A young teacher, just nineteen years old, arrived in a charming, picturesque village in the English countryside to begin her first post. She came with a small suitcase, ready to settle at the home of a kindly widowed lady.
This lady, though called a pensioner, was still quite lively and youthful for her sixty-five years. Her house was clean and airy. From the narrow hallway, Emily Bakerthe young teacherentered a cosy room warmed with a cast-iron fireplace. There was a table covered in a pale oilcloth patterned with dainty bluebells.
On the right was the landlady’s bedroom door, and straight ahead to the parlour where Emily, or simply Em as she was known, would live. The room offered her a bed with plump pillows and a round table in the centre, perfect for writing lesson plans and marking homework.
Mrs. Daisy Fletcher, as the landlady was named, proved to be wonderfully companionable and talkative. In the evenings, if Em wasnt off at the village picture house or lost in one of her Dickens novels, theyd sit together over a pot of tea. Em fondly called her Aunt Daisy when chatting with friends.
Despite her age, Aunt Daisy was striking in her own way: tall, with expressive hazel eyes warm and deep, reminiscent of ripe chestnuts. But what really captivated Emily was Daisys wisdom; her turn of phrase was often fresh and enlightening. Describing people, Daisy would say things like, He was cleverrather sly, or, She was lovelyquite plump. These pithy expressions delighted Em for their simplicity and subtle meaning.
One evening, as they sipped their teaDaisy nibbling on a lump of sugar and slurping from a patterned saucerAunt Daisy began her story.
Things were different in my day, Em. We werent asked who we fancied or who suited our hearts. Our parents chose for us; that was that. I was just fifteen, and lads from the next parishes would visit for gatherings. One of them, Thomas, was tall, handsome, and oh, the way he courted me! Other girls were jealous, but he only had eyes for me. Hed sit beside me as I knitted socks for my father or my siblings, just watching and smiling with the corners of his mouth. His look was so gentle and kind.
I soon grew fond of himso much I could think of no one else. Thomas never arrived empty-handed. One day hed have walnuts, another a handful of toffees, fairy cakes, or barley sugar, pulls from his pockets. Id always share with my friends. He gifted me trinkets: necklaces, brooches, handkerchiefs.
If Id hesitate to accept anything, hed say, Take it and think of me!But I could never forget you anyway!Thank you, Id say, and hed reply, Thank you for not turning away my affection! I hated to hurt his feelings, but my parents had no intention of allowing his suit.
One evening, Thomas confessed, Ive told my folks I wish to marry you. Will you? My heart pounded, and my eyes blurred with tears as I replied, It cant be. My parents would never allow it because of your brother.
You see, Thomas had an elder brother, James. Hed once been so dashing that girls from miles about would dream of him. But he was terribly injured by a frightened horse while ploughingkicked in the face. With no doctors about, infection set in and he was spirited off to a London hospital, where they saved his life but not his looks.
His nose was gone, his voice nasal and hard to understand. To spare others embarrassment, James wore a small curtain across his face, and people began to call him Curtain Jim. No one used his real name anymore, and villagers would look away when he passed in the street.
As soon as my parents learned Thomas was Jims brother, they forbade me even to consider him. What would people say if we gave our daughter to the family of Curtain Jim? Folks would wonder what flaw must be hiding in you.
I barely understood it myselfI wasnt marrying Jim. But their word was law. When I told Thomas, his eyes grew dark as a winter sky before a storm. He turned abruptly and walked out. I cried all night, but my parents hushed me when they guessed the reason, and eventually, I bowed to their will.
Two days later another suitor cameJohn Evans. I became his wife. He was shorter and less spirited, but he was a good man who loved me. I did care for him, even though I would put straw in his wellies for height when we went visiting, then hed notice and toss it out, laughing, Those children must be filling my boots with straw again!
John never wronged me, though one memory is bitter. Once, when our first daughter was gravely ill, I sat beside her, my hair unpinned and tears streaming down my cheeks for fear she wouldnt make it. John, passing by, said, Never mindits not the end of the world; therell be more little ones one day.
I was so wounded by that. But thank heaven, she recovered, and we had another girl and then a boy, our Arthur. He was overjoyed to have a son. Just before the war in 1940, though, things grew desperate. Food became scarce, all the grain was taken by the government for rations. John worked day and night at the mill to earn a little flour for us. But someone, out of envy, reported the men for taking their small share and they were all arrested and sent to a work camp.
John was allowed to say goodbye. He knelt, set Arthurjust six months oldon his knee, stroked his head and wept, Goodbye, my boy, goodbye, look after your motherwho knows if Ill return?
He never did. Afterwards, during peacetime, an official passing through our village guest-housed with me. He came from the area where the work camp was, and I asked about my husband. A month later he wrote: the prisoners worked themselves to the bone and starved, John died of heart failure and was buried far away.
Daisy sighed. Poor soul, he was such a young man! He did all for his family, and paid dearly. Fate can be cruel. And so I was left with three children. We tasted enough hardship to last a lifetime.
Emily listened in rapt silence, this living history unraveling before her. To keep the tale alive, she would gently prod with a question whenever Daisy seemed lost in memory.
Did you ever marry again, Aunt Daisy?
Oh no, love. After the war, there were hardly any men left in the village. And the children and chores left no room to think of romance.
But Emily couldnt help wondering about Thomas. She knew the old lady hadnt mentioned him without a reason.
She stirred her tea and quietly asked, Aunt Daisy, do you know what became of Thomasthe sweetheart you werent allowed to marry?
The old lady smoothed a faint crease from the cloth and said, Pour me another, love, this tea is just lovely!
Whats in it?
Blackcurrant leaves and mintfragrant, isnt it?
Daisys face lit up as she continued. Well, as it happens, I did meet Thomas again. By then, my own children were grown with families. My son invited me to London one summer, took me everywherecinema, museums, the zoo.
While I was away, Thomas came back to our village. His wife had died, he was alone, no children of his own. He asked after me, telling everyone, She was my first love. All these years, I couldnt forget her.
He found out I was visiting my son, and managed to get the address from my daughter. He booked a callback then, you know, it was a real affair. I went to the phone box thinking it was my daughter, and suddenly heard, Daisymy dearest love! Its me, Thomas. They parted us, but I have found you at last!
There I stooda grandmother four times overwith his voice echoing through the operators office! My son there, people about. I was so flustered. I shouted into the receiver, Thomas, I havent forgotten you, but its all too much, write to me instead! Then I hung up.
So it was, Em, life brought my true love and me together in our old age. We shared twelve happy years. He never once spoke a harsh word; always calling me Daisy dear. I called him my Thomas. Its a pity illness cut his days short, but Ill cherish those golden years, given to me for my patience and forbearance.
She turned a searching gaze on Emily, as if to see whether the story sounded too fantastic, and added, If youd told me such a tale, Id never have believed it myself, truly!
I do believe it, Emily replied. It would have been wrong if you hadnt met again.
Are there rules for such things, my dear? Aunt Daisy smiled. There arentjust a bit of luck, or perhaps the wind changing direction for us.
Emily had never heard of such a wind before, but she didnt question or look it up. After all, not every truth of life can be found in a dictionary.
Those years are long past, but in Emilys mind, the sunlit parlour, the scent of fresh tea and cherry jam with a hint of bitter herbs through the open window, still promise that happiness can return, if ever the wind turns our way.
And so the lesson lingers: sometimes, patience and hope can bring lifes blessings back around on an unexpected breeze.
