The Tale of the Handsome Gardener

Chapter 1. John Hinton, not your ordinary smith…

"Many generations passed, so long in fact few people of the day knew of writing, a magical yarn was rendered unto this world. So powerful is this story it shines equally bright at the moment I take your hand. Dear Grandson, family tradition suggests on your wedding eve I am responsible to pass unto you this tale."

"Your duty, as a man in our family, is to secret this lesson until God willing, you discover in your life the joy of similar circumstances. When such a moment of cherished significance should come to pass, I ask you to build a fire and then render unto your future grandson this valued lore."

"Dear William, do I have your promise to keep this tradition a secret until the fortuitous day you share this with your grandson?"

"Of course, you have my promise, Gramps. For years I have been waiting for this day."

"Excellent, then with esteemed gratitude for allowing me this privilege let us begin. I beseech you, to find a seat by the fire, and take this warm cup of brandy from my hand. When I note you have gained a modicum of comfort then, as my grandfather had done so many years past, I will have great joy in regaling you with 'The Tale of the Handsome Gardener'."

The fire stirs, crackling sharply against the cool crisp night air. Two men, Richard the Grandfather in the company of his young Grandson, William, are about to embark upon a time-tested right of passage. Dear reader, perhaps you too might like a welcome seat by our warm fire.

"Long, long ago in a small simple abode across the Atlantic Ocean lived a man known to all as the 'Handsome Gardener.' Oddly enough, his moniker represented a classic misnomer. For, as it were, this man was not a gardener at all. The point, in fact, he was the renowned blacksmith of a quaint little village named Liberty. The name of our heroic blacksmith, one which I might add will forever be remembered, was Mr. John Hinton."

"John’s story, a gift my grandfather asked I promise to pass unto you, is as valuable as it is timeless. Smiths, as you may be aware William, were generally hulking, brutish men. Often, it would appear, God had offered the smith great strength instead of, shall we tactfully suggest, limited social graces or a bridled intellectual acumen. Upon first glance, our man John appeared no exception to this rule. However, circumstance regularly reminds the attentive mind never to be so hasty as to judge a book by its cover."

"Are you with me William?"

A nod from the young man in acquiescence. 

"Excellent, my boy."

"Further to the embarrassment of his name, John was far from handsome. It was commonly known there was a time in his youth when village girls would surely blush at John's passing. Even as a boy big. John proved a horse’s head taller than most men. His shoulders and chest were easily twice the breadth of lads five years his senior. John's father, as legend speaks, had passed shortly before the boy's tenth year. The challenges and toil of farm duties fell unto our legendary hero. Farmyard chores soon sculpted not only John's body but also respect as well as honour from town and country folk throughout the realm of Cambridge county."

"As often is the case with large men, John was understood to be a gentle giant. Never was he known to pass up the chance to selflessly aid in the needs of others. So generous was his nature John always insisted for his work no recompense or remuneration. Task complete, John would simply smile, wave goodbye, and then proceed with his day. His golden reputation afforded good John considerable recognition from the town smith. In times of yore, it was an honour, moreover a unique privilege, to acquire the role of a smith's apprentice. In all the land, everyone would agree, no young man deserved more this vaunted title."

"Fate, at times, can have a cruel way of turning gold to dust. Such was the case for this well-equipped, greatly esteemed, young man. During his first year of training poor John, in one single awkward moment, tripped then fell onto the molten work aglow on the blacksmith's anvil. John's left cheek, nose, and right eye, as well as a great portion of his forehead, had instantly fused to the slab of unformed metal. Many expected he would not survive the tragic ordeal. Yet John, made of greater stalk than the average man, recovered within a year. 

However fortunate to survive his calamity; legend tells of how significant damage had forever altered the image of this handsome lad. John, by the cause of the catastrophe, had lost his right eye. His nose became a mere splinter of its original form. The left side of his mouth remained contorted in such a severe manner his speech was interminably altered. Adding a modicum of insult to injury, drool regularly leaked down the side of his face leaving poor John the continual task of reaching for a sullied absorptive handkerchief kept hidden in his right breast pocket."

"The same lovely smitten lasses who once blushed at his charming presence now, in passing, desperately fought to maintain their composure. Often was the case the young woman required a sniff of the essence just to regain balance from the horrifying experience of making his acquaintance. Frightful as he was to view, Big John did survive. More to the point the river which became his life, to this day, nourishes many a wayward soul. This, my dear grandson, begins the tale of the handsome gardener."

"Do I have your undivided attention, William?" 

Another, more subdued, nod reflected William's consternation.

"Fair play dear boy, I understand your pause. However, this yarn appearing to represent great suffering, in surprising actuality is a lesson meant to teach you how to acquire the enduring love of your betrothed. Dear William, be at ease, the modicum of shock I see in your eyes will soon pass."

"Apparently, you cannot fathom how these dots may find a reasonable connection to enduring love. I will place a few more logs on our fire. Sip your brandy, my boy, and then our tale will recommence. Now you take care not to trip lad. We surely wouldn't want you to meet a fate similar to our handsome John." (Smile brightens the face of our gnarled storyteller)

Chapter 2, Tradition, a GrandfatheBefore…

"Prior to continuing our story, William, I wish to ask you the same question, my Grandfather asked me at this very juncture in the story."

"Why have you chosen Beth to be your bride?"

Feeling slightly uncertain of how to proceed. Not wanting to disappoint his Gramps, poor William felt a tad uneasy. Much to his bewilderment, William found himself blurting out a defensive retort.

"Is this some sort of a test Grandpa?"

Smiling, in a most comforting fashion as only a grandparent can manage, Richard replied. "No, my dear grandson, this is not a test. Nor is it a trick, it’s a very simple, straightforward question."

"I think I know how you feel William. When your great, great Grandpa Mike, God rest his soul, asked me the same question fifty-one years ago I believe I felt the same way you do now. Although it was such a long time past, I recall the moment as if he and I were speaking just yesterday. Unlike tonight William, it was a hot summer evening. I recall cicadas and bullfrogs found occasion to soothingly punctuate his storytelling. Funny, how insignificant little details can stick in one’s mind. The brandy went a long way toward comforting my anxiety then, as I am sure it presently aids you this chilly evening."

(A slight smile breaks the face of young William)

"Let me assuage your concerns, my boy. There is no right, nor wrong answer. If one were to inquire of me the intent of Grandpa Mike’s question, I believe William, he simply wished to engage my mind. Perhaps he also wanted me to reflect a little on what it means to be a husband. Take your time boy. Let us enjoy the warm glow of this beautiful fire then fill our wanting brandy glasses anew. In a few moments, when you have carefully considered the question, you can reply."

Feeling much better, additionally warmed from his Grandpa’s good nature, the fire, as well the effects of a hefty tot of quality Brandy William, with a relaxed posture, again pondered the query.

After a considerable pause, William spoke up. "Gramps" he confidently stated, "I think I am ready."

"With Beth by my side Grampa, I feel like I can conquer any challenge. By far, she is the most beautiful girl in the whole world. I love everything about her Grandpa: her smell, the way she talks, her smile, the funny way her beautiful blue eyes light up as she devours a bowl of ice cream." 

"She really loves me, Gramps! I can tell by the way she looks at me, how she holds my hand, and her uncanny ability to comfort me when I am feeling down. Even when I screw up really bad Grandpa, like when I forgot to apply the parking brake causing her new Jeep to plunge into Crawdad Lagoon, she never stayed mad at me for too long. You know Gramps, there is still a foul smell in that darn car, likely it will never go away. We both know how it got there, yet, she never holds it over my head. I guess, when all is said and done, I really, really, love Beth with all my heart. These things and more are why I asked her to marry me."

Compelled to qualify his assertions, William could not help but inquire. "How did I do Gramps?"

Feeling proud of his Grandson’s valiant effort, Richard patted him on the back. "You did just fine son, much better than was my effort."

"Why is that Gramps? Do you remember what you said way back when?"

"Well my boy, let me think. I also told my Grandpa Mike how much I loved your Grandma Rachel, God rest her soul. I talked about how she made me feel. Like you, I commented profusely on how beautiful she was. Again, like you, the more I spoke the easier it was to get on a roll. However, unlike you, who ended your reasoning on a gracious note, I was less fortunate. Instead of saying something intelligent like, this is why I asked her to marry me. I stumbled at the finish line by caustically blurting out, and Rachel has really nice boobs. My guess William, I shocked myself with the grand finale. Helplessly teetering upon the brink of the inane I never was to regain a conversational equilibrium with Grandpa Mike."

"Remember well I do William, there was the longest pause you could ever imagine. The intolerable silence was oh so unbearable. While quietly cursing myself for being such an idiot, Grandpa Mike boomed out the biggest belly laugh I ever heard arise from the depth of any man. For many years, the famed ending became a family joke. Of course, it was a joke never spoken of in the presence of your dear Grandmother, God rest her soul. You can ask your Pa about my misadventure William. When you see him next just walk up to him, then say, ‘I hear grandma Rachel had really nice boobs’ See if your Pa doesn’t roll on the floor laughing."

