Mary and her husband Michael returned from the funeral feeling weary and sorrowful. They had just buried Michaels mother, AnnaMarys mother-in-law.
“Well, at least shes at peace now, laid to rest beside Father,” Michael murmured. “Thats all she spoke about, all she asked for.”
“Yes,” Mary agreed quietly. “Though she knew we wouldnt bury her anywhere else, it was all she could think of. Poor thingsuch a cruel illness, slow and merciless.”
The evening passed in somber silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Marys mind drifted back to her youth, before marriage. There had been little joy in those days. She had lost both parents young, perishing in her grandmothers house after her grandfathers funeral. That night, the place had caught fire, trapping them inside.
Mary and her older brother Nick had been left at home. By morning, they were orphans. The villagers helped with the burials, whispering that old George had taken his wife and Marys parents with him to the grave.
Nick was nearly grown at seventeen, while Mary was just thirteen. They stayed in the family home, Nick working on the farm while Mary attended school. Fate had dealt her a harsh hand, and sometimes she could scarcely believe the twists her life had taken.
Their village was smalljust forty-two houses. The local school only went up to primary, so from Year 5, children had to walk three miles to the next village. In winter, they could cut across the frozen river to save time. Years ago, old Ned had driven them in his horse-drawn cart on Mondays, and theyd board at the school until Saturday.
But not all the older boys liked staying there, especially in autumn and spring. Mick, the chairmans son, was their ringleader.
“Anyone heading home today, meet by the benches after lessons. Well walk back together,” hed announce.
Three miles wasnt so bad in a group, though the woods were daunting alone. The lads were starting to take an interest in the girls, passing notes, arranging walks, and gathering at the village hall for dances on weekends. By Monday, everyone knew whod walked whom home and who fancied whom. Back then, village life was livelyif the cinema van came by, even the adults would turn up.
Mary had attended that school too. As she grew older, the whole village noticed her. She was beautiful, delicate as an angel, drawing attention from lads her age and older. A single glance from her could unsettle a boy for days; her soft voice lingered like a melody.
She was near perfectbright, kind, and lovely. The only mark against her was being an orphan, living under her brothers roof. Nick had married a local girl, Susan, and they had a son. Susan resented Mary, though Mary did her best to please her, helping wherever she could. Still, she felt like a burden.
“Ill leave for town after school,” she dreamed. “Train as a cook, get away. Susan wont rest till Im gone. Theyve their own family nowIm just in the way.”
She never complained to Nick, not wanting to cause strife.
The lads respected Mary too much to speak ill of her, though they all hoped she might one day choose one of them. But she kept her distance, reserved and cautious.
Then, suddenly, word spreadMick, the chairmans son, and Mary were courting. They walked hand in hand from school, strolled together in the evenings. Mick was handsome, broad-shouldered, more man than boy. Clever, too, like Marythey never ran out of things to say.
The other lads admired himhe never drank with them, though some older boys did on holidays. Mick and Mary made a striking pair, utterly smitten, inseparable.
“Two lovebirds, if ever I saw any,” the village women whispered. “Wont be long till wedding bells…”
But not everyone approved. Micks parents, especially his father, Sam, the wealthy farm chairman, objected. Sam had been the first in the village to own a car, his household prosperous, livestock filling the yard. When he learned of his sons attachment to an orphan girl, he was furious.
“Listen, Annie,” he told his wife. “Whats Mary thinking, setting her cap at our Mick? Pretty face, but no family, no prospects. Lives off her brother, and hes barely scraping by.”
“I dont know, Sam. The lads besottedout with her till all hours. And with no parents to keep her in check…”
“Ill have him wed to a girl from a good familythe head agronomists daughter over in Farthington. Not as pretty, but their place is thriving. Thats the match we need.”
“But how do we tell Mick? He wont listenhes head over heels.”
“Leave it to me,” Sam said darkly.
He tried reasoning with Mick first, calling him out to the garden bench.
“Son, forget Mary. Shes nobody. Ill find you a proper wife.”
“I want no one but her,” Mick shot back.
“Dont cross me,” Sam growled. “Ill break you of this.”
Realizing threats wouldnt work, Sam turned to cunning. The next day, he visited Nicks house, knowing hed be at work.
“Susan!” he called through the window.
Startled, Susan stepped out. “What brings you here, Mr. Wilson?”
“I hear youve an aunt up in Scotlandyour mothers elder sister?”
“Aye, Aunt Clara. But why?”
“Heres the thing. Youll send Mary packingoff to Claras. Ill make it worth your while.”
Susan hesitated, then understanding dawned. “Ah. You dont want her marrying Mick.”
“Keep her away, and hell forget her. Ive a better match in mind.”
Susan, ever practical, agreed. Nick, easily swayed, arranged it.
Mary wept as Nick took her to the station, thrusting a letter and address into her hand. Mick was devastated, withdrawing into silence. Even Annie began to regret Sams scheming.
When Mick was drafted, his letters home were terse. He served up north, near a small Scottish town. As his service neared its end, he wrote that hed found a girl and would bring her home.
“Prepare for a wedding,” he declared.
Sam crowed to Annie, “See? First love doesnt last. Well throw a grand do!”
The village buzzed with anticipation. When the taxi pulled up, neighbors crowded the Wilsons gate.
Out stepped Mick, taller now in uniform, helping a woman in a white dress descend. The crowd gaspedit was Mary, lovelier than ever, polished like a city girl.
Sam and Annie stood frozen.
“Meet my wife,” Mick announced, grinning. “This is final.”
The villagers cheered. “True love wins out!”
Defeated, the Wilsons ushered them inside for the feast. Mick and Mary forgave them, and the village celebrated a joyous wedding.
They built a happy life, raising two sons in their own cottage. Sam passed first; Annie, heartbroken, followed soon after. Mary tended her kindly, holding no grudges.
Now, sitting in the quiet house after the funeral, Mary and Michael mourned. Time would soften the grief. Life went on. If people are meant to be together, no trial can keep them apart.
