It was a different time.
Long, long ago, life was utterly unlike what it is now—especially in the countryside. There were rules, customs, signs, and ways of living that governed every breath. Parents decided the fates of their children—whom they pointed to or arranged a match with, that was whom their daughter or son would marry. Love between the young? No one cared for that. Their parents had lived the same way, and their grandparents before them.
Sophie grew up in a family of four children, the youngest of them all. By seventeen, she could manage a household with ease. That was the year she fell for Jack. He lived on the far side of the village but always seemed to linger near Sophie’s home. Their eyes would meet, and those silent glances spoke volumes.
Then came her father’s sharp remark.
“Sophie, tell me—why does that Jack fellow keep hanging about our house? What’s his business here when he lives clear across the village?” Her father, Samuel, fixed her with a hard stare. No matter how she tried to hide it, nothing escaped him.
“How should I know, Da?” she mumbled, staring at the floor, her heart pounding.
“How should you know? Thinking of marriage, are you? I’ll find you a husband—and not that layabout Jack. Him and his mother live in a crumbling cottage. That’s no match for my daughter,” Samuel declared.
He’d made up his mind—Sophie had to marry, and quickly, before she slipped beyond his control. He wouldn’t have her tied to Jack, whom he despised for reasons he couldn’t name.
“Margaret, has Sophie got a dowry put by?” he asked his wife.
Margaret’s eyes widened in alarm.
“Sam, why d’you ask? Well, there’s a bit set aside, but she’s still young. You’re not thinking of marrying her off already, are you? She’s our youngest—”
“Not too young. She’s near seventeen—high time she wed before she gets ideas. That Jack’s always lurking about. He’ll never be my son-in-law.”
Margaret’s fear deepened. Sophie had confided in secret—she fancied curly-haired Jack, and he fancied her.
“Mum, I can’t help it—when I see Jack, my heart races. I want to talk to him, but I’m scared. What if Da sees?”
“Oh, love, don’t even think it. You know your father. He won’t have Jack.”
Married to a Stranger
The day Sophie turned seventeen, suitors came knocking. It was Edward, whose parents lived just two doors down—well-off folk with a dairy cow and a horse. Three sons, and Edward was the youngest, unwed. He needed a wife.
She’d never liked him.
Edward had never stirred anything in Sophie. Freckled and ginger, always untidy, yet he’d pause by her gate, peering into the yard, hoping for a glimpse of the tall, pretty girl who hid whenever he passed. He was three years older. Even as children playing by the river, she’d avoided him. She’d always said she couldn’t stand red-haired lads. Once, when she was seven, he’d even saved her—dragged her from the river’s grip when the current swept her under.
“Don’t tell my dad or mum—they’ll never let me out again,” she’d begged, teeth chattering.
“Won’t say a word. Now get home,” Edward had muttered, nudging her along.
He never told. Her parents never knew their daughter had nearly drowned.
The evening before, Samuel had cornered Jack near their home.
“Stop skulking around. You’ll never wed my girl. Tomorrow, suitors come, and she’ll be promised. I don’t want to see you here again.”
Jack stared, uncertain if it was a bluff. But Samuel’s face was set. Without a word, Jack turned and trudged back to his side of the village. Heartbroken, he could do nothing. If her father had decided, that was that. Yet how he adored her—the way her cheeks flushed when their eyes met. But this was village law. No courting, no sweethearts. Only arrangements. Rarely did love have a say.
That night, as Sophie sipped her tea, Samuel fixed her with a look that made her shiver. She knew bad news was coming. Setting down his spoon, he spoke.
“Right. You and your mother—prepare for suitors tomorrow. Time you wed. Everything proper—new dress, ribbons in your hair. Understood?”
“Yes, Da,” she whispered. “Who’s the groom?”
“Edward. Hardworking lad. Their house is tidy, cow and horse in the yard. You’ll never go hungry. His mother’s gentle—you’ll get on. So what if he’s ginger? A man who works is what you need. Be ready.”
“Da, I don’t fancy him. I can’t abide redheads—”
“Quiet! Who asked you?”
Her mother soothed her through the night.
“Darling, it’s God’s will. What your father says, goes. You must accept it.”
“Mum, how can I live with a man I don’t love?”
“You just do. Haven’t I managed all these years?”
Fate Sealed
The next day, the suitors arrived, merry and bright. Edward shone like a polished kettle, dressed in new trousers and a pressed shirt, hair trimmed neat. For once, he looked almost handsome. Sophie emerged from behind the curtain in her new dress, fair hair braided with red satin bows. Head bowed, she felt Edward’s gaze—nervous, blushing. She stirred something in him.
“We’ve a buyer, you’ve goods to sell,” the matchmaker announced.
Samuel noted Edward’s nerves and smirked.
“Well then, here’s our goods.” All eyes turned to Sophie, who flushed deeper.
The betrothal was set. A modest wedding followed, and Sophie moved into Edward’s home. His parents treated her kindly—they’d long eyed her as their son’s bride, having settled it with her parents in secret.
No one asked how Sophie felt. Darkness weighed on her heart. She loved another yet belonged to Edward now. She prayed.
“Lord, help me accept this. Help me see Edward as my husband. Forgive me for loving another. I’ll forget Jack. Edward is my fate now.”
It was agony, but time dulled the pain. She forgot love existed—especially after bearing a son, ginger like his father. Yet she adored the boy, calling him her “sunbeam.” Edward, too, proved a good man—kind to her and the child, never cruel. Slowly, she saw the warmth in him. He no longer repelled her.
Jack married too—she learned it from Edward over supper, where village gossip always flowed. Sophie never left home; her parents visited, doting on their grandson. Margaret was relieved—her daughter was safe, even cherished.
“Love, I’m glad you’re happy,” she’d whisper. “You’re living blessed.”
Tragedy
Sophie bore three sons. Years passed. Then, at thirty-five, disaster struck. Edward and his father were haymaking when a storm rolled in. Lightning split the sky—striking the very stack they’d taken shelter under. Both men died instantly.
Grief hollowed out the house. Sophie and her mother-in-law clung to each other, raising the boys. But the older woman’s heart gave out within months.
“Lord, how will I manage alone?” Sophie wept.
“You’ve a good home,” Samuel said firmly. “A new master’ll come.”
“Da, I want no one. Edward was good to me.”
“Funny—you didn’t want him either. Yet you lived well, didn’t you?”
A Second Marriage—To a Boy
A year passed. Her parents helped, until Samuel announced:
“Found you a husband. Young, but no matter. You can’t stay alone at your age. You’ll meet him soon.”
Sophie had no say. Even Margaret was in the dark.
“Love, you know your father. We must trust his choice.”
A villager, Ephraim, offered his twenty-year-old son, Clive.
“Bit young, isn’t he?” Samuel frowned.
“Aye, but—well, there’s his fits. Epilepsy, since birth. Rare, but no young lass’ll have him. Your Sophie’s a widow with children—she won’t fuss. Who’d take her now? Clive can’t live alone. She’s kind—she’ll do right by him.”
Samuel agreed. Clive’s parents, ailing themselves, feared leaving him alone.
He brought the news to Sophie. Margaret already knew, uneasy.
“Sophie, listen—you’re to wed Clive from the lower lane.”
Her eyes widened.
“Da, he’s just a lad! How old is he?”
“Twenty-one. You’re not ancient. You need a man’s hands for the children. Who’d take on three? Clive
