A Heartfelt Gift from the Soul.

29October2025

Today I found myself wandering through the memory of my childhood in Littleford, that tiny village tucked between the rolling hills of Yorkshire. I have always been known around these parts as a sturdy woman, the sort who never seemed to tire despite endless days under the sun, heavy chores, sleepless nights raised by a large family, a herd of cattle, and a garden that never stopped demanding attention. Even as the years have added silver to my hair, my face has kept its shape, and I have not let the hardships of village life diminish my spirit.

In my youth, I was something of a local celebrity, flattered by the attention of lads from neighbouring hamlets. My round, wholesome figure, the dark, wavy braid that fell over my shoulder, the bright green eyes that were ever so slightly askew, and my naturally full lips made me stand out in a place where plainness was the norm. Suitors came in drovesyoung men from the next village, daring youths from farther afieldall eager to win my favour. My parents, welltodo farmers, were not in a hurry to see me married; they sent me to York to become a schoolmistress, and every summer I returned to the family homestead, pretending to consider a local suitor while secretly dreaming of something else.

One bright morning I was strolling down the lane, when a lanky boy, freshoutofhistrousers and with soot still on his nose, tried to catch my eye. He flashed a brazen grin, winked, and blocked the path as if he owned the road.

Eleanor, come to the village hall tonight; therell be a dance, and Ill walk you home afterwards. Youll be delighted, he called.

I shook my head and slipped past him, later confiding in Mother about yet another bold admirer.

Today the eldest son of the Selwyns stuck close to me againsuch a simpleton! she laughed. And yesterday another clever fellow arrived in his father’s old Morris, bragging that hes friends with the parish council chairman and that hell soon be working for him.

Mother, will I ever meet a man who truly suits me? After my studies Ill have to choose, I sighed.

My dear, youre being naïve. Those lads are all emptyspoken pretenders, puffed up as if they were heroes. Youll have to decide for yourself when the time comes, she replied.

Thomas, a boy a little older than me, never once tried to win my hand directly. He would linger by the gate, watch me pass, and sigh quietly. At first I thought him too shy to speak of love, but one spring day, with birds singing and flowers blooming, I saw him suddenly animated, as if struck by a bolt of inspiration.

He decided that he must act, and went to Mother for advice, fearing that I might laugh him out of the room or send him away on the first coach. Mother looked at him, shook her head, and said:

Son, look at yourself in the mirror, feel the coins in your pocket. Youre a good, honest fellow, but youre not a princely knight. Even if you were strikingly handsome, a girl like Eleanor would not set her eyes on a poor lad when there are so many fine suitors around her.

I know my own worth, Thomas replied. If you were a young, beautiful girl, which man would you pick?

My parents chose my husband for me; we have a comfortable life, blessed by God, she said. If I could choose, I would pick a man who gave me a heartfelt gift, something not bought for three cows at the market, but a token that sweetens the soul.

Mother, what sort of gift? I asked, curious.

She chuckled, Only the heavens know, Thomas. Im rambling; listen, the cows are already mooing in the stable.

Thomas thought for a moment, recalling a secret conversation his mother had once had with my own grandmother. He went to Mother, who produced a small, neatly wrapped parcel.

Look here, daughter. A neighbour brought from the city two bars of a special soap, the finest they have. Its a marvelsmells like fresh hay after rain.

Its just soap, I said, halflaughing. Do they really wash everything with it? Household, linens, even the floors on special occasions?

Yes, Mother replied, unwrapping the grey bar and inhaling its gentle fragrance. Its as white as fresh snow, the cloths sparkle as if newly laundered. Take it, my dear, and try it in the bath. I think youll love it.

She wrapped the bar in an old newspaper and placed it on the shelf like a priceless treasure, believing wholeheartedly in her motherinlaws recommendation. She mused that she would try the soap on her next spa day, careful not to waste any, lest the mice nibble it away.

Alas, you cant buy such a thing in the shop, I muttered.

Thomas watched Mothers reverence and understood that this humble bar was the gift that could truly delight a hearta rarity even in the market towns, a soap that supposedly could restore youth and enhance beauty. He resolved to procure a whole box for me, to win my affection with something sincere.

Word spread through the village that I had chosen Thomas, an unremarkable, slight man, far shorter than me, with a pale, freckled face that people likened to a spotted cow. He was also poor, his father having died young, and his mother raising three boys alone. Yet despite the whispers, the community soon saw the happiness of our union and even envied the cheerfulness of our household.

Years have passed, and the story of our wedding still circulates among relatives and friends. I remember the moment Thomas approached me at the altar, solemn yet confident, as if he were carrying a banner on a grand parade. He presented the modest bar of Household soap, shining like a crown of emeralds, and declared:

Take this, my Eleanor, a gift from my heart. May it protect your beauty until old age, and if you wish, Ill bring you a whole crate of it.

I held the soap, its simple label almost comical, and felt a rush of amusement mixed with gratitude. All those men who had once tried to impress me with grand gestures had never thought to give a present that truly came from the soul. In that instant I saw Thomass naturekind, witty, genuinely caringand realised that life with him would never be dull.

We have had our share of arguments, as any couple does, but we have always looked after each other. He never shirks a chore; whether it is tending the children while I work in the garden or mending fences, he steps in without hesitation. Our marriage has endured, marked by mutual respect and affection.

Neighbors still marvel at how I have kept my good looks all these years, teasing that my secret is the household soap. Perhaps there is a grain of truth in that, but more than anything, I am grateful for a love that began with a modest bar of soap and grew into a lifelong partnership.

Eleanor Whitaker.