Pondering the moment, with a huge grin plastered across both their faces, William could not help but ask the obvious question.

"Grandpa, what did Dad say when Great-Grandpa Bill asked him the big question?"

"Ah, my boy, that is for your father to answer. Since once we have enjoyed this special night together, your father will finally be able to breach the topic with you."

"You do remember your earlier promise of silence, right?"

"Yeah, I do Gramps, but thanks for reminding me. I am beginning to grasp the bigger picture of our family tradition."

"Atta' boy William, let’s get back to the story, eh."

"I would like that very much. By the way, thanks for tonight Gramps, I really love you."

"God willing, one day William you will realise just how much the pleasure of extending this tradition is mine. I love you too."

The two men hug then, using the dark of night, both cleverly wipe tears from their eyes.

Chapter 3, The Lovely Jeannine…

"Where were we, William?"

"Oh yes, the real beginning of the story. The river that was John’s life as it relates to the many lessons, he has yet to teach us." 

"Well, my boy legend has it not three miles from the smithy lies the grandest abode in all of Cambridge. Whereby within this comely abode lives, of course, the fairest lass in all the land."

"Her beauty, noted by anyone which might care to inquire, was so compelling even the King himself would have been honoured to take her hand."

"Her name Jeannine, an etymology of which was so utterly perfect it seemed beyond mere happenstance."

"The reason for the assumed perfection of Jeannine’s moniker was borne of the fact all but the most gracious of town folk agreed her mother, Gertrude, a rotund tank of a woman, offered a rather hideous appearance."

"Her father, a broad-shouldered equally obese man named Martin offered up a visage which fared little better than his wife. Hence, the perfect homely match for upper-class ranks. Now, agree you must the derivative of this ungodly pairing, one would certainly assume, would undoubtedly reflect itself in a girl fit for carnival exhibition."

"Alas, William, the comeliness of Jeannine’s beauty was nothing short of angelic. Ergo, the incredulous translation of the name Jeannine is, 'God is Gracious'. Therefore, anyone attending this tale would have to submit the claim, that God, in the creation of our lovely Jeannine, had indeed been most gracious."

"Before leaving the subject matter to rest, in fear of further assaulting an already whinnying horse. I believe, William, the town folk would want you to know rumours did abound suggesting our heroine Jeannine was not, could not, be the scion of such an awkward coupling. Finally, bringing this topic to a welcome halt, there were only two factors that enabled the calming of the scurrilous voices. First, was the common knowledge suggesting it is always in one’s best interest to respect the good word of nobility. Second, certainly, no worthier a testimonial could be found other than one uttered from the most commendable reputation of Elizabeth Mac Donald the renowned midwife in attendance of Jeannine's birth."

"Further evidence of God’s favourable intervention was well illustrated by the fact our lovely heroine had been regarded as the most, gentle, caring, compassionate, young lady anyone could possibly hope to meet. Airs of superiority, one might expect from a lassie of absolute entitled fortune, simply dInstead ofst. In lieu of attending a country ball, Jeannine would just as likely to be found mucking it with a pig, dancing in the rain with a servant’s daughter, or offering care to the sick and needy in the district’s least favoured quarters. I might add, William, how the aforementioned activities greatly distressed Gertrude her homely mother who, the fable recounts, demanded a significantly higher standard of decorum from a girl of her considerable rank and stature."

"Conversely, many who knew her father well would remark upon how Jeannine’s compassionate ways gave unimaginable pride to her doting Papa. Paying heed to the rumours of servants, it had been well established conflicting parental viewpoints proved fodder for many, barn burning, household battles known to shake the old mansion."

"Jeannine would never have been described as a girl happy to stay at home learning her lessons in music, decorum, literature, or any such list of caste requirements demonstrably illustrated by a lady of her aristocratic stature. Whenever permitted, oftentimes even when not, Jeannine would tag along with her father as he tended to the many townsite tasks owing to the needs of a proper gentleman. Adding to Jeannine’s frequent opportunity for escape was the fact her father never could manage to fulfil one simple task demanded by his darling wife."

"For our dear Gertrude, with a twisted face whilst using her patented high-pitched shriek, would often be heard by serving staff iterating a continual refrain."

"Martin, you stupid man, remember to check the wagon tarp before you depart!"

"Regularly, or so we have been told, Jeannine would ceremoniously eject her lovely head from a secret hiding place under the old, mottled green, wagon tarp. Of course, strategically orchestrated, the moment of the reveal was always more than one mile from home."

"Responding to the frightful appearance of his daughter. Martin, true to his spousal commitment, (wink, wink) would less than half heatedly chastise the sneaky imp."

"Often, if any witnesses were within earshot, an understood refrain would have been uttered. Dear girl, where did you come from? What am I to tell your mother? Comments no doubt accompanied by a careless grin intently breaking his, glowing, pockmarked face." 

"Oh Papa, you know how much I cherish your company. The true, but well-tried response, ended the pair's rehearsed pantomime. Again, a carefree smile relayed from Martin to Jeannine would be sure to brighten even their cloudiest day."

"On one such memorable autumn morning, Jeannine had sequestered herself behind a dozen bushels of their finest farm apples. Patiently, the young girl remained hidden just long enough for the unspoken distance of about one mile to pass. Past the farm gate, down the dusty old country lane. Alas, only ten minutes or so to wait until the welcome sound of Greenback Brook signalled her to appear. This day was to be extra special for Jeannine. Since overhearing her father's conversation with the stable master she knew a visit to the smithy was agendized for the late afternoon."

"Jeannine was more than just socially acquainted with the smith’s apprentice. For many years the two shared a warm friendship. Having heard John was healed up from his ordeal and back at work, she greatly wished to reacquaint herself with his charming company. Additionally, assuming John must be struggling with countless looks of horror, Jeannine was determined to offer to John her most gracious smile. Convinced she was in her ability to manage a conversation with this fine man without succumbing to the urge to offer solace for his, terribly unfortunate, disfigurement. Of this Jeannine was sure, poor John must be sick to the gills of hearing, over and again, uncomfortable gestures of consolatory repartee. She would treat her good friend with the exact same equanimity she had ever since the day they first met. Herein lies the true compassionate spirit of the lovely Jeannine."

"Reaching the bend, as foretold by the babbling call of Greenback Brook, the young girl threw back the musty tarp and then ceremoniously popped her head from behind the apple bushel. Gleefully, dear Jeannine announced her presence. Martin, nonplussed, initiated the chorus of traditional admonishment."

"From the perspective of our darling heroine the countless deliveries, book-ended by the tedium of chores needing attention, proved agonisingly slow. Thirty-eight burlap bags of apples were unloaded by idle-minded shopboys. The assorted garden produces dealt with, Mr. Bentley, the market monger. The price of each individual legume haggled fervently over, all the while Mr Bentley patiently iterating to Martin how the price is a matter of principle, not coinage. Followed by, Mrs. Jenny Watson, the town seamstress who insisted Jeannine try on countless ball dresses. Each more adorned than the previous, all far less comfortable than the riding britches and blouse she would have preferred." 

"The penultimate task was the excruciatingly long visit with, Mr. Twinning, known by all as the chatty cobbler. Mr Twinning proved the closest human rendition of a cackling magpie incarnate. Really, in light of his relentless diatribes, it was quite a fantastic surprise the gesticulating cobbler managed to complete even the smallest portion of an average workday." 

"Finally, the hollow clip-clop of the horse’s shoes, echoing forth from intertwined stones underfoot, had given way to the soft cadence afforded by the clay-laden, country road. Leaving the bustling marketplace proved a welcome relief for our young Jeannine as the dear girl knew a visit with John was now a mere two miles distant. With heart-pounding, stomach notched so high in her thorax it appealed to her breastbone, Jeannine attended each hoof beat with building anxiety. We are told, the late afternoon sun gently spanked their back as the loaded wagon ambled along, ever so slowly, navigating the bend onto Smithy Road."

Chapter 4, Misadventure at the Smithy…

"Jeannine, ashamedly realising her curiosity had been piqued to the point of pondering how dastardly would John’s scarred face prove to be, tensed as the smithy came into view. There it was, cosily nestled behind the cloister of well-heeled Maple trees. The smithy shed itself was a loggia adjunct to the Blacksmith’s main house. Remarkable, really, how much production the two men were capable of accommodating from such confined quarters. Steeling herself as the wagon came to a quiet halt Jeannine, upon disembarking, noted with a modicum of relief how John’s face was concealed by his position in the back of the shop. Billowing steam, accompanied by a fervent sizzle, betrayed John hard at work bathing a semi-molten horseshoe in the old cast iron tub."

"John, somewhat a connoisseur of horse and wagon sounds, knew exactly who had arrived proximal to the gnarly old oak guarding the smith front door. Regardless of his ability to astutely collect intelligence, John had no idea whether or not the secret love of his life had, on this specific occasion, attended her father. During the entire year of his convalescence, John had effectively hidden on the family farm. In the very few instances John had to visit town ill feelings about his ghastly appearance were nearly unbearable. His dear mother, Bernice, was heard to remark how she was convinced John’s most prolific and agonising emotion was one of shame." 

