Two wives
A barren womanshes not even a woman any more, only halfwoman, my motherinlaw mutters, her voice raw as she glares at me. Mabel sighs, a bitter smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
Dont listen to her, the halfdeaf old neighbour, Shirley, snaps, leaning in so hard her words crack. God knows what Hes doing. Youre too young to think about children; He already sees the whole picture.
Mabels eyes flood. But Shirley how can He see? Weve been here five years and Ive never I want a baby, she whispers, tears sliding down her cheeks.
She rarely spoke of it aloud; the ache lived secret in her heart. Now shes back in her native hamlet, ten miles from the place where her mother lies buried, sitting on the porch with the old, halfdeaf neighbour to share her thoughts.
Its a known sorrow, Shirley says, voice heavy. The world doesnt hand us children; they find us. Hold on, love.
Dogs bark, sparrows chirp. The usual village sounds have faded. Bramley, a tiny settlement in Yorkshire, is nearly a ghost, its crooked cottages sagging toward the River Edge as if bowing its last farewell.
Mabel turns homeward, toward her husbands farm in the larger village of Ashford. She must leave Bramley before nightfall; the dark woods and open fields have always terrified her, a childsized fright that never left.
Mabel was born here. Six years ago she was orphanedher father died after the war, her mother passed when she was a baby. She took a job milking cows for the local collective farm.
She met her future husband in June, the seventeenth summer of her life and her first on the farm. The walk was long, but she loved it, even as her hands ached from the endless milking.
One morning, a slanting rain fell on the path. The sky blackened, clouds rolled in, thunder growled low. Everything seemed tilted, leaning to one side.
Mabel darted under the little shelter at the edge of the woods, sat on the boards, and twisted the long black braids on her head, wringing the rain from them. Through the angled sheets of rain she saw a darkhaired lad in a checked shirt, trousers rolled to the knee, dashing toward her. He slipped under the awning, saw her, and grinned.
Now thats a gift! Im Nicholas, and who might you be?
Mabels heart hammered. Darkness swirled around the rain. She fell silent, edging back on the board.
Did the thunder knock the sense out of you? Or are you just mute by nature? he teased.
Not mute. Mabels my name, she replied, voice trembling.
Cold? Need a hand to warm you? he continued, keeping his distance, The rains hammered the whole field. Im from the local milk depot.
He joked a while longer, then his teasing turned to an unwanted pressure that made Mabels skin crawl. Her blouse stuck to her skinperhaps that excited him, or perhaps he was simply a boy with a ravenous lust. She bolted, sprinting through the rain, glancing back constantly.
The forest, heavy with low, brooding clouds, seemed a nightmare.
Later, Nicholas Nix came back as a temporary farmhand, a substitute. Mabel glared at him, but he soon began courting her seriously. That first encounter had left a mark.
She entered marriage with hope, though she could scarcely picture life with her husband in a foreign village. Her motherinlaw turned out to be stern and frail, dumping chores onto Mabel while watching every detail with a hawks eye.
Even when the load grew heavy, Mabel never gave up. She was diligent, toughskinned. Still, the motherinlaws rebukes cut deep. After all, Mabel had arrived as a penniless orphan with no dowry.
Months passed, and the motherinlaws temper softened when she saw Mabels competence. Yet the criticism did not cease entirely. A year went by, then another, and still no pregnancy.
Youre barren, you useless thing. A halfwomanwhats the point of this house without grandchildren? the motherinlaw snarled.
Mabel sobbed into Nicholass shoulder; he scolded his mother, who only grew angrier. He turned his gaze away from Mabel, only looking at her when she placed a bowl before him.
Mabel, however, clung to hope. She visited the village nurse herself, stole away to the neighboring parish for the vicars remedies, brewing potions that the old midwives swore could restore fertility.
Life trudged on. The Nix household was not destitute, though postwar times were lean. One early morning, Nicholas brought half a sack of damp grain.
Dont you dont let them get it, his mother hissed.
Its all of us pulling, not just me. Calm down, Mum, Nicholas tried to smooth things over. Mabel begged him not to involve himself in such trades, but he persisted, bringing scraps from the collective.
Sleep eluded Mabel. She sat upright in the dark, legs tucked under, waiting for her husband.
One night she decided to meet him. She felt for her nightdress, a warm sweater, and a pair of rubber boots hidden under the bed, grabbed Nicholass canvas coat, and stepped onto the porch. A sharp November wind slammed the open doors, rain lashing her face.
Where was he, hidden away in the storm?
Her shoes carried her to the edge of the village. The shutters were dark, the dogs huddled inside. Even Fido, the little terrier she adored, stayed tucked away. Mabel pressed forward, eyes scanning for any sign of Nicholas, until she reached an old barn at the villages rim.
