Give me your daughter, and Ill keep quiet.
Sorry, I missed it, be a decent man, Ian, dont ruin me
What do you call me, Ian? Forgot my name? To you Im Ian Whitmore.
Please, spare me the courtroom
Ian rose, straightened his back, and smoothed his shoulders so hard the shirt on his back squeaked. A fierce spark lit in his dark eyes, scorching the frail Harold, whose shoulders drooped with terror.
Harold had been foreman for years, but only a year ago hed been elected chairman of the parish council. At first folk thought him too greenjust twentyfive, barely out of school. Yet the county officials, impressed by his grip on farm matters, his vigor and sensible approach, gave him the nod.
Youre a thief, Harold Archibald, Ian declared, his voice ringing with a metallic edge. If I say it, you cant wriggle out of it; Ill bend the law like a shepherds crook.
There were hay stacks, and then they vanished, the chairman went on. That was in spring, you think Ive forgotten Ill hand you over to the magistrates!
Listen, Ive always been honest, worked the fields all my life I swear I didnt take anything. Ian, perhaps we can strike a deal? My wife wont survive this, and Ive got children
Children, you say? Ian mused. You want a bargain? You want protection, but whats in it for me? If I cover you, I need a reason
Harold tightened his jaw, watching the chairman, hoping he might be swayedafter all, theyd grown up on the same soil.
And what about little Emily? A fine, pretty lass What if I married your daughter? I could even become her guardian
Harold paled. Think again, Ian, shes still a child.
Still a child? I saw her on the farm the other dayalready a bridetobe.
Not a bride yet. She just turned seventeen; the doll she plays with is still in the attic, and shes being nursed by her mother.
The dolls time is up! Heres my condition, Harold: hand over the girl, and Ill keep mum about your slipup. Defy me, and Ill inform the county boss, and youll end up in court. So choosehand over my daughter or go biscuitbaking, and perhaps youll never see your family again.
Harold fell to his knees. What do you demand? This is an unbearable load! How could I force my own child into that? Am I some monster?
Ian returned to his desk, pulled out a sheet of paper and said, Lets record it then: Harold Blythe went against authority, meddled with public good
Wait, dont write it, Harold croaked, Ill speak to Emily today.
Do that. Shes being a bit headstrong, you know, daring to argue yet you call her little.
Youre at fault, you seized her the girl got frightened.
Then, if youre so moved, Ian chuckled, perhaps youll let her go.
Harold sighed heavily. If only
He trudged home, collapsed onto the bench, and began pulling off his boots.
Whats the matter? Mary asked.
On the table lay a pot of boiled potatoes, and the oven was filling the cottage with the smell of fresh bread. Whats the fuss?
Emily! he called, Shes just stepped out of her room, hair still untied.
Papa?
He looked at her. Our chairman wants to take her as a bride He says he wants to marry her.
Emilys lips trembled, her fingers twisted her loose hair, and she stood like a trembling birch. Why would he want me? I dont want this
Mary dropped her tea, gasped, and sank onto a stool.
Harold sighed again. I know you dont want it, and neither do I. Its too early but what can we do?
Papa, why are you doing this? Emily asked.
It wasnt my idea. Its the chairman, a fool, whos now pulling strings on us.
Just refuse, and itll be over, Mary suggested.
Papa, I wont go with him, hes frightening, everyone fears him
Their younger son, Colin, perched by the stove, listened intently.
Im sorry, I slipped, missed the hay stacks in spring Harold muttered.
Oh dear, theyll lock you up, Mary squealed.
Ignorant Ian promises to lock me up He swore hed hide me, broke my trust, and now
Whats the point of it all? If he wants to marry Emily, hell just take me as well, Harold said. I cant have a soninlaw like that.
Dad, you should complain, Colin, now thirteen, interjected.
Quiet, Ill manage without your advice, Harold snapped. If you speak up, youll end up in the same mess hes still the chairman, even if hes still green.
Papa, Im scared of him, Emily whimpered.
Harold glanced at his daughter, then at his wife, exhaled, and began to gather his things.
Where are you off to? Mary asked.
Pack, mum, get a clean shirt, dont forget the biscuits Ill go to Ian tomorrow morning, let him arrest me if he wants, Im not a foe to my daughter, I wont force her, and shes still too young
Mary rushed to him, embraced him, and shouted. Emily retreated to her room and sat on the madeup bed, listening to her mothers sobs and her fathers sighs. She hadnt even noticed any of her friends, only her cousin Freddie, a year older and looking rather handsome. She hadnt thought about the chairman at all. He was older, sternlooking, always barking orderscompletely foreign to her.
