Discovering the Truth
Setting her empty bucket down, Lydia Morris straightened her back. Walking along the country lane straight toward her vegetable patch was a soldier. The woman shielded her eyes from the afternoon sun and saw his faded, much-washed khaki shirt, the cap with a dull button, and his boots scuffed and dusty with the ruddy soil of many miles. Slung over one shoulder was a worn rucksack. Lydia had seen plenty like himsome limping, some bearing scars, some young, some grey, a few smiling, more often not. They passed by her cottage, and sometimes one would pause to ask for a drink. Then Lydia would bring out a jug of cool milk and fresh bread, coaxing her guest to sit for a while.
Most often they refused, grateful but restless. Cant stop, Mum! theyd say, nodding toward the lane winding through the fields. My wifes waitingshes missed me. Truth be told, I cant wait any longer myself! They always called her Mum. It was warm and stung the heart at once. It never failed: her chest tightened, tears sprang to her eyes, and shed turn her head, pretending to rearrange the apples on the table beneath the awning. She didnt want their pity, not now. This was their joytheir moment to bring it home. Let her own sorrow stay with her; she had no wish to dampen their happiness.
Oh, dont fuss, Mum! the soldier would protest if she looked upset. Look, I can stay a little longer if you like. Or help you with something? Chop some wood? Fetch some water? Just say the word.
No, dear, no. Ive got my old man for thatArthur Morris, a husband and a handy helper for all jobs! Lydia would beam towards the house, where her husband Arthur napped in the shade, worn out by the afternoon heat.
Though he wasnt all that old really, not by years. His soul, thoughthat turned grey all at once when Freddie Stop, now! Stop! Lydia would tell herself, shooing away the painful memories. Not now…
After a short rest, the soldier would continue on, and Lydia would watch him go, heart in her throat. Happiness walked to meet someone, still a long way offa mother or a wife or a sisterand countless hours would pass before they heard the latch click, the yard dog bark, the slow steps on the porch, the bolt slide free.
A heart would falter, then overflow with sobstears of joy and pain at once. Joy for the return, pain for all that had changed. The boy whod leftbright hair, ruddy, freckled face, a grin forever flickering in his eyescame back a man, grey at the temples, sombre, weighed down by all hed seenand would never forget. The round, sunny exuberance of youth was carved away by life and scars.
The homecoming always felt like a brand-new acquaintance: families, strangers to each other again, but with everything aheadlove, hope, all riding the promise of a fresh, golden dawn, spreading gently over the fields and hearts waking from a long, cold slumber.
When Arthur woke up, Lydia would settle him on the bench outside, lean against his shoulder, and share the story of their visitorwhere he was headed, what shed offered to him, how hed kindly refused her parcel of food.
Its all right, love! Look, weve one more man safe home. Thats something, eh? And here you are, at it again with your tears! Enough now. Freddies still with us, you know?
Lydia always nodded, but the ache never went away. How could he be, if she couldnt hold him, kiss the crown of his head, call him to the table, listen to his sleeping murmurs?
Later that evening, a figure lingered by the gateJohn, as it happenedpacing, smoking, hesitating before knocking.
Excuse me, maam, sorry to trouble you. Might you have a bed for the night? Im utterly spent.
He wanted to smilecheerful as in years gone bybut a lump in his throat stopped him, and everything before his eyes swam.
He leant heavily against the fence, squeezed his eyes shut, and tried to catch his breath.
Arthur! Come quicklyhelp, hes taken ill! Lydia cried, bustling down the garden path. Come on, dear, lean against me, thats it
She put Johns arm over her shoulder and nearly buckled under its weight, but Arthur caught up and helped him to the bench.
Lyd, fetch some water. Cold as you can, love! said Arthur, peering into their guests empty, glassy eyes. He repeated the question. Whats your name, son?
John, the guest guessed, his ears ringing so loudly it was hard to hear. Blastthe concussion, you know. He cursed. Theyre all gone, every last one but me, he said bitterly, thrusting his jaw out. Arthur saw his chin tremble, and his fists quiver in sync. And for what? What am I left with? The words crashed out as he lurched to his feet again.
Please, dont shoutno need to rail at the sky! pleaded Lydia, offering a jug of ice-cold water. Steady yourself. Come in, rest, well talk in the morning.
She longed to strip off Johns sweat-stained uniform, run him a hot bath until the steam thawed both skin and spirit, then wrap him in clean linen, feed him well, andif Arthur didnt noticeshower him with motherly affection, just as she had Freddie once. But she had to be careful; Arthur would take it badly if he sawhed raise his voice, pack John off, and Lydia doubted she could bear that.
