Chapter 5: Nicholas

Helena was in her early twenties when she first met Nicholas, a time when life in their small Cretan village had begun to find a new rhythm. Her father had died a few years earlier, the stroke taking him swiftly, leaving Yannis as the head of their family. He had inherited the land, the olive groves that stretched out under the brilliant sun, and with it, the burden of keeping their household together.

Yannis had taken on the role with the quiet strength that had always marked his character. The village, a close-knit community where everyone knew each other's names and stories, had rallied around them. Their aunts, uncles, and cousins all had their own land to tend to, but they never hesitated to lend a hand when needed. Theirs was a life of shared labour and mutual support, where the work was hard but the rewards - those moments of peace at the end of a long day, the satisfaction of seeing the land thrive - were deeply fulfilling.

Even with the help of family and neighbours, Yannis was glad for the extra pair of hands when Nicholas arrived.

Nicholas had never intended to stay in one place for long. He was a man of the road, a travelling salesman with a silver tongue and a knack for persuasion that had taken him far and wide across Greece. His life had been forged in the crucible of hardship - born into a broken, poverty-stricken family, he had known suffering early. There had been complications with land ownership, and disputes that escalated into violence. One night, a fire - deliberate, Nicholas suspected - had torn through his family home, leaving nothing but ashes and sorrow in its wake. His parents had perished in the flames, and at just 16 years old, Nicholas found himself alone in the world.

With no roots to anchor him, Nicholas learned to think on his feet. He discovered early on that his charm and good looks could open doors that might otherwise remain closed. He had a gift for selling - anything, really. He could convince a farmer that a rusted plough was as good as new or persuade a housewife that a poorly made trinket was a rare treasure. It wasn’t just the goods he sold; it was the dream of something better, something just out of reach. He lived off the thrill of the sale, moving from village to village, never staying long enough to form attachments, never wanting anything more than the next successful transaction.

But all of that changed when he arrived in the small, sun-baked village nestled in the hills of Crete, where Yannis and Helena lived. He had come, as always, with his cart of wares, prepared to spend a few days convincing the locals to part with their hard-earned money. It was a quiet place, the kind where everyone knew each other, and outsiders were viewed with a mix of curiosity and suspicion. But Nicholas thrived on challenges like this.

Something about this place, these people, began to change Nicholas. For the first time in his life, he felt the stirrings of a desire for something more permanent, something real. The rootlessness that had defined his existence began to feel like a burden rather than a freedom. He found himself longing for a sense of belonging, for a home.

The first person he met was Yannis, a broad-shouldered, serious man who seemed more interested in working the land than in anything Nicholas had to offer. Nicholas was used to winning people over, but Yannis was different. He wasn’t swayed by Nicholas’s charm or his polished sales pitches. Yannis had a deep connection to his land, his family, and his community, and he wasn’t easily impressed by strangers. But that only made Nicholas more determined.

But what truly captivated him was Helena.

Helena, with her intense eyes and fiery spirit, was unlike anyone Nicholas had ever met. She was raw, untamed, a beauty that seemed to spring from the very earth itself. She was also fiercely guarded by her older brother, Yannis, who, like the rest of the village, viewed outsiders with suspicion. But Nicholas was nothing if not persistent, and he was a man who knew how to charm his way into people’s hearts. He was clever, with a quick wit and a talent for storytelling that could make even the most sceptical listener lean in closer.

When Nicholas first set eyes on Helena, he was smitten. He knew he had to have her, but he also knew that winning her over wouldn't be easy. Yannis was the gatekeeper, and Nicholas understood that to win Helena’s heart, he first had to win over her brother. Yannis was no fool; he saw the way Nicholas looked at his sister, and he made it clear that he wasn’t going to let some smooth-talking stranger pluck her like a ripe grape.

With his endless energy, Nicholas saw Yannis’s challenge as an adventure. He asked Yannis for tasks to prove his worth, knowing that each challenge would bring him closer to Helena. Yannis, suspicious but intrigued, set him to work.

