Two wives
A barren wife, they say, isnt even a proper woman any more, just a halfwoman. Thats what my motherinlaw used to mutter, and I would sigh, a bitter smile tugging at my lips.
Dont mind her, she snapped, the halfdeaf Mrs. Sherry, leaning close enough for everyone to hear, God knows what Hes up to. Youre still too young to think of children; He sees the whole picture already.
But, Mrs. Sherry how can He see? Weve been married five years. I want a baby so badly, tears welled in Emilys eyes.
She rarely spoke of it aloud; most of the time she kept the ache locked inside. One day she returned to her hometown, ten miles away, to tend her mothers grave, and sat down with the old, halfdeaf neighbour for a chat.
Its a sad business, it is, the neighbour said, voice low, but were not the ones who find children; they find us. Be patient, love.
The village dogs barked, sparrows chattered. The familiar sounds of a bustling hamlet were gone; Littleford in North Yorkshire was practically a ghost, its crooked cottages leaning toward the river as if bowing one last time.
Emily headed back to her husband in the larger parish of Brockton, needing to leave Littleford before dark. Shed always feared the night forest and fields, a childs fright that never quite left her.
Six years earlier shed been left alone. Her father had died in the war; her mother passed when Emily was a babe. She found work as a milkmaid on the local coop farm.
When she met Charlie, it was June. It was Emilys seventeenth summer and her first on the farm. The journey was long, but she went gladly, even though her hands ached at first from the hard milking.
One morning a slanting rain caught her on the lane. The sky darkened, clouds rolled in, a low rumble echoed. Everything seemed to tilt to one side.
Emily ducked under a leanto by the woods edge, sat on the board, and twisted the wet strands of her hair, squeezing water from them. Through the angled sheets of rain she saw a darkhaired lad sprinting toward her, shirt stuck to his skin and trousers rolled up to his knees. He slipped under the leanto, spotted her and flashed a grin.
What a gift! Im Charlie, and you are?
Emilys heart hammered; the rain was a veil of darkness. She stayed silent, edging back on the board.
Thunder deafened you, or are you mute by nature? he joked.
Not mute. Im Emily.
Cold? Need a fire? he teased, keeping his distance, The rain has knocked us all down. From the coop I am.
He kept joking, then pressed her in a way that made Emilys skin crawl. Her blouse clung to her, and whether that excites him or merely his own awkwardness, she fled, feet splashing through the puddles, glancing back as the forest loomed grim and grey.
Later, Charlie, now a temporary herdsman, came back to the farm. Emily looked at him with a flicker of hurt, and he began to court her earnestly. That first meeting had left a mark.
She married Charlie with joy, though she could hardly imagine what awaited her in his household and in a foreign village. The motherinlaw turned out to be stern and frail. She gladly offloaded some chores onto Emily but kept a sharp eye on everything.
Life wasnt always sweet for Emily, but she was industrious, strongwilled. The motherinlaws rebukes nagged, though she understood she arrived emptyhanded, no dowry, an orphan.
After a while, the motherinlaw softened, seeing Emilys knack for the work. Years passed, but pregnancy never came.
Youre a barren witch, a halfwoman, whats the use of a house without grandchildren? the motherinlaw snapped one evening.
Emily wept into Charlies shoulder; he tried to defend her, while the motherinlaw grew angrier.
Emily kept visiting the village doctor herself, sneaking to the neighboring parish to see the vicar for herbal concoctions said to aid fertility.
Life trudged on. The Nix familys home wasnt rich, but after the war they managed. One dawn Charlie brought home half a sack of damp grain.
Oh, dear, dont let them see his mother muttered.
Were all pulling our weight, not just me. Calm down, mum Charlie tried to soothe her.
Emily begged Charlie not to get involved in shady deals, but he kept bringing odd scraps from the coop.
Nights grew restless for Emily; she would sit in the dark, knees drawn up, waiting for Charlie.
One rainy November day she set out to meet him. She grabbed a skirt, a coat, a pair of rubber boots, a canvas cloak, and stepped onto the porch. The wind howled through the open doors, cold raindrops lashing her face.
She walked toward the edge of the village, where the houses no longer glowed, even the dogs had hidden. Her old dog Baxter trailed behind, his tail wagging despite the chill. She paused at an old barn on the outskirts.
