Some say that Frank Troy deserved his fate, but Gabriel did not believe that. He might have disliked Troy, but he never wished him dead. It was said in the town that soon Boldwood will be released from the prison as it was a crime of passion. Gabriel did not intent to wait until that happened and Bathsheba married Boldwood out of gratitude. He would away to America to make a new life for himself, to forget this place and the woman who had stolen his heart. He knew that he should be angry with her but she had never lied to him. Her faults were few. It was her impetuous nature that had lead her astray.
Bathsheba's face was unreadable when he told her of his plans last night, standing before her in the parlour, hat in hand. They had not spoken properly since the party, since the kiss. He felt the colour rising in his cheeks, struggling to make his voice sound steady.
"I think it will be for the best," he said firmly.
Bathsheba nodded, a small frown creasing the space between her eyebrows. She looked tired and sad.
"So, America is the promised land?"
"It is said that if you work hard there then you can prosper."
"Then you will surely prosper Gabriel," she said quickly, turning away from him.
She picked up an ornament from the sideboard and then put it down again. A light breeze fluttered the curtain, moving her hair. For a moment neither of them spoke.
"I wish you well," she said at last, her voice so low that he almost missed her words.
"Thankyou."
"When will you go?"
"I leave in the morning."
"The morning?"
She looked startled and he thought that she might ask him to stay longer.
"The harvest is finished; the sheep are shorn, now is a good time for me to go."
"I will not delay you then."
He heard the slight irritation in her words, but he bowed his head slightly.
"I hope you find what you are looking for," she said bitterly.
He almost apologised, then stopped himself. What would he be apologising for?
"Goodbye Gabriel."
She held out her hand and he took it. Her hand felt very small in his. It was such a formal act, so different from when they had touched each other before, clinging to each other in the dark. He did not notice that he was still holding her hand in his until she pulled away.
Then it was the morning and he set out reluctantly, leaving the farm behind him. He could not look back, for he feared that he would not be able to continue. He was leaving everything that he had grown to love behind him, but the future beckoned, spurring him on, step by step.
As he reached the top of a hill, he paused to watch the sun slowly rising, bathing everything in a golden glow. He tried not to feel sad. Far away, he saw a figure on horseback, riding towards him. It was only as she appeared on the other side of a small coppice that he realised that it was Bathsheba. He waited for her to reach him, then watched as she dismounted, looking flushed and breathless.
"Gabriel - -"
He waited for her to speak.
She looked around her, panting, then stared at him with her dark brown eyes.
"You must not go."
"Why is that? Are the sheep in danger? Will there be a storm or a fire? Or is it merely that you forbid me?"
"Please Gabriel."
He was enjoying this, he watched her nervously shuffle from one foot to the other, holding the reins of the horse in her hand. Her eyes beseeched him.
"Tell me," he said, "tell me why you want me to stay."
"You know why."
"Tell me."
He moved towards her and their eyes locked. This time he would not let her go so easily.
"I - -, I need you to stay."
He put his hand on the side of her face, feeling her tremble at his touch. He moved his thumb beneath her chin and tilted her face up towards him slightly. She closed her eyes, waiting for him to kiss her. He paused. She opened her eyes, blinking up at him, for once totally powerless. He moved his thumb across her lips and she gasped, parting them slightly. It took all his will-power not to press his mouth to hers.
"Why?"
"I love you."
He smiled and moved towards her, kissing her passionately, feeling her submitting to him at last, giving in. The horse shifted as they leaned against her, but they were intent only on the moment, the contact between them. Her mouth was soft beneath his and he felt the echoing pressure of her body as he held her. When they parted at last he said softly,
"If I thought that you would let me love you and marry you and care for you, I would."
She said almost shyly,
"You never ask me, ask me again Gabriel."
"Will you marry me?"
"Yes!"
He kissed her again. He felt like he was flying above himself, looking down, as he strained her to him. This was all that he had dreamed about. The only thing stopping him from pushing her down in the grass and loving her the way that he wanted to was society. But what did he care about that? Wasn't she his girl? Hadn't she agreed to be his wife? As if sensing his loss of control, Bathsheba pushed her face into his chest and for a moment they were locked in an embrace, struggling to regain composure, breathing hard.
"I'm sorry," he said gruffly, "but we must be married as soon as possible."
She looked up at him, nodding earnestly.
"Yes Gabriel."
He was the master now.
Behind them the sun rose on a new day, full of hope and promise. As they walked back to the farm hand in hand they talked about their marriage, their new life together. For him, it could not come quickly enough.
He intended to spend the rest of his life loving her.
