**The Village Intelligentsia**
“Tess, Tess, have you heard? A new maths teachers come to our village from the city. Barbara Simmons finally retired. Bless her, shed been pensioned off for ages, but there was no one else to teach the kids, so she kept going. Now this new chaps arrived,” babbled old Mrs. Wilkins, their neighbour, who always had the latest village gossip.
“No, I hadnt heard. Is he a man, then?”
“Thats right. And not some young lad, eitherthey say hes forty-six and single.”
“Really? That age and still alone?” Tess raised an eyebrow. “Maybe his wifes coming later or maybe not. City women dont fancy village life.”
“Well, never mind that. Plenty of our own single women here, arent there? Take our nurse, Sarahwidowed three years now, and a proper looker. Perfect match, if you ask meteacher and nurse”
Before the newcomer, Gregory Harris, had even met Sarah, the village had already decided theyd marry.
Weeks passed, but no wedding bells rang. No one even saw the teacher and nurse chatting much. Oh, theyd methard not to, in a village this sizebut that was it.
Gregory had moved into the old cottage built decades ago for teachers and medics. He was tall, pleasant-looking, and the kids adored him. His lessons were lively, full of jokes and clear explanations.
The ones who couldnt leave well enough alone were the old ladies who gathered on benches outside their homes, swapping theories. Two in particular took hold.
Mrs. Wilkins was sure Gregory was a widower. “Lost his wife in the city, poor soul,” she declared. “Came here to start fresh.”
Old Mrs. Archer, who knew everything (or pretended to), had a darker take. “More likely hes in some troubledebts or a scandal. Or tangled with some young girl, and his wife found out. Now hes hiding here till it blows over.”
Neither theory stuck, but the gossip spread. Sarah heard it allpatients couldnt resist hinting. At forty-one, with her daughter off at university and her husband gone three years (heart attack), Sarah wasnt interested. Gregory seemed decent, but their paths barely crossedschool at one end of the village, the clinic at the other.
“Sarah, the whole villages talking about you and that teacher,” chuckled Lydia, the elderly nurse. “Theyre already planning the wedding!”
“Oh, Ive heard,” Sarah sighed, scribbling notes. “What nonsense. Weve barely spoken. He seems nice enough, but so city-like. Fancy clothes, polished glasses, soft hands. Probably cant even hammer a nail. Ive met his sort beforeall charm, no substance.”
“But hes not exactly a lad,” Lydia pointed out.
“Exactly! You know what they say: Life begins at forty-fivefor men, it just means more time to chase skirts. Even when theyre old and grey, its all they think about.”
Lydia hummed. “Suppose if a mans alone at that age, theres a reason.”
“Precisely. Let them gossipIve no time for romance. If anything, Id want a proper family.”
Eventually, the talk died down. Gregory earned the villages respect, Sarah hers. Theyd nod in the shop, then go their separate ways.
Winter came, then New Years. By the time the kids returned from break, Gregory was just another villager. Then fresh gossip erupted: the council heads daughter had come back from the city, pregnant and unmarried. Now *that* kept tongues waggingin the shop, the clinic, even on snowy footpaths.
Village life rolled onquiet one day, buzzing the next. January was bitter, roads buried under drifts. Then, late in the month, Sarah was called to Mrs. Archers. The old woman lived across the village, so Sarah trudged through snow, exhausted.
Inside, she froze. Gregory stood there, waiting.
“Hello,” she said. “What are you doing here?”
“Hello,” he replied. “Brought young Tommy home from schoolhes poorly. His mums at work. Then Mrs. Archer took ill. Ive called an ambulance, but her face is all slack, speech slurred”
Sarahs stomach dropped. A stroke. “Good call, but how will the ambulance reach here? The roads are buried.”
Gregory frowned. “We cant carry her”
Then he spotted a wooden ladder in the yard. “Tommy, fetch some belts!”
Sarah blinked. “Whats your plan?”
“Well wrap her in a blanket, strap her to the ladder, and drag her to the clinic.”
And so they did, Gregory hauling while Sarah steadied. As they trudged, she asked, “Why *are* you single?”
He exhaled. “Wife left me seven years agoran off with some businessman. Money, see. Whats a teacher got? I volunteered to come here instead of some young chap whose wife was expecting. No regretsI like it here.”
At the clinic, as the ambulance took Mrs. Archer, Sarah studied Gregory. *A real man. Keeps his head, acts fast. Not some pampered city boy.*
That evening, villagers spotted Gregory walking Sarah homethough his place was the other way. Then again the next day. And the next.
“Sarah,” Lydia teased during a check-up, “whens the wedding?”
Sarah laughed. “Summer. Gregorys off then, and works quieter for me.”
Turns out, the gossip wasnt so far off after all. As they say, “Theres no smoke without fire. But sometimes, the fire takes a while to catch. By June, the cottage garden was blooming, and so was the rumourthis time, true. They married beneath the old oak by the schoolhouse, where children tossed wildflowers and even Mrs. Wilkins shed a tear. Sarah wore a simple dress, Gregory a suit with mud on his boots. It wasnt grand, but it was real. And when they danced, stiff at first then easy, the whole village knew: some stories arent made uptheyre just slow to begin.
