Two wives
A woman who cannot bear childrenshes not even a proper wife any more, just halfawoman, thats what my motherinlaw used to say, and I sighed, trying to hide the bitter smile.
Youll hear no more of it, she snapped, her voice sharp as a winter wind, pulling me by the arm. God knows what Hes doing. Its early for you to think about a baby; He sees the whole road ahead.
But Mrs. Shaw, how can He see? Weve been together five years. I long so badly for a child, I could feel the tears soaking my cheeks.
I rarely said that out loud; I kept the ache locked inside, whispering to my heart. Id come back to my home village, ten miles from the nearest town, to tend my mothers grave, and there I sat down with my old, halfdeaf neighbour, a lady named Ellen, to talk.
Its a sad business, I know, but were not the ones who find children; they find us. Be patient, love.
The village dogs barked, sparrows twittered. The familiar sounds of the hamlet were fading; Willowbrook, in the county of Northumberland, was practically dying, its crooked cottages leaning toward the river as though bowing their final farewell.
Mabel headed home to her husband, Nicholas Nixon, in the larger parish of Ilford. She had to leave Willowbrook before dark. All her life shed feared the night woods and the open fields a childs lingering terror.
Mabel was born here. Six years ago she was left completely alone. Her father died in the war, and her mother passed away when Mabel was still a babe. She took a job milking cows for the local cooperative.
It was June when she met Nicholas. That summer marked Mabels seventeenth year and her first season on the farm. The journey was long, but she ran eager to the fields, despite her hands aching from the hard milking.
One morning a slanting rain caught her on the path. The sky darkened, heavy clouds rolled in, and a low rumble cracked the air. Everything seemed to tilt sideways.
Mabel ducked under a leanto by the edge of the woods, sat on the boards, and twisted her long black braids, wringing the rain from them. Through the angled sheets of rain she saw a darkhaired lad in a checkered shirt, trousers rolled up to his knees. He slipped under the leanto, saw her and broke into a grin:
What a gift! Im Nicholas, and you are?
Mabels heart hammered; the world was a blur of rain. She stayed silent, edging back on the boards.
Did lightning strike you? Or are you just shy? he joked.
Not shy. My names Mabel.
Cold? Need a coat? he kept teasing, staying a respectful distance, Im from the MTS crew.
He laughed a while longer, then pressed close enough to make Mabels blouse cling to her skin. Whether it was the heat of his stare or his own ardour, she bolted into the rain, running as fast as she could, looking over her shoulder.
The woods, heavy with low hanging clouds, seemed terrifying.
Later, Nicholas returned as a temporary herdsman, covering a shift. Mabel glanced at him with a flash of annoyance, then he began courting her seriously. That first encounter left a mark.
When they married, Mabel dove into the new life with joy, though she could scarcely imagine what awaited her in her husbands house and the unfamiliar village. Her motherinlaw turned out to be stern and frail. She gladly dumped part of the burden onto her daughterinlaw, yet she watched every task with a hawks eye.
Even when life was hard, Mabel never lost her spirit. She was diligent, strongwilled, though the scoldings of her motherinlaw stung. After all, shed arrived emptyhanded, without a dowry, a true orphan.
In time, the motherinlaw softened, seeing Mabels competence. She stopped the sharp remarks, but the pressure never fully faded. A year passed, then another, and still no pregnancy.
Youre a useless, barren woman, not even a proper wife. Whats the point of this house without grandchildren? the motherinlaw hissed.
Mabel wept into Nicholass shoulder; he rebuked his mother, who grew angrier. The fatherinlaw kept his gaze low, only looking up when Mabel set a bowl before him.
Mabel, however, clung to hope. She visited the local midwife herself, slipped into the next village to see the parish vicar, and brewed herbal teas that the older women swore could cure childlessness.
Life trudged on. The Nixon household was modest but not destitute, despite the hard postwar years. One dawn Nicholas brought home a halfpound of damp grain.
Oh, Colin, stop that Dont let them see! his mother cried.
Were all pulling our weight, Mother, calm down
Mabel tried to dissuade Nicholas from taking risky side jobs, yet he persisted, dragging scraps from the cooperative onto their table.
She began to lose sleep, sitting on the bed with the lights off, legs tucked under, waiting for him.
