Who the devil are you? thundered George Whitaker, his voice cracking the stale air of the dim kitchen. Youre the one weve been waiting for! Get out of here, you wretched traitor!
Dad, whats? stammered Andrew Harper, eyes wide. Ive been away twenty years, and you meet me with that with that?
If it were up to me Id have met you with a belt! George grabbed his own waistcoat, then loosened it with a sneer. Never mind. Well sort this now.
Take it easy, Father! Andrew stepped back, hands raised. Im not a child. I can answer for myself.
Thats the spiritattack the weak, flee the strong, deceive the good, and serve the wicked! George spat, dropping the waistcoat. Your nature is a joke.
Really, why are you so angry? What are you accusing me of? Andrew shrugged. If I ever did anything wrong, its been twenty years. Times washed it clean.
Its easy to say that when the guilts yours, George snarled. Everyone wants forgiveness. I have none for you.
What? I never wronged you! I was in the naval academy, thinking the very reason my parents labelled me a rebel. They barred me from coming home. They never answered a single letter I sent!
Dont you know? George mocked, eyes glittering with contempt.
Andrews face turned a shade paler, his confusion palpable. He tried to press for specifics, but the shouting turned to a sharp, highpitched shriek.
Enough of this! roared Margaret Whitaker, storming into the room, hair a wild halo. Youve brought shame to our family! Get him out, Mick, and shut your mouth! Your disgrace stains our name!
Andrew froze, as solid as a statue, while Margaret leaned in, her breath hot.
If God gave me strength, Id pull you away by the throat! Id lay everything on the line! But I see the devils hand guiding you, she hissed, pointing a trembling finger at the scar under Andrews eye.
George let out a harsh laugh. Someones done a fine job! Id shake his hand if I could.
Parents, whats happened to you? Andrew shouted, panic rising. Ive been gone twenty years! Why this cold reception?
Who sent you this nonsense? George asked. Well throw you out, and when the chance comes, well thank the one who did.
What do you mean? I was on a coach back home when my neighbour Tom recognized me. He ran over to greet me
The coach halted at the stop. A lanky youth lunged at Tom, shoved him hard, spat in his face, and fled. By the time Andrew recovered, the assailant vanished into the crowd.
An unknown hero, George said, smiling thinly. Well have to ask Tom who knocked him down.
Dad, is this all you care about? Andrew snapped. Just because Ive been away for twenty years, you think I can just disappear?
And what use have we for you, traitor? Margaret snapped back.
Why am I a traitor? Andrew demanded.
Because shouted a voice from the back of the kitchen, raw with fury.
Whos the brave one now? Andrew roared, his fists clenched.
A shadow stepped into the lighta lanky boy with a swagger.
That kid slapped me! Andrew pointed accusingly.
Good lad, my boy! George beamed, patting the youngsters shoulder. You didnt miss a beat!
A grandson? I have no son! Andrew retorted, his voice cracking. I never had one, and if I did, Id know.
Remember when you fled the village twenty years ago? George shouted, his tone breaking.
***
Andrew had never called his departure a runaway. It had been a carefully arranged enlistment. Hed left early, for reasons he kept to himself.
Hed travelled nearly the whole country to attend a naval college, hoping to earn a modest stipendjust enough to live on a few pounds a week. Asking his parents for money was out of the question; they could only send provisions, and sending food by post was a nightmare.
Another reason drove him away: a wave of unwanted courtships in the village. Had he lingered two weeks longer, marriage proposals would have locked him in forever. Hed rather escape than be bound.
When asked why, hed answered simply: I want a life by the sea. I wont stay put while my future drifts away.
His naval service confirmed the sea was his true home. After discharge, a placement at a shipyard in Portsmouth waited, promising a future as a marine engineer. Yet before he began, he partiedhard, reckless, the sort of nights that left a man blackeyed and bruised, but never ashamed.
He saw the pattern: young men returning from service, full of pride, only to be shackled by marriage, children, a farm. He refused that fate. He sewed his own belt, tightened his own straps, and swore never to be tied down.
His reputation grew among the village girlshandsome, ambitious, with a clear plan. No scandal blemished his name. But suitors came, parents sent delegations, hoping to bind him to a suitable match.
Seeing the trap, Andrew slipped away a month and a half early, heading back to the coast. He secured a berth in a dockside hostel, enrolled at the college, mailed his parents a cheerful note about his progress. Their reply was a bitter scroll, branding him a coward and a traitor, even claiming he no longer had parents. They wrote he belonged in the deep sea.
Perplexed, Andrew wrote again, begging for an explanation, but the post never returned. He pressed on with his studies, sending letters whenever he could.
When he finally earned his diploma, a single, crumpled note arrived from home, half a sheet of lined paper:
May you drown, traitor! Coward!
Signed not by mother or father, but by George Whitaker and Margaret Whitaker.
The meaning was clearhome no longer waited for him. He signed a naval contract and vanished into the waves, returning to Englands ports only every six months, sending another brief missive, then sailing away again. He stopped expecting replies.
At forty, he finally decided to confront the ghosts of his pastwhat had bit him twenty years ago, what had driven his parents mad.
The meeting was anything but gentle.
Why did you run? Andrew mimicked, voice dripping sarcasm. Did you think Id never see the way you plotted to marry me off to some orphan?
I saw the gifts, the promises. You knew Id study, yet you tried to corner me! Margaret hissed.
We wanted you settled, but you fled with Natasha, the village orphan! George snarled.
Natasha? Andrew asked, bewildered. I wrote to you a month after I left. You told me not to return!
She told us she was pregnant! Margaret spat. You told her to have an abortion and disappear from your life!
So interesting, Andrew replied coldly. And you? After you expelled me from the house?
Shes an orphan, no family, but she carries our grandson! George shouted, pointing at the boyStanleywho had grown up under their roof. We raised him as our own.
Call her here, Andrew demanded. Lets sort this out.
Stanley stepped forward. My mother died ten years ago. My grandparents raised me.
Fine, Andrew said, shaking his head. Your father met his own eyes straight on!
You killed my pregnant mother! Stanley roared. At least my grandparents were decent folk!
So youre all righteous, while Im the sole traitor? Andrew sneered.
And a coward! George added. You fled responsibility, sent that girl to an abortion!
Did you ever see that letter? Andrew asked.
Unlike you, we believed the poor girls story, Margaret said.
Then lets do a DNA test, Andrew proposed. If Im the father, you can crucify me at the gate!
The test came back negative. Andrew handed the result to his parents.
Is that clear? he asked. Natasha knew I wasnt the father, yet she came to you.
The tragedy isnt that you believed a lie, Margaret whispered, but that you accepted our son as a coward and traitor for twenty years.
Your forgiveness is no longer needed, Andrew said, voice hard as steel. I might pity you, but theres nothing left to say. Goodbye, after twenty more years of silence.
Andrew turned and walked away, leaving Stanley to cling to his false lineage, still claiming he was the beloved grandson, still insisting the test was wrong, still saying his mother was a saint.
The curtain fell on a house where the only thing left was the echo of bitter words and the cold wind sweeping over the English moors.