Beyond lay only field and forestplaces that had always frightened her. She paused, deciding whether to wait or turn back.
The rain hammered the cold, damp earth, sometimes in gusty bursts, sometimes in a steady drumming. Through the clatter she heard a faint, lilting laugh. It came from inside the barn.
She strained to listen and recognised Nicholass voice at first, thensomething elseCatherines. Catherine, a girl from the neighbouring hamlet whod worked with her on the farm, was known for her bright chatter and dreams of city life.
In her youth Catherine had been boisterous, singing about leaving the village for the bustling streets of London, a big city lass seeking riches. Now, however, a shadow had settled over her; she no longer laughed as freely, and rumors swirled that shed married a man she didnt love.
Mabels heart pounded. She stepped toward the barn, but Catherines laughter turned sharp, and she fled, slipping on the slick ground, her skirt catching on a rough rope. She tumbled, landing in the mud, the fabric of her militarystyle coat getting tangled around her legs.
She scrambled back inside, stripped off the filthy coat, and began washing herself in the small washbasin, the water splashing loudly. Well wash this grime away, Fenwick, she muttered to the terrier, who wagged his tail uncertainly.
All that remained in the house was the love she thought she shared with Nicholas, and his love for her. Yet it seemed hollow now, as if she were listening to a love story through a wall of rain, never truly seeing it.
When Nicholas finally entered the washroom, she said nothing. She decided to wait until tomorrow.
At dawn, two constables and the collective farms chairman arrived. Mabels motherinlaw wept, clutching the chairmans lapel; the farms director stared coldly at the unexpected visitors. Mabel hurriedly gathered Nicholas, helped the trembling motherinlaw to her feet, and ushered everyone inside.
Fourteen villagers were rounded up, marched to the council hall, and later loaded into a truck that rumbled away to the towns courthouse. Mabel glanced back and saw Catherine standing beneath the birch trees, a silent witness.
The arrests shook the whole hamlet, though people whispered behind closed doors, fearing retribution. The motherinlaw collapsed into a deep, grieving sigh; the father grew gaunt, his eyes hollow. Mabel barely slept for days.
She never resolved things with Nicholasneither wife nor lover, just a shadow of a woman. Yet pity and fear for her husband eclipsed any lingering anger. She could not openly protest; a wife of a detained man would be shunned in other farms. Divorce was never spoken of.
Weeks later, Mabel returned from the fields, carrying a bucket of milk, when she opened her cottage door to find Catherine seated at the table, hands folded over a swollen belly. Beside her sat the elderly couple: her motherinlaw and fatherinlaw, heads bowed.
Good morning, Catherine sang cheerfully.
And to you as well, Mabel replied, wiping her hands on a cloth.
Mrs. Thompson, the motherinlaw began, Catherines been visiting the city, seeing our relativesOlivia, Nancy, even Uncle Victors son, Tommy. She gestured to the baby in Catherines lap.
Mabel set the milk kettle on the stove, washed her hands, and listened.
The court sentenced Nicholas to ten years, the motherinlaw whispered, handing Mabel a crumpled handkerchief, tears streaming down her cheeks. They called them state criminals. Everyone got ten years.
Mabels heart slammed against her ribs.
What? Ten? she gasped.
Catherine, steady as ever, answered, They said it was for for crimes against the state. All of us were swept up.
Mabel sank onto a wooden bench, overwhelmed.
Maybe theyll let us go, she muttered to herself, maybe theyll release us theyll scare us, then free us. She clutched the handkerchief tighter.
Theyll never free us, you fool! the motherinlaw snapped. Now its just a stepbystep process. The court is relentless. Catherine nodded, certain of her account.
They all lingered, listening to the old mans tea clinking softly from his cup.
Listen, Catherine slammed her palm on the table, startling everyone, if the owners stay silent, Ill say it: Colin was planning to marry me. He wanted a divorce from you, but never got the chance. So Im pregnant with his child. I wont raise it alone. My father wont let me return to the village with a child on the way. I thought wed marry, hed forgive us, but things turned out Thats why Im hereto look after his son for you. She turned to the motherinlaw, Your grandson will be raised here.
Mabel stared at the floor, hands resting on the worn skirt of her armyissue dress, silent.
At last the motherinlaw broke, Mabel, this is our house. We decide what happens. A grandson will be here. As for Colin what of him? Let Catherine stay; let the child grow in this home. You decide. She sobbed into her apron.
Mabel lifted her head, I dont mind, she said, beginning to strain milk from the churn.
Catherine and the old man gathered their things. The motherinlaw busied herself, muttering, Where shall the child sleep? On the floor? We need a corner for the baby. She sighed, Oh, misery.
