The Doll
In the village, life unfolds in plain sight. Little can be hidden there, at least not for long.
So it was with this familyeveryone knew their story. The couple had married by mutual choice, a fine pair, both sturdy and hardworking. Their well-kept home, which they had rebuilt themselves, and the tidy yard, where weeds had long been banished in favour of flowers that bloomed all summer, spoke of their diligence. The young wife was always kind to everyone, respected for never indulging in gossip. Her husband, on the other hand, was a quiet man. But silence comes in many forms. Some men are gentle, though reserved. This one had a hardness to him, even cruelty at times. It ran in his bloodhis father and grandfather had been the same. Yet his severity never touched his wife. He shouldered the hardest chores, drove willingly to town for her needs, and spared no expense. And he had one great virtue: he never joined the drinkers. The village men, fond of their ale, had tried to tempt him at first, but he would only say,
“Not for me.”
That was enough. He never raised a hand to his wife, either. Some of the women envied her openly. At first, she tried to counsel them, urging them not to endure beatings, but soon gave upthey wouldnt listen. They said she was just lucky. The bitterest among them, gnawed by jealousy, muttered that her fortune might not last. One day, they said, she too might flee to the hayloft to escape her husbands fists. She never answered such remarks. Her heart ached for the women who allowed their husbands to walk over them.
But even this family had its sorrow: four years of marriage, and still no child. Both were healthy, yet they remained just the two of them.
Then one day, a neighbour begged them to take a puppyher spaniel had birthed eight. Seven had found homes, leaving only the runt, a delicate but sweet little bitch.
“Take her,” the neighbour urged. “Youll fatten her up, train her well. A living little bell for your yard.”
To his wifes surpriseshe had been ready to take the pup at once but feared his refusalhe agreed. And so, they got Doll.
It was hard to say who doted on her morethe wife or the husband. He taught her commands, carried her into the shed when it rained, and, when Doll grew older, built her a kennel. Spacious, with a wooden floor. He trained her to sleep there, and she learned, though at night they let her roamshe always returned, knowing her place.
Then, first the wife, then the husband noticed: Doll was expecting.
That was when the husbands true nature flared. He grew furious with the dog. No, not furioushe hated her. He chained her up and snarled,
“Step one paw off this yard, and youll never come back.”
The day came when Doll birthed her litter in the kennelfour pups, born in the night. They heard nothing. Only in the morning, when he went to fetch her fresh water, did he see she was not alone. He stormed back inside.
“Dolls turned the yard into a kennel,” he told his wife. “Four of them, born last night.”
“Goodness!” she cried, delighted. “And not a sound! Let me see.”
“See them before I drown them,” he said.
She didnt believe him.
“Drown them? Tiny pups? What of Doll? How do you think shell feel, watching you kill her young? Do you think dogs lack a mothers heart? Let me ask aroundsomeone might want a dog”
But he was already outside. She followed. He hauled pails from the well, filling a tub with waterfive buckets worth. She crouched by the kennel, watching Doll curled around her four little ones, and tears came unbidden. She knew some did this with unwanted litters, but she had never witnessed such cruelty herself.
Knowing him, she knew arguing was futile. She went inside, shut the doors and windows so she wouldnt see or hear what came next.
Later, he came in.
“They felt nothing. Still blind. Buried them at the far end of the garden.”
She asked softly,
“And Doll? Does she know?”
“Didnt ask. Didnt consult her. Shouldnt have been roaming at night. Locked her in the kennel.”
“Listenshes howling.”
“Shell stop. Maybe shell learn not to stray.”
Something inside her broke then. True, in the village, litters were often culled. Not all did it, but many drowned kittens or pups. But why so cruelly?
That day, she barely spoke to him. He, too, kept to himself, muttering only,
“Sentimental nonsense. Wholl feed them? Clean up after them? Or does that not matter?”
Doll wept for days. Her eyes brimmed with tearsif anyone doubted dogs could cry, the wife knew better. She felt guilty. She noticed Doll often wandered to the far garden, sitting motionless in one spot. Then she understood: that was where he had buried her pups.
Twice more, Doll bore litters. Each met the same fate: the furious man filling the tub, drowning the blind pups, chaining Doll for weeks. She never grew accustomed to it. And the wife withdrew from himnot that she thought of leaving, but what had once bound them frayed, thread by thread.
The final straw was Dolls fourth litter. Her belly hung low; she could barely walk, waddling side to side. The pups would be many. Autumn had come, and Doll rarely left the kennelthe cold gnawed at her.
But she never froze to death. One morning, he took his shotgun, lifted Doll under his arm, and walked to the pond. There, he shot herdays, perhaps hours, from birthing again.
An old neighbour, the very one who had given them Doll, saw it happen. She stood frozen, tears tracing her wrinkled cheeks. When he passed her, she quavered,
“What have you done, lad? Taken livesnot just a dog and her litter, but a mother and her unborn. Do you not fear the Lord might do the same to your own?”
He glared but said nothing. Who was she to judge? Her own yard teemed with strays, yet she lived near starving. Comparing children to pupsnonsense. But her words lodged deep, festering.
At home, he meant to tell his wifechoosing his words carefully, knowing she would grievebut she met him with news:
“I think Im with child.”
Joy swallowed all else. Long-awaited, sudden, dazzling.
“Get ready,” he said. “Ill fetch the carwere going to the hospital.”
They drove to the clinic. For hours, she was examined, tests taken, a file opened. Five weeks along. When she emerged, fearing hed be cross at the wait, she found him patient, radiant. Boy or girl, it didnt matterit was theirs. He spoke more in those moments than shed heard in years.
Their lives brimmed with planscribs, toys, lists made. They itched to buy everything at once, but she remembered the old superstition: no purchases before the birth. To humour her, he agreed.
A month before the due date, she fell feverish. Then worsethe baby inside stopped moving. They drove to the hospital late that night. The doctor sent her to the delivery room. He waited in the corridor, time crawling, until a physician emerged, blunt as a blow:
“Your wife is safe. The child was stillborn.”
Blind with pain, he stumbled outside. Then, thinking of herher grief must dwarf hishe turned back, realising he hadnt even asked
“Was it a boy or a girl?”
A young nurse pitied him.
“The notes arent up yet. Ill check.”
She returned.
“A boy.”
He sat in