"Who can tell how the mind works?" 

"Fear, embarrassment, resentment, disgust, anger, sorrow, perhaps even revilement are emotions one could understand. But shame, poor lad, whatever in the world would create an incomprehensible response to a tragedy which had so innocently befallen her beautiful, gentle giant."

"How is your brandy, William?"

"Just fine Grandpa, please don't keep me in suspense. What happens next?"

"Well, my boy, as the story goes, the smithy was normally a cacophony of din. However, I have been led to believe, in this uneasy moment between the couple the entire shop appeared quieter than the dessert itself. Truly, the stillness was so complete, that a pin dropping would have left an audible impression in the thick air.

Marcus, the ageing blacksmith, Jeannine, her Pa, and of course, our young John, all understood well the gravity of this imminent moment of physical reckoning. Without the need for words, all present comprehended the unspoken truth. These two lovely souls had been in love for quite some time. No one might utter this inadmissible fact, especially considering how caste dictated absolute separation of the two classes." 

"Point not to be missed, was that a lady of her stature should offer nothing more to a smith apprentice than a polite hello. Certainly, she should not know, nor dare to imagine, his Christian name. Regardless of assumed decorum, even an inattentive or distracted child would have discerned, from the lover’s eyes alone, their true feelings of mutual adoration." 

"Breaking the unbearable silence, Jeannine mustered up the courage to utter a squeaky hello. Dealing with unmanageable stress, the gesture proved an octave or two higher than her usual melodic carefree tone. Much as she wished would not be the case, the timid utterance had indeed betrayed the full extent of her emotional turmoil."

"Good afternoon Marcus. Then ever so slight a pause, John."

"What many people do not know of blacksmiths William is their incredible penchant for identifying subtle nuances of sound. Truth be known, the creative brilliance of a forger is a function of combining four essential skills: a keen intellect, which gives rise to the knowledge of metals and their metallurgical properties. The deftness of hand, so that the smith may temper the application of brute strength. The eyes of an eagle, afford him the ability to discern the smallest of colour variations in molten iron as it cools. Finally, excellent hearing so that the forger may identify the changing conditions of the steel as the pounding hammer cures raw material against an unyielding anvil." 

"Marcus and John’s ears quickly ceased upon Jeannine’s inner turmoil. To which Marcus uncomfortably nodded a welcome hello to the young girl. John, with his back to the group, stewed in obvious agony. Poor Marcus, ill-equipped with social decorum, was left wanting in an effort to offer respite to his young apprentice. If he would have mustered the compunction to, at the very least, forge some sort of accustomed audible reply then the pressure his poor young apprentice was under could have been somewhat alleviated." 

"Martin, as well, might have chipped in with a comment or two to lighten the load resting upon the collective shoulders of this young couple. Such was not the case. Dumb silence quickly filtered back to the farthest reaches of the smithy quarters. Poor Jeannine’s valiant effort at relaxed communication floundered as a ship might in a gale-force wind."

"Sweat poured from dear John’s brow. Much like our lovely Jeannine had immensely fretted over this occasion, John, during his year of rehabilitation was ever hopeful he too could find himself well-equipped to reacquaint himself with his dear Jeannine. Scripted preparations John had fastidiously practised for this special moment all seemed discombobulated the words, like smoke in one’s pocket, simply vanished. Undoubtedly, his ultimate desire was to somehow find courage enough to survive the first few syllables. Alas, with the moment weighing infinitely heavy upon his consciousness, John found himself frozen, completely unable to speak nor move. Tears started streaming down his carbon-streaked cheek, further embroiling him in utter despair.” 

“Incomprehensibly, it was Jeannine who again mustered the courage to create balance for the wayward four. Directing her voice firmly toward John. She remarked, with stunning equanimity, I imagine you are ever so happy to be back in the smithy John."

"The renewed vigour of Jeannine’s unimaginable courage pushed John to action. However, his feet frozen as if in a block of ice still refused to respond. With Herculean effort, John did manage to twist his torso and then cock his head in such a manner he offered Jeannine a complete view of his face. Additionally, he managed courage enough to utter the briefest reply."

"Yes, mi Lady, it is very much a pleasure. The comment, somehow oozing from the depth of inconsolable agony, was staggeringly unforgettable." 

"Imagine the scene, dear William. Drool mixing with salty tears upon the tapestry of John’s, work-stained, gnarled face provided all present with a level of horror one could scarcely believe possible. A tear falling from William’s single eye accompanied his whispered retort.” 

"My goodness Grandpa, poor John, I can’t even begin to imagine how he managed Jeannine's visit." 

"Indeed, William, nor can I," replied Richard, equally affected by his own tale. 

"As I am sure you can appreciate, William, there was to be found in the cadence of John’s reply no chance at casualness. If anything, the last few agonising seconds of this exchange proved an absolute horror for all involved. Jeannine, who long since lost all hope of maintaining the rehearsed even-keeled freshness of which she imagined herself capable, reeled as she caught a view of John’s face. In fact, she fared far worse than the rumours of town girls who were confronted with John’s visage in passing. Although the town girls fervently reached for their essence, they never fully lost control."

"Jeannine’s failure to appreciate fully the nature of John’s disfigurement proved her undoing. The poor girl audibly gasped. One hand to her mouth as the other blindly reached for the steadying support of a wall which was, unfortunately, a few feet beyond her grasp. In the absence of a solid structure to support her weight, dear Jeannine succumbed to gravity. Her world seemed to take on a surreal attitude, silence punctuated her nauseous grief. Ever so slowly, as if in a dream, the landscape of the room changed as the perception was being transformed from the vertical to the horizontal." 

"Yes indeed, as you might imagine William, our story relates how our dear Jeannine, who merely hours ago had been so confident in retaining her composure, in the heat of the moment quickly lost the use of her legs. Then, without warning or pause, the young girl utterly collapsed in a lifeless heap onto the filthy stone floor."

"Martin, who had tried unsuccessfully to catch his daughter's fall, soon found himself nestling the young girl's blood-stained head in his abundant lap. Earnestly searching Jeannine’s dress for her tiny bottle of essence, Martin proceeded to wave the tiny vial back and forth under her dainty nose. Finally, Jeannine regained consciousness. Although shock and shame had fully engulfed John, he too found himself by Jeannine’s side. Unbelievably, he found himself stroking her hair as tiny droplets of drool began to wet the young girl’s neck."

"Whence the young lass finally regained her senses, she bore witness to the unchanciest portrait."

"Marcus, standing half bent with open jaw catching flies, offered a look of grave concern. Her father, with Jeannine's head in his lap, frantically waved the vial of essence back then forth. Finally, her dear John, a look of incontestable horror upon his gnarled face."

"The despair John suffered in that moment led to his visage revealing an even more profoundly untoward image than the glimpse which invoked Jeannine’s collapse. Oddly, Jeannine later recounted how she found the presence of John by her side, in this critical time of need, to be most wantingly comfortable. John’s face, captured her attention ever so completely, she would admit. So much was her fixation that all other aspects of the jaded panorama faded from her purview. His single tearful eye, Jeannine would later reveal, held more love than she thought existed in the entire world."

"Dear John’s face, sullied by the carbon of a sooty workday, was hither and tither streaked somewhat clean from the rivulets of sweat. Eerily, the portrait of his face reminded Jeannine of the day she and her Pa sat on the ridge at Beckham’s Bay, a ridge which overlooked the series of wagon trails haphazardly weaving in and out of the coal-mined pit below. This remarkable man’s face, scarred as was the landscape of Beckham pits, proved utterly unforgettable. Pathways of sweat punctuating dark carbon stained lines; how dastardly the misfortune must have been to give rise to a mesmerising visage." 

"Although much sweat had contrived to provide this matrix of facial pathways. Jeannine immediately realised the single, most obvious, streak which led from John’s good eye down to the lower part of his massive jaw had been created by what she understood to represent his steady stream of tears. The young girl knew tears quietly shed the previous moment had reflected his shame of disfigurement. She thought, my poor John, how his heart must have silently broken in the recent moments he remained frozen behind the task of bathing his work.”

“Witnessing this residue of torrential weeping unequivocally bore witness to Jeannine how very much John loved her, as well how terribly agonising these last few moments must have been for the poor man she dearly loved." 

"The incredulous moment the group shared on the cool smithy floor was caustically punctuated by a single drop of drool approaching her cheek. From Jeannine's perspective, all was captured in slow motion including or shall I submit, especially, the descending drool appearing as a raindrop frozen by the mechanics of a slow-motion camera not yet invented.”

“Perhaps, in the freakish moment, John’s saliva made inevitable contact with her milky white cheek, Jeanine came to the clear realisation she had the power to love this impeccable man."