So the bath would wait. John collapsed on the bed, turned to the wall, and fell asleep before their heads had even stopped spinning. Lydia watched over him a while, listening to his breathing, before joining her husband outside.
Arthur sat on the front stepthe ones hed built with Freddie, just the right height for Lydias legs. He was struggling to roll a cigarette.
Here, let me help. Lydia sat beside him, taking the tobacco pouch and leaf of paper. How many cigarettes like this had she made for Arthur? And how many more would she? The more the better. Youre worried too, arent you? She struck a match and held it to Arthurs cigarette. Therethats better. Want a blanket across your back?
No need, Lyd. Somethings not right with that lad, our guest. If a man loses the will to live Arthur shook his head, glancing towards the room where John lay.
Hell be all right. Sleep and warmthhis head will clear. Grief comes to us all, love. You want to howl and dig your nails into the earth, and even hate yourself sometimes. But it passes. It always does. Ready for supper?
Arthur nodded, and for a moment, as he looked at his wife, he thought: if anything happened to Lydia, he could not carry on alone. No way. His heart would simply burst.
That night, John awoke and listened in the darknessstill and silent out of habit. You always suss the lay of the land, his pal Jimmy had taught him, when they slipped through enemy lines. Never leap before you look! You doze off with a woman, you might wake next to a dragonbut at least, mate, let the dragon wake up after you! Theyd laughed at that once, boys sniggering behind camouflage. Now, it just made John feel sad. Once, hed nodded off beside his wife, Mary, and awoken to someone unrecognisable. And now he didnt know how to go on, or why.
John blinked in the inky darkness. Lydia had drawn the curtains to keep the early light away from her sick guest. Through the wall, Arthurs snoring, Lydias gentle breathingtwo bodies pressed together on a narrow bed, never once thinking to replace it. Sometimes Lydia would wake, listening to Arthurs uneven, juddering heartbeat, and nudge him in panic if it stilled.
John got up and padded barefoot to the cool floor. Your senses grow sharp in the dark. He felt his soft down-filled bed, its patchwork blanket and sagging pillow, the rag rug at his feetMary had made one just like it, gathering scraps and singing with her friends, laying it down for John with a wink and a smile.
Some special guestha! I wasnt the only one after all. John ran a hand through his bristly hair and gazed outside. He fumbled for cigarettes in his shirt pocket, intending to step out quietly, but caught a bucket with his toe, and its rattling seemed to fill the silence.
Giving up stealth, John slipped out into the familiar village nightthe kind that until a few days ago had seemed worlds away.
Crickets chirruped wildly in the grass. A breeze swept from the fields, laced with the heat of the day, the earth now steaming and weeping dew like pearls along the leaves. The white mist crept up the lane, melting behind the birches. The air held the scent of forest, herbs from Lydias garden, soil, old timber, and meadowsweet. Under the porch, that mushroomy dampness from childhood hovered.
Eyes closed, John breathed deeply, then gingerly descended and sat on the bench, lighting up. His spirit was heavythe sort of weight you feel in your chest.
Cant sleep? came a voice from behind. Arthur appeared, offering John a jacket. Wrap up, dont catch a chill. Where abouts are you from, son? Waitlet me come down. Cant see a thingmoons gone hiding again.
John smiled, lifted Arthurs hand to steady him. It was calloused, bony, and chillnails clipped close, knuckles knobby, wrist narrow enough to circle with just two fingers.
Im from Ashcombe, just a few miles out. You know it? John gestured east.
Oh, we know it, Arthurs cigarette glowed in the dark. The smell of strong English tobacco hung between them, mosquitoes whining nearby. We had the nurse from Ashcombe once, when Lydia lopped her own foot with the hatchetwomen, eh? Always getting into fixes!
Tell me about it, John rolled his collar, slapping at a buzzing insect. Theyre all traitorsfoxes with wild tails, witches, the lot!
Johns fists balled up, anger and resentment churning under his skin. Good job the moons vanished tonight, Arthur thought, dismally.
What have women done to you, lad? Arthur asked, with a sadness that cut through Johns bitterness. Lydia and I, weve seen our share, yes. Good and bad. But nothing so fierce.
Its just John hammered his fist against the wall. Lydia stirred inside; the curtains fluttered. My wifeMary. Beauty, brains, all the rest. Sweet on the surfacehard as nails beneath. In 41 I was off to war; she wrote at first, then nothing. Not a word. I wrote, God knows I did, a hundred times! Not so much as a line in reply. Wed only been wed two months. Then, in the trenchesgas, woundsheld my mates as they died, I still dream of them now. Set everything inside me alight. And her? It turns out
John gave a deep, guttural groan and stomped the ground.
