Chapter 4

After Vincent left, the task of grinding wheat fell entirely on me, leaving the gray donkey with nothing to do but laze about in the shed.

That donkey had been bought especially for Vincent.

I had always been strong, able to turn the millstone for two hours without a break, so I never truly needed an animal's help.

Even before Vincent arrived, I'd ground all our wheat by hand.

Once he came, the millstone moved more slowly than a turtle crawling.

I offered more than once to take over, but he insisted on doing the work himself, mostly to avoid any expectation of marriage.

He thought too poorly of me.

Indeed, I genuinely wanted him to stay and wed me. But I was no villain taking advantage of his situation, no matter what Annabelle might have said.

Patience was my way; force never crossed my mind.

I couldn't bear to see his fine hands grow rough and calloused, so I spent my long-saved private coins on that gray donkey to ease his burden.

Now the creature had become completely useless.

Serena expected me to fall apart after Vincent's departure, but I didn't.

I worked just as diligently as before, even harder.

Where I once ground 1000 pounds of wheat by morning, I now finished 1500 pounds.

Watching me strain at the wooden millstone day after day, Serena shook her head with pity.

Over a meal, she passed me a slice of bread and said, "Don't you worry. I'll find you another handsome one, even better looking than that beanpole."

I took a bite of pickled vegetables. "I don't want handsome anymore, Mom."

Serena paused, her hand hovering over the dish. "What kind do you want, then? Whatever it is, I'll find him for you."

I tilted my head, thinking it over seriously. "A butcher. Then we could have meat every day."

That was a lie.

Wanting a butcher had nothing to do with meat.

A few days earlier, I'd gone to the village church school and asked one of the children studying there just how important a Royal Chief Scholar was.

The child told me it was a high official who stayed close to the king, earned by reading more books than anyone could count.

So Vincent, who'd read so much, must have been right—marrying a butcher really was the most fitting choice for me.

True to her efficient nature, Serena had the village matchmaker, Martha Wesley, at our door within two days.

Martha wore a bright, practiced smile and came straight to the point. "Mary, there's a butcher from the next village over—sturdy and honest. Would you like to meet him?"

I nodded without hesitation.

The very next afternoon, Martha brought the butcher to our home.

This was my first time alone with a man other than Vincent, and every part of me felt uneasy.

To my surprise, I recognized him.

*****

After Vincent came to us, we'd taken our wheat to sell at the town market.

Too proud for street hawking, Vincent preferred walking the extra miles to the market rather than pushing a cart through nearby villages.

Tom Butcher—I knew him from the stalls.

He always sold his beef right across from where we set up.

Vincent's aloof nature showed even in selling.

He disliked old women who picked through the grain and hated bargaining with hands-on-hips matrons, so we often still had wheat left when the sun began to set.

One rainy day, with quite a bit unsold, we hurried to move our sacks under the market's eaves, but much of the wheat got soaked.

That was when Tom stepped in to help.

Years of butchering had given him solid, capable muscles, and he made quick work of moving our sacks and tools to the dry shelter.

That day, I understood clearly what Serena had always said—a strong, dependable man made all the difference when trouble came.

Now, as I met Tom again, he was even more nervous than I was.

After seeing me, he seemed not to know what to do with his hands.

He clutched the mug I handed him, repeating quietly, "This water... it's really good."

I invited him to sit in the wooden chair by the table. Then he added, rather awkwardly, "This chair is very comfortable."

With just those few words exchanged, his clumsy earnestness made me laugh.

Seeing my smile, he scratched his head a little sheepishly and murmured, "I'm not much of a talker. You must be laughing at me."

I quickly waved my hand. "No, not at all. I wasn't laughing at you."

A silence fell between us, the air growing awkward.

After a long moment, Tom suddenly remembered something.

He reached into his coat and pulled out a small cloth bundle.

Placing it on the table, he slid it toward me, his voice hesitant.

"It's my first time visiting. I didn't know what you'd like, so I bought some honey candy. I see the girls in town always chewing it."

The candy was wrapped tightly in layers of waxed paper, a clear sign of his care.

I carefully unwrapped it and placed a piece in my mouth.

Sweetness instantly bloomed on my tongue.

Watching me taste his gift, Tom broke into a wide, simple grin, his eyes crinkling into narrow slits.

Seeing his honest warmth, I knew I shouldn't deceive him.

So I decided to be honest and told him the truth straight up.

"Before this, I had hoped to settle down with someone.

"You might have seen him in town—the man who sold wheat with me.

"He was a high official from the capital who had been wrongfully convicted. I paid his fine to bring him home.

"But he found me too coarse, unwilling to make a life together. A few days ago, after his name was cleared, he returned to the capital."

Most men would have shown disdain hearing such a story, but Tom only kept smiling warmly.

He waved his hand. "Doesn't matter, doesn't matter. He's gone, that's all. I'm here now."

A little puzzled, I pressed him. "You don't mind?"

Tom smiled shyly, the tips of his ears reddening, "As long as you don't mind that I'm rough around the edges."

We were chatting easily when Martha suddenly tapped on the window, urging, "Tom, it's getting late. We should head back."

Tom stood up, looking at me as if he wanted to say more.

But under Martha's repeated calls, he finally turned to leave.

Just as he was stepping through the doorway, I spoke up, "Tom, this candy is wonderful. Next time you visit, could you bring some more?"

His eyes, which had held a hint of disappointment, immediately brightened.

He nodded eagerly. "Yes, yes! I'll bring plenty next time!"

Perhaps too excited, he bumped against the doorframe on his way out, stumbling slightly.

Watching the way he kept glancing back, looking so good-natured and silly, I couldn't help but laugh out loud.