Two Wives: A Tale of Hearts Divided

Two wives

A barren woman is no longer even a woman, just halfawoman, my motherinlaw says, Mary sighs and forces a bitter smile.

Dont listen to her, snaps Shura, the halfdeaf neighbour, because God knows what Hes doing. Youre still too young to bear children; He already sees the whole picture.

But Shura how can He see? Weve been married five years. I want a baby so badly, Marys cheeks brim with tears.

She rarely speaks this aloud; she keeps the pain locked in her heart. Now she returns to her home village, ten miles away, to tend her mothers grave and sit with the old, halfdeaf neighbour for a chat.

Its a sad story, she says, but the sorrow belongs to us, not the children. Hold on, girl.

The remaining village dogs bark, sparrows chirp. The familiar sounds of the hamlet have all but vanished. Littleford in the county of Yorkshire is practically a ghost, its crooked cottages leaning toward the river as if offering a final bow.

Mary walks home to her husband in the larger village of Ilchester. She must leave Littleford before dawn. All her life she fears the night forest and the fields a childish terror that never quite dies.

Six years ago she loses everything. Her father dies after the war, her mother passes away early, and she ends up working as a milkmaid on the local cooperative farm.

She meets her future husband in June, the seventeenth summer of her life and her first season on the farm. The walk to the farm is far, but she enjoys it, even though her hands ache from the hard milking.

One rainy morning a slanting downpour catches her on the lane. The sky darkens, clouds roll in, and a low rumble shakes the air. Everything looks tilted, leaning to one side.

Mary darts under a shelter at the edge of the village near the woods. She sits on the bench, pulls her long dark braids over her shoulder, and squeezes the rain from them. Through the angled sheets of rain she spots a darkhaired boy in a checkered shirt and trousers rolled above the knee. He hurries under the shelter, sees her, and grins:

What a gift! Im Nicholas, and who might you be?

Marys heart thuds; darkness swirls around them. She stays silent, stepping back on the bench.

Did lightning strike you? Or are you just mute? he jokes.

Not mute. Im Mary.

Cold? Want some warmth? he teases, keeping his distance, The rain has knocked us both down. Im from MTS.

He keeps cracking jokes, then presses her so hard she feels terrified. Her blouse sticks to her skin does that excite him or is he simply overly eager? Mary darts into the rain, running as fast as she can, glancing back.

The forest under the heavy clouds feels terrifying.

Later, Nicholas Nikiforov arrives as a temporary herdsman. Mary looks at him with a flash of resentment, then his courtship begins in earnest. That first encounter clearly left a mark.

Mary dives into marriage with enthusiasm, though she cant imagine what awaits her in her husbands household and in a foreign village. Her motherinlaw proves stern and frail. She gladly shifts some chores onto the new bride but watches her every move closely.

Even when the workload is harsh, Mary never gives up. Shes diligent and tough, though her motherinlaws rebukes sting. After all, she arrived penniless, without a dowry, an orphan with nothing to her name.

Soon enough, the motherinlaw calms down, seeing Marys competence. Other criticisms fade; Mary no longer bears them. A year passes, then a second, but no pregnancy comes.

Youre a spoiled woman, they say. A barren woman is not even a woman, just halfawoman. How can this house survive without grandchildren?

Mary leans on Nicholass shoulder, he scolds her mother, who grows angrier. She sighs, remains silent, and only serves food when he asks.

Mary refuses to lose hope. She visits the local nurse herself, sneaks to the neighbouring parish to see the vicar, brews and drinks potions that the village midwives recommend for infertility.

Life goes on. The Nikiforov house is modest but not impoverished, even in the hard postwar years. One early morning Nicholas brings half a sack of freshly harvested grain.

Oh, Colin, dont spill it Mother shrieks, fearing theyll be caught.

Were all pulling together, Im not the only one, she replies, trying to calm her.

Mary worries and begs Nicholas not to involve himself in risky dealings, but he still drags home leftover farm waste.

Mary begins to lose sleep, sitting on the bed with the lamp off, legs tucked under, waiting for Nicholas.

One day she decides to meet him. She feels for her skirt, sweater, and woolen dress, finds a pair of high rubber boots under the bed, grabs her canvas coat, and steps out onto the porch. A sharp November wind slams the open doors, and large drops pepper her face.

Where could he be in such weather? She walks toward the edge of the hamlet, the windows dark, even the dogs have hidden. Her faithful terrier, Fenny, follows her closely. Mary scans ahead, searching for Nicholas, then stops by the old barn at the villages rim.

Beyond the barn lies only field. Mary has always feared the night field and woods. She decides to wait a while, then turn back.

Rain hammers the cold, damp earth, sometimes howling, sometimes steady. Through the drumming she hears a light, melodic laugh from the barn. She leans in and recognises Nicholass voice at first, then realises its a womans.

Its Katya, a girl from the neighbouring village who works with her on the cooperative farm. Katya used to be lively, cheeky, dreaming of leaving the countryside for the city, shouting:

Ill find a rich, bald lord in the city!

Now her spirit has dimmed; the farm women whisper that shes bitter because a married man rejected her.

Mary is sure Katya is after a city life, but she never imagined the man involved is Nicholas.