Careful now, youll wake her. Tell me the lot, John. Mind if I call you that? Youre young enough to be my son, you knowour Freddieswell Arthurs hand pointed somewherea church, John guessed.
At the farm, was it? Bit of a ruin there? John checked.
Thats right, once upon a time So, what happened?
Im terrified, Arthur, John confessed softly. Afraid of dying, lets be honest. Then afraid Id come home a cripplewhat use am I to Mary then? Afraid shed throw me out. And now Im afraid to even see her.
Why?
Afraid Ill kill herher shameless eyes. Id kill her.
The curtain swayed. Lydia stifled a gasp behind her hand.
So she didnt wait for you?
Thats it. John flicked his cigarette. Neighbour wrote to meold friend. She let the truth out.
And you believe her? People see what they wantrumours, mostly. Arthur sounded doubtful.
Not much rumour with two childrenone born in 43, the other in 45. Got to be hers. And shes not shy about it. Not much neighbours left, just Nancy, the one who wrote to me. I dont know what to do. Divorce her? But how? I thought of nothing but Mary all these years! Dreamed of her, every nighteven thought I saw her in nurses by my hospital bed, grabbing their hands, calling out I love you! even though she was from another village and Id snatched her from the headman there and built her a homedid everything properlyand she
She didnt appreciate it, Arthur finished. A rooster, somewhere, crowed, as if in agreement. You gave her all and sheand what of Nancy? Why write to you, eh?
Childhood friend. Works at the post office now, wrote to warn meMarys two boysone with black hair, one blonde. Are they all like that, women? Should I throw her out, or myself? Without her, Im nothing. When I was woundedinside, burning up, they gave me spirits and stitched me up. Hang on, mate, the doctor said, do it for her. He didnt know if I had a wife, but you knowyou do it for them. I shouldve died. I hate her, I hate the world, I hate everything. Victory, peacewhat of it? I hate! I hate! I hate! Tears came at last, and his body shook. When I love, I love to my very bones. She betrayed me. Shes a snake.
She did, seems so. And you say you had nothing to live for. But since youre alivehere, chop some wood, will you? Do it proper, like you would for your own. My backs in bitsold injury. Without fuss, Arthur handed him an axe. Do that, and Lydiall set the table. Well talk after.
John pulled himself together, drew his belt tight, removed his shirt, and went round back to the woodpile.
Thats that, I suppose, Lydia said as Arthur came inside.
Oh, dont fret. Let him work out his angerthen well talk sense into him. That Nancyisnt she the one brought our post when Gail went to war? Hm
Could be Nancy Brown? Cant say. But Nancy does love to gossip
An hour later, Arthur sent sweaty, exhausted John to the river, ordering him to swim to the far bank.
Trying to drown me, old man? John sneered, barely managing in the current. Wont workIm charmed.
Indeed, he seemed to survive anythingdrawn back from death, saved when none should be saved.
Fate must have plans still for you, his old commander once remarked. Youre needed yet.
Mary had needed him. Or did she? Shed found comfort elsewhere.
John ducked under, moving easily through the water. Arthur paced on the bank until, at last, John surfaced, floating on his back, eyes skyward. Birds swooped, fish splashed; the world was fresh and clean.
Youre lying, old man. I do want to live! With Mary or withoutout of spite, Ill live! he shouted.
Arthur waved him back in, anxious.
You worried there, eh? Not so easy, beating John Miller! John grinned, but a sharp pain stabbed his gut, reminding him of a long-ago wound. Hed survived out of sheer stubbornnessmaybe to prove a point, maybe to spite the world.
He stumbled out, drying off with the towel Lydia handed him.
Come on, dinners waiting.
Arthur led the way home, heart aching for his absent son.
Lydia looked up, surprised by their guests hungerhe ate wolfishly, shamed at last into slowness.
Its all right, Lydia smiled. Tasty?
Yes, very. Thank you, Mrs. Morris. And your sonFreddie? Is he coming to dinner? Arthur said hes at the old farmworki
John broke off, seeing the photo on the sideboard: a young man in uniform. A black ribbon was tied to the frames corner.
Im sorry John whispered.
Lydia nodded, Arthur sighed.
He came home a year agooh, how we rejoiced! And thena splinter must have moved, right into the heart
Enough, Lyd. Thats enough, Arthur rapped the table. And you, Johnwhat will you do now? Home?
No, muttered John. He was afraid: afraid to see Marys guilty eyes, to hear apologies, afraid of himselfafraid jealousy or anger might overwhelm him. Coward? No, just a weary, battered man.
But you must go, Lydia insisted. Go and face it. Dont build your life on half-truths and suspicions. Go, talk. Youll regret it otherwise. It clears the air.