"So it was, William, borne from this fantastical turn of unusual events was a love affair which forever changed the lives of all present. More than the initial impact upon the participants, each of us fortunate enough to witness this tale has received a palpable lesson in redefining what love really should represent."

"Oh, my Grandpa, I can’t even begin to imagine how much turmoil must have been running through their minds." 

"Tell me, what happened next!"

"Well my dear boy the story, like life itself, took turns no one could have predicted. It would be worth noting, William, that caste-conscious times of yore in England were not as they presently are here in Canada. To say the least, to the people of the time, the dubious scene as we left it was far from acceptable. The great injustice which had been levied upon all was the unapproachable fact, our hero, John should never in a million years have found himself hovering about our darling maiden." 

"Compounding the misery of this awkward situation was the inconvenient truth dear John was actually touching Jeannine. You might imagine, that William, unbridled concern for Jeannine’s well-being is perhaps admissible justification for John’s actions. Yet, I assure you, none of the Cambridge residents of that day would contrive such an excuse. For John to so casually traipse over accepted boundaries of decorum in such a malicious way, well dear boy, inconceivable is a word which would only barely betray the gravity of such a moment. From this most illegitimate state of affairs, one could only be left to reason sanity itself had been utterly fractured in the minds of all parties present."

Chapter 5, Marcus the Mouse…

"Like a balloon being filled beyond capacity, the inevitable roar of release was just about to facilitate the processing of this unimaginable scene. Jeannine’s visage, already ashen, appeared yet another shade of white as she slowly gathered her wits. Unravelling the enigma, like a pin penetrating the latex balloon which came to represent this experience, Jeannine somehow managed to blurt out a customary response." 

"By the grace of the heavens John, what on earth are you doing?"

"Remarkably, Marcus, who I might add was not known for a quick pace, was the first participant to react. His agape jaw snapped shut with such authoritative vigour a noticeable click of his large, yellowing, teeth was heard to all. Immediately following this understandable dental report was a squeak so high pitched it surely could not have been emitted from a man of his ilk."

"But it was indeed an utterance by the behemoth Marcus!"

"The sound, so incredulous, deserves a snippet of an addendum to our story, William." 

"The reason this adjunct is worthy of note is in the fact Marcus absolutely refused to admit he had uttered the high-pitched, report. No one can say for sure what Marcus might have truly believed in his heart of hearts. However, none, lest of all Marcus, were ever allowed to forget his incredibly uncommon vocal release. For, William, any bard or town folk who later recounted the event would playfully interject into their rendition of the story how Martin had confronted Marcus a week later whilst the two were consuming ale in Flaherty’s pub." 

"Apparently as the story goes, Marcus, who I remind you was not quick-witted, had been so uncomfortable with his behaviour that he had verily prepared a rehearsed retort to what he knew would be Martin’s inevitable query. Here is how they say the brief conversation unravelled."

"Jeannine and I could not help but notice dear Marcus how, shortly after the loud chatter of your jaw snapping shut, there did emit from within your body a squeal of such high frequency it led me to believe your dear daughter Elizabeth must have borne witness to the unsteady event." 

"Of course, Marcus, we both know Elizabeth was not to be found in the smithy that fateful afternoon. What say you to this, most strange, folly?"

"It was a mouse, stammered the red-faced Marcus!"

"A what, Marcus?" 

"Are you suggesting a mouse, so shocked by this unfortunate event, had squealed?"

"Of course not retorted the irritated Marcus, that would be foolish."

"Pray to tell Marcus, how should this mouse then become so embroiled in our tale?"

"I stepped on it replied Marcus. I stepped on the mouse as I reeled backwards." 

"Somehow turning a deeper colour of red, more akin to an overripe tomato. Marcus sternly uttered his final word."

"Surely, you saw me step back in shock?"

"Giving his good friend the required out, Richard acceded with a coy smile." 

"Certainly Marcus, I did take note of the unbalanced retreat that you mentioned."

"From that very moment forward, William, our dear burly blacksmith Marcus was festooned with a new moniker. One of which we should carefully note was never mentioned in his presence."

"Would you like to venture a guess, William, as to what the town folk now covertly used as Marcus’s new name?"

"Surely Gramps, it was ‘Marcus the Mouse’."

"Precisely William, indeed it was."

"I have digressed but, as the bards would admit, not without affable cause." (Broad smile breaks both their faces)

"Taking you now back to the forge on a fateful day, William, the second person to react to Jeannine’s statement of incredulity was her cherished father Martin. Of course, I beseech you to remember dear boy, Martin had charged himself with the task of holding Jeannine’s head in his lap while frantically waving her vial of the essence to then fro. The delicate chore we can assume, William, he undoubtedly managed with infinite care and capacity."

"Yet, upon hearing his daughter’s cautionary refrain he, like Marcus, ceremoniously snapped into the reality of the moment. Although failing to accommodate us with a memorable squeak, Martin did react in an oddly unexpected manner. He leaped back placing one hand to his mouth in shock. In doing so, Martin forsakes the care of his dear Jeannine. The repercussions of this reaction unexpectedly left sweet Jeannine’s head without her Pa's comforting support. So, it was reported by all who care to know, there was the tiniest of thud as her head again reached out to the waiting stone floor." 

"Alas, William, our dear John who was the last to respond to quickly changing events, soon awakened to the absence of Jeannine’s head which he no longer had available to his, most inappropriate, but very loving caress. With an unbridled shock, John recoiled in absolute regret. Obvious to all John cringed in utter dismay."

"So sorry mi’ Lady, uttered John barely above a whisper. I am so sorry mi’ Lady. Please excuse my terrible behaviour."

"Awkwardly retreating, turning his back to the now completely abandoned Jeannine. He furtively looked over his broad shoulder, his single eye speaking truly to his absolute dismay."

"How could you ever forgive me touching you so?"

"How can I forgive myself?"

"Tears blushing anew from his lonesome eye, poor John hastily exited the smithy in unbearable emotional turmoil. Big John never did return to the smithy that day, nor would he for the month which followed. Word has it, John had even rebuffed the visit of a concerned Marcus who attended his home late the subsequent morning. In fact, it was only a compassionate visit paid to him by Martin two days hence that had convinced Big John to remain in the village. Further, more persuasive conversations were required to convince John of his worthiness to reacquaint himself with his position as blacksmith assistant."

Chapter 6, The Power of Love…

"There is great value in offering up the ordeal of that terrible bizarre afternoon. For, in recording the event we also lay a foundation for how absolutely difficult, as well incomprehensibly unusual, was the journey ahead for our smitten lovebirds. Yes, William, hard as it is to imagine, the two did embark upon a rocky path toward a blissfully enduring marital union. The incomprehensible pairing, a testimonial so remarkable their story sings out in this frosty night as a reminder to us both how powerful love can be. Their battle, against all odds, William, was forged not from the incredible strength and fortitude of John. Rather, it was the constitution of our darling heroine Jeannine which created, from the power of one woman's dream, a magnificent reality."

"As anyone of the time would inform us the role of John, if he were a proper man, would be to absolutely rebuff any advances from a woman of Jeannine’s station. Truth be known, the more a man should find himself in love with a woman so far beyond his means, the more steadfast he should be in shunning her advances. You see, William, if a man such as John were to find himself embroiled in a love affair or, God forbid, a union with a woman such as Jeannine he would, by the nature of his choice, be destroying her life as well the fortune and prestige of her entire family lineage."

"It just was not proper for a lady to lower herself in such a way. Her duty to family, additionally to her own legacy, would be to discover love in the arms of a man who is of her equal. Preferably, she should seek a man of slightly higher social standing, in doing so raise the prominence of the family name thereby enhancing the station of all family members present and future."

"It should also be further noted, William, we are only speaking to Jeannine’s desires not to her capacity. The choice of who she would wed rested, as was a legal practice in those times, firmly in her father’s hands. It was however understood, that a good loving father might first consider consulting with his child her feelings in the matter of matchmaking. In such cases of kind consideration, a father might listen to the pleas of a daughter only if she has sought out a husband of both reputable, social, and financial standings befitting her drawing capacity." 

"Often was the case the mother, in hopes, loving relations might be fostered, would petition upon her husband in favour of her child. Most of the time, however, the father would simply broker an arrangement and then, in a matter-of-fact way, inform his wife and child of his desires. Conversely, no matter how capricious a young girl might be, the law does emphatically state a daughter must yield to her father’s wish."

"Regardless of decorum, expectation, the demands of a young lady’s station, or even the law of the land, our lovely Jeannine had set her heart upon the task of securing for herself the one man she knew was destined by Eros to be her betrothed."

"If asked of Jeannine at the time, why John?"

"In fact, during months ahead from the fateful day at the smithy, until her historic walk down the aisle, many did pose the awkward question? Bards confirm with fabled songs how the entire county had been either secretly or overtly offering an opinion. Truth be told, William, be it a close friend, her mother, the parish priest, or countless other justly concerned souls, a logical answer was never forthcoming. Each time dear Jeannine faced a consoling or demanding comment, she would iterate her only defence." 