One November evening she set out to meet him. She felt for her skirt, sweater, and a pair of rubber boots under the bed, grabbed his canvas coat, and stepped onto the porch. The biting wind slammed the open doors, and rain pummeled her face.
She wondered where he could be, so late in the storm. Her feet carried her to the edge of the village where the houses no longer burned, even the dogs were hidden. Her faithful dog, Fido, trailed close behind. She walked, eyes scanning the dark, and stopped by an old barn at the lanes end.
Beyond that lay only fields. Mabel had always dreaded night fields and woods. She thought of waiting a bit, then turning back.
The rain drummed on the cold ground, sometimes gusty, sometimes steady. Through the sound she heard a light, feminine laugh coming from the barn. She strained to hear, and recognized Nicholass voice at first, then realized it wasnt his at all.
It was Katherine, a girl from the neighbouring hamlet who worked with her on the dairy. Katherine had once been lively, cheeky, dreaming of leaving the village for the city, humming about a rich, bald gentleman shed marry. Lately, however, her spark had dimmed; the women on the farm whispered that shed been bruised by a jealous lover.
Mabel, certain of the citys allure, felt a cold knot form. The laugh grew louder, and Katherines voice, shaky but defiant, declared that shed bear a child with a man named Colin and would not raise him alone. Shed come to the Nixons to ask them to look after the baby.
Mabel stood frozen by the barn, her mind a whirl of grief and anger. She couldnt believe her husbands name was being spoken in such a way. The rain thinned, and the barn doors creaked as Katherine fled, slipping on the slick path, her skirts catching on a piece of old canvas.
She ran home, burst into the kitchen, and began scrubbing herself clean in the washbasin, shouting at Fido, Well wash this mud away, lad.
All that remained in the house were love and the memory of love, which now seemed hollow. Yet Mabel could not accept that shed been cheated. When Nicholas visited the washroom later, she said nothing, opting to wait until morning.
At dawn, two constables and the cooperatives chairman arrived. Mabels motherinlaw wailed, clutching the chairmans coat; the fatherinlaw escorted his son in silence, eyes narrowed at the uninvited guests. Mabel hurried, gathering Nicholas, lifting the trembling motherinlaw from the floor.
Fourteen villagers were taken away to the committee building. The crowd swarmed the walls until lunch, passing sacks and parcels. A lorry arrived at midday, loading the arrested men into its bed and hauling them off to the town for trial.
Mabel glanced back. Near the birches, Katherine stood, watching.
The arrest rattled the whole hamlet, though few dared speak of it, preferring to hide behind their cottages. The motherinlaw collapsed into her grief, the fatherinlaw grew gaunt, and Mabel found sleep elusive.
She never resolved anything with Nicholas; she was left neither a proper wife nor a castoff. Yet sympathy and fear for her husband outweighed anger and jealousy. She could not storm out; an arrested wife would not be welcomed in other farms. Divorce was never discussed.
A few days later, exhausted, Mabel returned from the dairy, carrying the milk owed, when she opened her front door and saw Katherine sitting at the table, hands folded over her swollen belly. Beside them sat the elderly couple, the motherinlaw staring, the fatherinlaw bowing his head.
Good day, Katherine sang cheerfully.
And you stay well, Mabel replied.
The motherinlaw, surprising herself, addressed Mabel warmly: Mabel, didnt you hear? Katherines been to the city, visited our friendsOlivia and Ninaher father and brother are there.
Mabel set the milk pail on the stove, washed her hands at the basin, and listened.
Mabel, the court gave Colin ten years! Think about it, the motherinlaw handed her a handkerchief, pressing it to her eyes.
Mabel slumped onto the bench.
Ten years? she gasped.
Yes, they called them state criminals, handed everyone a decade. The whole lot went on a list, Katherine added.
Lord! Mabel breathed, disbelief thick in her throat.
The motherinlaw wept, and Mabel tried to console her:
Mum, it cant be. Maybe theyll change their minds, maybe theyll let him out Fear will pass, and theyll free him, I hope.
Wholl free them now? Youre foolish, Mabel! the motherinlaw snapped. Itll be by stages. The courts are merciless.
They lingered over the details of the trial, while the fatherinlaw sipped tea from a tiny cup.