Mabel fetched a bundle of straw from the yard, spread it on the kitchen floor, and laid a handstitched rag blanket over ither makeshift bed, similar to Fidos little nest in the loft.
Winter grew harsh, the motherinlaw fell ill, and Catherine, despite her earlier harshness, began to look after her, even defending Mabel when she seemed too strict. Lie down, love, or theyll keep beating you, she would say softly.
Mabel spent her days milking, staring out the small window at the white woods beyond the river, wondering if she could ever return to her birthplace. The wind howled through the thatch, and the long trek to the farm ten miles away felt impossible in the biting cold.
She often thought of her own mother, questioning what shed say now, seeing her daughter tangled in a scandal of two wives under one roof. Her mother had been a proud, independent womannothing like the helpless orphan Mabel had become.
Days slipped by, the only bright spot being the tiny baby boy born in January. The village midwife, Mrs. Grimes, delivered him, naming him Edward. Mabel tried to keep her distance from the child, feeling a pang of jealousy that the child was not hers, though she prayed and tended to him.
Everythings for Colin, isnt it, Mabel? the motherinlaw cooed, eyes misty.
Yes, hes similar, Mabel whispered.
Mostly, Catherine cared for Edward, but Mabel noticed the boy paid little attention to her, as if his future lay elsewhere.
Ill stay here, work the kitchen, maybe learn to be a lab technician in the town, Catherine sighed one evening. Colins ten years gonewhat now?
The farm saw changes. Four twobed houses were torn down and replaced with council flats, new milkmaids arrivedtalkative, from other counties, bringing weekends off. Mabel befriended Vera, one of the newcomers, during a rare day off.
Whats this about? Vera asked, eyes wide.
Mabel told her the storyhow a husband and his lover lived under one roof. Vera gasped. Leave, she urged.
Where would I go? Mabel retorted, The farm needs me. Edward, now toddling, clung to her, his chubby fingers grasping her hair, his giggles brightening the gloom. Fido barked happily, chasing after the boy.
May Day arrived. Mabel measured out flour, scooping four shovels into a copper pot, and began kneading dough. Catherine prepared for a village fête, slipping on a string of pearls and rushing out. The motherinlaw settled beside Mabel, cradling Edward.
Mabel, I have to tell you something, she began, voice wavering. Its as if youre a mother to the child, not Catherine. She paused, eyes flickering. Catherine wants to leave for the city, to study and work. She fears well be left with the boy to raise alone.
Mabels eyes widened. What?
The boy is her hope, her excuse. She wants the child to stay here, so the farm can survive, the motherinlaw whispered, a hint of spite in her tone. Shes not a mother, just a name.
Mabel kept kneading, her thoughts spiralling. What shall we do, Mum? the motherinlaw asked, her voice trembling with desperation. Well raise him, well keep the farm alive. Even if were not his real mother.
Mabel shrugged, Maybe its for the best. If God didnt give me children, perhaps this child will be ours. She looked at Edward, cradling him gently. And the wife? Shes not a burden: you cant just throw her away. The motherinlaw sniffed, Well see.
Later, as Mabel walked to the milking shed, the festive mood felt empty. She could not decide what to do; the world seemed foreign, even the scent of fresh pies failed to lift her spirits.
Vera watched her, concern etched on her face. Mabel, youre not yourself. Whats wrong?
Mabel forced a smile, Just the pies. Theyre done.
The pies cooled on the iron tray. Catherine returned, flushed and laughing, grabbing a slice. Mabel, lifes sweet! You missed the party!
Mabel lifted the cloth, revealing the steaming tarts. Im starving, Catherine said, biting into a piece.
Mabel kept the farm running, pausing now and then to stare out the small window, watching the grey sky and listening to the faint rain on the roof. The rain could not stop her. The forest shed feared since childhood seemed less ominous now.
In a quiet moment, Mabel whispered to herself, I wont endure this any longer. No more lies, no more hope thats gone.
She slipped on her rubber boots, pulled on a modest coat, and with a heavy sack of her belongings, left the cottage. The damp lane stretched before her, the field no longer a threat. She headed toward the railway station in York, where a school for textile apprentices offered rooms and a chance at a new life. Vera had mentioned it, and Mabel, though penniless, had enough courage to try.
The rain softened as she walked, and a horses hooves clattered in the distance. She entered the dark woods, where a lone farmer appeared, lantern in hand.
He took her sack, placed it on a cart. Ill haul you, why walk with such a load?
Forgive me, she said, bowing at the stations gate.
He handed her two tenpShe boarded the train to York, clutching the modest sack of hopes, as the distant whistle sang a promise of a new beginning.