The olive grove, nestled on a slope overlooking the turquoise sea, was both their livelihood and their sanctuary. When Nicholas first arrived, his hands were smooth, the hands of a man who had spent more time talking than working. Yannis noticed this immediately, and with a knowing smirk, handed Nicholas a pair of pruning shears.

"Start with the lower branches," Yannis instructed, his voice gruff but not unkind. "Careful not to cut too deep. The tree needs to breathe, but you mustn't wound it."

Nicholas nodded, taking the shears and crouching under the nearest tree. The first few snips were awkward, the metal biting into his palm with each squeeze. By midday, his hands were red and raw, the skin beginning to blister. The repetitive motion of cutting, pulling, and tossing branches into a pile made his back ache. He was used to standing tall, but the work demanded that he bend and stretch in ways his body wasn’t accustomed to. Each time he stood to straighten his back, it protested, the muscles tightening as if resisting the next crouch.

As the sun climbed higher, the heat settled in, a heavy blanket of warmth that seemed to thicken the air. The dry wind carried the scent of the olive trees, a mix of earthy soil and the sharp tang of crushed leaves. It was a scent that stuck to his skin, mingling with the sweat that trickled down his spine. The sky, a piercing blue, stretched out endlessly, while the sun beat down relentlessly, bleaching the landscape in harsh light.

Despite the physical toll, there was something meditative about the work. The grove was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of leaves or the distant cry of a bird. Nicholas found a rhythm in the labor, a steady pace that allowed his mind to wander. The trees, with their gnarled trunks and silver-green leaves, stood as silent witnesses to his effort. Every now and then, Yannis would pause in his own work to glance over, watching Nicholas with a mix of waryness and approval.

By late afternoon, when Yannis handed him a wooden pole to knock the ripe olives from the higher branches, Nicholas' hands were trembling from the strain. His shoulders ached as he swung the pole, the impact reverberating through his body each time he struck the branches. The olives rained down, bouncing off the nets spread beneath the trees, and Nicholas couldn’t help but smile at the sight. It was satisfying, seeing the tangible results of his work—the dark fruits collected in the nets, ready to be pressed into oil.

The day wore on, the sun beginning its descent, casting long shadows across the grove. The air cooled slightly, the oppressive heat giving way to a more comfortable warmth. Nicholas was exhausted, his body heavy with fatigue, but there was a quiet contentment that settled over him. The grove, now bathed in the golden light of late afternoon, seemed to glow, the silver leaves catching the last rays of the sun.

Yannis came over, a bucket of olives in each hand, and stood beside Nicholas. He didn’t say anything at first, just looked out over the grove. Then, with a grunt of approval, he handed Nicholas one of the buckets.

"Good work today," Yannis said, his voice softer than usual. "You'll feel it tomorrow, but that's how you know you're alive."

Nicholas took the bucket, feeling the weight of it in his tired arms. His hands were rough now, marked by the day’s labour, and his back ached with a deep, satisfying pain. But as they walked back to the farmhouse, the smell of the olive trees lingering in the evening air, Nicholas realised he didn’t mind the discomfort. In fact, he found a strange pleasure in it - the honest, physical exhaustion that came from a hard day's work.

Yannis must have noticed the change in Nicholas, too. The once smooth-talking stranger was becoming something more, someone who could belong in this world of olive trees and quiet, steady labour. As they reached the farmhouse, Yannis clapped a hand on Nicholas' shoulder, a gesture of respect and maybe even the beginning of acceptance. Nicholas met his gaze, the unspoken understanding passing between them..

He had another trick up his sleeve. He was a man of stories, and he began to weave a world of dreams and possibilities around Helena. He would leave little folded paper animals for her to find - birds, dogs, even a tiny goat - each one with a cryptic message inside. The messages were in code, a puzzle that Helena couldn’t resist. She spent hours trying to decipher them, eventually creating a chart that revealed the secret - numbers and signs corresponded to the alphabet, but the alphabet written backwards. When she finally cracked the code, she found they were love poems, simple and sweet, but filled with the kind of passion she had only read about in books.

