The Azure-Eyed Soul

The summer sun was blazing, and the heat made the pavement sizzle. Simon Clarke trudged away from the bus stop, a hefty gym bag slung over his shoulder, packed with the modest belongings of a secondyear university student. Hed earned the cash for his cheap tracksuit by unloading freight vans for a few days, and now he could finally bring a few treats home for his family.

Simon skirted the old village hall and turned onto the lane that led to his house. As he approached the gate, his neighbour, MrsAntonia Blake, appeared. Her silvery hair fluttered in the breeze, and she stared at him as if trying to peer straight into his soul. Feels like shes looking right through me, Simon muttered.

Good afternoon, MrsBlake! he called.

Afternoon, Simon, she replied, her voice as soft as a rustling English autumn leaf. She watched him down the lane until the familiar birch trees that lined his front garden came into view.

Son! his mother shouted, enveloping him in a tight hug. His little sister Emily bounced over, and their granny, Margaret, clapped her hands. Look how youve grown!

Mom, we just saw each other a month ago before exams! Simon laughed, hoisting tenyearold Emily onto his arms. She squealed with delight.

Was that the exam period already? his mother smiled. Did you pass everything?

Passed with flying colours, Simon declared proudly. Now Im a thirdyear and my scholarships still a decent one!

Youre a strapping lad! Granny Margaret praised, patting his head. Youve really come of age.

Not that Im a little boy any more, Simon blushed, pulling out a small parcel from his bag. Wheres Father?

At work, dear, his mother said dismissively, admiring a delicate brooch hed given her. Thanks, love!

Emily twirled in front of the hall mirror, trying on a new cardigan. Look, Mum, isnt it gorgeous? All the girls at school will be jealous. Too bad its holidays already!

Everyones taken a shine to it, Granny chuckled, wrapping herself in a fresh wool scarf.

The family gathered around the table for lunch. Lively chatter filled the room, jokes bounced back and forth, and everyone was in high spiritsuntil Simons curiosity got the better of him.

Mum, he asked his mother, Eleanor, why does MrsBlake keep staring at me? Wherever I go, shes at the gate, eyes glued to me. She didnt even know I was coming back, but its as if shed been waiting.

Your granny knows best, Eleanor murmured. Shell tell you why.

Its because you look a lot like your father, and he looked a lot like his father. MrsBlake loved your grandfather, the old lady said, eyes drifting into the distance.

Back when the house was first built, the whole village pitched in. Thats when they first met the young couple next doorTess Harper and Victor Harris. They helped each other, shared tools, and became fast friends.

Tess married early, at eighteen, after losing both parents. Her aunt had taken her in, but the aunt was a harsh woman who treated tenyearold Tess as a servantcooking, cleaning, looking after the aunts children. School was a luxury Tess could hardly afford. The aunts temper was legendary; a single misstep earned a swift slap.

One day Tess showed Simon a scarred sleeve. Whats that? he asked.

Got it pulling weeds when a cow bolted past me, she said with a wry grin.

She went on to recount how her aunt once locked her in the cellar for two days after a neighbour claimed shed been seen near a graveyard at night. The aunt eventually died of a broken heart after her own sisterTesss motherran off with the father of her first love, leaving Tess an orphan.

The aunt remarried a widower, Victor, ten years Tesss senior and rather welloff. They lived in the same cottage Antonia still occupies today, tending the garden and the small plot of land. Nobody ever asked what Tess truly wanted.

The aunt sold the cottage, and Tess, with no family to speak of, married Victor out of necessity. She learned to run a household, but never loved him. He, in turn, liked the idea of a young, capable wifea sort of trophy, if you will.

Dont mind Antonias frail looks, Simons mother said. She was a beauty in her youthtall, slender, with blue eyes that could stop traffic and chestnut hair braided down to her waist. Her husband was proud of her, even if he treated her poorly.

Simon often saw bruises on Antonias arms. Is that Victor? hed ask, and shed stay silent, her eyes hiding a well of unspoken pain.

Their son, Peter, was born to Antonia and Victor, but Antonia never managed to conceive again. Victor grew bitter, arguing with his wife and even beating her once in a fit of rage. He bragged about his farming yields and his new tractor, never caring for anyone else.

Evenings at the village hall were filled with song. Antonias voice could send shivers down a spine, while Simons sister sang just fine, and their grandfather, Colin, used to sing in the church choir as a boy. When they sang together, it felt like theyd been rehearsing for years.

