The penultimate story in my 'Whispered Tales' collection. Many liberties were taken with the geography in this tale.
The Lovers
Within the boundaries of Altrincham were two small villages – Broadheath and Timperley. There was very little distance between them however they were physically separated by a brook, whose babbling waters cut a clear border marking where one village ended and the other began. Here and there were crossing points, for the villages were not strangers and worked closely with one another to feed and house their occupants. In any such circumstances, relationships are formed and this story concerns two young lovers; Grace of Broadheath and Tomas of Timperley.
They met at the market, where he sold her fresh vegetables and smiled so warmly that her heart melted. Before long they were welcomed within one another’s families and plans were made to wed in the winter amongst a blanket of snow.
Each evening the two would meet at the brook; Grace arriving from her tiny cottage home and Tomas from his small farm on the opposite side of the water. Being young and fuelled by love, they skipped across the stepping stones that bridged the gap between them and spent an hour or two making plans and dreaming dreams.
And then plague arrived. At first it was only talk; frightened whispers in the alehouses and ginnels. Locals reassured themselves and each other that London was far away…that they would be safe in their tiny villages, in their little town. But it did not take long for the fear to swell and soon unfamiliar faces were viewed with suspicion and movement in and out of the area was curtailed. The villagers closed ranks. But fate cannot be denied and in the dying days of summer, plague arrived in Timperley.
Who was the source of the infection? Perhaps we will never know. However, the stricken household were dangerously close to Tomas and his farm. With a heavy heart he made his decision; he could not meet his beloved Grace until the disease had run its course. Poor Grace! She sobbed and pleaded but Tomas would not be moved – he could not put her life in danger. Better to stay apart for as long as necessary than to be responsible for infecting her with plague poison. Grace was no fool. She understood that it was the right thing to do and reluctantly accepted the enforced separation but the thought of not seeing one another at all for an unknown period of time was too much and the lovers agreed to meet, as they already did, at the brook every evening – with one important difference; there would be no crossing to the other side. They could wave and shout across the water – but they would not cross the brook.
And so it was that every evening the pair arrived at the brook and were thankful to see their loved one’s face and to snatch some words of comfort across the water that divided them. The plague raged across the scant cluster of dwellings in Timperley and – inevitably – extended its lethal breath into the neighbouring villages. The brook was a poor defence. Yet Tomas returned, night after night, to wave at Grace and to call to her promises of future happiness from across the brook. Until one night, when she did not come. Tomas waited. He reasoned and excused and returned the next night, only to stand alone for longer than he cared to calculate. And the next…and the next. And then one night, the brook babbled to itself and no one came.
But you can still see them; if the time and conditions are right. Be patient. Find the crossing stones and wait. Someone will come. Sometimes Grace, sometimes Tomas, but each one scans across the brook desperately as they search for the love that would not die.
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