**Diary Entry 18th June**
“Bloody hell, girl, its about time you got married. Just look at youripe as a summer peach. Take a gander at Seraphim. Built like an ox, hands like hammers. Bends horseshoes without breaking a sweat. Hed carry you about like a princess,” my mother mused, eyeing my Margaret.
She burst out laughing. “Oh, aye, hed carry me, all rightthen bend me like a horseshoe. Id spend the rest of my life ploughing the dirt with my nose.”
“Dont be daft. Im serious! Youd do well to listen to your mother. I know who youre sweet onAndrew. But mark my words, hell make a rotten husband,” she sighed.
Margaret spun round. “Whats wrong with him? Hardworking! Their cottage is the neatest in the village. Everythings in order. Ours will be too!”
Now it was Mothers turn to laugh. “And who dyou think does all that? His elder brother Gregory. That ones got magic in his hands. Your Andrews only got eyes for his accordion and the nearest hayloftdragging you silly girls in one after another.”
“Mum, dont talk nonsense. Gregorys disabled. His heads always tilted, hunched over, one leg shorter. Hows he managing all that?” Margaret shot back.
“Well, pop round theirs in daylightpretend youre helping Aunt Lucy pick apples. Then youll see for yourself,” Mother advised.
So Margaret went. She found Andrew snoozing under the shed. She nudged him. “You said youd be up early fixing the roof with your dad. Too busy napping, eh?”
He groaned. “Whatre you here for, then? Checking up on me? I havent even asked you to marry me yet. Too soon for that.”
“Fine, too soon. Im just helping your mum with the apples. Join ustheres a mountain of em,” she offered.
Andrew scoffed. “Not likely. Let the lads see me doing womens work? You go onscurry back to Mum.” He rolled over.
Margarets cheeks burned. Just last night, hed called her his sweetheart. She grabbed a basket and marched off.
Picking apples, she heard hammering behind the cottage. “Whats Uncle Peter building? Thought everything was sound?”
Aunt Lucy sighed. “Thats not Peterits Gregory. My Peters laid up after lifting iron and throwing his back out. But Gregorys always mending something. Cant sit idleunlike Andrew, whod rather gad about. Still, we say nowt. Gregoryll never wedwhod have him? But Andrewll give us grandchildren. Thats how it is, love. Go see for yourself, but mindhes shy as a hare.”
Margaret crept round. There sat Gregory, whittling a block of wood.
“Hello,” she ventured. “Show me?” He flinched but didnt flee. Handed her the carvingher own face, unmistakable.
“Me?” she gasped. He nodded, then suddenly grabbed her wrist, tugging her past the garden. Her pulse racedscream or bolt?but then they were in a tiny shed.
There she was. Margaret. In clay, in wood, even sketched on scraps. “Why?” she whispered.
His voice cracked. “‘Cause youre bonny. And Im this.” He turned away, shoulders shaking. She tried to hug him
“Dont. You love me?” He lifted his head. His eyessummer-blueheld such devotion, it frightened her. She fled.
Back home, Gregory slumped at the table. “Whyd you birth me a cripple? Shouldve drowned me. Andrews lovedIm shunned. She ran from me. If she weds him, Ill hang myself.”
His mother wept, stroking his hair. “Hush! You think Id kill my own bairn? Margarets a good lassany mand be blessed. And Andrew doesnt love her. Heart knows. Yoursll comeyoull see.”
Yet Margaret couldnt forget Gregorys eyes. Such love! Strangest of allshed stopped seeing his crooked frame.
Later, Andrew swaggered up. “Come for me or Mum? Shes digging spudsfancy apple-picking?”
“No. Im visiting Gregory. To apologise. You run alongVeronicas waiting at the old birch, aye?” She left him gaping.
No one believed it when lovely Margaret wed Gregory. They whispered, pitied, even muttered about love potions. Only her mother knew the truth.
The pair sat for hours, heads bent, laughing softly. They married quietlyno need for gossiping guests.
Andrew bragged to the girls: “Nearly proposed to her myself! But she picked my broken brother.”
Margaret and Gregory moved to the village edge. He drew up plans, built their cottage with furious joy (though her dad and his lent hands). A proper little palace.
They blessed their parents with two grandsons and a granddaughter.
Andrew? Still gaddingbut no longer with young lasses. Hed slink to married women, earning himself beatings and tar. Shrugged it off, patched up, and carried on.
Margaret and Gregory thrived. A full house, envy-worthy. Snide folk muttered, “Poor lassGod gave her a faulty husband.”
Shed laugh. “In thirty years, Ill be just as bent! Look at yourselvesaching backs, creaky knees. My Gregorys the kindest, handsomest soul alive.”
And she meant it.
**Lesson:** The world sees the shell. Love sees the heart.
