To Love As One Can
George squinted beneath the brim of his battered, grubby flat cap as he watched her walk. She strode with shoulders back, head high, paying no mind to the world about her, padding barefoot along the dusty, cracked road, an iron bucketful of water swinging from each hand.
Should I offer a hand? Not that youd dare go near a woman like her! George chided himself, suddenly timid, though hed always known how to talk to women and wasnt known for being shy eithera seasoned sort, with enough life behind him, though hed yet to turn thirty.
Georges youth had been a muddled one, with jaunts about England, dubious acquaintances, odd lodgings, unsavoury women, cheap liquor and pintsmuch as it was for many blokes before they found somewhere of their own and settled down with a family.
What else was there for the hapless lad to do? His father vanished to his carpentry all day, his mother long gone. An old aunt, Edithhalf-blind, hunched, living with them in the draughty, five-room cottage with its steep porch and chilly cellarkept only a careless watch over George. He could have gone hungry for all she cared, so long as he wasnt directly underfoot. After George finished schooleight years and not a complaintEdith lost her remaining sight. At home or not, she never knew, just shouted now and then then drifted off to sleep, dreaming herself young and vibrant, happy. Thats how she lived out her days.
Were it not for meeting Emily, strong and proud with those dark, almost almond eyes and a bitter chestnut braid like a coiled snake, running down her back, her olive skin soft as peach, her spirit fierce as a wild foalGeorge mightve been truly lost. Her first husband had already been laid to rest after five short years of marriage, a son born, their lives intertwined until fate claimed him.
Emily could have spent her lonely days as a widow, but she had a son to raise, a small holding to keep, and inside, a young woman’s soul that longed for someone beside her.
You can see the nature shining out of her, the other village women gossiped, eyes narrowed with envy. Shes yearning. Thats the way she was made, shell wither without a man, though she could build a house on her own if she wanted! But no, she needs her Adam.
Only her tempers a devil! Shell drive any man to his grave! others clucked, shaking their heads. Some women cant be without a man, yet cant abide one either. They struggle all their lives!
Emily just smiled at their wagging tongues. If she found someone, and her heart knew it, she would show him true love, of that you could be sure.
…Meeting Emilys gaze, George was suddenly mute, his throat tight, he could hardly swallow. Spellbound.
Hed only meant to ask for water, but managed nothing more than stammering and coughing.
Well, are you just going to stand there? Fetch the buckets and Ill set you a place. Off the road, are you? With the chaps laying the new tarmac? She smiled, and George’s hands trembled.
Shes the real thing, that onea woman youd gladly spend your life beside, he thought without quite knowing why.
Emily brought George into the house, not flinching as she turned her back on hima dusty, sun-darkened, grimy man.
No fear. A restlessness, yesthe heart hammering, blood burning right up to the facebut not fear. She always had her fathers old knife at her hip, gifted to her before he kicked her out, telling her to start anew. He and her mother had both drunk themselves sick, leaving Emily only to return for their eventual funerals.
George gulped down two tin mugs of cold well water, slowly feeling his head clear. He nodded towards the boy wrestling puppies on the floor, wanting to say something.
My son. His fathers in the churchyard, Emily explained, quickly laying the table, slicing bread, pouring a mug of ginger beer, and taking a pot of potatoes from the oven.
Eat. You can wash up after. Whats your name? she demanded, nodding at the chair.
George, he said, sitting, then jumping up to scrub his hands.
He was unused to kindness, grown with Aunt Ediths shouts and his fathers silences, and it felt oddly comfortingso much like coming home. Hed always been drawn to women like herstrong, resolutewhose very glance could set a fire blazing in his chest, scorching him to the point of distraction.
But no matter how he scrubbed, the black wouldnt leave his palms. George felt ashamed.
Chimney sweep! Emily laughed. Never mind. Weve a wash houseyoull be right as rain soon enough.
George ate in silence, just as hungrily as hed drunk. He wanted to praise her cooking but only managed a shy mumble of, Sgood.
Evenin, when your lots finished work, come bywell get you a proper wash, Emily flung open the door, nodded for him to leave.
The boy, sitting on the bench, eyed Georgea burly manwith curiosity, then looked to Emily, trying to work out what she was up to.
Emily didnt even so much as blink. Shed decide for herself how to live.
…
George left his work gang, collected his paythirty pounds or soand settled down with Emily. She laughed right in the faces of neighbours who tutted that shed not mourned long enough before moving on to this new chap.