In an unfolded horse of soft yellow paper, she deciphered the following:

In the night, the stars align,
A love as old as olive trees,
I find your gaze, your hand in mine,
Together, we'll sail the endless seas.

In your eyes, I see the dawn,
Of lands we've yet to see,
A world for us to dream upon,
Where you'll always be with me.

It was simple, but the words filled Helena with a warmth she had never known. Nicholas had a way of making her feel like the heroine of a grand adventure. The world around her seemed to change.

They began to exchange messages in the same code, arranging secret meetings where they would talk late into the night. Nicholas didn’t push her; he knew that to win her fully, he needed to let her come to him in her own time. He filled her head with dreams - of travel, of a life beyond the small village, of a love that was stronger than anything she had ever known.

Yannis noticed the change in his sister. She sang while she worked, her eyes sparkling with some secret joy. When he asked her to help with the olive harvest, she no longer protested as she used to. She was different - lighter, happier.

One late afternoon, Yannis and Nicholas were walking back from the olive groves, the sun dipping low over the hills. Yannis had insisted on helping Nicholas with the work, keeping a close eye on the man who had so quickly captivated his sister. As they walked, Yannis decided it was time to voice his concerns.

"So, Nicholas," he began, his voice rough with the gravel of his long years of hard work, "you’ve been spending a lot of time with my sister. You think you’re serious about her, do you?"

Nicholas, sensing the protective edge in Yannis's tone, kept his expression open and friendly, the picture of innocence.

"Yannis, I understand how you feel. Helena is... she’s special. I’ve travelled to many places, seen many things, but I’ve never met anyone like her. She has a light inside her, you know? Something that makes everything around her seem brighter."

Yannis grunted, not entirely convinced. His brow furrowed as he searched for the right words.

"She’s young. Maybe too young to understand what she’s getting into. And you… you come from somewhere else, with stories and smiles, but what do we really know about you?"

Nicholas laughed quietly, a warm sound that seemed to dissolve the tension in the air.

"You’re right to be cautious, Yannis. It shows you care for her, and I respect that. But I’m not here to take anything from her - if anything, I want to give her the world. I’m just a simple man who fell for a woman with a heart bigger than the sky. I want to share whatever little I have with her."

Yannis stopped walking and turned to face Nicholas, his eyes narrowing as he studied him.

"Words are easy, Nicholas. They flow like wine when a man’s trying to impress. But what happens when the bottle’s empty? When the work gets hard? Will you still be there, or will you run off to the next village with your stories?"

Nicholas met Yannis’s gaze steadily, the playful glint in his eyes softening into something more serious.

"I don’t blame you for questioning me, Yannis. I would do the same in your place. But let me prove myself. Let me earn the right to stand by your sister’s side. I’ll work in the fields with you, do the same hard labour you do. I’m not afraid of getting my hands dirty. And if there’s ever a day I don’t live up to your expectations, you’ll be the first to know."

Yannis studied Nicholas for a long moment, searching for any sign of insincerity. But Nicholas’s gaze didn’t waver. Finally, Yannis gave a curt nod.

"We’ll see. But know this - if you hurt her, if you so much as put a toe out of line, you’ll answer to me."

Nicholas smiled, nodding in agreement.

"Fair enough. I wouldn’t expect anything less."

Yannis grunted again, as if that settled the matter, and the two men continued walking in silence. He couldn’t deny that Nicholas was good for the farm. His energy was infectious, his willingness to help a welcome relief. And though he remained watchful, cautious of any man who might come too close to his sister, Yannis began to see Nicholas not just as an outsider, but as someone who might belong with them.

As the weeks turned into months, Nicholas became a part of the fabric of their lives. The work was hard, the days long, but there was a sense of contentment in the air, a feeling that things were as they should be. Even as Yannis kept a close eye on the growing bond between Nicholas and Helena, he couldn’t help but hope that perhaps, in some way, Nicholas was meant to stay.