Free Tatterhood by Margrete Lamond Page B

about it right away because I’m not waiting any longer!’
    The father said that he’d tried every angle, hadn’t got anywhere and was, in fact, plumb out of ideas.
    â€˜You don’t know what she’s like,’ he said. ‘Headstrong as a mule.’
    â€˜And just as handy in front of a plough, too, I’ll bet,’ replied the squire.
    As it happened, the patch of dirt was playing hard on the farmer’s mind, helping him to think in ways he had never thought before.
    â€˜There might be a way around it, all the same,’ he said at last. ‘That is, if you’re not particular, and you’re willing to marry her, by hook or by crook.’
    Well, the only thing the squire cared about was getting the girl. As far as he was concerned, any idea was a fine idea, no matter how crafty, if it meant he got his way. So they put their heads together and the farmer told him his plan.
    It was such a good plan, the squire wished he’d thought of it himself, but he went away and did as he’d been told. First he set up a wedding, with priest, guests and food, and when all was assembled, he called for the stable boy.
    â€˜Get down to the neighbour,’ he said to the lad, ‘and tell him to send up what he promised. And you’d better be back with her, lickety-spank, or I’ll …’
    The boy streaked off – down the hill, past the girl picking peas in her father’s patch and into the farmer’s cottage.
    Pff
, thought the girl as she watched him pass,
another invitation from the squire, is it?
    Meanwhile, the boy told the farmer he’d come from the squire to fetch what was promised.
    â€˜Yes, yes,’ said the farmer, ‘go out to the pea-patch and take her with you, that’s where she is.’
    The boy rushed out to where the girl was picking peas.
    â€˜I’ve come to fetch what your pa promised the squire,’ said the boy. ‘It’s here in the pea-patch, he told me.’
    Ho ho!
thought the girl.
Trick me, would they!
while aloud she said, ‘Really? He must mean the little yellow mare, then. Go on and take her, she’s tethered on the other side of the field.’
    The boy untied the mare, leapt on her back and galloped back up the hill, while the girl chuckled and went on with her work.
    The boy ran in to the squire where he was waiting with the priest.
    â€˜Well! Did you bring her?’ the squire demanded.
    â€˜She’s standing down by the door,’ said the boy.
    â€˜Then take her up to the loft,’ said the squire, ‘zip snappy!’
    â€˜Up to the – ?
What
?’ said the boy.
    â€˜Do as I say!’ roared the squire. ‘And if you can’t manage alone, get the farmhands to help you.’ For he knew how mulish the girl was, and if she were being stubborn, it would take more than one lad to haul her up.
    The boy took one look at his master’s purple face and knew there was little point arguing, so he mustered the farmhands and they dragged the pony inside. Some pulled from the front, and some shoved from behind, and with much thundering, heaving and cursing, they got the mare into the loft where all the wedding finery was laid out, starched and bright.
    No sooner was the mare upstairs than the boy was back down again.
    â€˜I’ve done that, too,’ he told the squire, ‘but it was a struggle all right.’
    â€˜Yes, yes,’ blustered the squire. ‘I wouldn’t have made you do it for nothing. Now, send up the wenches, quick smart, and have her decorated as bride.’
    â€˜
Decorate
her! What … ?’
    â€˜None of your lip!’ roared the squire, beside himself with excitement. ‘I want her dressed, and dress her they shall! And don’t forget so much as a ribbon, or there’ll be …’
    The lad shot out to the bakehouse.
    â€˜Listen, girls,’ he said. ‘The squire wants you upstairs to decorate the