She felt sorry for herself; marriage seemed a distant storm, and the idea of a dreadful Ian Zorin made her shiver. She also pitied her father, who might disappear forever.
She began braiding her hair, tugging at the strands, not from pain but from anger and despair. Then she walked back to her parents, took the bag from her fathers hands and said, Dont go anywhere, Father, for the first time she called him Father instead of Papa.
If I agreed, Harold thumped his chest, I wouldnt feel this heaviness. Youll have a hard time with him Ill serve my time, but youll have to live without tears.
Father! Emily clutched him. Dont go! Hell lock us up, and no one will blink. Theyll judge us, point at me, at Colin, at my sister Antonia, who already has a husband and children.
Harold slumped onto the chest at the door, which doubled as a bench. I know, Antonia will also be blamed; people will say Harold Blythe turned the hay into straw thats the frightening part.
Tell him tomorrow Ill agree, let the matchmakers do their work, Emily pleaded.
Mary gathered their belongings, placed them by the stove, and wiped her eyes as she set the table.
That night Harold and Mary lay awake, tossing and turning, hearing Emilys soft cries from the next room.
No, Mary, shes scared of him, marriage would be a burden now, not the right time. Heres the plan: at dawn fetch my bag, Ill head to the council yard and tell Ian whatever he wants, but I wont hand over my daughter.
Mary, hearing this, clung to her husband, Harold, as you say, well manage without you
They rose at first light, careful not to wake the children. While they were in the yard, Colin slipped out the back gate, and by the time they gathered, the sun was already high.
Wheres our youngster? Harold asked.
I think he ran off to school, Emily replied, I havent seen him since morning.
Alright, hell come back. Ill stay a bit longer
Harold, stay home until lunch, the chap Ian wont be that quick, Mary said, still hoping the trouble would pass like a storm.
Better not rush to prison, Harold decided.
Meanwhile, Colin rode his pony with Uncle Mathew, heading for the county centre.
Colin, why the rush to the centre? Mathew asked.
Ive got a school errand need to pick up certificates, Colin claimed, though hed made it up on the spot, trying to sound serious.
Mathew nudged his horse, and the clatter of wheels led them to the borough office.
There they met the county secretary, Mr. Gresham, a sturdy, taciturn man in his midforties. Colin, feeling the need to impress, blurted out his mission.
What do you want, lad? Gresham asked, eyebrows raised.
I need to see Alex Mitchell.
Why?
I have business with him.
Children arent welcome here, Gresham remarked.
At that moment Gresham himself appeared. Colin, flustered, launched into a rambling tale that left the secretary baffled.
You understand who youre insulting? Gresham said, hearing the boys story about missing hay stacks.
Its the chairmans doing, he wants to marry our Emily, Colin shouted. Hes the one who stole the stacks, I swear!
Where did you hear that?
Its all Ian Whitmores plot to snatch Emily, the boy insisted.
Gresham sighed. Fine, wait by the door while I fetch the council chairman.
Soon the chairman, Ian Whitmore, entered, having just dispatched his foreman, Tom the Tractor Driver, for a reprimand. All fell silent as Ian stood, ready to answer.
Colin lingered near the council building, watching the windows, never one to complain. He felt sorry for his father, wondering why hed be tossed in jail when he was an honest man. And his sister? No one would ask her what shed think about being taken away.
Tell us, how do you run things here? Gresham asked Ian.
Its the same as always, we try our best Ian replied.
Gresham pressed, Your hay was taken in spring, yet you only raise a storm now. Why stay silent? Did you wait for a convenient moment? And why do you think Harold is at fault just because Emily refused you?
Ians face turned pallid as questions piled like peas. I understand, Im guilty, he admitted. It wasnt Harold, someone else took them I tried to scare him.
Then youll answer for that, Gresham said softly but firmly. Ill send you to court for overstepping.
Colin burst in, pointing at the old radio, Turn it on, theres news
Ian switched it on, and the broadcast announced the wars outbreak22 June 1941.
Colin bolted home, fearing the news hadnt reached the village yet.
Im not absolving myself, Mr. Mitchell, but now isnt the time, Ian, now pale, said. Dont take me to court, let me go to the front; Ill be drafted anyway.
Gresham, stunned, leaned over the desk, pondering Ians fate.
The hay was eaten, perhaps by cows, we never knew. Im needed at the front now
Wholl stay here? Gresham asked.
Therell be menMathew Iliffe, too old for conscription, but he could step in as chairman
Fine, Whitmore, Ive got other matters, Gresham said, Ill think about you later.
A week later, a few carts lined up outside the council building, villagers gathering as always. Some wept, some sang, some laughed.
