I never fancied myself a beauty. Pretty, perhaps, but certainly no rose of England. Not everyone can grace a royal procession, after all. Yet at school, my closest friends were all the loveliest girls in class. At first, I marvelled at my luck, but my dear grandmother saw the truth of it.
“Ah, my girl,” she sighed, patting my hand. “Those lasses find it convenient to have a plain Jane like you tagging along. No fear of you stealing their beaus! Whod look twice at you?”
Her words stung like winter wind, but after a pause, she softened. “Dont fret, my lamb. A fair face wont bake the bread. Remember thisbright colours fade fastest. Your time will come, my duck.”
That time didnt come until I turned twenty-seven. Until then, I buried myself in books and work, knowing Id have to make my own way in the world.
It was my friend Emily who introduced me to Thomas. She found his attentions as tiresome as a toothache. “Take him off my hands, Clara,” she said with a careless wave. “See if he suits you. Im marrying another.”
I took to Thomas at once, smothering him with affection. He pleased me well enough, and Id lingered too long a spinster alreadywhy play coy? I fancied he even sighed with relief when he settled into my arms. We wed quickly.
Still, my grandmother warned me. “Mark my words, Clarayoull have trouble with that one. Your Thomas hasnt sown his wild oats yet. A man should have his fling before he weds. Dont boast of a marriage new as May dewboast of one thats weathered winters.”
But I was deaf to caution then. Thomas and I were thick as thieves, happy as clams at high tide. Marriage gave me wings!
…Then our son Harry was born. Thomas doted on himreading bedtime tales, humming lullabies, spoiling him rotten. As Harry grew, he clung more to his father than to me, his own mother. I never minded. Peace in the home was all I cared for.
Five blissful years passed before the storm broke.
Perhaps Emily envied meor perhaps shed never truly let go of Thomas. Either way, she called him back into her honeyed clutches. I learned from gossip that shed divorced her husband and had no children of her own.
I felt bleached of all joy, my wings snapped. My happiness had been built on sand. For days, I wept without end. Explaining to Harry was agony. Now it fell to me to spin tales of his father. But tears dry, and life goes on. I raised my boy, clinging to the hope that Thomas would see sense and returnif not for me, then for Harrys sake.
Thomas came back for his passport. Mumbling that Emily wanted a lawful marriage, he asked for it. I refused. He shrugged and left without argument. Soon after, he obtained a copy.
What spell Emily cast, Ill never know, but Thomas forgot Harry and me entirely. Though Ill grant shed been the belle of our schoolbold, merry, carefree, with a silver tongue. Yet her words often twisted like brambles. That slyness in her never troubled me. A fatal mistake. Folk say of such womensweet as clover, sharp as nettles beneath.
Too late, I saw the truth: Emily had only lent Thomas to me. A temporary loan. Shed said, “Im marrying another.” Once that marriage ended, she reclaimed what shed lent.
Twice, court summons came for the divorce. I ignored them, clinging to false hope.
Time passed. Thomas, it seemed, began to weary of his folly. He missed Harry and begged to see him. I allowed it. My heart had cooled by then; Harry and I had grown used to life without him. My boy was twelve when fresh sorrow struck.
Mischief, like mushrooms, thrives in shadow. Emily came to my door.
“How dyou fare, dear friend?” she smirked. “Still unwed?”
“What do you want?” My voice was frost.
“Thomas asks you bring Harry to the hospital. To say goodbye.”
My knees buckled. The room swam.
“Whats happened to him?” I whispered.
“A grave operation tomorrow. He fears hell not survive.” She turned to leave.
“He will!” I shrieked after her. “He must!”
…The surgery succeeded. Thomas lived, but at forty, he was left a cripple, hobbling with a cane. The question nowhow would he live? Emily took him from the hospital, but I knew her patience wouldnt last. Her soul was as deep and dark as a well.
I longed to reclaim him at once but waited, letting the mud settle, hoping to draw clear water.
Three months later, Emily called.
“Clara, Thomas pines for Harry.”
“Or is it you who tires of Thomas?” I snapped.
In the end, Thomas returned to us. Emily had made his life so bitter, he had no choice. A cripple makes poor company.
Bitter and sullen he was at first. But love bears all things, forgives all things. Harry and I tended him with unflagging care. Slowly, Thomas thawed. In time, he walked without his canelimping, yes, but on his own two feet.
…Six months passed.
Emily returned, a babe in arms.
“How shall we share Thomas now?” she crowed. “This is his daughter.”
“Emily,” I said, weary as winter, “you cling like ivy, strangling as you climb. When will you loose your grip? Must you knot every thread of our lives? When will you let us breathe?”
“Thomas is mine!” she shrilled.
And she was right. I blame him not. Back to her he went. Old love, they say, never rusts.
My grandmother clucked her tongue. “That man of yours, Clarahes a weathercock, turning with every wind!”
Once more, Harry and I were left alone. My son, grown steady, comforted me. “Well manage, Mum,” hed say.
Ah, Thomas you left an ache no poultice could soothe.
Deep is the sea, but deeper still the human heartwho knows what lurks within?
After Thomas, my soul lay barren as a ploughed field in December. No man crossed my path to kindle warmth or hope.
Years galloped by. Harry wed and left home.
Then one day, by chance, I met Thomas again. A pitiful sighteyes haunted as a ghosts. As my grandmother would say, “He dodged and weaved, yet still caught the blade.”
“Where are you now? What do you do?” I asked gently.
“Nowhere. I wander,” he replied, strange and lost.
…Weve been together seven years since. Even autumn, it seems, may grant a golden hour. We dote on our grandson. Are we happy? Aye. Perhaps thisearned through sorrowis loves true shape.
P.S. Emily wed a Frenchman and sailed away with her daughter. As she left, she tossed this parting shot at Thomas:
“I leave you in the care of your guardian angel Clara.”