Beyond the barn lay only field and forest, the very night woods shed always dreaded. She decided to wait a while before turning back.
The rain hammered the soggy ground, sometimes gusty, sometimes steady. Then, through the drumming, a light, tinkling laughter floated to her. It came from the direction of the barn.
She listened and heard Charlies voice, then a second voice a womans. It was Katya, a girl from the neighbouring hamlet whod worked with Emily on the coop.
At first, Katya had been vivacious, talkative, dreaming of leaving the village for the city, searching for a rich, bald man to marry. Shed sung in the village hall:
Ill find a city life, a rich bloke, Ill never stay a farmhand!
Lately, her cheer had faded. Rumours swirled that she was angry at a married man, that jealousy had turned her sour. Emily had assumed Katya was aiming for the city, but the truth was far stranger.
The rain kept falling as Katyas bright laugh echoed, then she vanished, sprinting back toward the farm, slipping on the slick path, her coat snagging on a stone. She burst into the house, shaking off the mud, and began washing herself in the washbasin, shouting at her little dog Fenwick.
Whats left in this house is love and his love for me, she muttered, but the love felt empty. She could not bring herself to believe that Charlie had been unfaithful.
When Charlie entered the washroom later, she said nothing, choosing to wait until tomorrow.
At dawn, two constables and the coop chairman arrived. The motherinlaw clutched the chairmans lapel, sobbing, while the fatherinlaw stared silently at the strangers. Emily rushed to help her husband, lifting the grieving motherinlaw from the floor.
Fourteen villagers were taken to the coop office, where a truck later loaded them all and drove them away to the town for trial.
Emily glanced back and saw Katya standing beneath the birch trees, her face pale.
The arrest shook the whole hamlet, though no one spoke of it openly, staying hidden in their cottages.
The motherinlaw fell into a deep sorrow, the fatherinlaw grew feeble. Emily stopped sleeping for days.
She never resolved anything with Charlie; she was neither truly his wife nor his abandoned lover. Yet fear for her husband and pity for the old woman eclipsed any anger. Divorce was a whisper she never voiced.
Weeks later, Emily returned from the fields, milk pail in hand, and found Katya at the kitchen table, hands folded under a swollen belly. Beside her sat the grandparents, heads bowed.
Hello, Katya greeted, her voice oddly bright.
And you, dear, the motherinlaw replied, recalling Katyas city trips and her friends Olga and Nina, and the fatherinlaws brother, Vernon.
Emily set a bucket of milk on the fire, washed her hands, and listened.
Emily, the court gave ten years to our Charlie, can you imagine? the motherinlaw said, clutching a handkerchief to her eyes.
Emilys heart sank.
Ten? Katya echoed, her eyes wide. They said they were state prisoners, gave everyone a decade.
Lord! Emily whispered, disbelief heavy on her tongue.
The motherinlaw wept, and Emily tried to console her:
Mum, maybe theyll change their minds, maybe theyll let us back
Who will let us now? Youre a fool, Emily! The courts already decided. Katya snapped, certain of her words.
They talked more about the trial, then fell silent, only the ticking of the kettle breaking the hush.
Katya suddenly slammed her hand on the table, eyes flashing:
If the masters are silent, Ill speak: Colin was going to marry me. He wanted a divorce, but never got the chance. Ill have his child, and I wont raise it alone. My father wont let me back home; hes heard the rumours. I thought I could marry Colin, get forgiveness, but look where it ended So Im here, to mind your grandchild. I told Colin in the city hed be fine, he agreed. He never said a word about sending me away.
She stared at Emily, waiting for a reaction surprise, protest, tears. Emily sat calmly, hands resting on the skirt of a militarystyle dress, eyes fixed on the floor.
The motherinlaw could not hold back any longer.
Emily, this house is ours, we decide. The grandson will be here. As for Colin whats become of him? she sobbed, pulling her apron over her lap.
Let Katya stay, if thats the decision. At least the child will grow in this house.
Im fine with that, Emily replied, rising to strain the milk.
Katya and the fatherinlaw fetched their belongings. The motherinlaw fussed over Katya, asking where the baby would sleep.
