The Village Professionals
«Tess, Tess, have you heard? A new maths teachers come to our village from the city. Barbara Wilson finally retired. She was well past it, bless her, but there was no one else to teach the children, so here he is,» chattered old Mrs. Whitmore, the neighbour who always knew the latest gossip.
«No, I hadnt heard. Is he a man?»
«Yes, indeed. And not some young lad eitherthey say hes forty-six and single.»
«Really? That age and still unmarried?» Tess raised an eyebrow. «Maybe his wifell follow later. Or maybe not. City women dont fancy village life.»
«Well, never mind that. Plenty of our own women are single, arent they? Take our nurse, Mariannewidowed three years now, and a fine-looking woman. Perfect match, a teacher and a nurse…»
The village hummed with rumours before Gregory Ellis had even met Marianne. Yet everyone had already decided theyd marry.
Time passed, but no talk of a wedding arose. No one even saw the teacher and nurse together much. Of course, Gregory had met Mariannehow could they not, living in the same village?
The new teacher settled in the old house once meant for school staff and medics, back when the village had more of them. Gregory was tall, pleasant-looking, and well-liked by the children. His lessons were lively, full of jokes and clear explanations.
The villages real busybodies were the old women who gathered on benches outside, trading the juiciest gossip. Gregory was their newest puzzle.
Two theories dominated. The first came from Mrs. Whitmore herself:
«Mark my words, ladies,» she said, adjusting her shawl, «this Gregorys a fresh widower. Buried his wife in the cityshe was likely ill. Came here to escape his grief and start anew. People do that in their sorrow.»
The second theory belonged to Mrs. Archer, the villages self-appointed know-it-all. If a fly buzzed past, shed claim to know its life story. Even if she didnt, shed spin a tale with such certainty no one dared doubt her.
«My guess? Hes tangled in some city troubledebts, maybe, or a scandal with a younger woman. His wife found out, so hes hiding here till it blows over.»
No consensus was reached, but the rumours spread. Marianne stayed out of it, though the whispers reached hervillagers came to her for treatment and couldnt resist sharing.
Marianne was forty-one, her daughter at university in London. Her husband had passed three years prior, his heart giving out. Gregory didnt interest her. Their paths rarely crossedthe school at one end of the village, the clinic at the other. Her children werent in his class, and he never fell ill.
«Marianne, have you heard the talk about you and the teacher?» asked Lucy, the elderly nurse. «Half the village expects a wedding by summer.»
«Oh, Ive heard,» Marianne sighed, filling out paperwork. «What romance? Weve barely spoken. He seems decent, but far too city-like. Fancy clothes, polished glasses, soft handsprobably cant even chop wood. Ive met his sort beforeall charm, no substance.»
«Hes hardly a boy,» Lucy countered.
«Men dont change, Lucy. At forty-six, hes still after what they all want, even when theyre grey and leaning on a cane.»
Lucy fell silent, then nodded. «True enough. If a mans single at that age, its because he chooses to be.»
«Exactly,» Marianne said. «Let them gossip. Ive no interest in flings. If I marry again, itll be for family.»
Eventually, the chatter died down. The village grew used to Gregory and Mariannetwo professionals among farmers. Theyd exchange polite hellos at the shop and go their separate ways.
Winter came, then New Years. The children returned to school, and Gregory was now one of them. Fresh gossip soon took over: the village heads daughter had returned from London, pregnant and unmarried. The benches were too cold now, so tongues wagged in the shop or clinic instead.
Life rolled onquiet some days, buzzing with rumours others. January was bitter, the paths icy and treacherous.
Then one evening, the village stirred anew. Near months end, Marianne was called to Mrs. Archers house. It stood at the far end of the village, so she trudged through snowdrifts, medical bag in hand, exhausted by the time she arrived.
Inside, she found Gregory waiting.
«Hello,» she said, surprised. «What are you doing here?»
«Hello. I walked Stevie home from schoolhes feverish. His mums at work. Mrs. Archers taken poorly, though. Ive called an ambulance.»
Marianne checked the old woman and paled. «Youre right. But how will the ambulance reach here? The roads are buried.»
Gregory stepped outside, eyeing a wooden ladder in the yard. «Stevie, fetch me some belts.» The boy returned with three, one cloth. «Thesell do.»
«Whats your plan?» Marianne asked.
«Well wrap her in a blanket, strap her to the ladder, and drag her to the clinic.»
«Brilliant,» Marianne breathed.
Gregory hauled while Marianne steadied Mrs. Archer. As they trudged, she asked, «Why *are* you single?»
«My wife left seven years ago. Ran off with some businessman. Money, you see. Whats a teacher got to offer? I volunteered to come herespared a younger teacher with a pregnant wife. No regrets. I like it here.»
«I see,» Marianne said softly.
After the ambulance left, they lingered outside the clinic. Gregory bid her goodnight and walked away. Marianne watched him go, thoughtful.
*Hes a real man. Keeps his head in a crisis, acts without complaint. Not some pampered city boy after all.*
That evening, villagers spotted Gregory walking Marianne homethough his own house lay in the opposite direction. The next day, and the next, they were seen chatting and laughing together.
«Marianne, whens the wedding?» Lucy teased during a check-up.
Marianne laughed. «This summer. Gregorys on holiday then, and works lighter for me.»
The rumours had been right all along. As the saying goes, *where theres smoke, theres fire.* Sometimes, the village whispers know best.
