Watch yourself, girl, the old matriarch snarled, eyeing Emmas trembling hands. If you drag that boy into the house, youll both be out the front door before you can even think of settling down. Weve already got enough shame in this household. The words landed like a hammer, and Emma felt the weight of generations pressing down on her.
Ever since she could remember, whispers about her mothers reckless past had haunted Emma. We lived five years with Mike, no children, and thenshe went off to a seaside resort and brought back trouble, Martha, the grandmother, would say, never caring for niceties or the truth. No argument about the fact that Mike had been away three years before Emma was born, traveling with Marthas own daughter Nadine, Emmas aunt, could soften the accusation. Emmas a wanderer, the old woman repeated, as if it were a verdict.
John, Emmas father, glowered at his wife like a wolf at a carcass. He had little choice but to listen to the endless tirades about how the new wife was spoiling his sons future. He had married early, taken over the farm, and felt bound to care for his aging parents. Their home was a sprawling old cottage in Yorkshire, and John, being the younger son, was expected to look after the family.
The mother, a thin, sour woman named Clara, despised Emmas mother-in-law, constantly finding fault in everything Emma did. Shes a useless load, she would hiss. Youve got to get rid of her, shes nothing but a curse. Yet, when her son clung to Emma, Clara would soften, whispering, I love you, dear, but youre a stubborn fool.
Emmas own mother, a bright, gentle soul called Lily, was the polar oppositesweet, beautiful, and beloved by everyone except the grim matriarch. Martha saw Lily as a wicked witch, a bawdy hag who sprayed poison like a wolf cub, and her heart fluttered with disgust whenever Lily entered the room.
One afternoon, Emmas little niece, Rose, bounded in, calling Martha Nanna. The old woman stared at her with cold, unloving eyes, as if the blood running through her veins were foreign. She didnt know how to seat the child or what to feed her.
Darling, would you like a cucumber? Martha asked.
No, its bitter, Rose muttered.
Fine, fine, Martha grumbled, Bitter it is, just like you, Emmalazy, idle, a blight on this family. She called out for a pot of stew, Molly, fetch the milk and the bread.
The bread is hard, Rose complained, pouting.
Hard, you say? Martha snapped. Your bread is as hard as a stone. Youll grow up to be no better than a rock if youre not careful. She chided Rose relentlessly, though the child merely shook her head, cheeks flushed with tears.
The house will belong to you, my only grandchild, Martha said at last, or shall I leave you a pauper without a roof? Let your parents sort it out, or youll have to fend for yourself. That was how Emmas life had beentold to endure, told to survive.
When Emma decided to leave for London to study, Martha handed her a handful of advice, bitter as the tea they shared. Emma thrived at university, her mind hungry for knowledge, her spirit buoyed by the bustling city, the crisp suits of gentlemen, and the elegant dresses of women. She wanted to show her mother the wonders of the world, but Martha and John barred her path, their grip like a constricting snake.
At the university hall, Emma befriended the warden, Mrs. Anne Andrews, who had a grown son working up north and two mischievous grandchildren. Anne invited Emma to tea, saying, Your mothers summoned to the parentteacher meeting. Itll be a good excuse to bring her here. The plan was set; a meeting would be the pretext to bring Emmas mother into the city.
John muttered his disapproval, and Martha sniped, Shes only flirting with boys, not studying. Emmas mother, fearful of being scolded, nevertheless felt a surge of pride as teachers praised her daughter. Emma, in turn, introduced her mother to Anne, and the two women quickly formed a bond over tea.
Dont be shy, Mrs. Clarke, were all friends here, Anne said, pouring the steaming brew.
All night they talked, the women spilling confidences. Ive spent my life as a servant, Anne confessed, and now I have no children of my own. I was always the fifth wheel, always the one left out. She sighed, I studied hard, earned top marks, dreamed of a life in the city, but fate had other plans. She looked at Emma, Thank you for bringing me here, for letting me see the world beyond this village.
Emma asked, What do you do, Anne?
Im an accountant now, keeping the books for the mill, Anne replied, smiling. You?
Im a nurse, Emma answered, feeling a flicker of hope. And I want to stay in the city.
Anne leaned forward, Then move, Emma. Dont wait for anyones permission.
The next month, a heated family meeting erupted. That boy, Mike, will bring nothing but trouble, Martha shouted, gesturing at Emmas husband. Hell drag her into the gutter.
Mike, a rough man with a temper, had already beaten his own mother, Mary, so badly that the village healer had to intervene. He stalked the house like a wolf, his eyes glinting with menace. Emma, trembling, saw the bruises on Marys arms, the fear in her eyes.
One night, Mike stormed in, fists flying, and Mary shrieked. The whole village heard the commotion; the constable was called, and a basket of pork and a ragged blanket were thrown in the doorway as a desperate plea for peace. Mary, bruised, clung to the hope of a better life for her granddaughter.
Emma gathered what little she could, wrote a statement, and fled the cottage. She ran to the nearest police station, her heart pounding like a drum. The officers, stunned by the scene, promised to protect her.
Emmas mother, Lily, stood at the edge of the road, tears streaming down her cheeks. Mama? she whispered, voice breaking.
Im here, child, Lily said, her hands trembling. Im so sorry. Well get through this together.
Anne arrived, offering a steady hand, Well find you a flat, a job at the factory. Youll be safe.
Soon, Emma found work as a clerk in a textile mill, a modest room in a womens hostel, and a new sense of purpose. She and Lily would stroll through the London streets each evening, the city lights flickering like distant stars.
Word of their escape reached Mikes relatives, who rushed to the cottage, faces twisted with fury. Martha, Im coming for you, Mike snarled, his breath reeking of cheap whisky. Youll pay for this.
Martha, her eyes cold, replied, Im not going anywhere with you, you wretched brute.
Mikes teeth clenched, his rage bubbling to the surface, but Martha stood firm, her old heart hardened by years of hardship. Leave us be, she spat, or Ill call the police myself.
The confrontation ended with Mike fleeing, his screams echoing through the night. The village, still reeling, whispered about the scandal, about the cursed Emma who dared to break free.
Emma, now living in a modest flat, watched the rain patter against the window, remembering the bitter words of her grandmother, the bruises on her mothers arms, and the promise shed made to herself: no longer would she be shackled by the past. The city breathed a new life into her, and as she stood on the balcony, the wind tugging at her hair, she whispered, Im finally home.
