Mary and her husband Michael came back from the funeral feeling worn out and heartbroken. Theyd just buried Michaels mother, AnneMarys mother-in-law.
«Well, at least shes at peace now, laid to rest beside Dad,» Michael sighed. «She kept asking for that while she was still with us.»
«True,» Mary replied softly. «She knew we wouldnt bury her anywhere else, but it was all she could think about in the end. Poor soulwhat a cruel illness.»
They spent the evening in silence, both lost in their own thoughts. Mary remembered her life before marriagethere hadnt been much happiness. Shed lost her parents young, both perishing in her grandmothers house after her grandfathers funeral. That night, the house caught fire, and no one made it out.
Mary had been home with her older brother Nicky. By morning, theyd learned the awful truth. The village helped bury their family, and just like that, the children were alone. The neighbours whispered, «Old grandad took his wife and their parents with him when he went.»
Nicky was seventeen, Mary just thirteen. They stayed in the family homeNicky worked on the farm, Mary studied. Some people get dealt a rough hand, and Marys was one of them. Even now, she still couldnt believe everything that had happened.
Their village was smalljust forty-two houses. The school only went up to primary, so from Year Five, kids had to walk three miles to the next village. In frosty winters, theyd cut across the frozen river to save time. There used to be old Mr. Ned whod take the kids by horse and cart on Mondays, and theyd board there all week, coming home on Saturdays.
But not everyone liked staying over, especially the older boys. They had their own leaderMick, the head farmers son.
«Anyone walking home today, meet by the benches after class,» hed say.
Three miles wasnt so bad in a group. Alone, the woods were scary, but together, it was just a bit of fun. By then, the lads had started noticing girlspassing notes, asking them for walks, dancing at the village hall on weekends.
And by Monday, everyone knew whod walked who home, who fancied who. Back then, village life was livelynearly everyone ended up at the hall, especially when films were shown.
Mary went to that school too. As she grew older, the whole village had eyes on her. She was beautifuldelicate, almost angelic. Boys her age, even older lads, couldnt help staring. If she glanced at someone, theyd be smitten. And if she spoke? That soft voice would linger in their ears for days.
Mary was one of those rare people who had it alllooks, brains, kindness. The only mark against her? She was an orphan. She lived with Nicky, his wife Sarah, and their little boy. Sarah never warmed to her, no matter how hard Mary tried.
«Once I finish school, Ill leave for town,» Mary thought. «Train as a chef, get out of here. Sarahll never let me breathe easy anyway.»
She never complained to Nicky, though. She didnt want to cause trouble.
The village boys respected her. None dared be rude, all secretly hoping shed pick one of them someday. But Mary kept her distancepolite, but never encouraging.
Then, suddenly, the rumour spreadMick, the head farmers son, and Mary were seeing each other. Holding hands on evening walks, strolling home from school together. Mick was handsometall, broad-shouldered, more man than boy by then. Clever, too, like Mary. They had plenty to talk about.
The lads all looked up to himhe never drank with them, even when some of the older boys sneaked off with bottles. Mick and Mary were the perfect pairutterly smitten, inseparable.
«Two lovebirds, made for each other,» the village women whispered. «Wont be long till we hear wedding bells.»
But not everyone approved. Micks parentsSam and Anna, the wealthiest family in the villagewere dead against it.
«Listen, Anna,» Sam grumbled. «Whats that orphan girl thinking, setting her sights on our Mick? Pretty face, but no family, no prospects. Living off her brothers scraps!»
«I dont know, Sam. Our boys head over heelsout with her till all hours. And with no parents to keep an eye on her Though the women say shes decent.»
«Decent or not, I want our lad wed to a girl from a proper family. The head agronomists daughter over in Eastfieldnot a beauty, maybe, but their place is thriving. Thats the match we need.»
«But how do we even talk to Mick? He wont listenhes besotted. Well have to be clever about this.»
«Leave it to me,» Sam said darkly.
He tried reasoning with Mick first, calling him out to the garden bench.
«Dad, make it quickMarys waiting. Dont want her upset.»
«Upset?» Sam scoffed. «Listen, son. Drop this nonsense with that penniless girl. Ill find you a proper wife.»
«Marys the only one I want.»
«Defy me, and youll regret it.»
Realising his son was stubborn, Sam switched tactics. The next day, he paid Nickys wife, Sarah, a visit.
«Youve got that aunt up north, dont you? Clara?»
Sarah frowned. «Aye, in Yorkshire. Why?»
«Heres what youll do. Convince Nicky to send Mary packingoff to Claras. Ill make it worth your while.»
Money talked. Sarah persuaded Nicky, and soon Mary, weeping, was bundled onto a train with nothing but an address.
Mick was devastated. He barely spoke to his parents, enlisted soon after. Stationed in Yorkshire, he wrote home stifflystill angry.
Then, near the end of his service, a letter came: «Found a girl. Bringing her home.»
Sam grinned. «Told you hed forget that first fling.»
The whole village buzzed. When the taxi pulled up, everyone gathered. Out stepped Mick, tall in his uniform, thengaspsMary, radiant in white.
«Meet my wife,» Mick announced.
The crowd eruptedlaughter, cheers. «Thats love for you! Fate wont be denied.»
Sam and Anna had no choice but to welcome her. The wedding was joyousno hard feelings. They settled in their own cottage, raised two sons. In time, even Sam softened.
Years passed. Sam went first, then Anna. Mary, now a devoted daughter-in-law, nursed her till the end.
Now, sitting quietly after the funeral, Mary and Michael held each other. The grief would fade. Life went on.
