It was a long while ago, and I still think back on it now, as if the memory were a faded tapestry hanging in the hall of my mind.
Ethel knew everything. Of course she knewshe was no longer in her twenties, not even in her thirties, and age has a way of sharpening the senses.
She was weary of being alone, of shouldering that heavy cart of solitude.
Why am I like this, Mabel? she would ask herself in the quiet of the night. Is there something wrong with me? Am I a bore? Do I repel people, or am I simply too clingy? Or perhaps I simply never give love and tenderness enough.
Everywhere she looked, men and womentall, short, stout, lean, drunk, handsome, plainhad some sort of private life. Everyone seemed to have a partner, and she was left without one.
Whats wrong with me? she whispered. Why am I alone?
Mabel, never one to hide a tale, leaned in. Listen, Ethel dont laugh, but my old mother used to speak of a thinghow to call it a crown of spinsterhood.
Ethel waved a hand dismissively. What, are we living in the Middle Ages? she scoffed.
Dont you believe it? Mabel snapped from her seat. My third cousin once removed had that very crown taken off by the old crone herself.
What crone? Ethel asked, curious only enough to keep the conversation going.
Anyway, Ill ring Martha nowmy sister, the one who had the crown lifted. Ill find out everything.
Ten minutes later Mabel was scribbling on a napkin, her tongue flicking at the edge.
Alright, Martha, love. How are you? Getting married again? Ohwhat about Genny? Shes out, I hear? Fine, Ill be there
She hung up, a pause hanging between them.
Whats happened? Ethel asked.
Nothing well, actually yes. I need a wedding present againmy sister is tying the knot for the fifth time. That old crone must have been tugging hard at that crown. Heres the address. Will you go?
Ethel shrugged. She went, but the crone, after turning Ethel around, sent her back emptyhanded.
Theres no crown for you, she said.
Of course there isnt I
Youve been picking the wrong men, havent you? The first left you with a child in his heart and vanished, a rogue who claimed to be single while already married.
Did I not know? Ethel muttered.
The second was no better, the crone added, a faint smile creasing her weathered face. The third as well.
The third? I have no one.
No matter. One will come, perhaps when you least expect it. He will be yours, though not wholly yours. A girl cant change fate, but trust himhes steady, and youll find a happiness that feels almost like a mothers love. You might even claim him wholly, if you wait and do not rush.
Now go, and tell your friend she must see a doctor. Give her these herbs, let her sip them, and encourage her to visit a ladydoctor. Say the crone sent her this.
That conversation took place many years ago. Desperate for her own womanly happiness, Ethel sought out the cronea folkhealer living on the edge of a Yorkshire village. Everything the crone said seemed to manifest.
She met the third man, but the crones words slipped from her memory like water through cupped hands.
He was good, caring for his daughter as if she were his own, yet something always seemed to trouble them; they would fall into thoughtful silence and disappear for a spell, never to return or explain why.
Later Ethel encountered George. At first she could not place him; she simply recognized the familiar figure from the vacant flat next door, which had stood empty for years. When Ethel moved in with her little girl, the neighbour, Aunt Kitty, mentioned that the owner roamed the streets by night, staying at his mothers.
One day, curiosity got the better of Ethel. She peeked through the ajar door and saw a man fitting wallpaper. She slipped away, assuming the owner had simply returned. The doors of the two flats were oddly builtopening one would lock the otherso when Ethel rushed to work and could not get out, the neighbour hurriedly apologized, closed his door, and she heard his light footfalls.
Soon they met again in the corridor, then on the shared landing, where the neighbour let Ethel be the first to open the door. George helped Kristabel lift a bicycle; Ethel baked scones and brought them over. In the park, Georges sonabout Kristabels agejoined the children on the swings, and the adults chatted merrily.
Half a year later George asked Ethel out, introduced her to his family, and they began to live together. Before that, he told her his story.
Ethel, Im not a twentyyearold lad, nor a brutish fool. Im a mana grown one, with my own opinions and character. I promise you if you live with me I wont be unfaithful. Ill do my share of the work, earn a living, I dont drink or smoke, I have no nasty habits. Ill respect you, cherish you Im sorry, love, I cannot love you fullymy heart has tried before and failed.
He went on, saying he once fell for a girl in his youth, only to find she regarded him as a brother. Hed had other women, prettier, smarter, yet none felt right. Perhaps you should have spoken to her? Ethel asked weakly.
He laughed bitterly, explaining how a former lover, after parting ways, told him shed always seen him as a friend, not a lover. He confessed he could not stay with someone he did not love, yet he had forced himself into a marriage.
I lived like a wandering soul, George admitted, but love for me is a burden, not a gift. I feel as if Im a wounded man, unable to give a woman true happiness. Women love with their earslisten, dont be angryyet I cannot lie.
He urged her to think, to decide whether she could live without bright emotions, whether she could accept a steady, unpassionate partnership. He asked her not to answer immediately.
Ethel thought, and a week later she was introduced to his large, lively family. They welcomed both her and her daughter warmly. She feared they might see her as a replacement, or treat her with pity, but nothing of the sort occurred. She never regretted marrying George; he was reliable, the problems that had haunted her seemed to dissolve. She tried not to dwell on passion, and their life was comfortable.
Occasionallyperhaps a few times a yearEthel caught her husbands wandering glance, as if remembering someone else. It never disturbed their household. Yet one day that look lingered, and she wondered whether a womans heart does not sometimes wish for a lover who would change beside her. She told herself that she had not married for a great love but had grown to love the man she had.
George would stand at the kitchen window, washing panes on a bright spring morning, the sun warming the glass. He would hum softly, and then slip into the room, admiring his wife. He felt free, as if a weight had lifted, remembering a love lost long ago, yet feeling content to be with Ethel.
Ethel? he would say, turning to her. You have no idea how well everything is now.
He would kiss her, newly aware of his gratitude, and she would think, The old crone was rightjust wait.
Good morning, dear friends. May your love, if it has yet to find you, flutter through your window. And if it already dwells with you, cherish it. I send you warm thoughts and bright sunshine, always yours.
