She loved him. She loved him, yet John's feelings were a queer mix of elation and dismay. John saw her look up and blink a few times before she began to follow the cart. He'd caused tears. That cart couldn't have come at a better time. The right thing to do was to show her what sort of old physical wreck he was, the type of man who was pitied by farm hands. He was slowing her down. The right thing to do would be to redirect her to someone else. Perhaps that Moseley fellow.

John had loved her for months. He couldn't pinpoint when his feelings turned the corner from friendship to love, but that should be true of all great loves. At first, he simply appreciated her friendship, her humor, her thoughtfulness. He had noticed her clear, fresh skin, shimmering hair and shiny eyes, but he hoped he noticed them as any man would notice a beautiful young woman. It was only after he found them turned on him, smiling on him more and more, seeking his own dark eyes out in their shared jokes, that was struck by their deep beauty. John was worried, but it was nothing he couldn't control. So long as he kept it to himself, and didn't involve her. It was an indulgence. Happiness of any kind was an indulgence for him.

As the months went by, John found himself in her company more. Smiling more. Laughing more. Feeling alive. Anna was his last thought at night, first in the morning. Sometimes she visited him in his dreams.

By the time Anna caught up with him at the flower show he couldn't contenance pushing her towards Moseley. He'd made her feel awkward, sad, and when she turned her large eyes up him his heart jumped into his throat. He knew that by keeping by her side he was only going to cause her pain, but he couldn't help it. Her place was at his side, and that's where he needed her. She was like an elixir for his shattered life. She was innocent, pure, and even if he wasn't allowed to return her love, he accepted it and needed it.

But John didn't know what to do. He had been looking for Vera for years, if only because knowledge of her whereabouts was safety. He didn't think he could possibly be free of her; he'd never be able to afford a divorce and Vera's health was maddeningly robust. He wouldn't insult Anna by telling her how he felt and then offering a life of sin and sneaking. She was better than that. She deserved a younger man who could give her a home and a family. So much was sordid about John's past he couldn't stand to sully her by dragging her into it. Perhaps a part of him didn't want the light to go out of her eyes when she looked at him, but that was a selfish thought. So he said nothing, contradictory and selfish as it was, and kept her there by his side in suspense.

Anna tried to keep her distance, but she couldn't. It pained John to see how hard she tried to be as usual with him at meals, how she tried not to find him during the day or at night in the yard, but she couldn't. He understood. He told her he understood, but not through words. He told her in every look, in every gesture. He prayed she understood.

Slowly Anna gave up on trying to keep away. They drifted together again. John knew it was wrong to lead her on, but he just didn't know what to do. He was almost relieved to admit to his colleagues of his past ill-deeds. Painful and gut wrenching as it would be for him to see her opinion change and even worse to leave, knowing she was alive in the world and thinking ill of him, it was for the best. Leaving, with Anna's opinion of him diminished, was the right thing to do. Maybe this would show Anna that there was no hope, that she should and could do better than him: a crippled alcoholic with a record who was old enough to be her father.