Oh, lass, its high time you wed. Just look at you, fair as a summers day. Take young Simon, for instancestrong as an ox, hands like sledgehammers. Bends horseshoes without breaking a sweat. Hed carry you in his arms, he would! mused Margaret, eyeing her daughter, Emily.
Emily burst into laughter. Oh, aye, hed pick me up and bend me like a horseshoe out of habit. Then Id spend the rest of my days ploughing the dirt with my nose!
Tsk, you daft girl. This is serious! You ought to listen to your mother if you want happiness. I know who youve set your heart on. But mark my words, Andrewll make a poor husband, Margaret sighed.
Emily spun round. Whats wrong with him? Hardworking, he is. Their cottage is the tidiest in the village, every shed in order. Oursll be the same!
Now it was Margarets turn to laugh. And who dyou think keeps it so? His elder brother, Gregory. That lads got magic in his hands. But your Andrew? All he cares for is his accordion and the nearest hayloft, where he sweet-talks the village lasses one after another.
Mum, dont talk nonsense. Gregorys crippled. His heads always tilted, hunched back, one leg shorter than the other. How dyou reckon he manages? Emily challenged.
Go to their place midday, like youre helping Aunt Louise pick apples. Then youll see for yourself, Margaret advised.
Emily obeyed. When she arrived, Andrew was napping under the awning. She nudged him. You said youd be mending the roof with your dad at dawn today.
He yawned. Whatre you doing here? Checking up on me? Ive not proposed yet. Too soon for that.
Fine, if its too soon. Im just helping your mum with the apples. Join ustheres a mountain of them, Emily offered.
Andrew scoffed. Not likely. Let the lads mock me? Look at Andy, doing womens work. Off you go, then.
Emilys heart stung. Just last night, hed held her, called her his love. She fetched a basket and headed to Aunt Louise.
As she picked apples, hammering echoed behind the house. Whats Uncle Peter building? Thought everything was fixed?
Aunt Louise sighed. Thats not Peterits Gregory. My Peters laid up, threw his back lifting iron. But Gregory? Cant sit idle. Not like Andrew, whod rather gad about. We say naught, though. Gregoryll never wedwhod have him? But Andrewll give us grandchildren. Thats how it is, dear. Go see for yourself, but mindhes shy as a hare.
Curious, Emily followed the sound. Gregory sat on a bench, whittling a block of wood.
Hullo. Can I see? Emily ventured. Gregory startled but stayed. He handed her the carvingher own face, unmistakable.
Is that me? she gasped. He nodded, then tugged her toward the garden. Fear flickered in her chest, but before she could protest, they stood in a tiny workshop.
Inside, she found herselfin clay, in wood, even sketched on parchment. Why? she whispered.
His voice rasped. Youre bonny. Not like me. He turned away, shoulders shaking. Emily reached to embrace him.
Whats this? Youre sweet on me? He lifted his face, and she saw his eyessummer-blue, brimming with love so fierce she fled.
Back home, Gregory wept. Whyd you birth me a cripple? Shouldve drowned me at birth. Andrews loved; Im shunned. She ran from me. I wont bear her marrying him. Ill end it
Hush! His mother clutched him. Never speak so. Emilys a good lassany mand be blessed to wed her. Andrew doesnt love her; I know it. Your timell come. Fate finds us all.
Meanwhile, Emily couldnt forget Gregorys eyes. Such devotion shed never known. Strangest of all? She scarcely noticed his limp, his stoop.
Days later, Andrew swaggered up. Come to see me or Mum? Fancy a stroll?
No. Im here for Gregory. To apologise. You run alongVeritys waiting by the oak, isnt she? She brushed past his gaping face.
The village buzzed. Lovely Emily, wedding Gregory? Some pitied her; others whispered of love potions.
Only Margaret understood. Her daughter was smitten. The pair sat for hours, heads bent, laughing, eyes alight.
They married quietlyno need for gossiping guests.
Andrew boasted to the lasses: Nearly proposed to her myself. But she chose my broken brother.
Emily and Gregory moved to the villages edge. He designed their cottage, building with fervour (though their fathers helped). The result? A home so fine it turned heads.
Three grandchildren later, their joy was plain.
And Andrew? Still rovingbut no longer among maids. Even wives company he sought, earning him thrashings and tar. Hed shrug it off, bruises fading, and wander on.
As for Emily and Gregory? Their home brimmed with love.
Envy bred whispers: God gave the beauty a crippled husband.
Emily would laugh: In thirty years, Ill be crooked too! Look at yourselvesaching backs, creaking knees. My Gregory? Only his shells bent. Inside, hes the kindest, finest man alive.
**Lesson:** True worth lies not in the straightness of ones spine, but in the richness of ones heart.
