The man made a cradle out of oak and carved buttercups and daisies round the side. The woman sewed many silk outfits and embroidered flocks of lovebirds and butterflies on every single baby garment.
The years went by. The cradle gathered dust in a corner because the woman couldn’t bear to go near it. The baby clothes stayed shut in a drawer, the bright birds and butterflies trapped in the dark.
The husband hoped his wife might accept her lot as she grew older but if anything her longing grew worse. Sometimes he saw her fold her arms and rock them as if she were holding an invisible baby. He couldn’t stand seeing her aching so badly.
The couple lived in a cottage at the edge of the village. The very last house was a forbidding dark dwelling with dragons painted on the door and a glowering griffin weathervane on the roof. The garden was surrounded by a high wall but the husband and wife could peep down into it when they were upstairs in their cottage.
