Mary and her husband Michael returned from the funeral weary and heavy-hearted. They had just buried Michaels mother, AnnaMarys mother-in-law.
«At least shes at peace now, laid beside Father,» Michael murmured. «She kept asking for it, right till the end.»
«Yes,» Mary sighed. «She knew wed never bury her anywhere else, but still, it was all she ever thought about. Poor thingwhat a cruel illness.»
The evening passed in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Marys mind drifted to her childhood, before marriage. There had been little joy in it. Shed lost both parents young, trapped in her grandmothers house when the thatch caught fire one night after her grandfathers funeral.
Mary had been home with her older brother, Nicky. By morning, they were orphans. The villagers helped with the burials, whispering, «Old George took his wife and his children with him.»
Nicky was seventeen, Mary just thirteen. They stayed in the cottage, Nicky working the fields while Mary went to school. Some lives are harder than others, and Marys was one of them. Even now, she could scarcely believe it had all really happened.
Their village was smallforty-two houses, no more. The school only taught the little ones; after that, children walked three miles to the next village. In winter, they could cut across the frozen river. Years ago, old Ned used to ferry them in his horse-drawn cart on Mondays, bringing them back Saturdays. The older boys often preferred to walk, especially in autumn, when the woods were golden.
Mick, the chairmans son, was their ringleader. «Meet by the bench after lessons,» hed say. «Were walking home today.»
Three miles was nothing in a group, though alone, the forest loomed dark and frightening. The lads had started noticing girls, slipping them notes, asking them to dances at the village hall. By Monday, everyone knew whod walked whom home.
Mary had been one of those girlsonly lovelier than the rest, with a voice like honey and eyes that could steal a boys wits with a glance. The lads adored her, though none dared be forward. She was too proud for that.
Then, out of nowhere, rumours spreadMick and Mary were sweethearts. Hand in hand at dusk, walking home from school together. Mick was tall, broad-shouldered, clever as she was. A fine match.
«Two doves, meant to be,» the old women murmured. «A weddings coming.»
But Micks parents disapproved. His father, Simon, was the wealthiest man in the villagefirst to own a car, first with a motorbike. Hed not have his heir marry a penniless orphan.
«Listen, Anne,» he told his wife. «That Marys got no family, no prospects. Our boy could do betterthe agronomists daughter, perhaps.»
Anne fretted. «Hes smitten. How do we talk sense into him?»
«Leave it to me,» Simon said.
He cornered Mick in the yard. «Forget Mary. Shes not for you.»
Mick stood his ground. «Ill marry her.»
Simon sneered. «Well see.»
The next day, Simon paid a visit to Marys brothers wife, Sarah. «Youve an aunt up in Scotland, havent you?»
Sarah frowned. «Aunt Clara, aye. Why?»
Simon slid a pouch of coins across the table. «Send Mary there.»
Nick didnt argue. They packed Mary off to Scotland, weeping, clutching a letter with Claras address.
Mick was heartbroken. He barely spoke to his parents before leaving for his National Service. Two years passed in silenceuntil a letter came: «Found a girl. Bringing her home.»
Simon crowed. «See? He forgot her!»
The village buzzed. When Micks taxi pulled up, everyone gathered. Out stepped Mick in uniformand Mary, radiant in white.
The crowd gasped. Simon and Anne froze.
«Meet my wife,» Mick announced.
The villagers cheered. «True love wins!»
There was nothing for it. The wedding was grand, the marriage happy. They raised two sons; even Simon and Anne grew to adore Mary.
Years later, Simon died. Anne followed soon after. Mary nursed her to the endfor she had become the mother Mary never had.
Now, the house was quiet. Grief would fade in time. Life went on.
