fled outside the gate. Another tune struck up, dancers leaping into the gap she left.
She pressed her back against the nearest oak treeso, theyd sold off Ruth, was Betty next?
Behind her, twigs cracked. It was Charlie.
Charlie!
Betty, what is it?
Oh Charlie, lets run away! Fathers sure to marry me offI hear nothing else, day and night.
To where? Where would we go?
London. Well go to Londonanywhere. Ill take money from father, hell have only himself to blame. Ill take it!
Easy, easy. Im not penniless, am I? Let me think. Give me a week, just a week…
William and Edward emerged, calling for herthe sky deepening mauve behind the roof-ridges. Her father, at the wedding table, frowned her way.
In the morning, Betty ran to Snowdrop, the white mare theyd bought last year. Snowdrop knew all her secrets.
Softly, lovely girl, soon therell be grass again. We wont tarry here, noFather wants to marry me off, but Charlie and I will bolt, off well go… she whispered, smoothing the horses warm flank.
Her father laced his feet in old slippers, coughing, peering at Betty as she carried in the milk.
Keen for the altar, are you? I saw you carry on last night!
She kept her heart guarded. They wouldnt get away in time, she knew it.
Why so quiet?
She poured the milk, saying nothing.
After the wedding, Ruth changedvanished inward. Always a spark, shed dreamt up games since they could toddle. Now, she shut everyone out. Once, at the well, she grabbed Bettys hand, pain etching her eyes. Betty watched her retreat, heart sore, thinking: I will not live like that. Not with a cruel stranger.
Days dribbled on. Her father made inquiries with the Mallows about Samuel, but they declinedno hurry to marry off their darling. Her father grumbled, anxious to have Betty off his hands. But she felt a little easierperhaps until autumn she might stay, for summer hands were dearly needed.
Snows melted, rain fell endlessly. The river Oake coiled about the village, hills swooping steep to the waters edge, holding secret springs where floods gathered. In the thaw, they built makeshift embankments to keep out the deluge.
They waited for the rain to slow, so the roads would harden enough for work. Betty pitied Snowdropsoon shed drag timber for the flood-barriers.
On a dinnerless day, the door swung open: an unfamiliar man, tall, balding, weather-beaten, shook off rain and mud and was welcomed with a plate at the table. Stepmothers voice went soft, almost a songunheard before.
Come in, come in, rest and have supper.
Father poured out the whisky, discussing barriers and neighbours.
Betty, sweetheart! Stepmother trilled, Fetch the best bacon from the cellar, will you?
Soon the table crowded with thick-sliced bacon, bread, and tumblers brimming.
Go along, you lot! – Edward, Betty, and the little ones were ushered out, as the adults conspired.
They hid in the hayloft, the storm hammering above. Dad always banished them for serious talk. Betty pressed her cheek against Snowdrop, but the mare was dozing.
Your suitor, whispered Edward suddenly.
Who?
Inside, him with the bald bit, he waved at the house.
Betty stiffened. So they were haggling over hershe was being traded, like livestock.
What about Charlie? Theyd have timeweddings couldnt happen in such downpours; Father would wait for the ground to dry, for spring or summer surely.
But then William called for her; nervously she entered.
Well then, daughter, meet Hugh. Hes thinking of sending a party round to formalise things, a lawful match and all, Father was clearly pleased.
Betty froze, glued to the floor.
Speak up then, give us a nod? No? Bashful, eh Father smiled, full of himself.
Betty spun and ran, catching Sarahs movement but not stopping. The children thundered to the barn after her. Betty stood alone on the step, chest heaving, heart a stone.
Minutes later Hugh stepped onto the porch, lit a roll-up, eyes blue in the dusk.
You neednt fear, Betty. If you dont like me, wont have me, Ill not send for a matchmakernot in my way, he said after a long drag. Your fathers iron, I know, gets his way. But myself, I noticed you years ago, at market, you helped sell chops for your fatherso clean, so careful. Mrs. Martin, my late, she noticed too, she smiled to see a girl so deft. Yes
They stood silent.
Im older than you, twelve years past. Ive children already, losing my hairwell, you see. If you marry me, Ill do you no wrong. Well weather life together, joy and sorrow alike.
Betty said nothing. He went in, left quietly as if he hadnt come.
Not for me! Never! Charlie I loveyoung and laughing and wild, Betty swore inwardly.
That night, sleep evaded her again. When would Charlie act? The iron bell at the door clinked in the wind, rain whispered thin as ghost mice against her window. Betty watched raindrops wriggle down the glasssometimes clustering, sometimes splitting apart. Who could say how they’d come together or slip away?
Two days later, Betty sent Edward to the market road, to tell Hugh plainly she could not marry him. But Edward always had tasksfixing harnesses, pruning apple trees.
Finally, the rain eased. The village all turned out to extend the embankmentwomen and girls, too. All who had horses brought them. The work was immense.
Men wielded saws and axes in the copse, twelve horses dragging timber toward the river. Snowdrop was there with William. The logs, slick and heavy, strained each horse.
Women hauled buckets and shovels earth along the barrier. Betty stuck close to Ruth, twin girls digging in mud as they once did in childhood. Charlie worked, grumbling at the mens orders, annoyed to be lectured. Hugh, though, felled trees swiftlymen respected him for it.
