**Diary Entry A Love Beyond Measure**
“Bloody hell, girl, its high time you married,” Mum said, eyeing my Alice. “Look at Simonbuilt like an ox, hands like hammers. Bends horseshoes without breaking a sweat. Hed carry you in his arms like a treasure.”
Alice burst out laughing. “Oh, sure, hed pick me up and bend me like a horseshoe by accident. Then Id spend my life nosing the dirt.”
“Dont be daft! Im serious, and youre giggling like a schoolgirl. Listen to your mother if you want happiness. I know who youre sweet on, but mark my wordsAndrewll make a poor husband,” she sighed.
Alice spun around. “Whats wrong with him? Hardworking! Their cottage is the tidiest in the village, all repairs done proper. Oursll be the same!”
Mum chuckled. “And who dyou think does all that? His elder brother, Greg. That lads got magic in his hands. Your Andrew cares more for his accordion and the nearest hayloftdragging silly girls like you in for a cuddle.”
“Mum, dont talk nonsense. Gregs disabledhead always tilted, hunched, one leg shorter. Hows he managing all that?” Alice demanded.
“Go see for yourself. Visit Aunt Lucy under the pretence of helping pick apples. Then youll understand,” Mum advised.
So Alice went. She found Andrew snoozing under the shed. She nudged him. “Thought you were fixing the roof with your dad today?”
He yawned. “Whatre you here forchecking up? I aint proposed yet. Too soon.”
“Fine, then. Ill help your mum with the apples. Join metheres loads.”
Andrew scoffed. “Not a chance. Id be the village jokeAndrew doing womens work? Off you pop.”
Hurt, Alice grabbed a basket. Yesterday, hed called her his love.
At Aunt Lucys, hammering echoed behind the house. “Whats Uncle Pete building?” Alice asked.
Lucy sighed. “Thats Greg. My Petes laid upwrenched his back lifting iron. Greg cant sit idle. Not like Andrew, whod rather loaf about. But we endure it. Gregll never marrywhod have him? Andrewll give us grandchildren. Go see Greg, but mindhes shy. Might bolt.”
Curious, Alice followed the sound. Greg sat whittling wood.
“Hello,” she said softly. “Show me?”
He startled but handed her a carvingher own face emerging from the wood.
“Is this me?”
Greg nodded, then tugged her behind the garden to a small shed. Inside, she found herselfsculpted in clay, carved in wood, even sketched on paper.
“Why?” she breathed.
His voice was rough. “Because youre beautiful. Not like me.” He turned away, shoulders shaking.
Alice touched his arm. “You love me?”
He met her eyessummer-blue, brimming with such devotion she fled in panic.
Back home, Greg wept at the table. “Why didnt you drown me at birth? Everyone loves Andrew. She ran from me. I wont bear it if she marries him. Ill end it.”
His mother stroked his hair. “Hush, my boy. Alice is kind, hardworking. Shell make someone happy. Andrew doesnt love herI feel it. And you? Fate finds us all.”
Meanwhile, Alice couldnt forget Gregs eyes. That love echoed in her heart. Strangest of allshe no longer saw his imperfections.
Days later, Andrew smirked at her. “Come to see me or Mum? Fancy more apple-picking?”
“No. I came for Greg. To apologise. You go onVeronicas waiting by the birch tree, isnt she?”
The village gossiped when beauty Alice married Greg. Some pitied, others whispered of love potions.
Only Mum knew the truth. Alice and Greg sat for hours, heads bent, laughing, lost in each other.
They wed quietlyno need for whispers over ale.
Andrew boasted to the girls, “Nearly proposed to her, I did. And she chose my crippled brother!”
Alice and Greg moved to the villages edge. He designed their home, building it with passion (though her father and his helped). A proper little manor, envy of all.
They blessed their parents with two grandsons and a granddaughter.
And Andrew? Still roamingno longer young, just drifting. Even chased married women once, earning him a tarring. He shrugged it off.
Alice and Greg thrived. A full home, love abundant.
When folk sneered, “God gave the beauty a broken man,” Alice laughed.
“In thirty years, Ill be just as bent! Look at youbacks aching, joints creaking. My Gregs only different on the outside. Inside, hes the finest man alive.”
And so he was.
**Lesson learnt:** True measure of a man lies not in his frame, but in the heart that loves.