"Here, pointing emphatically to her heart, John Hilton is the only man for me. I will marry John, or I will die trying!" 

"Such was the fortitude of her conviction, William, not a single person could, in any way, diminish her resolve.”

“There is a beautiful phrase we should often remember, William, fortune favours the brave. Certainly, no one would argue, the beautiful Jeannine proved of infinitely brave stock. The fortune of which, I might add, proved absolutely essential to her success was to be found in the only person who loved her as much as John. This person was, of course, her dear father Martin. For his blessings represented the requisite sunshine for this beautiful relationship to blossom toward the reckoning of marriage."

"Love, William, is the most amazing emotion. No subject has captivated the collective mind of humanity as love. The emotion is so essential our species would not survive long in its absence. Over the years I have noticed, William, your penchant for science. Let me tell you a scientific fact you might find interesting. We humans have two core emotions, love, and fear. When we express fear our DNA collapses similar to a shrinking accordion. Conversely, when we express love our DNA coils expand to their utmost length." 

"I find your assertion hard to believe Gramps, is it true or just in support of the story?"

"Look it up my boy, every living organism on this earth responds in exactly the same way. Love is the single, most important, ingredient in evoking the ultimate potential of all life. If it has DNA, if it lives, then love is the elixir by which the being will thrive. Think about how love and fear make you feel, William." 

"When you are afraid do you not feel your body contract?"

"Well, if you put it that way Gramps, I would definitely agree."

"Now, was it not you who told me earlier that the love Beth shares with you makes you feel like you can conquer any challenge?"

"I think you are right Grandpa. Just out of interest, I will look it up on the Internet. But I am sure I already know what I will discover. You know, Gramps, I never thought much about love, it just happens. It’s kind of like breathing, it is essential to our life but we tend to take it for granted. I guess we feel this way because love is always there, on tap if you will."

"Ah, so now you are starting to get the purpose of this tale, my dear William. Your simile is an interesting one. Love can be a lot like ale dispensed from the spigot, undeniably it is always, as you put it, on tap. However, dear boy, just because it is ever-present, in no way does it mean we will remain present enough to fill our glass. Big John knew this, which is why he developed a plan to always keep his love for Jeannine in the forefront of his mind." 

"Speaking a little more about the essence of love. There is another interesting observation I wish to personally share with you, William. Love is magical! The nature of our world is as such when we use something or give it away the commodity becomes diminished in scope. Simple observation assures us, William, that the more we consume the less of the consumable we have at our disposal. Even things that are vital to our survival, air, food, and water can be rendered unavailable, or used up. Try as you might determine a commodity that deviates from reductive tendencies, William, you will discover everything in our reality can, in one way or another, be rendered finite.

“The only thing which cannot be consumed is love."

"Contrary to the laws of consumption, the more we attempt to deplete love by giving it away, the more love we discover we now possess. If love were like water in a well, William, the more we draw the fuller becomes the cistern. Unlike the simile of a tap full of ale, love is ever-present, undiluted, and eternal. Wherever, or whenever, we look we find love at hand. There is absolutely no situation, locale, or moment in our lives when love is not awaiting our embrace." 

"William, if this is not magic, dear boy, I don’t know what is." 

"To top it all off, it’s free. Love does not cause us to become tired as we consume it or give it to another being. In fact, it does the opposite, love invigorates both the giver as well the recipient. Love does not require our time to collect or dispense its magic, instantly it arrives or is given. Love does not take up space, therefore we find no need to limit its use."

"Tell me, William, is there anything you can imagine which is more magical than love?"

"Wow Grandpa, I never thought of love in these terms. The beautiful way you talk about love, it makes me feel so rich."

"You are rich, William, this is also how both Martin and Jeannine felt about the importance of love. They both discovered how status, caste consciousness, reputation, money, wagging tongues, or any such silly consideration was irrelevant when compared to the magical qualities of love."

"You know Gramps, I have to admit, for all my life I have taken a love for granted. I have failed to honour it, respect its power, and value its importance to my well-being. It also makes me think twice about how important love is for Beth and me to cherish every day of our lives." 

"Dear boy, hearing you speak like this brings tears to these old eyes. It seems like you are learning a great deal from our conversation. In fact, William, I believe there came a time when John felt the same as you do now, which is why he chose to also honour love by ensuring he kept it in the forefront of his mind each and every day.?

"So, you see, dear William, in bucking the law, her mother, family, friends, and even her entire community, our darling Jeannine certainly had a most difficult path ahead. However, I imagine it was love which gave her, as well her dear father Martin, the strength to persevere where so many others likely would have surrendered." 

"Now let me share with you, as many a raconteur has well-illustrated, the details of their arduous journey toward the altar. For fear we would find ourselves tipping an empty brandy bottle in the wee hours of morning light, William, we serve ourselves well to cut short this part of the tale. Additionally, I remind you, William, it is our quest to further investigate the character of John Hilton as it relates to his ability to forge within his darling Jeannine a love so strong she would move heaven and earth to stand by his side. Few would argue, William, that there are countless tales of great men who have moved mountains to win the love of a woman beyond their means. Yet, rare indeed, is the story of how a man might conduct himself in such a way as to eternally stoke the fires of love and, in doing so, mark himself as a man of record." 

"Grandpa, before you continue, I noticed you alluding to how John had ensured he kept love in the forefront of his mind. However, you never did mention exactly how he managed the task. You see I ask because, knowing how all my life I have neglected to appreciate love, I would hate to think somehow I might end up falling back into old habits."

"William, you are such an intelligent man. It does so warm my heart to share this tale. Happenstance has it, William, you are one step ahead of the storyline. Grab that bottle over there son, fill up our glasses with a tot more brandy. I will toss a few more logs on the fire then we will let John answer your question."

Chapter 7, John… a man of record…

"Alas, my dear lad, having peeked into the essence of these fine characters, we now find ourselves somewhat equipped to approach the central lesson afforded us by the good John Hinton. In order to find the core of John’s deep affection for Jeannine we need to go back in time, William. Back we will go to when he was only fourteen years of age, which was for your record-keeping, about three years prior to John acquiring the position of Smith assistant."

"More than anything in the world John dearly loved Jeannine. Yet, he knew, even if she reciprocated his feelings there would never be a chance the two could become good friends, let alone wed. During their childhood years, the time she had spent with John was already well beyond what society deemed acceptable. Brief as their many encounters had been, John knew it was only due to Jeannine’s compassionate good nature that he was so often blessed by her presence. Truth be told, William, John had secretly fallen in love with Jeannine when he was in his twelfth year, which was about five years after they had first met. John never forgot the first day he clapped eyes on the lovely Jeannine."

"The memorable moment of their first meeting was to be found in the bosom of a hot July morning. Having finished the family chores, his father allowed him time to head down to Mc Gregor’s pond for a spot of trout fishing. Now, William, it serves us well to note they did not have rods, reels, and hooks back then. Instead of conventional fishing gear, a small seine net was cast across the pond. Then, after waiting for it to corral some fish, the seine would be carefully drawn back to shore.”

“This fine morning of fishing proved a great success as John took note of six fish flopping about the tangled mesh. One fine specimen he spied was a rather large Brown trout of perhaps six or seven pounds. Just at the very moment of inspection, Jeannine, and her father were approaching in the family wagon. Slowly, the wagon came to a stop proximal to the young lad. Jeannine and her Pa casually disembarked. The sun, John remembered well, caught hold of young Jeannine’s beautiful blond locks."

"The catch of light upon her golden hair offered up an angelic appearance. Speaking deeper to her beauty, John recalled how her smile lit up the entire countryside. Finally, the elegance of her posh voice left little doubt she was a young lady of considerable merit." 

"Fond memories indeed had, in that memorable moment, become etched into the young boy's mind. However glorious the experience, at this tender age he hardly considered her beauty with a yearning or lustful eye. It would prove later in his childhood this warm memory slowly would knit within the boy’s loins. Her elegant beauty of the fateful moment, like an acorn seed, would grow. On the afternoon of their first encounter, the three spent perhaps only five minutes together. Mostly, with John glowing as he stood proud over his catch whilst her father, licking lips, ogled the tasty-looking Brown. In those scant moments, Jeannine, as one would expect, idly picked tiny wildflowers. Completely oblivious she was to comprehend why the two should find cause to drool over a catch of stinky, slimy fish."

"When he was a younger boy, John allowed himself the reckless indulgence of imagining their obviously deep social connection would blossom into a courtship which would eventually materialise in marriage. John entertained all kinds of successful relationship scenarios, the most common of which included him becoming rich enough to cart her off to a faraway land."

"By his mid-teens, John came to terms with the folly of wishful thinking. Deep in his heart of hearts, the young man knew a possible match between the two, star-struck, lovers were entirely out of their grasp. Any silly attempt to forge a destiny in contrast to her father’s wishes would result in a tragic outcome for himself, Jeannine, as well, her entire family."