Rainwater rushes down the ditches, and a stunned Mary stands by the barn, listening to Katyas sudden, highpitched giggle. She rushes home, slipping on the slick path, her militarystyle coat tangled around her legs, and bursts into the washhouse, scrubbing furiously. She talks to Fenny as she works:

Lets get this filth out, Fenny.

Everything in the house is loveher love and his lovebut now that love feels absent. She cant see the picture of their affection, only hear it in the rains roar, and she refuses to believe Nicholas could be unfaithful.

When Nicholas finally appears in the washroom, she says nothing, choosing to wait until tomorrow.

At dawn two police officers and the cooperatives chairman arrive. Marys mother weeps, clutching the chairmans coat. The fatherinlaw silently watches the strangers. Mary bustles, helping her husband, lifting her motherinlaw from the floor.

Fourteen villagers are rounded up and taken to the council hall. A crowd gathers until lunchtime, passing sacks and barrels. A truck arrives, loading the detainees into its bed and driving them to the town for trial.

Mary looks up; Katya stands under the birch trees a short distance away.

The arrest shakes the whole hamlet. People whisper behind closed doors. The motherinlaw sinks into grief, the fatherinlaw weakens further. Mary hasnt slept for days.

She never resolves things with Nicholas; she remains neither fully wife nor completely abandoned. Yet pity and fear for her husband outweigh anger and jealousy. She cant openly protest; a wife of an arrested man receives no sympathy in other farms. Divorce is never spoken of.

A few days later, Mary, exhausted, returns from the farm with a pail of milk. She opens the door and finds Katya seated at the table, hands folded over a large swollen belly. Beside them sit her motherinlaw and fatherinlaw, eyes cast down. Katya looks straight at Mary, clicks her tongue, and the elders stay silent.

Hello, she greets.

And you stay well, replies Mary.

Mary, the motherinlaw says, Katya used to visit the city, saw Oliva and Nina, and their fathers brother Vasili, Olivas husband.

Mary places the milk bucket on the stove, washes her hands at the basin, and listens.

Mary, there was a trial. They gave Kolya ten years! Think about it, the motherinlaw says, pressing a handkerchief to her eyes and sobbing.

Mary collapses onto the bench.

Ten years? she gasps.

Katya answers, They called us state criminals, gave everyone ten years. They tried us all at once.

Lord! Mary whispers, stunned.

The motherinlaw weeps, and Mary tries to comfort her:

Mum, it cant be. Maybe theyll change their minds, maybe theyll release us theyll scare us then let us go, I hope.

Who will release them now? you fool, snaps the motherinlaw, its just the next step. The trial was a sham, she says, confident.

They linger, hearing the fatherinlaw sip tea from a tiny cup.

Katya slams her hand on the table, startling everyone, and declares:

Since the owners stay silent, Ill speak: Kolya intended to marry me. He wanted to divorce you, but didnt get the chance. So my baby is his. I wont raise him alone. My father wont let me return home with a child. I thought wed marry, hed forgive us, but look how it turned out. So Im here to ask you to look after my son. I spoke with Kolya in the city; hes fine with it. He even told Mary not to drive him away; theyll separate eventually.

Katya spews the story quickly, waiting for Marys reactionsurprise, protest, tearsbut Mary sits on the bench, hands folded on her militarystyle skirt, staring at the floor.

The motherinlaw cant hold back any longer.

Mary, this is our house, we decide. The grandson will be here. As for Kolya whats happening with him? she sniffles, Let Katya stay, thats our decision. Let the child grow in this house. You decide yourself, she says, wiping her cheeks on the apron.

Im not opposed, replies Mary, standing and straining the milk.

Katya and the fatherinlaw fetch their belongings. The motherinlaw begins to fuss, wondering where the child will sleep.

Mary brings a bundle of straw from the yard, spreads it on the floor by the stove, and layers a homemade woollen blanket over it now her makeshift bed, much like Fennys little corner.

Days grow shorter and colder. The motherinlaw falls ill through the winter. Katya, in her last days, becomes domineering, walking about on crutches. The farms burden falls squarely on Marys shoulders, and theres no escaping it.

Katya and the motherinlaw even become allies, sometimes defending Mary when the latters strictness hurts her.

Mary spends her days milking from dawn till dusk, glancing through the small kitchen window at the white woods across the river, wondering about her fate. She cant return to her native hamlet; the thatched cottages whistle in the wind, and the tenmile trek to work in the bitter cold is impossible.

She often remembers her own mother, imagining what shed say seeing her daughters disgrace: Two wives under one roof. Whos the true lady? Her mother was a proud, strong woman, never a slave.

Winter passes with fatigue and monotony. Only a baby born in January lifts the spirits a little.

In the fiercest frost, Katyas father brings the newborn from the maternity ward on a cart, a tiny boy named Ethan. Mary tries not to stare, her heart aching that she didnt bring the child herself, though she prays and seeks remedies.

The motherinlaw constantly reminds her:

All hes like is Kolya, Mary, she says, and Mary nods.

Mostly Katya cares for the boy, but Mary notices the child cares for Katya far less than for his own future.

The motherinlaw and fatherinlaw coo over Ethan; the motherinlaw sighs:

We cant have another child, can we?

Mary, exhausted, returns from the farm with a pail of milk, opens the door and sees Katya sitting at the table, hands folded over her round belly. The parents stare down, Katyas gaze meets Marys, and she clicks her tongue, the room falling silent.

Hello, Katya greets.