Victor, however, never sang. He spent his days complaining about the milk yield of his cows or the price of wheat, and when the women gathered to share news, he was more interested in making sure his bowl was never empty.

Tess would watch him, swallow tears, and he remained oblivious. Colin, Simons grandfather, would glance at her, then look away, his temper flaring.

One day Colin, before heading to the front lines, planted a row of birches by the lane and said, Ill be back, with a wife and a little one wholl look just like you. He promised to return soon, and the whole village waved him off.

Simon watched the train pull away, his heart in his throat. He saw his fathers dark eyes, his brown hair, and felt a pang of helplessness he could not put into words.

The train vanished, and womenwives, mothers, sweetheartsran after it, tears streaming. Antonia stayed behind, her eyes dry as if shed never truly said goodbye.

Colins parting words echoed in the wind: Ill be back, love, dont you worry. He promised a daughter, a little girl whod carry his cheeky smile.

Back at the cottage, Simons mother whispered, Your neighbour, MrsBlake, watches you because you remind her of the man she lovedyour grandfather. Shes seen you grow, and shes proud.

As the war dragged on, the village was spared the worst of the fighting. Life went on: tractors were driven, fields ploughed, crops harvested. When a letter from Colin was finally expected, Tess would dash from the fields to the postwoman, MrsValerie, a wiry old lady who knew every corner of the parish.

Give me a glimpse of that letter, please! Tess would beg, eyes brimming. Just to hold it, to see his handwriting.

MrsValerie would huff, Its not for you, love. It belongs to the wife, Gal I cant give it to a stranger.

Only a moment, Tess would plead, Im not a stranger. Eventually, with a sigh, MrsValerie handed over the folded paper, warning, Dont smudge it.

Tess clutched the letter to her chest, waiting for MrsValerty to return. When she did, she slipped the precious envelope back into her bag, humming a hopeful tune.

Where did you hear that? Simon asked once.

From the wind, she replied. When a letters due, you feel it in your bones.

Victor later became a constable, patrolling the lanes, while Tess withdrew from village life, ashamed to be seen. She spent her days in the garden, tears often soaking the soil, while Victors temper grew worse.

The letters became Tesss only lifeline. She wondered whether she could ever take her son away, whether she even had the right. The questions piled up, unanswered.

Months slipped by without news. Yet the village kept its rhythm: sowing, reaping, and sharing gossip. When Peter finally spoke his first wordsDaddy, come homethe hope flickered anew.

One evening, as the sun set behind the hedgerows, Simon and his sister Emily sat on the old swing set, listening to the crickets. Suddenly, from the far side of the lane, a figure appeared.

Simon, called a soft voice from behind the gate, could you come over?

It was Antonia, now frail but still sharp. She greeted him with a warm smile and said, You look just like your granddad. Thank you, dear. She tucked a hand into his hair, then shuffled back inside.

Simon lingered by the birches, listening to the rustle of leaves. For a fleeting second he thought he heard footstepsperhaps the ghost of a blueeyed soul still wandering the garden, searching for love.

He thought, Love never ages, and it certainly never dies.

The next day, as Simon walked past the village green, he heard MrsBlake calling from her garden gate, Simon, dear, come over here! He obeyed, and she handed him a small, worn envelope. Inside was a final letter from Colin, dated the day he fell in an enemy barrage.

It began:

Dearest Galmy beloved wife,

I write this as the world seems to have turned upside down. I miss you, the children, our little apple tree, the birches we planted together. I picture you in the garden, our son in your arms, the cat purring at our feet. I dream of a home where youre safe, where I can hold you again.

If this reaches you, know that I love you now, tomorrow, always. Ill be with you in every breeze, in every sunrise, in the smile of our boy.

Your Colin.

Simons hands shook as he read the words. Eleanor, his mother, placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, eyes wet with tears. The village seemed to hold its breath.

Later, Simon and Antonia sat together, reading the letter aloud. The words were worn, yet each line sang in their hearts.

The war finally ended, but the village never quite returned to the way it was. No more letters arrived, and neither Simon nor Tess ever married again. Yet they felt Colins presence in the wind, in the rustling birches, in the scent of fresh apples.

One crisp morning, Simon stepped outside, looked up at the sky, and thought, Hes still watching. The gentle breeze brushed his cheek; he smiled, knowing loveblueeyed, stubborn, and everlastingnever truly leaves.