Martha and her husband Michael came home from the funeral feeling weary and heartsore. Theyd just buried Michaels mother, AnnaMarthas mother-in-law.
“Well, at least shes at peace now, laid to rest beside Dad,” Michael murmured. “She kept talking about it, asking for it right till the end.”
“True,” Martha sighed. “Though she mustve known wed never bury her anywhere else. Still, it was all she could think about. Poor thingwhat an awful illness, cruel and drawn-out.”
The evening passed quietly, each lost in their own thoughts. Marthas mind wandered back to her past, especially the years before she married. There hadnt been much joy. Shed lost both parents youngtheyd died in her grandmothers house one night after her grandfathers funeral when the place caught fire. No one made it out.
Martha and her older brother, Nick, had stayed home that night. By morning, the news had shattered them. The villagers helped with the burials, whispering, “Old George took his wife and Marthas parents with him.”
Nick was seventeen, practically grown; Martha, just thirteen. They lived on alone in their little house. Nick worked the farm while Martha went to school. Fate had dealt her a rough handsometimes she still couldnt believe it.
Their village, Littlebrook, was tinyjust forty-two cottages. The school only went up to primary, so from Year Five, children walked three miles to the next village. In winter, theyd cut across the frozen river to save time. Years back, old Ned used to ferry the kids by horse-drawn cart on Mondays, and theyd board at the school until Saturday.
But the older lads often skipped the dormitory in autumn and spring. Mick, the chairmans son, was their ringleader.
“Right, ladsmeet by the benches after lessons if youre walking home today!”
Three miles wasnt far, and there was safety in numbers. Alone, the woods were daunting, but together, theyd laugh and tease, scribbling notes to the girls, arranging evening walks or Saturday dances at the village hall. By Monday, everyone knew whod walked whom home. Back then, the whole village turned out for a film nightrare as those were.
Martha attended that school too. As she grew, she turned headsdelicate, angelic, with a voice like honey. One glance from her could unsettle a lad for days. She was clever, kind, and lovelythe sort of girl who seemed too good to be true. Her only flaw? She was an orphan.
She lived with Nick, now married to a local girl, Lucy, with a baby son. Lucy resented her. Martha tried to please her, but no matter how she helped, she felt like a burden.
“Once I finish school, Ill leave here,” she vowed. “Train as a chef in town. Lucyll never accept meand why should she? Theyve their own family now.”
She never let Nick see how Lucy slighted her. The village boys respected her too much to tease her, though they all hoped shed pick one of them someday. But Martha kept them at arms lengthuntil whispers spread: Mick and Martha were sweethearts.
Hand in hand after school, strolling at duskthey made a striking pair. Mick was tall, broad-shouldered, more man than boy. Clever, too. The lads admired himhe never touched the drink, unlike some older boys on holiday.
“Two lovebirds, if ever I saw one,” the village women clucked. “Wont be long till we hear wedding bells!”
But Micks parents disapproved. His father, Simon, the village chairman, was well-offfirst to own a car, a sturdy farm, even a motorcycle Mick would ride.
“An orphan? With nothing to her name?” Simon scoffed to his wife, Annie. “Our boy could do better. The agronomists daughter over in Farfieldnow theres a match!”
Annie fretted. “Hes besotted, Simon. What if well, shes got no parents to keep an eye on things.”
“Leave it to me,” Simon said grimly.
He cornered Mick one evening. “Forget Martha. Ill find you a proper wifenot some penniless stray.”
Mick stood firm. “Im marrying Martha. Thats final.”
Simons jaw tightened. “Well see about that.”
Next day, he called on Lucy. “Youve an aunt up in Scotland, dont you? Old Flo?”
Lucy frowned. “Whats she to you?”
“Send Martha there. Ill make it worth your while.”
Money talked. Nick, easily led, packed Martha off to Flos with little fuss.
Heartbroken, Mick barely spoke to his parents before leaving for the armystationed, as luck would have it, in Scotland. Two years passed. Then came a letter: “Bringing my bride home.”
Simon grinned. “See? Over her already!”
The village buzzed. When the taxi pulled up, everyone gathered. Out stepped Mick in uniformand Martha, radiant in white.
The crowd gasped. Simon and Annie froze.
“Meet my wife,” Mick announced.
The villagers cheered. “True love wins out!”
The young couple forgave his parents. They married, raised two sons, and lived happily. Over time, Simon passed, then Annie, whom Martha nursed tenderlyfor shed become a true daughter to her.
Now, home after the funeral, Martha and Michael sat in quiet grief. Time would soften the pain. Life went on.