"Knowing where he stood in the grand scheme of proper dating etiquette did little, if anything, to cure him of the lovesickness he seemed relegated to quietly bear. Realising the no-win, situation meant he would always be on the outside looking in. John decided to create an outlet for his, ill-considered, feelings of love. Many bitterly cold winter months had passed, but still John failed in deciding how this outlet aimed at coddling inner peace, should manifest. Often, he thought how unfortunate the cold did nothing to quell the love burning a hole in the pit of his soul."

"One spring morning, with the birds and wildlife pairing up for a summer of love, dear John found himself ploughing the backfield. He always loved the chore of ploughing, it allowed him time to separate himself from the world just enough to sort out solutions for the many little problems life seemed to dish onto his plate."

"John, with the plough in hand, idly pondered a way in which he might better process his unquenched desires. With each passing day, more and more, John knew himself to represent the simile of a great dam. Held back by this mighty dam was an enormously unruly river of love. Difficult as the task was, John very much understood, that if he truly loved Jeannine he must hold fast against the stress of the untamed river. The problem he comprehended all too well was in knowing there would surely come a day when his inner fortitude might release. Poor John, even at the tender age of fifteen, certainly did not want to imagine what might be the fallout of such an ominous day. Wanting desperately to develop a way to sequester his ever-growing, un-harvestable, love John further pondered the insurmountable challenge of how to best change his life for the better."

"The outlet I use," Thought John, "Is the key to my peace of mind." 

"He knew all dams must have floodgates. For, without to ability to allow the controlled release of pent-up energy disaster would surely ensue. John, at first. assumed time would heal his infatuation. Likely, he would fall in love with another of the many lovely town girls, in doing so again at the very least a modicum of relief. Certainly, John was not oblivious to the many fancy looks received from young, blushing lasses he often passed in town. Nor were his ears so plugged he could not harvest the giggles or deliberately accidental comments of admiration that managed safe passage to his psyche. Alas, regardless of how many fine girls looked his way, poor John was never able to eradicate the ever-pressing river which was Jeannine. If anything, each month which passed seemed to assure John incapable of managing his desires without entirely losing his mind."

"With the plough cutting a fresh path into the waiting soil, John absently scratched anew at the ever-burgeoning dilemma."

"What should this outlet do?" John pondered.

"First and foremost, he wanted the ability to funnel his love into something tangible. John felt confident he would discover the perfect living creature with which he could quietly use to honour his love for Jeannine. He did not wish for the distraction to be a mental construct, he wanted something material with which to invest his love. Somehow, John knew only a physical distraction would suffice. Most importantly, John wanted the outlet to last many years, in this way, he could rely on the solution to provide a constantly soothing balm. Finally, he thought this outlet should remain close at hand so when his feelings did boil over, he might handily open or close the floodgate as required."

"Further mulling over the enigma, yet another dozen or so rows he did till. Finally, some concrete plans did slowly take form in the young man’s inventive mind. The family had just purchased a handsome cow, he would name her Jeannine and then love and care for the cow as if it were his dearest. Although, at first feeling comfortable with the idea, John soon brushed it aside the moment he realised the cow would in time be put to death. He smiled a little thinking of how milking the cow would also represent suggestive imagery. Carrying the visual of milking Jeannine to its ultimate conclusion, John could not help but laugh out loud. No, the young man thought, my dearest Jeannine could not be represented as a cow. Moving on to other farm animals he dismissed each flourishing idea with a near equal sense of comedy."

"Teasing the original idea, a little more urgently, John offered serious consideration for renaming his horse. He thought, the constant currying, love, and care he afforded his horse would likely prove an appropriate surrogate. Thinking how the horse was already seven, John realised it too would offer a lifespan all too short. Additionally, a sly grin came to his face, as he thought of sunny days riding his horse. The toothy grin turned quickly to a bashful blush as the thought of riding Jeannine was quietly dashed. 

Finally, after passing over all the farm animals, John considered a dog. He could acquire a pup, and then care for her with the greatest of love. Then, thought John, what about when my pup was bred? The young man knew his love of Jeannine surely could not be represented by a dog. Restlessly, John came to the uneasy conclusion an animal, of any ilk, would not suffice."

"Although no closer to a solution, John felt comforted by the thought he was on the right path. With barely two rows left to till urgency crept into the mind of our young lad. Then, out of the blue, as if straight from heaven, the answer came to him with an inspirational flash. You, yes you, my mighty Oak. You would be a perfect vassal for my love. Excitement slightly dimmed as he realised this enormous tree required little loving care. Indeed, its ability to grow demanded no attention at all. I want a tree that would wither in the absence of my love. One which would require constant care, thoughtful attention, a tree which needs me as much as I need it."

"Arriving at the perfect solution, John excitedly screamed out. Eureka, I'll have the answer! I will make myself a garden, a special honoured patch of land. In this garden, there will be no fruit, vegetables, flowers, or anything one might find in an average garden. At the centre of this beautifully cared-for garden, there will dwell a seedling of a tree. Daily, I will care for this tree. I will nurture it, adore its beauty, and make this snippet of God’s creation a sight to behold. No one will know the secret place the special tree, named Jeannine, holds in my heart. None will have any clue as to how all the love I have for Jeannine will instead be forwarded to this lovely creature." 

"The last row tilled John took Mavis to the barn for a well-deserved currying. Moments later, chatting with his good friend as he gently caressed her head, John admitted to Mavis, I am surely glad we won’t be calling you Jeannine. Spying the milk cow in the adjacent stall, he opened his mouth to say something to her, then replaced the gesture with an appropriate belly laugh. Truth be told, from that day forward, each time Bessy’s teats were in John’s big calloused hands he would think of his beloved Jeannine, remember this creative day, then laugh aloud."

Chapter 8, John… “The Handsome Gardener”

"So, dear William, it came to pass that our loving John, after significant consideration, decided upon a sapling Cherry tree. In the end, it was the lovely spring blossoms, amazingly tasty fruit, and his love of the tree’s delicate beauty which convinced big John there could be no better representation of his undying love for Jeannine." 

"Before one month had passed, with spring only beginning to replace the will of old man Winter, young John had created his special garden. From John's perspective, the process of building the shrine was divinely inspiring. Carefully tracking down the perfect Cherry tree specimen was a task undertaken with great care. Tilling a patch of land, fifty feet by fifty feet, seemed just perfect. Whereupon, at the precise centre of the new garden was tenderly planted the tiny, unyielding, sprout of life named Jeannine." 

"John’s mother queried the entire process in her mind. However, deferring to her boy’s role as the man of the family, Bernice quietly accepted this, most unusual, indulgence. Lovingly situated in plain view of the large, mahogany-lined, drawing room window there stood, in all her glory, the tiniest representation of our beautiful Jeannine."

"During the course of a long, earth-scorching summer, then well into the golden autumn, John cared for his dear Jeannine. Most every night, he would be found in the center of this grand garden speaking to his love in subdued tones. When the morning sun would break upon a new day, most certainly prior to all his chores, John would be doting upon his loving charge. Sure, his behaviour was considered a bit weird, especially for a man so young. Without question, tongues were beginning to wag, and curiosity was emphatically piqued. Nonetheless, our young hero held true to his course." 

"Secret as was the endeavour John undertook, none of the town folk had any idea how blissfully comforting was the process of attending his little Cherry tree. With each visit to the sacred garden, the floodgate opened a little thereby giving John much-needed relief. With winter fast approaching, John created a burlap cover for Jeannine, mulched in added fertilizer as he painstakingly prepared his darling for the long winter ahead. John’s mother, Bernice, had on occasion inquired as to what should be the root of this uncanny relationship he had with this tree. Each query was either casually rebutted or a wisp of an explanation was proffered. By and large, the process of failed inquisition left poor Bernice no closer to her quarry."

"Bernice, certain the imminent snow would alleviate her son's odd behaviour, was soon shocked. To her further bewilderment, young John refused to permit the snow to cover the sapling or any of the two hundred and fifty square feet of spotless garden. Most evenings, with snow banks surrounding his garden, young John would be found sitting on a log as he chatted with the tiny Cherry sapling. Straining an ear, Bernice could almost hear the young boy, in muted tones, communicating his love."

"Getting accustomed to his unusual ways, this first winter of odd unrest proved to stir the entire community to gossip. The poor boy thought most. Prodding and tugging at his mother for explanation provided the quizzical town folk little or no satisfaction. In the end, it was assumed by all, that dear John had missed his dead father so much he turned to this little tree for solace. Those who failed to accept the assumed premise for the young man’s strange behaviour quietly, or in some cases openly, asserted the bedevilled fellow surely was losing his mind. For shame, most thought, he is such a loving and caring young man, always at the ready to aide neighbour or stranger alike."

"Two years of nurturing the relationship with his arboreal Jeannine, which most residents agreed constituted rather odd behaviour, dear John had found firmly attached to his identity a new moniker." 

