Tomorrow Im bound for my future motherinlaws cottage. My married friends, trying to calm my nerves, gave me a barrage of warnings that nearly frightened the life out of me:
Remember, hold your head high you werent found in a junkyard
Dont let her sit on your throat; set the record straight from the start.
Know that a good motherinlaw is a myth
Its you who will make her happy, not the other way round.
That night I lay awake, and by dawn I looked as if Id been polished for a funeral. We met on the platform and boarded the commuter train, a twohour ride. The train cut through a tiny market town after a stretch of open fields. The air was crisp, smelling faintly of freshly baked scones; snow glittered under the weak winter sun and crunched beneath our boots. The fir trees whispered in the wind. I was beginning to feel the chill bite, but then a hamlet appeared on the horizon.
A slight, wiry old lady in a patched woollen coat, wellworn sheepskin boots and a neat kerchief greeted us at the gate. Had she not called out, I would have walked past:
Little Rosie, love, Im Hattie Baines, Vickys mother. Lets be introduced.
She pulled a knobby woolen mitten from her creased palm and extended a firm, steady hand. Her eyes, peeking from beneath the kerchief, were sharp as a hawks. We shuffled along a path threaded through drifts to a low cottage built of dark, weathered timbers. Inside, a redhot stove gave off a comforting warmth.
Seventysix miles from Sheffield, and it felt like stepping back into the Middle Ages. The well provided water, the loo was a hole in the back yard, and there was no radio in most homes the cottage was dimly lit.
Mother, shall we turn on the light? suggested Tom, my husband. His mother frowned:
Dont be a fool and sit in the dark, or will you risk a spoon slipping past your lips? Her gaze fell on me. Of course, lad, of course, she murmured, reaching for the lamp hanging over the kitchen table. The weak glow illuminated a metre around it.
Hungry, Im sure? Ive boiled some noodle soup, come have a bowl by the fire. We ate, glanced at each other, while she whispered in a soft, rounded tone, her eyes flashing with a wary sharpness that felt as if she were dissecting my soul. She kept popping in and out, chopping bread, tossing logs onto the stove, and saying: Ill put the kettle on. Lets have tea. A little teapot with a lid, a lid with a pinecone, a pinecone with a hole, steam curling from that hole. Not just any tea raspberryinfused, to chase away the chill. No illness will touch you here. Help yourselves, dear guests, my own, not bought
I felt like an actor in a period drama, waiting for the director to call, Cut! Thanks, everyone. The warmth, the hot food, the raspberry tea made me feel drowsy; I could have lain on a pillow for a hundred minutes, but duty called:
Come on, dears, lets head to the village shop, buy a couple of pounds of flour. We need to bake pasties for the evening when Varick and Gracie and their families swing by, and Lottie from Sheffield arrives to meet the future bride. Meanwhile Ill fry some cabbage for the filling and mash some potatoes.
While we were dressing, Hattie rolled a head of cabbage out from under the bed, halfchopped it and said:
This cabbage needs a haircut, lets trim it down to a little nub.
We walked through the village; everyone stopped, greeted us, men tipped their flat caps, bowed their heads, and watched us pass. The shop lay in the next hamlet, across a birchcovered wood. Little fir saplings wore snow caps, and the sun played merrily on the snowy boulders as we went, then turned a yellowish hue on the way back. Winter days are short.
Back at the cottage, Hattie said:
Get a move on, Rosie. Ill pack the garden in snow so the mice wont gnaw the bark off the trees. Ill take Vicky out to toss snow under the branches.
If Id known how much dough Id need, I wouldnt have bought so much, but Hattie kept nudging me: No matter how big the job, once you start, youll finish. The beginning is hard, the end is sweet.
Alone with the flour, I struggled to shape the pasties one round, one long; one the size of a hand, another the size of a foot. Some stuffed heavily, others barely. One brown as a chestnut, another pale as a biscuit. I was exhausted! Later Tom revealed the true purpose: his mother was testing whether I was worthy of her precious son.
Guests arrived in droves, all fairhaired and blueeyed, smiling. I hid behind Tom, shy and embarrassed. The long table was set in the middle of the room, and I was placed on a makeshift throne a sturdy wooden bed piled with blankets, the children climbing over me, my stomach churning. Tom brought a large chest, covered it with a quilt, and I perched on it like a queen for all to see. I ate neither cabbage nor fried onion; I forced myself to chew while the chatter rattled my ears.
Night fell. The future motherinlaws narrow bed was tucked by the stove, the others in the hall. The cottage is cramped, but better together, she said. A special set of linens, embroidered by Toms father years ago, was laid out for me on the bed, making me feel both honoured and uneasy. Hattie smoothed the covers and muttered: The cottage creaks, the fire roars, yet the lady has nowhere to lie! The soontobe relatives spread mats on the floor, pulling them down from the loft.
I needed the loo. I slipped from the beds wooden bars, feeling the floor with my foot, careful not to step on anyone, and made it to the pantry where darkness loomed. A small, tailbearing creature brushed my leg; I froze, thinking it a rat, ready to scream. Everyone laughed: Its just a kitten that wandered out by day and came home at night.
I went to the loo with Tom; there was no door, only a thin partition. Tom stood with his back to me, lighting a match to keep the lantern from falling. I returned, collapsed onto the bed, and fell asleep to the fresh country air, the distant hum of a tractor, and the silence of a village night.
The lesson I learned is that courage isnt the absence of fear but the willingness to step through the cold, the unknown, and the judgments of others, trusting that hospitality and perseverance will warm the heart in the end.
