The Soul No Longer Aches or Weeps

Eleanor Harpers heart no longer ached, no longer wept.

When her husband Zachary died in a freak accident just eight years after theyd moved to the bustling streets of London, Eleanor thought she would never find peace. The city smelled of his perfume, his laugh echoed down every alley, and even the rain seemed to whisper his name. One night, after the funeral, she gathered her two close friendsClara and Mollyover tea in her flat.

Girls, Ive decided to leave everything behind and go to the countryside, she announced, her voice trembling as she pushed a trembling teacup aside. The house feels empty, my parents have long since passed, and I cant walk those streets without seeing Zacharys shadow at the edge of my vision. Its as if hes right there, but when I turnnothing.

Clara frowned. Are you sure you can live out in the sticks? Youve always known the city; everything is set up for you here.

Eleanor stared at the firelight. Theres a school in the village; Ill teach there, she said, her tone gaining resolve.

Molly smiled, Then well visit you often, and the three women laughed, the sound bubbling like a hopeful spring.

For the next five years, Eleanor and her tenyearold son Samuel lived in a modest cottage on the fringe of Thornwick, the village that clung to the edge of a deep, dark forest. She taught English and literature at the local primary school, and the villagers grew to respect her, for she was one of their ownborn and raised in the hills.

That winter was cruel. December turned the fields to white, and a relentless gale hammered the thatch roofs. New Years Eve was a week away when a ferocious snowstorm slammed the cottage at midnight. Inside, the hearth crackled, filling the room with amber warmth. Eleanor and Samuel loved those nights: the world outside a raging beast, while they huddled over a table, sipping herbal tea.

Mum, I think someones knocking, Samuel whispered.

Its just the wind, Eleanor said, but the faint tap on the door cut through the howl. She rose, the floorboards creaking beneath her slippers, and called, Whos there?

A thin, hoarse voice answered, Please, open the door.

The storm made the notion of a visitor absurd, yet the sound was real. Eleanor opened the door to a man collapsed in the snow, his breath ragged, his coat soaked through. He tumbled inside, halffallen, and she shouted for Samuel.

Is he drunk? the first thought flashed through her mind, then she pushed it asideno one should freeze like this.

Samuel and Eleanor dragged the man to the hearth. He lay on the floor, clutching his side, his breath shallow. From his torn trousers and the absence of a rifle, Eleanor guessed he was a hunter, perhaps a gamekeeper. She wasnt a medic, and the blizzard meant an ambulance was a distant dream.

After a tense minute, the man turned onto his back, his eyes opening to a painful stare. His right leg was a mess of torn flesh and blood.

What happened to you? Eleanor asked, her voice low.

Im sorry, he rasped, his gaze pleading. She stripped his wet coat, revealing a deep gash that gushed crimson.

She inspected the woundno fracture, just a severe cut. She could dress it herself, and a small measure of relief lifted her spirit. Samuel helped, bringing a bucket of hot water to rinse the injury.

The mans name, as he whispered once his breath steadied, was Arthur Whitcombe. Im a doctor by training, he said, his voice gaining strength, but the field kept me hunting. My leg the boar hit me, and my rifle broke. I lost my way and my carriage in the storm.

Eleanor felt a strange calm. Im Eleanor Harper, and this is my son, Samuel. She placed Arthur by the stove, propping his leg against the wall. He managed a faint grin.

Fortythree years old, Arthur began once his pain eased, I spent my youth as a military medic, serving overseas. The life was restless; I was always moving, never home. My wife couldnt bear the wandering, so she left with our daughter for London, where her parents lived. She remarried, found stability. I dont blame herfew women could endure such hardship.

Eleanors eyes flickered with doubt. And love? Do you think it ever comes back?

Arthur shook his head. Not every woman can stay. When I married young, I promised her a life I couldnt give. I understand her leaving.

The clock struck midnight, the snow still howling outside. Arthur asked, Are you married?

No, Eleanor answered, my husband died tragically. I moved here five years ago; this is my familys old home. My son was born in the city, but hes thrived here, making friends with the local lads.

The village is quiet, she added, I teach, I tend the garden. Im not lonely.

Arthur smiled. I left the army at forty, retired with a pension. My mother fell ill, so I returned home to care for her. I tried being a gamekeeper for a while, but she passed. I opened a small chemist shop in town; business is decent, and Im planning a second branch. Lately, though, Ive felt a weight on my soulperhaps grief, perhaps something else.

Eleanor nodded. Loss leaves a scar. Its normal to feel hollow.

Arthur chuckled weakly. Friends say I should see a psychiatrist, but I laugh them off. I came out here to hunt, to clear my head. I got lost, my car broke down, a herd of wild boars charged, one snagged my leg. I fired, but Im not sure I hit anything. The animal ran off, and I stumbled to your door, dropping my rifle at the porch.

Eleanor sighed, Its late. Ill make a bed by the fire for you. Rest.

The following morning, Arthurs fever spiked; the wound festered, and the storm finally relented. Eleanor and Samuel found Arthurs abandoned car halfburied in the snow, a hulking white mound not far from the cottage.

Ill have to treat myself, Arthur muttered, rummaging through the vehicles glove compartment for a firstaid kit. Samuel fetched it, his small hands careful not to crush the bottles.

For days Arthur recuperated, sipping tea, laughing at Samuels clumsy chess moves. When his strength returned, he announced he would travel to London to settle his affairs. Only three days remained before New Years.

Eleanor asked softly as he packed, Is your soul still hurting?

Arthur stared into her eyes, the weight of his journey settling. Now its crying, he said, stepping into his battered Land Rover and driving away into the thinning snow.

After he left, the cottage felt hollow. Eleanor sensed something missing, a quiet ache where his presence had been. The storm lingered, though milder, its wind whispering through the trees. She told herself, At least he stayed long enough to be remembered.

Days turned into weeks. Eleanor kept the hearth warm, the table set for two, and the Christmas tree adorned, as per family tradition. On the evening of December 30th, after a brief trip to the market in the nearby town of Ashford, she returned just as another gust of wind rattled the windows.

Mother, someones at the door, Samuel whispered, eyes wide.

Its probably the wind, Eleanor replied, but she paused, listening. A knock sounded, steady and firm.

She opened the door to find Arthur standing there, a bundle of parcels in his arms, his smile bright despite the chill.

May I come in? he asked, stepping into the hallway without waiting for an answer.

Samuel burst out, shouting, Uncle Arthur!

Arthur lifted Samuels arm, handing him a sack. He turned to Eleanor, his eyes soft. May I kiss you? he asked, his voice trembling with a mixture of nerves and determination.

He leaned forward, pressing his lips to hers. The world seemed to hold its breath as their hearts raced like children on a playground.

Samuel, Eleanor, Arthur began, pulling a small velvet box from his coat pocket, I know this is sudden, but Ive realized my life cannot be happy without you both. Will you marry me, Eleanor?

She stared at his hopeful face, then at the boy who looked up at her with pure admiration. Yes, she whispered, but I cant leave this place.

Arthur laughed, a warm rumble. Neither will I. Ill stay here; the forest is my home now, and Ill keep the gamekeepers work. My business in town will run itself, and well have this life together.

He placed his hand over hers, sealing their promise.

Years later, Samuel, now a university student, watched his mother and Arthur build a larger house on the hill, their laughter ringing through the fields. Their souls no longer ached; love and joy filled every corner of the home, and the winter winds, once fierce, now whispered only of contentment.