A Heartfelt Gift to Cherish.

They say that long ago, in the little hamlet of Willowbrook, there lived a woman named Catherine Whitmore, who was famed far and wide as the villages most striking lady. Though she laboured from dawn till dusk tending the fields, her herd of cattle, the garden, and looking after a brood of children she never lost her comeliness, even into her grey years. After decades of rustic toil she kept her standing, and her reputation did not wane.

In her youth Catherine was the talk of several neighbouring hamlets, admired for her rounded yet graceful figure, a thick braid of dark curls, bright green eyes that flickered at the corners, and naturally plump lips. Suitors from nearby villages swarmed around her; bold youths from even farther away tried to win her favour. Her parents, respectable yeomen, did not rush her into marriage. Instead they sent her to London to train as a schoolmistress, while each summer she returned to the family farm, pretending to weigh up a local fiancé.

One crisp autumn day she strolled the lane in a fresh dress, when a lad happened to appear as if by chance, trying to catch her eye as soon as she had tugged up her trousers and brushed soot from his nose. He flashed a brazen grin, winked, and blocked the path as if to say, Come to the village hall tonight, Catherine therell be dancing, and Ill escort you home. Youll be delighted. Catherine shook her head, sidestepped the wouldbe suitor, and later discussed the encounter with her mother over tea.

My dear, today the eldest son of the Selby family tried his luck again what a foolish boy! her mother sighed. Yesterday another clever fellow from the next parish arrived in Fathers old Ford, bragging that he was on good terms with the parish council and that soon hed be working under the councilmans patronage.

Mother, will there ever be a man who truly suits me? I shall finish my studies, and then I shall have to choose, Catherine replied, exasperated. All these lads are brash and emptyheaded, puffing themselves up as if they were heroes, while I am left to wonder if I should ever fall for their boldness.

Samuel Hargreaves, a lad a little older than Catherine, watched her from behind his modest gate. He never dared look directly at her, but he observed her passing each day, sighing quietly. At first he never imagined love, but one spring morning, when birds sang and blossoms burst forth, he saw Catherine walking like an otherworldly vision, radiant as sunrise. The sight knocked the wind out of him, and he resolved to win her favour at any cost. He went to her mother for counsel, fearing ridicule or dismissal.

Her mother regarded him thoughtfully, shook her head, and said, Son, look at yourself in the mirror and feel the coin in your pocket youre a good, kind fellow, but youre no prince from a fairy tale. Even if you were a dashing hero, she would not set her eyes on a pauper. Look at the other suitors that circle her.

Mother, I know my own worth. And if you were a young, pretty maiden yourself, which man would you choose? he asked.

She answered dryly, They never asked me; they chose a match for me through my fathers file. We lived well, Gods blessing upon us. If I could choose, Id be a daughter of the parish clerk and Id pick a man who gave me a gift of true worth not something that costs the price of three cows at the market, but a token sweet to the heart, priceless in a village shop.

What might that be, Mother? Samuel pressed.

Only Heaven knows, my boy! Where is my bucket? Ive babbled on enough listen, the cow is lowing in the stable.

Samuel remembered a secret conversation his mother had once had with his grandmother, a tale that still stirred his thoughts. Come here, child, and look at this, his mother said one day, producing two large bars of a deep, glossy soap her sister had brought from the city. See how beautiful it is! Smells like a meadow after rain. She handed him a piece, noting the inscription Domestic. Its not just any soap; its the sort they write Household upon. It will clean your plates, your laundry, even your floors. Its foam is as white as fresh snow, and its scent lingers like a gentle breeze. Take it to the bath, try it yourself.

Her mother lingered over the soap, inhaling its unusual, sweet fragrance, then wrapped the grey slab in an old newspaper and placed it on a shelf as if it were a treasure. She mused that perhaps, on the next washingday, she would test the miracle bar, using it sparingly lest the mice gnaw it away.

Alas, one cannot buy such a thing in any shop, Samuel muttered, watching his mother. He realized then that this was the very thing that could delight Catherines heart a rare domestic soap, unavailable even in the bustling market of London, and said to make a womans skin glow as if she were newly sprung from youth. It seemed the perfect gift for her.

Word spread through Willowbrook that many were baffled and amazed: why had such a beauty chosen Samuel Hargreaves, a man so plain that one could almost describe him as a speck of dust beside a shining star? He was shorter than her, thin, with a pallid, freckled face that villagers likened to a cow that had sneezed too hard. He was also poor; his father had died young, and his mother had raised three sons alone, scraping by like a church mouse.

Time moved on, and people eventually spoke of the Hargreaves household with a smile, envying their cheerfulness. The tale of their wedding was retold through generations, even to the very old.

I remember the day Samuel approached me all solemnly, as if bearing a banner on Red Square, Catherine recalled in her later years. He had never looked at me before, and among the boisterous suitors, he seemed a shadow. Yet he marched forward confidently, as if bearing a golden crown studded with emeralds, and placed in my hand that humble bar of Domestic soap.

She thought at first it was a jest, but the light in Samuels eyes told her he meant it truly. Take this, my dear, he said, it will keep your beauty safe for a lifetime, and should you wish, I will fetch another box for you.

Catherine turned the soap over, reading the label, and laughed despite herself, trying not to hurt his feelings. Then she reflected: all those suitors had boasted and fawned, yet none had considered what she truly desired. In Samuel she saw a good, cheerful, quickwitted spirit, and she decided life with him would never be dull.

She was not mistaken. Though the village had its trials, Catherine and Samuel lived together in harmony. He never shirked his duties; he tended the children while she managed the house, never refusing the work that many men would consider a womans labour. Their years were marked by mutual respect and mirth.

Neighbours sometimes marveled at how she kept her looks for so long, still catching the glances of passing men. Those who remembered the story would smile and say, She washes with household soap thats the secret!