I cannot say I was happy with my mother’s choice of husband for me. He was lowlier than we; and much older. But he did an honest day’s work and never spent. Hence, he had a sizeable pot of gold.
We married, and soon after, my husband decided we would move from our more agricultural south to the industrial north. His workload increased, and so did my unhappiness.
It was when he was doing some work with the Church that the accusation of theft arose. I could not believe it of him. Yet the issue became of importance to the election of the new Dean. It was to do with morality and forgiveness – on the outside, at least. But the reality is, the sleazy Mr Creep was manipulating the issue with a word here, a word there, hoping to increase his position in the Church.
As the issue raged, I ventured out a great deal, and one day I came upon a dispute outside a local mill. It seemed at one point the workers were about to assault the young mill owner.
I intervened. He was grateful. And although he was often cruel to his workers, I saw a spark of goodness in him, if I could only civilize him.
Our relationship went too far. Ashamed, I’d return from him to my husband, and felt wretched at my actions, but also with my husband’s neglect of me. His only happiness seemed to come as he counted his pot of gold.
Mr Creep – all knowing Mr Creep – did, of course, discover my regular assignations, and word got to the mill owner that his relationship was with a married woman.
Horrified, he confronted me at our next meeting. I admitted my deceit, yet told him of my husband’s cruelty, and that we could be together if we really desired it.
He loved me, and realised he could not be without me, and thus I directed him to my ‘husband’, Mr Creep.
Without the manipulator, the contest for the new Dean was advantageous for my husband. The moral was not ideal, but forgiveness won over morality, whether he was innocent or not. We do live in an imperfect world – though Mr Creep’s funeral WAS perfect.
Yet that imperfect world manifested in my guilt ridden mind. It drove me to my suicide. Yet as I atoned, my husband seemed happy with his pot of gold, alone.
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