At last, fatigue crept into every limb. The route circled the hill; the men shifted paths, letting logs tumble down to save effort.
Betty watched Charlie. Sullen, he snapped at orders. Then, disastera horse, chestnut, well-fed, collapsed on its haunches, snorting, shaking her head. Charlie yanked at the reins; advice rained down. Some shouted to unhitch her, others to wait.
Charlie, frustrated, wanted to finishhe lashed her with his crop, first the flanks, then again. The mare, rolling her frightened eyes, refused to move. Charlie struck over and over, even across her noble head.
Someone trying to intervene caught the whip too; chaos erupted. Suddenly, the mare lurched sideways, broken harness scattering, logs dancing down the hillside.
Other men ran; Hugh grabbed Charlie by the raised arm, wrenched the whip from his grip, shouted, Youd thrash a horse like that, you pig! shoved him away, and dashed after the others to help the mare.
It was sliding, sodden earth. Hugh tripped as they unhitched the trembling beast, his leg caught; something snapped, and he cried out in pain as blood soaked his trouser.
The mare, freed, staggered up the hill, logs tumbling to the river, caught in rushes.
They loaded Hugh onto a wagon, his face a lattice of pain.
Hows the horse? he asked.
Shes fine. Stay strong, Hugh, well fetch the doctor.
He looked embarrassed to be the focus. He glanced at Bettyguilt flickered in his smilethen the cart jolted him away.
Charlie stood aside, not watching the cart, but burning into the horse hed so cruelly beaten. It was grim, uglyhe still saw only blame for the animal.
Betty turned away, melted back to the embankment, mind working ahead, sketching a future out of the running raindrops on glass; which direction would they flow together, which apart?
That evening, she packed a bundle deliberately, in full view.
The house whisperedFather still napping. Stepmother woke him. He grumbled, groaned, but stood up.
And where do you think youre off to at this hour?
Im going to the Martins.
What!?
To the Martins, Bettys hands stayed busy.
Not a chanceyoull sit right inside and get your sleep! He stamped.
Betty lifted her chin.
If you want me to marry Hugh, let me go. Hes been taken to the doctors. His poor mothers half-blind, the children are just babes. Theres cows, pigs, the poor battered mare. If you care for a match, let me go. She packed more briskly.
Father slumped onto a stool, done in. Hard day, headstrong daughter.
Betty. Doesnt even love him. And now he might be lame all his days. Fine, I forbid the match. You stay a girl a while yet.
Stepmother and Sarah agreed. It had been talked out already; a limping Hugh would never do, not as master.
Love him? Betty said quietly, who says I dont? (Clearly Edward had told Sarah everything.)
I was teasing, just a game! Never mind teasing now. Not much love in this, is there? She shouldered her bundle.
Ultimately, Father relented, sent Edward to hitch up Snowdrop.
No need, Ill walk, its just five miles, Betty urged.
Youll ride if I say!a final decree. See to it shes got enough for the childrenfood, milk! Then, he hobbled off to bed.
They arrived before sunset, Betty caressing Snowdrops mane in gratitude. Edward wheeled her round and clattered off home. The Martin farm was laced with carvings; in the barn, the cow lowed piteously.
Two children in the yarda tousled girl, perhaps five, and a boy of three, wide-eyed.
Hello! Is your father home?
No! said the girl, running to Betty. Hes poorly nowhis leg hurts. Will you be our mother? she asked in a whisper.
Betty knelt beside them.
Would you like that?
The little girl blushed, nodded. So did her brother.
Inside, the hallway brimmed with carved pegs and shelves, toy horses, plaquesall Hughs hand, the children prattled.
Grandma Eleanor, squinting and sewing by the range, peered at Betty.
Hush now, Gally. Come in, have something warm, time for sleep.
Granny, our new mums come, the girl whispered.
Whos this?
Im Betty, Hughs told you…?
Betty? Gregorys?
Yes. Im come to stay, to help Hugh. May I?
Hes at the doctors, poor lamb. The cows not been milked, my hands won’t let me manage
Ill go now. Betty grabbed the buckets, heading for the well, then the dairy. She washed the children, tidied the stove.
And in all this bustle, she felt luminous with hope, light and free. Sun on the glass, breeze in the curtainsshe belonged here, the house needed her, even the children and cow wanted her.
After some days, Hugh returned, hobbling on crutches. They met in the yard, Betty with a broom, swinging Ant in the swing. Hugh faltered, he seized the fence for support.
Betty calmly retrieved his crutch, slipped her arm round his waist. Together they hobbled to the bench. The children scampered up, chattering, examining the plaster cast.
He still watched Betty.
Howd your father let you go?
Your house pleased him. Thats the reason.
And you?
She bit her lip. The house, the children, andthe master.
Im crippled for now, he muttered.
What did the doctor say?
Itll mend, but… for all of spring and summer, Ill be lame. Wholl keep the farm?
Well manage. As you saidthats life: for better or worse, together, always.
And so, fate trickled on, droplet after droplet, each one weaving and dividing on the windowpane, only the unpredictable shapes of love and fortune spreading into the dream.
