Once upon a time, in a quaint English village many moons ago, life followed a very different set of rules. Parents decided their children’s fates—whom they’d marry, where they’d live—and love rarely had a say in the matter. Generations lived this way, and young hearts had little choice but to obey.
Sophie, the youngest of four, was no exception. By seventeen, she could run a household with ease, but her heart had already been stolen—by Peter, a lad from the other end of the village. Their stolen glances spoke volumes, though neither dared say a word.
Her father, Samuel, was not easily fooled.
“Sophie, what’s that Peter boy doing lurking near our gate? His cottage is halfway across the village!” he demanded, his sharp eyes missing nothing.
“How should I know, Dad?” she mumbled, staring at her shoes, her heart hammering.
“Don’t play coy. Thinkin’ of marriage, are you? Well, I’ll find you a proper husband—not that layabout Peter. Living in a tumbledown cottage with his mother? No. You’ll do better.”
Samuel had made up his mind—Sophie would be wed soon, before Peter got any ideas.
“Mary,” he called to his wife, “has Sophie’s dowry been seen to?”
Mary paled. “Samuel, why d’you ask? She’s still young—our baby! Surely you’re not—”
“Seventeen’s plenty old enough,” he cut in. “Before she gets notions about that Peter lad.”
Mary bit her tongue. She’d been married off to Samuel without a word of protest herself. Fear, not love, kept her obedient.
Meanwhile, Sophie confided in her mother. “Mum, I can’t help it—when I see Peter, my heart races! But if Dad finds out…”
“Oh, love, don’t you dare. You know how he feels about Peter.”
### A Match Made by Decree
The moment Sophie turned seventeen, Samuel arranged her betrothal to John, the youngest son of a well-off family two doors down. They owned a cow and a horse—respectable folk.
Sophie had never liked John—his ruddy hair, his freckles, his clumsy ways. Even as children, she’d avoided him. Once, when she was seven, he’d pulled her from the river after a current swept her away.
“Don’t tell my parents!” she’d begged, teeth chattering. “They’ll never let me out again!”
John had kept his word. Her parents never knew how close she’d come to drowning.
The night before the betrothal, Samuel cornered Peter near their gate.
“Clear off. My daughter’s spoken for—suitors arrive tomorrow. If I catch you here again, you’ll regret it.”
Peter trudged away, heartbroken. He’d seen the fire in Sophie’s eyes—but tradition was tradition.
That evening, Samuel announced, “Sophie, tomorrow you meet your groom. John’s a hard worker—you’ll want for nothing. And don’t start with that ‘I hate redheads’ nonsense.”
Sophie’s protests died in her throat under her father’s glare.
### A Life Resigned
The betrothal went smoothly. John, scrubbed and beaming, could hardly look at Sophie without blushing. She stood stiffly in her new dress, ribbons in her plaits, her heart a lead weight.
The wedding was small. Sophie moved into John’s home, where his parents welcomed her warmly—they’d always fancied her for their son.
In secret, she prayed: “Lord, help me forget Peter. John is my fate now.”
And forget she did. Time softened her resentment. John proved kind, hardworking, and devoted. She bore him three sons, the eldest as ginger as his father, whom she adored. She even grew fond of John—his steady hands, his quiet strength.
Peter married too, though Sophie only heard of it in passing. Life settled.
### Lightning Strikes
Years later, tragedy struck. John and his father were caught in a storm while haymaking. Lightning struck their shelter—both were killed.
Grief swallowed the household. John’s mother followed soon after, her heart giving out.
Samuel and Mary tried to console Sophie. “You’ve a good home still,” he said. “We’ll find you another husband.”
Sophie shuddered. “John was good to me. I need no one else.”
Her father chuckled. “You didn’t want John either, yet look how well that turned out.”
### A Second Misfortune
A year passed before Samuel announced, “Sophie, I’ve found you a new husband. Young, but sturdy. You can’t manage alone.”
This time, it was Clive—twenty-one, with a troubling flaw. “Epilepsy,” Samuel admitted, “but rare fits. No young lass would take him, and a widow with children can’t be choosy.”
Sophie blanched. “He’s a boy!”
“Needs must,” Samuel said firmly.
Clive’s parents, ailing themselves, had pushed for the match—someone to care for their son.
### A Bitter Union
Life with Clive was wretched. He drank, brawled, and when sober, barely functioned. Another son was born, unwanted by Clive.
One night, after one beating too many, Sophie shoved him out and barred the door. He smashed the windows, screaming, “I’ll burn this house down!”
Samuel intervened, but Clive’s rages never ceased. Then, one drunken collapse in the yard was his last.
At his funeral, Sophie finally stood firm. “No more marriages, Dad. My children come first.”
Samuel, for once, relented.
### The Quiet Years
Sophie lived out her days alone, cherishing John’s memory while Clive’s faded. Her sons married—the youngest stayed with her, his kind wife a comfort.
Times had changed. Love, not duty, guided her children’s choices.
And Sophie? She’d learned to stand her ground at last.
