"Are you going through with this marriage or not!"
Seeing the groom's party was about to arrive at the door any minute, Mr. Evans paced back and forth in the small room like a caged tiger.
"No! Why should I be traded away in marriage for my older brother?"
On the worn wooden bed sat a slender young man. He wore clothes so heavily patched you couldn't tell their original color. Arms crossed, he glared defiantly, showing no sign of compromise.
Beside him on the bed lay a brand-new set of clothes. It was the wedding suit sent by the groom's family, but the young man wouldn't even look at it.
"You ask me on what grounds?" Mr. Evans trembled with anger. He pointed a shaky finger at the young man and roared, "On the grounds that you're a reckless fool, always running off into the woods every few days! And every time you go, you get lost! Making the whole village search high and low for you after they've worked hard all day!"
Hearing his father's indignant accusation, the young mannered for a moment, then looked defiant, muttering in retort, "Well, they stopped looking for me eventually..."
"You have the nerve to bring that up! There are only thirty days in a month, and you manage to get lost twenty of them! Who has the time and energy to chase after you every day?"
Mr. Evans grew angrier as he spoke, veins bulging on his forehead, his eyes wide as if they might shoot fire.
"I was just idle, you know," the young man mumbled defensively, lowering his voice. "Thought I could find some mushrooms or wild game for the family, help put food on the table."
"Idle? Help put food on the table? Isn't there work to be done in our fields? Did you need to run up the hills and into those woods every day?" Mr. Evans demanded furiously.
"Well... wasn't it you who told me not to help in the fields?" the young man asked, looking up with a hint of hurt in his eyes.
"Why wouldn't I let you? Don't you know why? We let you help in the fields, and what happens? You either hit your own foot with the hoe or you twist your back. More importantly, every time you work in the fields for a day, you come home with a fever by nightfall. And if you spend one whole day out in the sun, you're sick in bed for the next three days straight! Medicine costs money, doesn't it? With you like this, how could we dare let you near the fields again!" At this, Mr. Evans stomped his foot in frustration, veins throbbing on his forehead.
Seeing things escalate, Mrs. Evans quickly stepped forward, gently patting her husband's back and coaxing softly, "Honey, don't be angry, calm down now~"
However, Mr. Evans was too furious to listen. He whirled around, directing his anger at his wife, "It's all your fault! You spoil him rotten! He's turned out like this because you've always been too easy on him!"
Faced with her husband's accusation, Mrs. Evans didn't argue. She just nodded placatingly, agreeing, "Yes, yes, it's all my fault, all my fault." She continued patting his shoulder, trying to calm him down.
"Hey, Dad! Blame me if you want, why drag Mom into it?" Ethan stood up from the bed indignantly, staring directly at his father.
Even though today was the day he was supposed to be part of the marriage exchange, he knew perfectly well that his mother would never have agreed to this arrangement willingly. But alas, as a woman in their household, her words carried little weight against his domineering father and stubborn-as-a-mule older brother. In the end, she could only helplessly give in.
"Mom~" Ethan hugged his frail mother tightly, his heart aching.
"Good boy~" Mrs. Evans hugged her younger son back, then urged her husband, "Honey, just say a little less, please."
"Mom's still the one who cares about me."
Just as Ethan thought his mother was on his side, she glanced out the window and changed the subject, "Look, the ox cart from the groom's party is already pulling into our yard. Ethan, dear, you should hurry and change into your new clothes. Don't be late."
"I won't! Mom, I don't want to get married!" Ethan shook his head vehemently, clinging tightly to his mother's arm, whining playfully like a spoiled child.
At this, Mrs. Evans's heart melted. She quickly agreed, "Alright, alright, don't change, don't change, we won't make you." As she spoke, she gently patted his hand as if comforting a wronged child. Then, she quickly turned and shot a warning glare at her husband, who was about to explode again, successfully silencing his impending shout.
"Ethan..." Mrs. Evans gazed at her son's handsome face, reaching out to stroke it gently. She murmured, "You look so much like him, really, so much like him! You look exactly like your uncle who died so young. Back then, your uncle was just as good-looking, just as handsome..."
"Mom, didn't Dad say I look most like you?" Ethan tilted his head, confused.
From behind him came his father's deep voice: "Fool, your mother and your uncle were fraternal twins."
Mrs. Evans sighed softly, wiping tears from the corner of her eye with her sleeve. She gazed lovingly at Ethan and said slowly, "Ethan, my biggest regret in life is that I never got to see your uncle dressed for his wedding..." Her voice choked slightly as she pleaded, "Ethan, please, take pity on your mother. Could you just put on this suit so I can see you in it, just once? It would fulfill this wish for me!"
Ethan couldn't stand seeing his mother cry. His heart softened instantly. Without hesitation, he slapped his chest and declared, "No problem, Mom! Don't worry, I'll put it on right now for you!"
With that, he snatched the wedding suit from the bed and ducked behind the shabby screen to change.
Concentrating on changing, Ethan didn't notice his parents exchange a silent, knowing glance understood only by them.
Then, Mrs. Evans tiptoed to the room door, pushed it open a crack, and whispered to the cousins waiting anxiously outside, "Ethan's changing inside. The time is almost here. When he comes out dressed, don't hesitate. Just tie him up, and then work together to carry him onto the ox cart waiting outside."
Carl frowned upon hearing this, looking troubled. He rubbed his nose, hesitated, then couldn't help but ask, "Mrs. Evans, do we really have to do this? Maybe... maybe we shouldn't tie him up? I'm afraid Ethan will feel terrible."
Hearing this, Mrs. Evans's expression hardened instantly. She shot him an annoyed glare and retorted, "Not tie him up? What if Ethan throws a stubborn fit later and jumps off the ox cart? If he accidentally breaks his leg, will you take responsibility for that?"