My mother, Margaret, never cared for her boys. She thought them slow, narrowminded, rude and uncouth, just like their father.
Mum, whats for dinner? shouted the eldest, Geoff, his voice already low and rough. A thin patch of hair was sprouting on his chin, and his hands, like his father’s, were long and wiry, ending in thick, calloused fingers that could clench into a solid fist.
Margaret knew full well that Geoff was already prowling around the village women, especially the lonely widows whod lost a husbands touch. They stared at the men and the lads with a brazen, inviting look, and Margaret scoffed, telling one of them, Daisy, that she was flirting with a childGeoff was barely fifteen. Daisy laughed loudly, her answer making Margarets stomach churn.
From that moment Margarets affection for Geoff vanished. He reminded her of his fatherboisterous, constantly drunk, smelling of bacon, garlic and cheap whisky, always thrusting his grubby hands wherever he pleased.
He ran after every older woman in the hamlet. When Margaret tried to arrange a marriage for him, it was forced. He wept and begged, but there was no one to stand up for him; the only old woman around, Mrs. Whitaker, was happy to see Margaret paired with anyone.
What are you doing, girl, tying yourself to a brute? the old crone would say, pointing at Peter, the blacksmiths son, who was tall and handsome. All the girls swoon over him, but yougo on, away with you.
I dont want this, sobbed young Margaret, Ill go to London, find work in a factory, get an education, make something of myself.
London, you say? shrieked the granny, You should have stayed under his roof when you were a babe! The old woman struck hard, both physically and with words, accusing Margaret of sin and promising that her belly would stick out sooner than she expected. Margaret understood that something was breaking inside her.
She had to leave Peters house. He was older, brought her into his home, and at first his mother grumbled that Margaret wasnt the right match. Eventually she gave in, feeling sorry for Margaret, especially when Peter tormented her at night.
She was chastised, called weak. One by one, the village boys fell for Margaret, each one a peasized drop of hope for her. She loved them fiercelyuntil they grew up and turned into men like Peter. Then she became a harsh mother.
War took Peter, twisted him, spat him out alive, and many men never returned. That left a void for Margaret. Three of her sons went off to fight; only a handful came back, gaunt, eyes bloodshot, wandering the village streets.
Margaret bore three more boys; not a single daughter. There was no escape from himhed appear out of nowhere, pinch, grab a waist, or press against her. She kept postponing his entry into her bedroom, always finding some excuse.
When Peter announced he was leaving for Lucy Barker, a widowed soldiers widow, Margaret finally exhaled. Geoff fought with his father that night, and Margaret, though trembling, bandaged Geoffs arm and stroked his head as she once did when he was a baby.
Let him go, my son let him be. No need for fuss, she whispered.
Mother, dont worry, well manage, Geoff replied hoarsely. He was about to marry, and Margaret tried not to think of what he might do with a fragile, bigeyed girljust as Peter had.
All of them turned out the same, Margaret muttered, shaking her head. She had hoped each boy might be different, might not end up like Peter. But the truth was clear: as soon as a boys voice deepened and a patch of hair appeared on his chin, the same darkness shone in his eyes.
Thats why she never loved her sons when they grew, why she felt a shameful mother. And when the boys wives gave birth, she hoped for at least one girl.
Her last child, young Sam, finally brought a daughter. He lingered long in courting, thinking another Sam might appear, but none did. The little girl was gorgeous, Lily, darting about the kitchen, thin and supple as a vine.
Whats that? Margaret asked, watching Lily tumble out of the bedroom. She clung to Sams chest like a calf to its mother, refusing to hide or shrink. He brushed her hair, kissed her forehead lightly, as a mother would a child.
From then on Margaret kept a watchful eye on all her sons, wondering if any behaved like Petergrabbing, pulling their wives onto the bed at any convenient moment.
No! she cried. God, no! She wondered if she had been blind all these years, never seeing the other boys turn into the same monsters.
It took her a lifetime to realize: her sons, her daughters, all of them.
One afternoon she visited her eldest, George.
Everything alright, son? she asked.
Alls well, Mum. Anything wrong? Is the new wife causing trouble? Theres room if you need it, George replied, his words still slow and careful, a habit from birth.
Mum, dont hold back if you need anything, said Kat, Georges wife.
No, my children, everythings fine. I just felt a little lonely, thats all. You, George, forgive your mother if anything comes up, she said.
Mum what is this? George asked.
I wasnt the best mother, she admitted.
Did you? Kat, say something, he urged.
Indeed, weve all had our share of bad mothers and mothersinlaw, but dont make a fuss. Lets have tea and a scone, Kat replied.
Having checked on all her boys, Margaret shuffled home, exhausted. She wondered how to deny a daughter a cup of tea or a sons complaint without hurting them.
She scolded herself, Youve already got six daughters, why not more? She considered perhaps she wasnt such a bad mother after all.
Inside, Lily was flipping pancakes. Margarets eyes widenedhow could she refuse?
The pancakes are lovely, she sighed.
Lily, could you perhaps give me a granddaughter? she asked hopeful.
Ill try, Mum, Lily giggled, then held back a smile. Shed already given birth to two girls, Olivia and Juliagrandchildren the old woman adored, precious little darlings that filled her heart.
Even though her grandchildren resembled the rough Peter boys, Margaret treasured them as princesses, queens of her heart.
She vowed, From the skin of my bones Ill raise these girls, teach them well, keep them safe, and never let their lives be wrecked. She kept that promise. Her grandchildren excelled in their professions, always honoring their granny with kind words. Everyone loved Margaret.
Did she love her sons? Of course she did; otherwise they wouldnt have turned out as they did. A mother cannot truly despise the children she bore.
As for Peter, she had long forgiven him, even learned to love a little of the man he once was.
