Chapter 5
After the betrothal with Tom was settled, Serena asked me more than once, "Dear, are you truly sure you want to marry him?"
I nodded with a smile. "Would I go back on my word now? He's already sent the betrothal gifts—am I to return them?"
She waved her hands quickly. "That's not what I meant. I'm only afraid you might regret it later."
I was puzzled. "Why would I regret it?"
She hesitated, then spoke haltingly, "Didn't you always want someone... more comely?"
I laughed lightly. "Tom is quite handsome too—well-featured, sturdy, and dependable."
Serena sighed softly and said no more.
I knew what she was thinking—she remembered how my heart once belonged to Vincent, and wondered how I could change my mind so completely.
If I were honest, even I couldn't fully explain the shift.
Perhaps I had finally accepted that Vincent meant what he said about us being "unsuited," that we were simply from different worlds.
Or maybe I had come to understand what Serena always tried to tell me—that steadiness mattered more than a pretty face.
And life had indeed grown easier since Tom started helping around the house.
He was stronger and quicker than I was; where I took two hours to grind wheat, he finished in less than one.
He also regularly brought fresh beef for Serena and me—enough that we'd both grown pleasantly fuller in recent weeks.
On the day of the formal betrothal offering, Tom arrived with a cart of gifts and half a side of prime beef.
Handing the meat to Serena, he spoke earnestly with a shy face, "You have my word—I'll take good care of Mary. She'll want for nothing."
Serena watched his sincere expression and found herself warming to him more by the minute.
She carried the beef into the kitchen, then turned to see Tom slipping a piece of honey candy into my mouth, his eyes tender.
Once betrothed, we soon set a wedding date.
It was then that I realized how elaborate a proper wedding could be.
All my past yearnings for Vincent had been one-sided fantasy—no betrothal, no real proposal, certainly no real wedding.
But with Tom, everything felt tangible and bright.
Our cottage was draped in ivy garlands and colorful ribbons for the occasion.
Even our old gray donkey wore a little wildflower above its ear.
Early on the wedding morning, Vera Wilson from the village came to help me dress.
She brushed out my hair, smoothed on a light vanilla balm, and placed over my head a white veil embroidered with daisies. Then she dusted my face with fine powder.
By the end, the scent of balm and powder had grown so thick I felt dizzy.
When Tom finally appeared at the door, I could barely breathe.
Having lost his parents young, Tom had no family to receive our respects.
Instead, he took my hand, and we walked through the village, accepting blessings from neighbors, before returning to my home.
As we bowed to Serena, I heard her voice quaver through my veil. "Good… very good. My heart is at peace."
After the ceremony, Vera led me into the freshly tidied cottage—Tom had arranged for it to be cleaned and had even added a new wooden cupboard.
He lingered outside to entertain the wedding guests, while I sat perched on the bed's edge, my veil draped over my face, waiting for him to come and lift it.
My eyelids grew heavy with waiting.
Then came footsteps outside, the door creaked open, and someone walked slowly toward me.
I couldn't see who it was since my back was to the door. Assuming it was Tom, I whispered urgently, "Tom, please take this veil off. It's so boring."
But the next moment, a clear, familiar voice shattered the quiet—a voice I never expected to hear again.
"Who are you calling?" Vincent demanded.