"The Handsome Gardener"

"Although a moniker of such was far from unkind, nothing like “Mick, the bat-eared barkeep”, or “William, the ferret nosed, Johnson” or with an ever-present grin “Marcus, the mouse”, John knew he was fortunate his new name was kind even in light of belie an unwanted curiosity. Be it from an inability to extricate themselves from the confines of an odd enigma, or just the way the river must flow, the townsfolk held fast to John’s new identity. Even after he was promoted to smith's assistant, whereupon his new, respectable name should have been “John, the smith's assistant, Hinton” the man was ever to be known as “John, the handsome gardener”. Equally odd was how the name, in time, became known throughout the land as a title of infinitely special regard." 

"Of course, dear John, aware of the wagging tongues, could do nothing to offer assuage to the many budding concerns. In the end, the great relief provided by this unusual relationship proved such a welcome treat to John that nothing on God’s green earth could deter him from continuing the special bond with little Jeannine."

"John’s secret remained intact for three years. It was a warm spring morning when the reveal became known to Bernice. On a fateful day, John, having already suffered his untoward collision with Marcus’s anvil, was well on the way toward a miraculous recovery. Bernice would later note, even when John was apparently struggling for life, he still made time for the little tree. Painful as it was for the young man during the early weeks of recovery, he would nonetheless struggle to find his feet. Slowly, John would muddle his way to the frozen plot, then sit quietly for hours talking to his beloved. His mother knew, difficult as the visits to the tree were, they proved an essential part of her son's recovery from the catastrophic smithy injury."

"During the aforementioned warm morning. Bernice, whilst baking bread in the hearth, heard John loudly scream.”

“Get out you damn beast, get the hell away from my Jeannine!” 

"As it were, a deer had wandered toward his beloved tree. Taking branch to mouth, it had snipped a tasty bud from the top of Jeannine. This careless act is set to blaze John's wrath. His immediate reaction was to spend a few loving moments with his dear tree. However, upon satisfying himself Jeannine would be none the worse for wear, the heated young man stormed to the barn. Bernice soon witnessed a fire in her son’s eye she had surely never seen before, nor after for that matter. Longbow in hand, quiver carelessly slung over his shoulder, John steamed his way out of the yard. Within five minutes, he and the saddled Mavis tore across the meadow disappearing into Kenton’s ravine." 

"Knitting together the depth of her son’s pain, tears streamed down the cheek of our darling Bernice. After all this time, it was proved how John's unbridled, then hobbled, love for a woman he could never have which had driven her darling son to utter despair. Bernice wept for what seemed an eternity. Then, finding herself upon her knees, with warmth billowing from the hearth, she said a prayer for her dear boy."

"May God grant John the serenity to accept the things he cannot change."

"Later that evening, fresh venison seasoned, then seared to perfection, provided nourishment for two tired, but very quiet, souls. The carefree deer never had a sporting reprieve as John would not cotton to give it a second chance. Quietly supping, Bernice did spy tears in the corner of John’s forlorn eye. Turning her head at the moment, with fortitude she thought might not exist, Bernice held back tears of her own. Bernice never revealed her new-found secret until many years later.” 

"Gee Grandpa, your story is making me cry."

"I know, my boy, love is a powerful emotion."

"Getting back to our tale. John never, even for a day, abandoned his love of this beautiful Cherry tree. Without any doubt in my mind, William, the fateful day in the smithy, when passion overruled decorum, Jeannine saw the depth of John’s love in his tear-filled solitary eye. This awe-inspiring reflection of love is what petitioned Jeannine to ensure no obstacle would stand in the way of making John her betrothed. Jeannine the Cherry tree had spoken volumes in a single catastrophic moment. Such fortitude, commitment, dedication, and uncontrollable love, William, can never be denied."

"In the wake of Jeannine's determination to wed John, the ground shook, walls trembled, and everything in the little town of Liberty was about to come undone. Battle lines were drawn, sides were taken, and tongues wagged with ferocious abandon. In the end, love did indeed prevail. The two love birds wed almost one year to the day after the title 'Marcus the Mouse' was bestowed upon our dear blacksmith. The day of wedlock proved a gorgeous summer afternoon, church overfilled with parishioners gawking with keen amusement as the lovely Jeannine proudly exchanged vows. The unspeakable became real, love prevailed, as Jeannine, with the resounding support of most present, took upon her house the, infinitely famous, Hinton name."

"Few in the village appreciated the full gravity of their love story. Undoubtedly, none comprehended how such an inconceivable union should be possible. Unfortunately, Jeannine’s mother never made it to the event. The trials and tribulations of the year preceding had taken their toll. Three months prior to the wedding, the beloved Evelyn silently passed in her bed. She never understood her daughter, never knowing love herself she could not come to terms with the torturous shame of her daughter's ill-advised choice. The mere fact Martin stood in the corner of love was the final straw which Evelyn simply could not manage. Possibly, Evelyn’s pernicious stance stemmed from her inability to appreciate love, this was her only crime. Any mother surely would move heaven and earth to create for her child a loving, happy future. The entire town had shown up for dear Evelyn’s burial, and as expected whispered complaints were carefully muted. Hefty as the cost might have been, few would disagree, this too was the price exacted in the course of Jeannine embracing true love."

Chapter 9, Love’s Legacy… A legend is born…

"Although many town residents failed to comprehend the reason for such an unusual joining, it was not too long before it became readily apparent how very much in love these two beautiful souls were. The beauty and the beast, holding hands, smiling, whispering sweet nothings, walking in the garden, sitting at church arms always entwined. Tending to the many details of their lives, John and Jeannine left an indelible mark upon the community. 

Anyone, fortunate enough to personally know the couple, consistently agreed they both proved a testimonial to a love which was incomprehensible, unquenchable, timely, eternal, absolutely unshakeable. Especially notable was the love John had for his dear wife." 

"John went on to steadfastly care for the lovely Jeannine, as well as their cherished Cherry tree. True to his character, John exhibited an inner fortitude that proved incredibly remarkable. Every waking moment not committed to his chores was dedicated to the absolute adoration of his beloved Jeannine. Not one day would pass when John was unable to find a way to let Jeannine know how much he loved her. 

Ladies of the community, who once laughed and scoffed at the misfortunes of Jeannine, soon came to covet the countless gifts of love she had been given."

"The gift of a loving embrace, a tender kiss, respect, honour, admiration, devotion, equality, too many other treasures to mention. Gifts, which supersede any material possession, moments to make the heart soar with adulation. Mementoes well beyond the scope of any given moment, a love ascending to the heavens. Maybe the best description would be to call John's daily offerings jewels of love, precious stones of which Jeannine embraced for an eternity."

"Jeannine had always loved John. Truth be told, she confided in her closest friends the single event that solidified her resolve to marry the hulking smith was the moment she saw John hovering over her after she had passed out in the smith's shop. 

Regarding the Cherry sapling, she, like most town folk, thought the loss of his father had initiated the odd turn of affairs between John and his tree. When short-sighted friends asked how she could abide his disfigurement, Jeannine would well up in tears. Those who mistakenly assumed her tears reflected personal distress obviously did not know she wept only due to the pain she knew John had quietly endured." 

"When asked why she loved John with such passion. Her response, aside from the fact he is a remarkable, attentive, amazing man, there are a few compelling reasons. Whenever John looks at me, I can see clearly the great depth of his love, a love I might add I have never seen within any person, before nor since. With John by my side, my heart soars, my pulse quickens, and I know I am loved. Truly, I cannot help but smile because my love for him bursts forth like a river filling the sea." 

"John has a way of making me feel like a princess. When we are together his attention never wavers. Beautiful gestures, small and large, each day John always ensures I know how much he loves me. When walking past, he lightly touches me. Each time I enter a room, his eyes light up as he heartily welcomes my presence. We each want to be loved, cherished, and adored. With John in my life, I know I am special, appreciated, and honoured. There are times I spy on John as he quietly putters about his chores. His presence was a mix of power and grace, his demeanour calm, and loving. The best part of being John's wife might be when he holds me close. His scent, the ripples of his powerful chest and arms, the look of tenderness in his eye, these are golden moments when I know this is my home, in his loving arms is where I truly belong." 

"Perfect as was Jeannine's world, the couple suffered a setback with the passing of her Pa. Both John and Jeannine were deeply distressed by Martin's demise. Yet, in time, their love filled the void left by the loss of the family patriarch. Jeannine's family homestead, a manor of great standing was willed to Jeannine. Considering her family home was much more accommodating than the small cottage they presently lived in with John's mother. The family agreed it would be best to move Bernice, John and herself to the grand manor. Servants, who had provided care to her father for many decades, were kept in the employ of the newly arrived family."

"What about the Cherry tree? Anxiously, piped up William."

"Glad you asked my boy." 

"The famous tree, eighteen years old at the time, was, after considerable expert attention, relocated to the front yard of the great manor. Of course, the task of relocation was initiated only after John had prepared another two hundred and fifty square foot garden. In fact, the story is told, how it took the better part of two years for experts to finally convince John the tree could be safely moved. To be absolutely sure, John insisted the experts search out seven Cherry trees of similar age and size and then relocate them to a new location surrounding the manor. John emphatically stated the caveat enabling the move should be, even if one of the relocated trees should die then the move to the manor would not happen. To which, I might add, both Bernice as well Jeannine, wholeheartedly agreed."

