The news that Harold Whitcombe intended to marry off his only daughter sent ripples through the village. And no wonderthe bride was not just plain but outright homely, with a large nose, a crooked gait, and legs of uneven length. No suitors lined up for poor Evelyn. Even her routine walk to the shops and back was met with snickers that followed her like a shadow.
“Look at you, limping like Evelyn the Crooked,” scolded mothers if their children mimicked her uneven stride in play.
But Harold doted on his daughter. And since he was a man of meansbeing the village magistratehe promised a handsome dowry. Soon, whispers filled the lanes. For such a dowry, perhaps the girl was worth a second glance. She was hardworking, after all, and meek in temper.
Two suitors emerged: William and Peter. William, the schoolmasters son, was what they called “cultured,” though his family was far from wealthy. Still, he already owned a cottage on the village outskirts, ready to move into. His parents, too, were eager to align with Harolds family.
“William, prepare to wed,” his father announced bluntly. “Ive set my eye on Evelyn, Harolds girl. Shell make you the finest wife.”
“What? That crooked, homely thing? Id rather marry Marianne,” the reluctant groom-to-be scowled.
“No, son. Marry Evelyn. Their familys well-offjust think of the horses alone. Beauty fades, but wealth endures,” his father retorted.
The other suitor, Peter, was scarcely better off. Raised by an aging mother, he had no property to his name.
“Wheres your sense, Peter?” his mother fretted when he asked for his best clothes to be readied for courting. “Theyll laugh you out of the village. And the girls no beauty.”
“No beauty? Mother, her eyes are blue as cornflowers, and her braid burns like firelong and sharp. What do I care if she limps? Fetch my coat; were paying a call.”
With a sigh, his mother obliged. Her Peter, she supposed, had a heart large enough to see beyond the surface.
Harold, seasoned by years, was stunned to have two suitors. He knew his daughters looks were not for every man. After speaking with both families, he leaned toward William.
“But Father, I prefer Peter,” Evelyn murmured, eyes downcast. “We met by the lake bridgemy yoke broke, and he helped me. Hes kind, warm. William looks at me sly, cold.”
“Im not sure,” Harold said, shaking his greying head. “Peters never known comfortsudden wealth might spoil him. Williams the steadier choice. His familys respectable.”
Evelyn had no choice but to yield. Though her heart leaned to Peter, she dared not defy her father.
The wedding was swiftlest the groom rethink. Within a month, the couple settled into their cottage. Evelyn, despite her flaws, was industrious, and the household thrived under her hands. William, however, spent his days abed, lost in books. Raised among them, hed always been a reader.
“Tell me, Evelyn, have you read Austen? Or perhaps the Brontës?”
“How dull you are,” he lamented. “What is there even to discuss with you?”
“Whats to discuss? The pigsty needs mending, and the troughs too narrowthe swine spill their slops,” she countered.
“Always the same drivel,” William waved her off. “Pigs and fences. Your father gifted us horsestend them yourself.”
So it went. Evelyn labored from dawn to dusk, while William read and scorned her simplicity. Once, she appealed to his parents, but they merely shrugged.
“Let him read,” her mother-in-law said. “Women are strong; the work wont kill you. Or hell find a prettier wife.”
And he did. By dusk, he stole through the garden to Marianne, whose charms were no secret. Soon, the village buzzed with gossip. Before long, William made no effort to hide it.
“At least Marianne can hold a conversationunlike you. And youve failed even to give me an heir.”
That cut deepest. An heir was expectedby his parents, by him, by her. Yet no child came. Perhaps the ceaseless toil was to blameshe bore the weight of both mens and womens work.
More and more, she thought of Peter. What if shed followed her heart? A chance meeting with his mother stirred old feelings. The old woman confided that Peter, spurned, had left for the city, trained as a veterinarian, yet remained unwed.
“He was heartbroken, Evelyn. And Iforgive meI urged him toward Marianne. But I didnt know then what a good woman you were.”
Evelyn barely steadied herself on the slippery dock.
“Hes returning to the district,” his mother prattled on. “Promised to fix up the cottage.”
*If only I could see him, just once* Evelyn flushed at the thought. How could she, a married woman, entertain such notions?
Then life lurched forward. Marianne, swollen with Williams child, became the village spectacle. Evelyn hardly dared step outside under the pitying stares.
“Dont take it hard,” William shrugged. “A man needs heirs. Youve failed. Ive every right to send you back.”
“But Williamweve a home. Ill be shamed!”
“Not my concern. Pack your things.”
Choking back tears, Evelyn crept home at dusk. Harold was furious but helplessespecially when he found Marianne lounging in Evelyns place the next morning. Spitting in disgust, he left.
The village clucked, then forgot. Until Peter returned.
Clad in a city-mans overcoat and hat, he seemed from another world. His cane drew sneers”that fancy stick”but envy, too.
“Welcome home, Mother,” he said, embracing her.
“For good?” she asked, wiping joyful tears.
“For good. The districts opening a veterinary station. Ill build us a proper house.”
Respected as he was, Peter still worked with his hands. By day, villagers brought their livestock; by evening, he repaired roofs, fences, orchards.
“You need a good wife,” his mother fretted as he fitted a new door handle.
“City girls are hollowpretty, educated, but soulless. Nothing to say.”
She pursed her lips. “William Kemble threw out his wifesaid the same.”
“William? I thought his wife died.”
“Nothe schoolmasters son. Hes shacked up with Marianne now, her belly full. Harold took Evelyn backpoor crooked thing.”
Peter nearly dropped his hammer. “He cast her out?”
“Clean out. But Petershes barren! What use”
“Enough! If William doesnt want her, Ill wed her myself.”
“Have sense! She cant even”
But Peter was already striding to Harolds door.
This time, he was no penniless lad but a man of standing. And Evelyn, now a “spinster,” could voice her choice.
Harold, usually stern, nearly wept. “Peter I denied her once. Perhaps I ruined her life.”
“If Evelyn agrees, well wed by Saturday,” Peter said.
She stood in the doorway, trembling, then nodded furiously.
“Then its settled!” Harold clapped. “Fetch the elderberry wine!”
Soon, Evelyn was mistress of Peters home. The village muttered, then quietedwho would scorn the vet they relied on? Even Evelyns flaws faded from notice, especially when Peter gifted her spectacles and a fashionable hat. Soon, she was “Mrs. Whitcombe,” spoken with respect.
And thena miracle. Evelyn conceived. Not one child, but twins. Peter muttered scientific explanations, but she cared little. After years of hardship, shed found her happiness, however crooked the path.
