It was Liddy the postwomans wedding day. Oh, what a wedding it wasmore like a bitter tragedy than a celebration. The whole village had gathered outside the parish hall, not to cheer but to judge. There stood our Liddy, delicate as a reed in her plain white dress, sewn by her own hands. Her face was pale, her eyes wide with fear but stubborn as ever. Beside her was her groom, Stephen. Folks in the village called him «Convict» behind his back. Hed returned a year earlier from a rather distant placeif you catch my meaning.
No one knew exactly why hed been locked away, but the rumours were wild. Tall, grim, tight-lipped, with a scar running down his cheekhe wasnt exactly the life of the party. The men greeted him through gritted teeth, the women hid their children, and even the dogs tucked their tails when he passed. He lived on the outskirts in his grandfathers crumbling cottage, taking the worst jobs no one else would touch.
And this was the man our quiet Liddyan orphan raised by her aunthad chosen to marry.
When the registrar declared them man and wife with a stiff «You may now congratulate the happy couple,» the crowd didnt move a muscle. The silence was so thick you could hear a crow cawing in the old oak tree.
Then Liddys cousin, Paul, stepped forward. Hed treated her like a little sister since her parents died. He looked her dead in the eye, his gaze colder than a January morning, and hissed loud enough for all to hear:
«Youre no sister of mine. As of today, I dont have one. Disgracing our name, tangled up with trash like this. Dont you dare set foot in my house again.»
He spat at Stephens feet and stormed off, cutting through the crowd like an icebreaker. Liddys aunt followed, lips pressed tight.
Liddy didnt flinch. A single tear rolled down her cheek, but she didnt wipe it away. Stephen shot Paul a murderous glare, jaw clenched, fists shaking. I thought hed lunge, but instead, he turned to Liddy, took her hand as gently as if she might break, and whispered:
«Lets go home, Liddy.»
And off they went. Just the two of them, against the whole village. Himtall and brooding. Hertiny in her little white dress. Poisoned whispers and scornful stares followed. My heart ached watching them. How much strength would it take to survive this?
It all started, as these things do, with something small. Liddy delivered the posta quiet, unassuming girl. One muddy autumn day, a pack of strays cornered her at the edge of the village. She screamed, dropped the heavy mailbag, letters scattering in the muck. Thenout of nowhereStephen appeared. No shouting, no waving sticks. He just stepped up to the snarling leader and growled something under his breath. Believe it or not, the brute tucked tail and slunk off, the rest scrambling after.
Stephen silently gathered the soggy post, wiped it on his sleeve, and handed it back. Liddy looked up at him, tear-streaked, whispering, «Thank you.» He just snorted and walked away.
After that, she watched him differentlynot with fear, but curiosity. She noticed things others ignored. Like how he fixed old Maggies fence without being asked. Just turned up, worked all day, then left. How he pulled a neighbours calf from the river. How he tucked a shivering kitten inside his coat.
He did it all in secret, as if ashamed of kindness. But Liddy saw. And her quiet, lonely heart reached for his own battered soul.
They met by the far well at dusk. He mostly listened while she chattered about her little life. His stern face softened. One day, he brought her a wild orchidplucked from the treacherous moors. Thats when she knew she was done for.
When she told her family shed marry him? Oh, the uproar. Her aunt wept. Paul swore to break his legs. But Liddy stood firm. «Hes good,» she kept saying. «You just dont know him.»
Life was hard. No steady work came Stephens way. They scraped by on odd jobs while Liddys post pay barely covered beans. Yet their ramshackle cottage stayed spotless, oddly cosy. He built her bookshelves, fixed the porch, planted flowers under the window. Evenings, hed come home filthy and exhausted, and shed set a bowl of hot soup before him without a word. That silence held more love than any grand speech.
The village shunned them. The shopkeeper «accidentally» shorted Liddys change. Kids threw stones at their windows. Paul crossed the street to avoid them.
Then came the fire.
A windy, pitch-black night. Pauls barn went up first, flames leaping to the house. The village turned out with buckets, shouting, useless against the roaring blaze. Then Pauls wife screamedtheir little girl, Mary, was still inside.
Paul lunged for the door, but the porch was already engulfed. Men held him back»Youll die, you fool!»while he howled in terror.
Thats when Stephen barrelled through. Hed arrived late, took one look at the madness, doused himself with water from a rain barrel, and ran straight into hell.
The crowd gasped. Timbers cracked. The roof collapsed. No one expected him to return.
Thensmoke parted. Out staggered Stephen, clothes smouldering, hair singed, cradling a blanket-wrapped bundle. He passed the coughing child to the women and collapsed.
Burns covered his arms, his back. As I patched him up, he kept whispering, «Liddy Liddy»
When he woke in the clinic, Paul was kneeling by his bed. No jokeon his knees. The man shook, silent tears streaking his stubble. He pressed Stephens hand to his forehead. No words. None needed.
After that? The dam broke. Respect replaced fear. His scars werent a convicts marksthey were medals.
The men rebuilt their cottage. Paul became Stephens shadowfixing fences, hauling hay for their goat. His wife, Ellen, brought Liddy pies and cream, eyes brimming with guilt.
Then came their children. First little MaryLiddys double, fair and blue-eyed. Then JohnnyStephens spitting image, minus the scar. Serious little lad, that one.
That patched-up house rang with laughter. Who knew brooding Stephen was such a doting dad? Home from work, black with grime, hed hoist the kids, toss them high while they shrieked with joy. Evenings, hed whittle toys for Maryhorses, birds, funny little menhis rough hands crafting wonders.
One day, I popped in to check Liddys blood pressure. The scene? Pure bliss. Stephen, huge and weather-beaten, squatted fixing Johnnys tiny bike while Paul held the wheel. The boysJohnny and Pauls ladplayed in the sandbox, building castles. Peaceful as Sunday morning, just the tap of a hammer and bees buzzing in Liddys flowers.
I blinked back tears. Here was Paulwhod disowned herside by side with the «convict.» No grudges. Just quiet work and kids laughing together. As if that wall of fear had melted like spring snow.
Liddy stepped out with cold cider for them, catching my eye with her soft smile. The way she glanced between husband and cousin, then the childrenit held all the hard-won joy in the world. She hadnt been wrong. Shed followed her heart against all odds and found everything.
Now? Their cottage bursts with geraniums. Stephengrey but still toughteaches grown-up Johnny to chop wood. Mary, nearly a woman herself, helps Liddy hang washing that smells of sunshine. They laugh over some girlish secret.
And I? I just watch. And remember.
