He was anxious that the butcher might think it unlucky to have a wife with white hair who stared at you instead of speaking. What worried him more was that his daughter might not keep her promise. Promises, as he knew all too well, were easily broken. He couldn’t remember how many times he had made a promise to stop drinking and not one of them had he kept. His excuse was that the devil was in the bottle. No matter what he did, the moment the cork was pulled, the devil came calling with no regard for the time of day. But surely a promise sworn on a bible in front of the mayor was a different matter? You couldn’t break that without holy consequences.

He told the butcher about Edith’s hair and her silence. He kept his thoughts about the bloodless to himself.

‘I have two daughters,’ said the butcher. ‘They have more than enough to say. Why would I need a talkative wife?’

The butcher thought back to when Edith had pleaded with the elders for help. Silence was what they’d demanded of her.

‘It’ll pass,’ he said and sent the cabinet maker home.

When the villagers heard that a wedding date had been set, there was a collective sigh of relief.

Still, the butcher wanted to be sure that her white hair had not detracted from her beauty. Dressed in his Sunday best, he called on Edith, taking with him two rabbits he’d shot. Seeing her made him certain that he was the luckiest of men. He placed his offerings on the kitchen table and sat opposite her. She didn’t move. She caught his stare. Not once did she lower her eyes as she used to.

Edith told herself, don’t look away. She watched as the butcher, not knowing where to rest his eyes under her bright gaze, studied his hat and, for the first time, felt his hands to be too big, his shoes to be too heavy. Embarrassed, he could only steal a look at her.

He said, ‘The wedding will take place in a month’s time. What do you say to that?’

Silence.

‘I’ve decided to have a wedding dress made for you – the kind that the grand women in the town wear. I can well afford it. Would you like that?’

Not a word. Not a change in her expression.

Twisting his hat in his hand he said, ‘I’m not a bad man.’ He dared to glance at her again as he said it. ‘I’m sure you’ve heard talk. Unfounded talk. My late wife, unlike you, she never stopped with her words. Never a day of peace, made up of complaints. You met her.’