"To this very day, William, you can hop on Google to see the Hinton manor surrounded by glorious Cherry trees. If by chance you should take me up on the suggestion, please note the town is no longer named Liberty. The town folk surely enamoured with the will to rename anything or any person according to the circumstance of record, decided to rename their little town." 

"Do you want to guess the new name, William?"

"Surely Grandpa you are now pulling my leg. In any regard, I will bite. They called it Cherry Grove, right?"

"No, I am not pulling your leg, dear boy. The next time you are on the Internet, William, you can test my assertion. The new name of the town was not Cherry Grove. Verily, it was renamed Cherry Hinton." 

"The story of this loving couple, including the legend of the Cherry tree, compelling as it is, might possibly have been forever lost in a fog of time if it were not for an off-hand conversation between the adorable Bernice and, of all people, a distraught servant girl. You see, shortly after Martin’s death from consumption fifteen years hence, the truth of the Cherry tree was laid bare by a conversation between Bernice and the servant girl. Bernice had the good fortune of living a very long life. Storytellers suggest it was in Bernice’s sixty-third year in which she found herself observing the trials of a young servant girl of no recorded name. For the benefit of our story, we will call the young girl Minnie."

"Funny how a handful of snow can be rolled into a great ball, the story of Minnie proves well this observation. You see William, Minnie loved a man named Burton, as well, it was plain for anyone to see dear Burton also cared greatly for the lovely Minnie. The problem is, that Burton is white, whilst Minnie is of a darker persuasion. Uncanny, how our lovely Bernice should be saddled as a witness to such a dilemma. Truth be told, Bernice believed that races should not blend. Breaking down barriers of caste was one thing. Yet, to consider the joining of a dark-skinned girl to a white man, well, at the time such a bond proved a leap, not even the most liberal could entertain."

"Time has a way of healing all wounds. Also, as dear Bernice would discover, time can often result in strangely contrasting changes in opinion. So was the case for the lovely Bernice. Seeing how the two struggled to come to terms with their love proved too difficult a reminder for the old woman to bear. Sitting alone in her room Bernice picked at the dilemma as if it were a scab whose itch refused to be ignored. Dear Bernice, burned inside. During countless quiet moments of deep reflection, she found the courage to confront her bigotry. By holding a candle to her fears and ignorance, Bernice came to an uncomfortable realisation of deep, almost unbearable shame." 

"Bearing the shame in solitude, whilst suffering further the pain of heeding the couple’s plight, our dear Bernice eventually relented. Not knowing how to react, but desperately wishing to breathe hope into the fire which was their stalled affair, Bernice relented to her, new-found, common sense. Slightly intoxicated by Mulberry wine, Bernice took it upon herself to tell this young girl about the truth behind her son’s faux name. 

"The Handsome Gardener." 

"So, it came to pass, dear William, with teary eyes our darling patriarch pulled Minnie aside on a cool winter eve. Finding herself perhaps a little too emotionally fatigued, she proudly decided to confide in this young servant girl the true depth of John’s love."

"Minnie, the ever-faithful servant, efficiently responded to Bernice’s servant bell. Expecting to stoke the fire, reheat a water bottle, or prepare some warm milk, Minnie was surprised to discover a teary Bernice beckoning her to the bedside. With grave concern, Minnie secretly prayed the lovely lady, her favourite of all people, was hopefully not suffering pain or inconsolable distress."

"Urging Minnie to sit by her bedside Bernice slowly related to, the ever-attentive, Minnie how the depth of John’s love had turned the world upside down. Minnie, to say the least, was forever changed by the candour of the beautiful Bernice. Legend tells how, as time progressed, Minnie never could spy the Cherry tree out front without tears streaming down her chocolaty face."

"Sorry as it may be, not all tales of strife evoke a fairy tale ending. For dear Minnie, it simply was not to be that she nor her beloved Burton would possess the fortitude of our remarkable lovers. However unsuccessful was her vision of marrying Burton, Minnie did marry a good man. It is told how, together, they produced five children. From the stories of, detail-driven, bards it was assumed they lived a long, loving life. Of course, Minnie’s contribution to our story did indeed leave its own indelible mark on the society in which she lived. For, as is often the case, a good servant does not necessarily translate into a talented secret keeper. In fact, one of Minnie’s renowned attributes, as known in servant’s quarters, was how she was a bit of a gossip. Truth be known, everyone would agree, there was rarely a need for a herald if Minnie was about."

"Wildfire on a hot windy August afternoon could not have spread quicker. Before the week was out, the entire county knew of the true Tale of the Handsome Gardener. For so many years, decades in fact, the truth of the bizarre story was never revealed. More to the flavour of the truth was the profound discovery confirming everyone had concocted a tale that was far removed from the truth. Shock waves leapt throughout the entire region as pieces of the puzzle were assembled with vigour. Liberty, as well all the neighbouring towns, buzzed with a fervour literally unmatched by any event of memory past."

"Whispers became shouts, which in turn produced great cheers everywhere the couple went. Their tale of love instantly became a local legend. Hope sprung eternal, giving rise to countless, uncanny, social matches. Albeit locally, as well only for a few generations, boundaries of caste, homeliness, and age, gave way to the relentless power of love. Soon, the Cherry tree, in fact, anything made of Cherry, became a rallying cry for all things resembling love. Before long, throughout all of England, Cherry trees were in such rapidly increasing demand local growers and importers simply could not meet the required needs of desperate consumers."

"Petitions of all ilks were suggested, change the town name the Cherry, most residents maintained. Liberty folk eventually held a great ceremony to change the name of their community to Cherry Hinton. Cherry petals and corsages became an essential part of any sound wedding. Beds were stuffed with Cherry blossoms, as were sofas, pillows as well all sorts of commodities. Tonics were made of Cherry, guaranteed to act as powerful love potions. Caught in the wave of all things Cherry were insane suggestions, like the petition to change the word love to Cherry. One drunk sort disagreed with just changing the name of their town, he felt England itself should take on the name Cherry."

"In time, William, the fervour did die. However, not before the Hinton legend etched its place in history. Songs were sung, campfire stories forged, as well great exaggerations surely were made."

"The Hinton’s did not change one iota. Fame and fortune in no way detracted our lovable John from his absolute dedication, commitment, and passion toward his darling Jeannine. You see William, he never needed the Cherry tree as a reminder, he needed it to maintain his sanity. Although the Cherry tree proved for so many a steadfast reminder to honour and cherish the love between a man and his betrothed, for John, the tree acted merely as a vassal to capture the flood of his undying love."

"Their town, as well the residents, even you and I dear William, have been forever changed by the legacy of the great John Hinton and his beloved Jeannine. The man, whom everyone affectionately came to know as The Handsome Gardener, proved to represent an ageless legacy. To this day, William, if you stand upon the Gog Magog hills on a spring morning looking down upon the townsite of Cherry Hinton, you will note nearly every yard in the entire community has a healthy Cherry tree adorning the homestead. Most would assert, that this nine-hundred-year-old tale is a testimony to one man's love of his wife, I prefer to consider the story a timeless tribute to love itself." 

"Rare is the occasion when the life one has led proves capable of etching itself deeply into the fabric of society, as well its landscape. Yet, an image was created which proved so profound it stands the test of time. The love between these two beautiful people, so unimaginably splendid, has managed to reach across nearly one thousand years to find a home on the other side of the Atlantic. In finding this new resting place, we both have rediscovered the true meaning of love, honour as well as an unyielding dedication. Depending upon which bard sang to which audience, there were countless endings to this tale of love. Of this William, I am sure John and Jeannine did indeed live happily ever after."

"Oh, my goodness Grandpa, is that the end of the story."

"So, it is dear boy, so it is."

"The two men sat quietly together, each trapped in their own thoughts, each taking from the tale their own sense of love. The fire crackled, William with glass in hand near-empty swallowed the lot, thought a moment, then began to quietly weep."

"For many years William heard muted whispers of Cherry trees. His thoughts gravitated to the Cherry tree in Grandpa’s yard, the one his own father had planted, his sister had one, as did each of his uncles and aunts. The depth of this tale cut deeply into the young man’s soul. Thinking of the many times he would witness a family member under their Cherry tree, he realised those deep times of contemplative solitude represented both the happiest, as well, as the saddest of family moments, moments where love was needed, where love prevailed."

"The Cherry tree had, in times of greatest need, enabled each of his family members to remember, that life is only worth living when we insist love remains in our heart."

"Love eases pain, it carries hope upon its wings, it allows us the courage to brave each day, honour each moment and cherish the many gifts we hold dear. How often had William seen his own father and mother return to the house after a spell under the homestead Cherry tree." 

"Yes, he thought, there were tears of joy or sorrow. However, one thing William had come to appreciate, his parents would return from their tree with a look in their eyes which left no doubt love carried the day.

The End