Page 36 of Beneath the Harvest Moon

On his forearms, his hair prickled, and a shudder ran across the slick skin of his back. The earthy musk of dying foliage hung in the air.

It was time to accept the truth. Blythe had been his first love, and he had been unable to forget her. More than money had been behind her decision to jilt him. He had said to leave the past behind, but this gnawed at his insides, and he could not let it go.

That she had lived with Simmonds for fifteen years, that she had borne that man’s children and mourned her husband, was of no consequence. All that mattered was that he wanted her to be with him for the rest of his life.

He would make it so if it was the last thing he did. He did not care what the villagers made of their reunion. His parents were a different matter. Did he relish the prospect of disappointing them? Certainly not, but once they realised Blythe was the only woman he had loved, the only woman he could love, surely, they would support his decision, even if they did not approve.

After passing the glowing windows of The Golden Fleece tavern and the loud hubbub within, he rapped on the kitchen door of his parent’s home and entered. “Good evening.”

Mother darned stockings in the rocking chair before the fire. In the wing-backed chair opposite, Father hid behind his newspaper.

They knew. Of course they knew. Nothing was a secret in Midthorpe. He closed the door behind him. “May I speak with you both on a delicate matter?”

“By all means.” Mother nodded to the third chair against the wall.

He pulled it up to the fire and sat between them. After a rapid inhalation, he said, “You know what I wish to discuss.”

Mother jabbed her needle into the darning mushroom. “Your father told me you sneaked away on the journey home, just like you used to do.”

Father dropped the corner of his newspaper, then flipped it back and cleared his throat.

“I knew this would happen as soon as she rolled through the village in her fine carriage.” Mother’s brisk stitching continued. “Not long before she arrived, you said you did not require a wife and children to be happy.”

“Mother, I⁠—”

“You never stopped loving her, did you?” Mother paused.

He ran a hand over his stubbled chin. “No.”

“She’ll break your heart again, my boy. She’ll get bored with life here and leave. I can’t bear to see you in the same state as she left you before.” Mother resumed her darning.

None of the nameless women or innumerable tankards of alcohol had eased the pain of Blythe’s rejection. Unabated, his behaviour might have jeopardised his place at university, but he had vowed she would not stop him becoming a physician. If anything, her rejection had spurred him on to become the best physician—to excel in his studies, to prove that she had made a mistake by choosing someone else.

Her whispers while she had lain on the small cot in the Farrer’s outbuilding came back to him. She had not enjoyed life as a socialite. Why had she chosen that over their plans for a life of purpose?

He rested his elbows on his knees. “What if I told you she wishes to remain in Midthorpe?”

Mother scoffed. “Her word means nothing. She broke promises before, and she’ll break them again—she and her haughty mother. I wouldn’t be surprised if she still allows Mrs Dixon too much say in her life. The girl has proved inconstant. Why would you wish to place your trust in her again?”

“Because I love her.”

Mother closed her eyes.

The words may hurt his mother, but they were the truth. “I suspect she regrets her decision to leave and would like to start anew… and begin her training once again.”

Mother dropped her darning into her lap with a huff. “If you think I’ll train someone who may shoot off again despite all the time I invested in them, think again. Besides, I have a new apprentice.”

“You are not training Mrs Stone to be a midwife and healer, only to make recipes and run the shop.”

Father sniffed behind his newspaper.

Mother leaned forward. “Gabriel, I worry for you. You'd always wanted a family. You’d make a wonderful father, yet you’ve remained alone because of that woman.” Mother gathered up her darning. “She only had two children by her husband, and I doubt she’ll bear more. I do not wish that for you, son.”

“I do not care. I want her. I will raise her children as my own if she allows me. She wants to establish a purposeful life. She did an excellent job of nursing the boy. Did you not send her the marmalade?”

“That was before I knew she had you on the hook again.”

In truth, she had never released him, but that fact would not win over his mother. “Blythe knows you will be reluctant to train her.”