Dont begrudge me, dears! Only, my wash houses better than the lot of yours! Emily would say, strolling from the well with her buckets, George racing up to take the load from her. Oh, and the way he looked at his wife! It wasn’t love, it was pure fire.
Some called her a witch, some a tart, some even said she was a tyrant in skirts, the way she bossed George about. The man hardly took a step without her say-sojust like old Aunt Edith had ruled him. Habit, perhaps.
Where dyou think youre off with that stick, you rascal? What do you need the axe for? Whyre you tramping about in your boots? Theres snow outside, you laze in bed like a bearroads need clearing! Emily never stopped, doling out orders. Chop quicker, or else we wont finish the wood till dusk! she’d shout at him from the porch. Mud all over the hall againsort it yourself, you great lump!
Another man mightve bolted long ago, but George endured; perhaps he simply never noticed. Needed doinghe did it. Not quite right? Hed do it again. No bother.
Hed hoist Emilys son, young Michael, onto his shoulders, while Emily moaned hed drop the lad.
He wont, Mum! Dads strong as anything! Look! Michael would crow, standing tall on Georges shoulders, arms outstretched.
Down you getits time for supper. George, see the chairman, hes looking for you, Emily said, arching an eyebrow. Watch yourself, if he sacks you, youre gone from here as well, mind! She pursed her lips, cold as a judge, before turning away with the tiniest smile, pleased that her boy had a good man to look up to.
Emily couldnt help but chidethat was how shed grown up, every word sharp and brisk. That was Emilys love: bear it and youd be the happiest soul alive; if you couldnt, well, off with you.
…
George stomped over to the council office, tidied his hair, and stepped into the fug of tobacco smoke.
George, youre doing well here, lad, might give you a bonus. Youll go into Oxford, buy the family some treats. Ill sort you for a course, too, right? the round, cheery chairman, Nick Fletcher, stood up to shake Georges hand.
George awkwardly took the callused, meaty hand, then said, Emily wont let me. Shell get jealous.
She will. Shes the one who asked me to, on your behalf. Odd woman, yours. Visit you and she barks all the house down, but behind your back, its only praise for you. Funny one! Right, its settledyoull go, get money from Clara in the office, and go at the start of September. Week away. Ill give you the papers and address. Off you go now, Ive work to do!
Chairman Fletcher wheezed back down in his seat; George, flustered, went home.
Youre sending me off? Why? You hardly leave me be here, always watching my every move. Jealous you are! George sat beside his wife, cigarette in hand, stealing a glance at her. She looked wonderfuleven in profile, he almost couldnt decide which angle he liked best, or perhaps not to look at all, just feel the warmth of her against his cheek.
Go. Ill manage. You need to grow, or Ill stop loving you, I need more, see. Im demanding! Emily jutted her chin. George understoodshe, his wife, was mistress of his life; what she wanted, hed do.
He went on the course, returned, brought presents: toys for Michael, fabric for Emily.
Lovely, Emily said thoughtfully. Not enough, though. Wont fit me soon. Shouldve picked a pram instead!
She fell quiet, and George looked puzzled.
A pram? he echoed.
Think about it, Dad, Emily smirked, vanishing inside.
…
Emilys pregnancy was hard, her temper short. It seemed every word led to rows. George feared shed drive him away, things were difficult enough, now she was at her worst.
But he stayed. Through tears, reproaches, complaints.
He fetched her from hospital, Michael in tow.
He should, George said stubbornly. Family comes togethermother and brother both deserve to be met, right? Not strangers together.
Emily looked at him closely, surprised, and something inside her eased. She realised she didnt have to answer for everything nowher husband would. She could trust him. Why hadnt she realised it before?
They lived well, raising children, built a bigger, solid house together, with carved window ledges and a weathercock atop the roof, strong and sturdy as George himself. They had enough, George was respected at the cooperative, Emily welcomed everywhere. She grew softer, gentler, more loving.
In time, Michael and little Jack left for their studies in the city, sending bright letters of student life. Yet at home, things felt duller, emptier, even cold.
Each day was the same as the last, their conversations well-worn, arguments ended, letters reread. There seemed little more to talk about, to live for, in each others company.
Neither George nor Emily had ever lived so beforeadrift and disheartened, staring at the spare seats at the table.