Well need a corner for the child. Oh, the misery
Emily hauled a bundle of straw from the yard, spread it on the kitchen floor, and topped it with a handwoven blanket. It became a makeshift bed, much like Baxters old nest.
Days grew shorter and colder. The motherinlaw fell ill through the winter. Katya, despite her earlier sharpness, began to look after her, sometimes even defending her when Emilys temper flared.
Emily spent her days milking, staring out the small window at the white woods beyond the river, wondering about her fate. She could not return to her birthplace; the wind whistled through the old thatch, and the tenmile trek to the farm in the frost was impossible.
She often thought of her own mother, wondering what shed say now, seeing her daughter trapped between two women in one mans house.
Winter passed, and a baby boy arrived in January, a small spark of joy. The midwife brought him to the farm in a wooden pram; they named him Ethan.
Emily tried hard not to look at the child too much; it pained her that the baby wasnt hers, though she prayed and took remedies.
Her own motherinlaw kept reminding her, Hes all yours, Emily, and Emily would reply, He does look like.
Mostly, Katya tended to the boy, but Emily noticed the child seemed more interested in Katya than in his own motherinlaw.
The motherinlaw, though frail, still nagged, All for Colin, you hear?!
Emilys hopes of studying as a lab assistant in the nearby town faded; Colins tenyear sentence meant no future together.
At the farm, change arrived. Four new twobed houses were built in the village, and temporary milkmaids came from elsewhere, talkative and diligent. Weekends appeared for the first time. Emily befriended one of the newcomers, Vera.
Whats this about? Vera asked one Saturday, as Emily poured tea.
Emily recounted her tangled home life a wife, a lover, a child that wasnt hers and Veras eyes widened. Shed never heard of a husband and mistress sharing a roof.
You should leave, Vera advised.
I cant, Vera, I have nowhere else to go. The farm needs me Emily protested.
Ethan grew, crawling, then toddling, tugging at Emilys skirts, laughing, planting kisses on her cheeks. The little dog Baxter joined their games, and the boys squeals filled the cottage.
On May Day, Emily decided to bake pies. She scooped flour into a castiron pot, then returned to the cottage to knead the dough.
Katya prepared for a village dance, slipping on a string of white beads and hurrying off. The motherinlaw sat beside Emily, cradling Ethan.
Emily, I have something to tell you, she began, a note of worry in her voice, Katya plans to leave for the city. She wants to study and work there, but she also wants Ethan with her. She says she cant raise him here, and shed like us to look after him.
Emilys eyes widened.
So what now? she whispered.
Well have to decide. The boy is our grandchild, after all. And Katya isnt really his mother the motherinlaw muttered, wiping a tear.
Emily went out to tend the cows. The celebration felt hollow; she could not see how to bake pies when her mind was tangled in the storm of thoughts.
The pies turned out fine; Emily covered them with a tea towel and placed them on the iron. Katya returned, flushed and laughing, grabbing a slice.
Oh, lifes good, Emily! You shouldnt have missed this dance! Kat Kat shouted, biting into the pastry.
Emily watched her, feeling a strange mix of envy and resignation. She kept the farm running, pausing now and then to stare into the distance, wondering whether shed ever find her own peace.
The rain drummed on the roof that evening. Emily thought of the dark forest shed feared as a child now it seemed only a metaphor for the tangled life shed built.
She whispered to herself, No more, Mum. I wont endure this forever.
She slipped on her rubber boots, pulled her coat tighter, and stepped out into the damp lane, heading toward the railway station shed heard about from Vera. Shed heard they were looking for women to work as textile apprentices in Manchester, offering a small room and a wage.
She walked past the farm gate, the wind nipping at her cheeks. A horses hooves clattered on the cobblestones; a man in a sootcovered coat appeared, his face halfshadowed.
He took her battered bag, hoisted it onto a cart.
Ill take you there, no need to walk in the rain, he said gruffly.
Forgive me, Emily said, bowing her head as the cart rolled away.
He slipped two tenpound notes into her palm, Dont look back, he muttered, then vanished down the lane.
Emily watched his retreat, a mixture of relief and loss stirring within her. Shed made her choice.
At dawn, a train hissed into the station, its whistle echoing promises of a new start. Emily boarded, her heart beating with a cautious hope for the future shed finally dared to chase.
