A House on Foreign Soil: How Spiteful Envy Turned to Joy
“Right then, Elsie, this is where we’ll build our home,” Victor said firmly, wrapping an arm around his wife’s shoulders. “See, there’s even an old foundation left. I asked at the parish council—this land belongs to no one. You don’t mind us leaving the city for this little village, do you?”
“Vic, I’d follow you to the ends of the earth! I already love it here… Look—apple trees, raspberry bushes… It’s overgrown, but we’ll set it right. I’m just worried about Arthur, how he’ll take the change.”
“Who’s whispering about me now?” Their son chuckled as he walked closer. “It’s fine, Mum, Dad. We’ve talked about this a hundred times. Living off the land—it’s in our blood. We’ll build this house and stay forever.”
And so the three of them stood, gazing at the empty plot that would soon become their proper home…
First, they put up a makeshift shelter to keep out the rain and winter chill. Then they hired good hands and began construction. The work carried on until autumn.
Winter didn’t slow Victor. He carved wood, built furniture, fixed things for neighbors—every penny mattered. Arthur took work at the forestry, returning only once a fortnight, but even those rare visits brought joy. Elsie kept the house, filling it with warmth.
Three years later, the house stood complete. Victor, ever the craftsman, poured his soul into it—elegant carved staircases, a fence adorned with whimsical animals. It was a sight to behold.
“Well then, time for a housewarming!” Victor said proudly, eyeing his son. “High time you started a family, lad. These walls should ring with children’s laughter. What’s the point of such a grand place otherwise?”
“Dad, when it *clicks* here,” Arthur pressed a hand to his chest, “then I’ll marry. Not before.”
“Took me a while to choose your mother too,” Victor grinned. “But have a look at Katie, Tom Whitaker’s girl. She’s a good sort.”
Arthur nodded.
“I’ll look, Dad. If my heart says so, I won’t miss my chance.”
The housewarming brought the whole village—neighbors, coworkers, even the local council. Katie came too, dolled up in a trendy dress and heels, trailing after Arthur, chirping away. He smiled politely, but his eyes were cold.
She noticed. Stung, she stood abruptly at the height of the feast and sneered,
“You’re all celebrating, but this land isn’t yours! I dug through records—it still belongs to the Fairchilds! I wrote to them, told them everything! So brace yourselves—either share the house or tear it down!”
Silence fell. Only the clink of a dropped fork broke it.
Katie’s father, flushed with shame, stood. “Forgive us, good folk… Never thought my own daughter could be so spiteful. Up, Katie. We’re leaving. You’ve disgraced us.”
The party was ruined. Guests trickled away, leaving only Victor, Elsie, and Arthur in the hollow house.
“What now, Vic?” Elsie murmured.
“We wait, love. Maybe it’s not so bad. We’ve got our papers. Could be decent folk. If not—we’ll sort it.”
Weeks passed with no word from the Fairchilds. They almost forgot—until, the eve of New Year’s, a knock came.
Arthur opened the door. A young woman stood there—petite, clutching a suitcase, boots too thin for the cold.
“You’re here for us? Come in, you’ll freeze,” Arthur said, ushering her inside before she could speak.
She shed her coat, tugged off her hat… and he froze. His heart hammered as if whispering, *”There she is…”*
“What’s your name?” Elsie asked, setting out teacups.
“Hope. Hope Fairchild. A girl wrote to me, said this land was ours. So I came—to settle it properly, no quarrels. I don’t want it—I’ll sign it over. But your house… it’s lovely. I even have old photos of my great-granddad’s place here. Would you like to see?”
Victor sank into a chair. “Drink your tea, Hope. We’ll… figure it out.”
Arthur couldn’t look away. Hope felt his gaze, blushing, lashes lowered. Elsie watched them and smiled—a mother’s heart already knew: *there’s his happiness.*
That evening, they pored over faded black-and-white photos—one showed an old timber house where the same foundation once stood.
“It’s a miracle,” Victor whispered.
“No,” Hope said softly. “It was Grandad. He… decided it this way.”
Now laughter fills the house. Tiny feet patter across warm floors. Arthur and Hope welcomed twins. Victor and Elsie glow as doting grandparents. And Katie? She married off to the next county—rumor says she’s already divorced twice.
Sometimes Arthur holds Hope close, gazes into her eyes, and murmurs,
“I knew. Knew my heart wouldn’t lie… You’re mine. For always.”