In the mornings, a word or two. Evenings followed; conversation, but about nothing real. Bed, and a silence between them, though sharing one mattress.
Emilys faded awayshe doesnt swan about full of fire now, gone quiet, village busybody Barbara commented, almost gleeful. She doesnt peck at George anymore, lets him be.
Shes getting on. That sort, women like her, burn bright but burn out quickly. Soon enough, shrivelled up and toothless, agreed Mrs. Kingston. Georges a catch yet, next to her.
They tittered, nudging one another, picturing someone whisking George away and leaving Emily on her own.
Shed never quite fit in, always a little apart, nose in the air. Now, she was reaping the consequences.
Emily heard the gossip, stood before her mirror, draping and discarding necklaces, dabbing powder on her cheeks, then wiping it away with a sigh, stowing everything back in her jewellery box.
Whats the point. Look at yourself, she muttered. That time has passed. Get on as you are.
But she found it tiresome; living like that was a miseryyet now she didnt know any other way.
Emily became sharp again, her tongue cruel at times. Worn out, George was called a layabout, his chores ridiculed, the fence hed fixed, the logs hed choppedalways ugly, always wrong.
But George put up with it. He paced about, crunching his cap in his hands, kicked the empty buckets, but bore it. She was his wife. He loved herloved her once and that was that. Not all the tongs in England could drag that love from his heart.
She only puts on a showfinds it hard to accept getting old, that kind of pain… and all the more for such a proud swan. Never mind, the boys will come for Christmas, itll all pick up. Well get through it, he consoled himself.
But winter passed, and spring toosons came, then went back to the city, and Emily grew no better. Sharp as a tack, biting, as if taking a hammer to Georges head morning till night.
…
One day Emily told him shed be busy with baking, and he should see to the yardthe leaking shed roof, the rotten path needing new planks, the aerial that still wouldnt pick up television.
She kept on, scolding him for his clumsy hands, for doing everything half-heartedly, that shed not cook him a thing, let alone give him a slice of pie if he was going to work so miserably.
She wouldnt let up. It made her sick, she hated herself for it, but she was on a roll and couldnt stop.
Had George barked back at her, even struck her, all would have slotted into placehe, the strong one; she, submitting at last, ready to serve. She needed proof that her man was still the hero, that he hadnt faded.
But George didn’t rebuff her, slammed the door and swore, but kept it between the walls, not to her face. Emily reddened, surprised by her own temper.
She waited. George would surely prowl around, lash out a bit, then come inside. Hed understand, she reckoned, that she struggled with frailty and the fear of decay; it wasnt malice, just misery at getting old.
But he didnt come in. Soon she heard the gate slam, a car engine startGeorge headed off with their neighbour, Mr. Mitchell.
Mitchell returned alone, fussed round the garden, then, gathering courage, unlatched the gate and came up to the house.
Mrs. Turner, just so you know, he began to the gooseberry bush, your husband, George…
Only one husband for me, name’s George. Whats happened? Emily demanded from the porch, her chin in the air.
He’s gone. I took him to the station, youll need to pack the rest of his things, hell write his address. Just wanted you to know.
Mitchell turned away before she could answer. Emily stayed rooted on the steps, her hands twisted in a tea towel.
Gone. Left herhis Emily! The traitor, the blockhead, the fool!
She spent the evening wandering the house, ears cocked for signs of his return, half-hoping it was a joke and hed appear at any minute.
But he did not return.
Nosy Mrs. Kingston dropped by with a fresh fish, a gift from her husband, she said, but really just to see Emily flounder.
Its your own fault, Emily. He wasnt much to look at, mind you, nor especially bright, but he put up with you his whole life. All your whinging, your stropsnever so much as raised his voice, and amongst his mates he said there was no one like you, that hed do anything for your happiness.
Oh, go on, Mrs. Kingston! Hes gone, asked me to pack, says therere better women out therelet him look. Emily forced a wry smile, served tea.
Thats not fair of you. You pushed him out, like a splinter; the wound aches long after its gone. He was the one you picked, remember? Bragged to us all that your George was the best. Changed your tune now, have you?
I never sang his praises. He knew me well enough when he married me. Now Im old and ugly, hes betrayed me just the same. Mum was rightmen are fickle as grass, leaning this way and that. Hell find a young girl yet, parade about as a groom again, Emily threw herself at the window, shooing the cat, knocking over Georges old ashtray.