It seems clear enough already. John slammed his glass down.
Maybe, maybe not. I remember Nancy now, yesbold, sharp-tongued. Always finding fault, accusing others. She once told us about a woman off the trains, first one orphan, then another. We all helped where we could. Nancy grumbled, said folk only wanted pity. War left a lot strandedchildren too. I dont recall the womans name, butMary, perhaps? Or Martha?
Arthurs mouth hung open, John shot up and stared at her, rage boiling near the surface.
Mary? Mary, was it? he whispered.
I think so Maybe.
Arthur fetched Johns half-dry shirt from the line and handed it over. Go on, lad. Off you go. Not so afraid now, eh?
John nodded, dressed quickly, hugged the old couple, and set off, breathing faster.
Approaching Ashcombe, he detoured through the copse, dodging bees, emerging with an armful of meadowsweetMarys favourite.
Pausing at the gate, Johns courage faltered. He peered into the yard.
On the garden path sat a young boy, playing with a kitten. Catching Johns gaze, the boy bolted indoors.
Mikey, whats got into you? called a familiar voiceso familiar Johns chest swelled with longing.
Theres a man outside! shouted the boy.
Mary peered out the window, a baby in her arms, its tiny hands grabbing her hair. She froze, then vanished behind the curtain, then appeared at the doorway.
He had feared that lookall pity and guiltbut Marys eyes held neither. She met him squarely, proud.
What are you doing here? she asked.
What do you mean, Mary? Im back. Its over. Im home. John wilted, his hands trembling so that the meadowsweet tumbled to the ground.
It doesnt matter. I read your letterfrom the hospital. Even if the nurse wrote it for you Have you found someone else? If you have, just say sowell leave.
Go where? What are you saying? What letter? John hurried over and pulled her close.
Let go! Mary pulled away, ribs sore from his grip. Ill show you. You may not remember, but I kept it
She dashed inside and handed him the note. John squinted at the faded handwriting.
It saidhis nurse had written for him, claiming John didnt love Mary anymore, had met someone else on the front, and Mary was a mistake.
Thats a lie! John tore the letter to pieces. Mary! None of it was true!
No need to deny it, John. Whats past is past, Mary shook her head, but John wasnt listening. Red-faced, knuckles white around the scraps, he marched to the little green post office.
Inside, the only soul was a sour-faced woman behind the counter. When John strode in, she flinched.
He hurled the torn note at her.
Your doing, wasnt it? And no envelope either. You wrote to me in the same hand. Why, Nancy? Why? Its cruel!
He yelled so loud the windows rattled.
Nancy shrank back, her face twisted in upset.
Because I loved you! she spat. You brought her here, married her, left me nothing. I hoped you wouldnt return, but you did. Well, I hope youre happygo back to your little family! I hate you both! She flung a pile of letters and blank paper to the floor.
I wrote to Maryyou kept the letters hidden, didnt you? John demanded, staring hard.
Perhaps I did. Now leave me alone! I wish youd been killed there! Go on, rot in hellyou and her both! Nancy sobbed as she ran from the room. John just stood there, stunned.
A little old lady popped in. Well then, youre the man of the house now? John nodded and shut his eyes.
Yes, he was responsible now. A wife, two children. Freddie, and someone elsehe hadnt even asked. And Mary and he were all right. Hed survived; he had come home, and now he would protect them. Lordhed believed Mary was no good all these years? How could he? How lucky he was Lydia made him go, to talk it through. Now the truth, at lasteverything clear and gentle in his heart, like wrapping up in a feather quilt.
Through the open window, youd see the bouquet of meadowsweet in a jar. Freddie had arranged the flowers, tucked in the broken stems, and was admiring his handiwork. He and his brother both called John Dad. And Maryshe loved those flowers, so John had brought them to her.
John and Mary stood now by the gate, kissing so sweetly that neighbours smiled, thinking, the soldiers come home, to his wife and bairns. Their lives lay ahead of them. Let it all begin with a kissand let the kiss last a lifetime.
What do you think, Arthurdid it all work out for them? Lydia murmured as her husband drifted off to sleep.
Sure as sunrise, it did! Arthur replied. Folk were made to talk things overtheres always a way through. Did you see the daybreak this morning? That was for them, for John and Mary. The sky alight as their love. And I love you, my darlingI love you more than words.
And as Arthur fell asleep, Lydia lay listening to his heartbeatthe kindest, warmest heart in all the world.
Lifes lesson is simple: in every storm of misunderstanding or sorrow, a little truth and an open conversation can light the path forward. Even wounded hearts can mend and find their way, if only we seek to truly understand.
