We were expecting the inlaws, and I hinted that they might take our daughterinlaw and her children back, but they waved their hands dismissively. I heard the gate slam shut behind Evelyn, our daughterinlaw, yet I didnt mindshe liked strolling alone, without the kids. My husband and I had grown used to feeding, entertaining and often putting the grandchildren to bed ourselves; the young couple were always either out or resting.
When Evelyn didnt return that night, a cold knot tightened in my stomach.
Son, wheres Amelia? I cant get hold of her! I demanded.
Mother, shes gone for a weekend away, he replied calmly.
What hour is it? She should be home by now.
Its in the hills with her friends, he said, his voice steady while my thoughts hammered. How could she say nothing at all? What kind of treatment was this?
Later, another realization hit me like a blow.
When my son married Amelia, they were barely twenty. Ian moved in with her, both feeling like singletons, yet Amelia still wanted to bring a husband into her life. I had no objections.
Soon they had a baby, then a second. Thats when everything began to spin. Ian would ferry the grandchildren to our cottage in a pram, then slip off to tend to his own affairs. In the evenings Amelia would arrive, wed all share a meal, and then theyd drift back to their house on the far side of the village. The walk was long, but I loved having the little ones in my armsthey were a rare delight.
Soon the visits grew more frequent, and when rain or snow fell the children started staying overnight. My husband and I were simply overjoyed. I made sure they always had food, walked the toddlers, let the parents nap at lunch, helped with bathing and laundry. When the kids announced they were moving in with us, I tasted victory. I was the best grandmother, the best motherinlaw theyd ever known.
George, my husband, drove all over the country for work, earning a decent wage, while I kept the house running. Cooking, cleaning, tending the gardennothing was too much. Yet as the years piled on, fatigue settled in. The grandchildren were picky eaters; each needed a separate pot, and Evelyn was often away on errands, leaving me with the bulk of the care.
How could I scold her? She wasnt my child. I began urging Ian, Could you two at least wash up after yourselves? Im getting exhausted.
Mother, Evelyns expecting another baby, Ian whispered. She cant use your kitchenthe smell is too strong. She wanted to tell you herself, but she cant even stay a minute without it being a problem.
A shiver ran down my spine. Another baby? We were already sleepless; the older grandson rose at dawn, watched television in our sitting room, and lingered there until the late hours. Evelyn, meanwhile, fed the younger one and slept, while little David stayed at home.
Son, the children should stay with you, I urged.
Well have to buy new furniture; theres no space, Ian replied. Maybe you could move to the kitchen, and well turn our bedroom into a nursery.
I stared at the tiny cottage: two bedrooms, a pantry, a hallway, and a kitchen the size of a cupboard.
Where will Dad and I fit? Ian asked. If we spread the sofa, theres nowhere to step.
Then dont complain if David falls asleep on the couch, I muttered.
Soon a cot appeared in our bedroom for the grandson. He would wobble, crawl back to his parents, be carried back, and the night turned into a relentless clatter. I couldnt sleep; by morning my head felt like a sack of stones.
The inlaws arrived again, and I hinted they might take Evelyn and the kids back. They waved their hands furiously:
They lived with us five years, and with you only one. Dont count on us.
I realized once more that something was wrong, but where could I turn? Evelyn had never helped when there were only two children; she always found an excuseIm watching the kids, or Im out for a walk, while we toiled in the garden and she lingered on the phone.
Now she would not bend a knee to help, could not hold a baby, could not cookevery request met a rebuff. She vanished on a road trip, ignored calls, told only my husband shed be fine. We worried, the children missed their mother, and she stayed silent, resting.
Son, who are the kids with now? I asked.
Me, came the reply.
Oh, you, I whispered, darkness clouding my eyes. Fine, feed them and put them to bed.
Ian didnt know how the children liked to be soothed, and I turned to George:
This is the last straw; I wont lift a finger.
We slept on the kitchen floor to avoid disturbing Ian. In the morning his mood was sour, but I pretended not to notice. The kids demanded toast, then chicken, and I pointed to the empty fridge.
Everythings in there, cook itif youre going to replace my wife.
Two days passed, Ian called Evelyn, begging her to return because he couldnt manage. She arrived, her spirit brightening the room.
So I had to come all the way from the coast? Cant you fry an egg or boil some pasta? she shouted, making sure George and I heard.
She stormed the kitchen, rattling pots, while the fridge stood bare.
Where are the groceries?
The ones you bought? I asked.
Do you think Ill waste eggs or potatoes for you?
No, dig up the garden, feed the chickens, collect the eggs, go to the shop and restock the fridge.
She scooped the children into her arms, declared shed never set foot in our house again. Ian glared at us, angry at his parents. George and I clung to each others hands, trying not to fall.
All this time the children never asked how they were being fed, never thanked us, never bought anything they liked. Yet we received no pay for our labor.
I sit here, hair in my hands, wondering why kindness earned such treatment. I did everything out of lovewhy did they behave this way? What do you think?