Oh, Emily! You’ve children and years behind you, but youre as daft as my nanny goat, Annie. Your man worshipped you, whatever the reason, and took in Michael as his own. Yet you had to show whos boss, and now here you aremaster of nothing, and bitter tea besides, Ill warrant. Goodbye!
Kingston stormed off, and Emily stayed in the window, not noticing the door still wide, the evening chill creeping round her legs, the tea now cold and undrinkable.
Such is her way! Her mother always said Emily was useless, a burden, should never have been born. Emily would argue back, crying that her father had wanted her, lit a candle in church when she arrived. But her mother would just smirk, glassy-eyed, and turn away.
So Emily got used to shoutingshrilly, pleadingly, like a gull. Flying through life, braced for attacks, proving she could manage on her own.
But at night, when only George saw, shed fold her wings, nestle on his shoulder, and whisper her lovehow she couldnt breathe without him. Perhaps thats why he loved her.
He left. She didnt suffocate. She faded away inside, shrivelling up, growing silent. Long evenings by the window, waiting.
He sent his new address; she packed his things. Mr. Mitchell offered to driveEmily refused. She went on her own.
She arrived, waiting by the hostel gates in a grey raincoat and black headscarf, pale as a stray dog, clutching a battered suitcase.
She shivered, too proud to ask for shelter with the porter.
Emily? What are you doing here? I asked Mitchell to come, is he ill? George bustled her away from nosy workmen.
Hes fine. Cant make others cart my suitcase. So, youve settled inhow is it? Found many to comfort you? the hurt in Emily’s voice was clear.
Im not a boythey dont come to comfort me. Ill send money, if thats why youre here.
Dont want your money. Nor you, for that matter. Go on, then, dont come back. The roads one-way now. And Ill tell the boys the truth, you understand? She kept her tone cool and steady.
Understood. Only tell them thisyou never really loved, not once. Commanded, ordered, humiliatedbut loved? That takes heart, and yours has none. Sorry, Emily, its bath night, Ive no time today. Goodbye.
He collected her case, gave no backward glance. He nearly did, but pride or pain held him. Or perhaps he was too wearyfor if he looked, hed never leave.
Only then did Emily see how much hed aged, thinned even. Was he ill?
Back home, she lay on their bed, wrapped herself in his old coat, and was still…
Neighbours visited, pressed things on her, fetched the doctor, but Emily turned them all away. Shed ruined it, so what was the point of trying now?
The sons came, pleading, scolding, offering for her to come live with themnothing shifted her. She gently pushed them away. No use…
…
He returned when she no longer knew night from day, curled up in her coat.
Em! Got any porridge? Im starving! The sound drifted through her dreams, and she smiled at that good memory. Emily! he called again. Ill get more logs, its freezing in here!
She heard him bustle; Mrs. Kingston clucked in the hallway; the stove rattled into life, the scent of woodsmoke seeping through the house.
She sat up slowly, head spinning, legs weak.
She wanted to snap at him, send him away, but caught his hand instead, pressing it to her cheek, weeping.
Hed seen her cry in sleep before, scared and waking her, only to be brushed off with a tale of bad dreams.
But now the tears and trembling lips were real, the fear plain.
Why so sad, my swan? Im not leaving again. Once I chose you, once Ill live my life. Ours has never been easy, but yours is the only love for me, George stroked her hair like a child. Lets lay the table, and then youll have a bath. Heated it up myself.
Emily nodded, clinging to his hand, afraid to let go.
Yes, Emily had a soulif it could ache so. Some souls freeze, some harden, but they thaw, dripping tears, yearning for affection.
She and George lived together once more. She still bossed him a bit, but every night she asked forgivenessfrom her husband and from God. Having lost him once, she was frightened to again. Shed not bear it, not this time.
And George forgave her. Who was he to cast the first stone? He had chosen her, promised before all, in word and heart, to live life as one. Without her, he couldnt bear it eithera prickly love, but hot enough to make the body melt and the heart moan.
Emily! hed call at night, finding her side empty. Where are you?
Just up. Bad dream, went for a drink. Sleep, George, the boys come tomorrow, well have a celebration. Sleep, Emily would whisper, smoothing his stubbled cheek.
If she could live her life over, Emily might have been softer, bitten her tongue. But she couldntshe lives as she knows how, praying for more years together. Hers is a thorny love, but for George, theres none betterhes tried living without it, and failed. And thats all right.