Listen! Katherine slammed her palm on the table, making everyone jump, If the owners stay silent, Ill say it: Colin planned to marry me and then divorce me, but never got the chance. Ill have a child with him, and I wont raise him alone. My father wont let me return to the village with a child; hes already heard the gossip. I thought wed marry, hed forgive us, but look how it turned out So Im here to ask you to look after his son. I spoke with Colin in the city, hes not opposed, he just told me not to drive Mabel away and that well separate later.
Katherine rattled off the story quickly, eyes fixed on Mabel, waiting for a reactionsurprise, protest, tears. Mabel sat by the stove, hands resting on a militarystyle skirt, silent, staring at the floor.
The motherinlaw burst out first.
This is our house, well decide. The grandchild will be here. As for Colin whats become of him? she sniffled. Let Katherine stay; well raise the child together.
Im fine with that, Mabel answered, standing and beginning to strain milk from the churn.
Katherine and the elderly man fetched some bedding.
Where shall we put the baby to sleep? In the loft? Hell need a corner. Oh, the misery the motherinlaw lamented.
Mabel brought a bundle of straw from the yard, spread it on the kitchen floor and layered a handwoven cover over it a makeshift bed, much like the one Fido used in his kennel.
Winter grew colder, the motherinlaw fell ill, and Katherine, in her final days, grew frail, often stumbling. The farms workload fell squarely on Mabels shoulders, and there was no escaping it.
At times Katherine even defended Mabel, saying, Lie down, dear, before they beat you again.
Mabel spent her days milking from dawn till dusk, glancing through a small window at the white woods across the river, pondering her fate. She could not return to her native hamlet; the wind howled through the thatch, and ten miles of frosty lane made commuting impossible.
She often thought of her mother, wondering what shed say now, seeing her daughters disgrace two wives under one roof, who would be the true mistress? Her mother had been a proud, resilient woman, never one to be pushed down.
Winter days passed in weary monotony, only a baby born in January brought a glimpse of joy.
When the harshest frost hit, the grandfather fetched the newborn boy from the hospital on a cart, naming him Edward.
Mabel tried her best not to dote on the child, her heart aching that she hadnt brought him into the house herself, though she prayed and tried every remedy.
The boy seemed to cling more to Katherine than to Mabel, and that hurt.
Hes all about Colin, Mabel, the motherinlaw reminded her, He looks just like him.
Yes, he does Mabel agreed, a faint smile.
Mostly Katherine cared for the boy, but Mabel saw that he worried her less than his own future.
What now? Stay here and rot in this farm? I wanted courses at the town centre to become a lab assistant. I wont wait ten years for Colin. I dont know what to do she confessed one evening.
Changes came to the farm. Four new twobed houses were built in the village, families moved in, and temporary milkmaids arrived, chatty and diligent. Weekends appeared for the first time. Mabel befriended one newcomer, Vera, and on a day off Vera asked,
Why do you stay?
Mabel told her about the chaotic household, the odd arrangement of wife and lover under one roof. Vera shook her head.
Leave, she advised.
Theres nowhere else to go, Vera, Mabel retorted. Who would run the farm without me?
Edward grew, toddling about, grabbing at Mabels hair, planting kisses on her cheek, laughing as he watched her bustle about. The old dog Fido, now grown, joined in their playful scuffles.
On May Day, Mabel set about making pies. She measured four heaping scoops of flour into a castiron pot, then returned to the cottage to knead the dough.
Katherine was getting ready to go to a village fête, slipping on a string of white beads. The motherinlaw sat beside Mabel, cradling Edward.
Mabel, I want to tell you something. Youre like a mother to this child, not Katherine, she began, her voice trembling. Katherine plans to leave for the city to study and work, but Edward still needs us.
How? Mabels eyes widened.
She hopes the city will give her a future, but she cant raise the boy alone. Well have to look after him.
Mabel continued kneading, her thoughts drifting.
What shall we do, Mabel? Vera asked, watching the dough rise.
Mabel shrugged.
Maybe its for the best. You didnt get children, so perhaps this little one will be yours in spirit. Colin will come back, and hell choose the one who raises his child, she said, gazing fondly at Edward perched on the grandfathers knee. And a wife isnt something you can just cast aside. Perhaps God turned it all this way. What do you think? the motherinlaw pressed her cheek against Mabels.
And as the rain finally eased, Mabel whispered a quiet promise to herself that she would forge a new path, wherever it might lead, for the sake of the child, the farm, and her own restless heart.
