Margaret never cared for her boys. She saw them as dull, uncouth, roughhanded and uncultured, just like their father.
Mum, whats for dinner? shouted older son George, his voice already deepening, a thin patch of hair sprouting on his chin. His hands, like his father’s, were long and lanky, ending in thick, clumsy fingers that could close into a solid fist.
Margaret knew George was already prowling after the village girls or rather the widows who had lost their husbands. They stared at the young men with a bold, almost teasing gaze, and the boys, brazen as they were, took the invitation.
One afternoon Margaret warned a girl called Daisy, Dont go near George. Hes still a child, barely fifteen. Daisy laughed loudly, a laugh that made Margarets stomach turn.
From that day on Margarets affection for George faded. He began to remind her of his father: crude, always smelling of bacon, garlic and homebrewed gin, with greasy hands reaching wherever they pleased.
She watched him try every older woman in the hamlet, and when she tried to marry him off, it was always by force. He cried, but nobody defended him; the old village matriarch, Mrs. Whitmore, was happy to see Margarets son settled somewhere.
Why are you fussing, child? the old woman would say, Look at Arthur handsome, every girl swoons, and he only needs a glance. You, you should be grateful.
No, I cant, sobbed young Margaret, Ill go to the town, find work in a factory, get an education, make something of myself.
Go to town? the elderly Mrs. Whitmore shrieked, You should have been married before you even thought of it! She struck Margaret hard, as if trying to drive the point home. Margaret thought, perhaps she had agreed to Arthur, but she knew nothing of it.
Mrs. Whitmore kept hammering at her with words, telling her that soon her belly would be higher than her nose a cruel warning that left Margaret terrified.
She had no choice but to accept Arthurs proposal. He was older, and when he brought Margaret into his home his mother first complained that shed picked the wrong daughterinlaw, then softened, even feeling sorry for Margaret when he tormented her at night.
The village boys fell like peas one after another, all of them boys. Margaret loved them fiercely, until they grew up and turned into men like Arthur. Then she became a harsh mother.
The war took Arthur, twisted him, spat him out alive, and many men never returned. Arthurs absence left a void, but the village survived. Three of Margarets sons went to the front; three returned, their eyes dark as berries, their faces lined with soot.
Margaret bore three more boys, never a daughter. Nothing could save her from the relentless darkness that followed her home at night, a shadow that would pinch, grab her side, or press against her chest.
She always delayed the moment she would join the boys in the bedroom, inventing chores and errands. When Arthur announced he was leaving for his new wife, widowed soldier Lucy, Margaret finally sighed in relief.
George fought with his father that night; Margaret bandaged his wound, then brushed his hair as she had done when he was a child. Let him go, son let him be, she whispered.
Mother, dont worry, well manage, George replied, his words stumbling. He was about to marry himself, and Margaret tried not to think of what he would do with the delicate, wideeyed girl he would choose, just as Arthur had.
All of them turned out the same, Margaret thought, shaking her head. Every little girl, every sweet child seemed a chance for nature to correct her mistakes, yet none turned out any different. She imagined a future where a soft chin and a bright sparkle would appear in her sons faces, and realized that was why she never truly loved them.
She blamed herself for being a bad mother, for never having a daughter, for raising only boys. At last, her youngest, a boy named Sam, finally married. He took a lovely girl named Lily to his home.
One afternoon Margaret watched Lily flit about the kitchen, thin and graceful as a vine, humming as she turned pancakes. Lily didnt hide, didnt shrink; she leaned against Sams chest like a calf against its mother, and he kissed her forehead gently, as if blessing a child.
Margaret began to watch her other sons, wondering if any of them behaved like Arthur, if they grabbed their wives or pulled them onto the bed at any convenient moment. None did.
God, no! she whispered, astonished that her boys had grown into decent men. Perhaps she had been blind all these years.
One morning George, now a grown man, entered the kitchen.
Everything alright, son? Margaret asked.
Yes, Mother, everythings fine. Anything wrong? Does the new daughterinlaw cause trouble? Theres room for her. Georges words were careful; he had always spoken slowly, his voice low since childhood.
Dont be shy, dear. If you need anything said Kat, Georges wife.
No, dear, everythings fine. I just came to check on you. Ive been missing you all, Margaret replied, feeling a sudden warmth.
Later, after she had visited each son, she trudged home, her feet heavy. She wondered whether she should have offered tea to each daughterinlaw, or if refusing would hurt them. She chided herself, Six daughters would have been nice, but Ive got six boys already, she muttered, halflaughing.
In the kitchen Lily was serving tea with scones. Margaret, feeling a sudden surge of affection, asked, Lily, could you give me a grandchild someday?
Ill try, Mum, Lily giggled, then proudly announced she had already borne two little girls, Olivia and Emily, the beloved grandchildren of the whole family.
Even though the grandchildren reminded Margaret of Arthurs rough ways, they were princesses in her eyes, the true rulers of her heart.
She promised herself never to let another generation fall into misery, to teach the girls and boys alike how to live, to protect them from ruin. She kept that promise; the grandchildren grew into accomplished women, always remembering their grandmother with kind words, always loving Margaret.
And Margaret finally understood that love was not about the gender of her children, but about the bond she chose to nurture. She had once thought she didnt love her sons, but in the end she realized she had loved them all along, and that love, when given freely, can heal even the deepest wounds.