Ian bowed, removed his bag and stepped into the crowd. The local fiddler stretched his strings, and the once stern chairman, who never smiled, suddenly let loose. He waved his arms, stomped his feet, and the villagers formed a tight circle around him.
Ah, Ian Whitmore, those hands of yours could hold a wife, but now youll have to hug a rifle, Mathew Iliffe muttered, taking over the chairmanship.
The Blythe family waved goodbye to their soninlaw. Antonia clung to him like a lash, refusing to let go until the command to the carts! sounded.
Hard times settled over the empty village, now full of womenon farms, in fields, in the woods. Harold wasnt called up, but he worked as if three mens quota had been assigned to him.
Cold winters, fickle springs, and grim news came in waves.
Oh dear, Mary sighed, eyeing her daughter, we thought wed escaped one disaster, only another arrived. Yet today, that trouble seems dimmer, like a dying fire in the hearth.
Four years saw the village shrink, widows and orphans rose, but the spring of 45 revived spirits as victory loomed.
Fedor returned in March after a wound sent him home; hed been conscripted at eighteen and now was a soughtafter groom.
Why are you turning away from Fedor? Mary asked a grownup Emily. Where else will you find such a man? Hell even propose.
I get it, Mum, but I just dont feel it, Emily replied.
What feelings, Emily? Youll stay a girl forever then.
A month later Ian Whitmore came back. Women stared at the dustcaked road, noticing his coats empty sleeve. When they recognized him, they gasped, Its our Ian Whitmore!
He wasnt even thirty, yet grey hairs had appeared, and his hands trembled.
Hello, ladies! How are you? Wheres my mother? he called out.
Joy, dear, they replied, shes on the farm, where else would she be? Come, cheer her up; its a celebrationour sons returned.
At the next council meeting, they nominated him chairman.
We have a chairman already, Ian said, Mathew Iliffe kept the council going through the war; shouldnt he stay?
Selfremoval? the villagers asked.
Seems so, Ian shrugged.
He changedno longer shouting, no longer proud as before the war; the conflict had polished his temperament.
Good day, Harold Archibald, Ian greeted, we meet again.
Good day, Ian Whitmore, the former chairman replied.
Come now, whats with the formalities? I was a braggart before I spent the war thinking of you, regretted not asking forgiveness. So here I am: forgive me for those hay stacks; I knew I wasnt at fault
Harold cleared his throat. And you, Ian, forgive me too; I moved those stacks
Its simple, Ian said. We both fed the cows, didnt we? Its old news nowback before the war.
Colin, now grown, asked, Dad, why are you flapping your gums? He was a snake, now his sting is gone.
Ian got a light slap.
You know nothing! You havent lived, yet you judge. Ian, with two medals, was no snake.
Father, what are you doing? Colin asked as Harold stepped away from Ian. He was a snake, now his stings been ripped out.
Colin received a gentle tap on the head.
Too much understanding! Youve not smelled life, yet youre quick to judge. Ian fought on the front, earned two medals not a snake.
Dad? Colin whispered, I recall the past
Forget it just know this: its easy to make a mistake, hard to fix it. He nudged his sons shoulder. Alls well, son, the wars over, well live on.
The cattle carts rattled, and Emily, delighted, ran to meet them. Huge milk barrels awaited loading.
Ian, tying a pony with one hand, turned around. Emily, clutching a barrel, walked toward him. Hold on, lets do it together, he said, taking the barrel with his other hand. As he pushed the cart, she untied the pony, feeling his hand rest lightly on her shoulder. No need for pity, he whispered, Ill manage alone, even without a hand
I was just trying to help, she said.
You already helped, he nodded toward the cart, everyones moving stuff.
He nudged the horse, and she watched, her heart swelling with an odd compassion. She felt a strange pity for Ian Whitmoreperhaps because hed been wounded in the war, perhaps because the fear that once burned like fire now softened.
Days passed without Ian; teenage brothers from the neighbouring village took his place. One warm May day, Emily spied a familiar silhouette, a lone coat from afar.
He jumped off a cart, walked toward her, smiling. The wars over, Emily, its finally over. He announced that the radio had reported women heading home with songs, and that evenings would see tables set
Oh! she whispered, dropping her head onto his chest, both startled, then embraced. What wonderful news, weve waited so long He, feeling her breath, was at a loss. Could he have ever imagined Emily hugging him? With one hand he held her, I dont have enough arms to hug you fully, he said softly.
She looked into his eyes, whispered, I have two hands, and together we have three. Thatll be enough.
He brushed her hair, lifted her veil, kissed her tearwet cheeks, then pressed her close, breath catching. And as the sun set over the rebuilt village, Ian and Emily stood hand in hand, smiling at the promise of a peaceful tomorrow.
