The news that Reginald Whitmore intended to marry off his only daughter sent ripples through the village. And no wonderthe bride was not just plain but outright homely, with a prominent nose, a slight squint, and legs of uneven length. No suitors lined up for poor Mildred. Even her daily walk to the village shop was met with snickers trailing behind her like shadows.
«Must you hobble about like Crooked Millie?» scolded mothers to their children if they mimicked her limp in play.
But Reginald doted on his daughter. A man of meansbeing the local magistratehe promised a handsome dowry. The village buzzed at once. For such a sum, one might overlook the girls looks. She was hardworking, after all, and mild-mannered.
Two suitors emerged: Thomas and Alfred. Thomas, the schoolmasters son, was educatedthough his family wasnt wealthy, he already had a cottage on the village outskirts, ready to move into. His parents, too, were eager to align with Reginalds family.
«Thomas, prepare to wed,» his father declared. «Ive set my sights on Mildred Whitmore. Shell make you a fine wife.»
«What? That crooked, homely thing? Id rather have Margaret,» the reluctant groom-to-be grumbled.
«No, son. Marry Mildred. The Whitmores have meansjust their horses alone are worth a fortune. Beauty fades, but gold stays,» his father retorted.
The other suitor, Alfred, was far from rich. Raised by his aging mother, he had no property to his name.
«Where do you think youre going, Alfred? The village will laugha beggar at a lords feast!» his mother fretted as he instructed her to prepare his best clothes for courting. «And the girls no great beauty either.»
«Not beautiful? Mother, her eyes are blue as cornflowers, and her braid is like firelong and bright! What do I care if she limps? Get ready; were calling on her.»
Sighing, his mother obeyed. Her Alfred, she supposed, had a heart too large and eyes that saw beyond the surface.
Reginald was astonished to have two suitors. Wise with years, he knew his daughters looks werent for every man. After hearing both sides, he leaned toward Thomas.
«But Father, I prefer Alfred,» Mildred murmured, eyes downcast. «We met by the lake bridge the other daymy yoke broke, and he helped me straight away. He seemed kind, with warm eyes. Thomas looks at me coldly, like hes scheming.»
«I dont know,» Reginald shook his grey head. «Alfred might squander your dowrynever known comfort, then suddenly wealth? Thomas will provide better. His familys respectable.»
Mildred had no choice but to agree. Though her heart yearned for Alfred, she wouldnt defy her father.
The wedding was swiftlest the groom reconsider. Within a month, the couple settled into their home. Despite her flaws, Mildred was diligent; everything flourished under her hands. Her husband, however, lazed abed, lost in books. The schoolmasters son had grown up among them.
«Have you ever read Austen, Mildred? Or Dickens?»
«How simple you are,» Thomas lamented. «What is there to discuss with you?»
«What? The pig pen needs mending, and the troughs too smallthe swine slop everywhere!»
«Always the same drivel,» he waved her off. «Pigs and pens. Your father gave us horsestend them yourself.»
So it went. Mildred toiled from dawn to dusk, while Thomas read and scorned her ignorance. Once, she appealed to his parentswas it right the roof leaked, the fence sagged, and her husband did nothing? But his mother shrugged.
«Let him read. Women are strongyou manage. Else hell find a prettier one.»
And he did. Evenings, he slipped through the garden to Margaret, whose charms were no secret. Soon, the village whispered. Eventually, Thomas stopped hiding it.
«At least Margarets someone to talk tounlike you. And you cant even give me an heir, you barren thing.»
That cut deepest. An heir was expectedby his parents, by him, by her. Yet no child came. Perhaps the endless labor stole her chances.
She often wondered of Alfredhow life mightve been had she followed her heart. A chance meeting with his mother stirred old feelings. The old woman confessed Alfred, heartbroken, had left for the city, trained as a veterinarian, yet remained unwed.
«He was devastated when Reginald refused him. Id urged Margaret on himforgive me, I didnt know your kindness then,» his mother admitted, scrubbing rugs by the lake. «Hes wiser than I. No use dwelling»
«Indeed,» Mildred breathed, steadying herself on the slippery dock.
«He writes hes being posted herepromised to fix up the cottage,» the woman prattled, oblivious to Mildreds trembling.
*To see Alfred again, just once* Mildred flushed at the thought. How wicked, with a husband still living.
Then life spiraled. Margaret bore Thomass child. The village clucked day and night until Mildred feared stepping outside, enduring pitying smirks.
«Dont take it ill, Mildred,» Thomas shrugged. «A man needs heirs. Youve failed. Ive every right to send you back.»
«But Thomas weve a life! Shall I be mocked returning to Father?»
«Whats that to me? Should I suffer? Pack your things, Mildred Whitmore. Go home.»
Choking back tears, she waited for dusk to slip through back lanes to her father. Reginald was furious but powerlesshis daughter was barren. Next morning, he came for his horses and a word with his son-in-law only to find Margaret lounging in Mildreds robe, surveying her new domain. Reginald spat and left.
The village clucked, then forgotuntil Alfred returned a month later. City-tailored, in a frock coat and hat, he seemed from another world. The walking stick drew sneers («fancy cane,» they scoffed), but envy simmered beneath.
«Welcome home, Mother.»
«For long, son?» she wept.
«For good. Theyre opening a veterinary stationI volunteered. Grants will build us a house. For now, well fix yours. Now, tell me the village newsand set the table.»
Respected as he was, Alfred still worked with his hands. By day, villagers brought livestock; evenings, he repaired roofs, fences, the apple orchardwherever strength was needed. One evening, as Mildred sat by her fathers hearth, staring into the fire with hollow eyes, a knock came at the door. It was Alfred, hat in hand, his gaze steady and kind. He did not speak of the past, nor of love long denied, but asked only if she needed help mending the fence out back. She nodded, too moved for words.
From then on, he came quietly, dailyfixing what was broken, tending the animals, smiling at her in that way that made her feel seen, not scorned. The villagers whispered again, but this time not in mockeryin wonder.
Years passed. The orchard bloomed again. The cottage was repaired, then expanded. And though no formal vows were ever spoken, Mildred was never lonely again. Children played at her gate, calling her Aunt Millie, and Alfreds hand, warm and sure, found hers each Sunday walk to the lake.
At last, the village learned to stop talking. Some things, they realized, were beyond dowries, beyond beautybeyond even words. Theirs was a quiet love, steady as the seasons, and in the end, it was enough.
