She and Him

There wasn’t much point pacing, she told herself. There wasn’t much point tapping irate finger nails against thick wooden panels, drumming away a sense of unease. She may as well sit and wait, delve deep into her soul for a drop of patience, succumb to the stillness of the inky blue night.

Silence. Silence wasn’t her friend, nor she its. Silence brought with it fear and uncertainty, whirling thoughts and swirling images; none which did much to still her. They served only to agitate her more.

She trusted him, she did, and her trust forced herself to believe. But in the cold and the solitude of a dark night and an empty, rugged barn, with no food or water or certainty that the hours ahead would bring the news she longed for, that belief wavered a little. But she had to believe.

A long, low hoot came from somewhere high up in the rafters. In the murky depths of the shadows she could just make out the silhouette of a barn owl. The knowledge of another’s presence comforted her a little. The night seemed a little less lonely knowing she wasn’t totally alone.

Growing up, she and the other children in the village had been warned by their elder siblings and peers to stay away from this derelict, mostly forgotten farm. There was a rumour - unfounded, of course - that old Mr Gentile had shot his wife, then himself, and their tortured souls had never left. Of course, in reality the Gentiles’ daughters had married and moved away to the nearby town and in their old age they had wanted to be closer, so they sold up and moved away. A rich man had purchased the land, supposedly set to build a mansion for himself and his family, but said mansion had yet to materialise in the time that had passed.

She did not fear ghosts. No spindly spirits or barbarous bogeymen plagued her thoughts. She’d seen enough of life, enough of humans, to know that in comparison, there wasn’t much to fear about the dead at all.

She wished she knew the time. The sun had set what she reckoned was a few hours ago, making it around midnight according to her estimations.

‘Surely the deed must be done by now.’ She thought, again and again.

Again and again and again, until she grew sick of thinking it and forced her mind down another path in the direction of something wild, something wonderful: the future that could be hers. Walks in tall grass, eating apples straight from trees, children with her eyes running ahead with a spaniel or a retriever of some kind, or perhaps on the back of a pony, and she’d be holding hands with the man she loved.

The man who should have been here by now.

She shook her head, as if shaking the thought away.

“He will be here.” She whispered to herself.

Somewhere, a good height above her head, the owl let out another low hoot, as if in objection.

“He will.” She said defensively, glaring up at the owl; “he’ll be here soon. I know it.”

The owl did not respond.

“He will.” She said again to herself, quietly this time; “what does an owl know anyway?”

She turned her head sharply towards the open door. She had thought she had heard... yes! She definitely could hear... a sound familiar and unmistakably so, distant and yet growing louder and stronger as the seconds went by: the sound of hooves hitting the ground as a galloping horse drew nearer and nearer.

She was on her feet in seconds, standing at the door, the pounding of her heart making all else inaudible at the sight of the rider; cloaked in moonlight, his hair whirring in the wind.

She watched, joy overtaking her, as he approached. Running out to meet him, she threw her arms around his neck before he had fully dismounted. He chuckled, balancing himself as his feet touched the floor, pulling away a little and looking into her eyes.

“My love.”

“Is it done?” She breathed.

“It is done.” He replied.

She squealed and hugged him harder, and he held her closely too. Still, in this precious moment it pressed on his mind that there wasn’t much time to enjoy it.

“We must fly.” He said.

Disarmed by the sudden urgency in his voice, her brown eyes searched anxiously for his blue.

“What’s your hurry?”

“Her father and brother are searching for me - my own father too.”

“They won’t find us here. Let’s stay, you must rest.”

“There is time for rest when we’re far away from this place. Are you ready to leave?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Come along, my love.”

“Alright.”

She wasted no time in hurrying to fetch the sack containing her earthly possessions from inside the barn, hoisting it over her shoulder and herself onto the horse, putting her arms around his waist and pressing her face into the back of his neck. She had an idea of where they were headed; the place he’d always spoken about building a life. She had never been before. She did not mind where he took her; the only place she’d ever wanted to be was with him.

Months of tension seemed to melt away as they headed east, a dirt track taking them from hometown to home. A warmth flooded her heart, pumped through her veins into every inch of her body. This was happiness; this was joy; this was radiance.

And yet, there was something else too - perhaps best described as remorse. For somewhere back there in the distance, a woman not unlike her was taking a wedding gown off, stained with tears and mud from where she had knelt in the ground and begged her love to not leave her. As one nuzzled into the shoulders of her lover, the other woman nuzzled into the shoulder of her mother. The best day of one woman’s life was the worst of another’s.

She swallowed and sighed, not one of relief but not one of sadness either. For love, she knew, was messy and chaotic; but love, above all else was kind. And, sometimes, kindness required a bit of cruelty; and love a lot of truth.

So towards their new truth the two lovers rode, married within two weeks. Dead within two years. She from sickness, he from a bullet wound obtained in a duel.

Ironically, really, the other woman had missed a bullet.

Before too long, the other woman was also married. And thankful. Thankful to be married to a man loyal to her, but not so loyal to his arguments that he would die for them.

The other woman thought about the pair the morning she heard of their deaths. She felt pity. She said a prayer. Then, hand in hand with her husband, with a dog at her heel and a toddling babe, she took her afternoon walk, stopping only to pick apples from a tree.