Mother loves everyone.
Margaret never cared for her boys; she thought them dim, narrowminded, coarse and uncouth, just like their father.
Mum, whats for tea? shouted the grownup Henry, the eldest, his voice already deep, a fuzz growing on his chin, his hands long and thin at the wrists with big, rough fingers that could clench into a single solid fist, just like his dads.
Margaret knew all too well that Henry was already making the rounds among the village widowsthose older women left without a husbands touch, who stared brazenly at the young men, and even at teenage lads, with no shame at all.
She warned one such widow, Daisy, Dont go fooling around with Henry, hes still a child, barely fifteen. Daisy laughed loudheartedly, replying in a way that made Margarets stomach turn.
From that day on, Margaret stopped loving Henry. He began to remind her of his fatherrough, always drunk, smelling of bacon, garlic and homebrewed whisky, always thrusting his grimy hands wherever they could go.
He tried every widow in the hamlet. Margaret, desperate to find a husband for him, forced a match. She didnt want to, she wept, but there was no one to defend her; the old matriarch of the village, Mrs. Whitby, took it upon herself to see Margaret settled.
What are you doing, dear? the old woman said. Look at Peter, how handsome he is. Every girl swoons over him, just to catch his eye. Yougo on, move along.
I dont want this, sobbed little Margaret, Ill go to the city, get a job in a factory, study, make a life for myself.
Go to the city? croaked Mrs. Whitby, You should have thought of that before you tossed yourself under his heel.
The old woman struck Margaret hard, both physically and with words, accusing her of sin and warning that soon her belly would stick out like a potbellytruthfully, Margaret felt a cold shiver run through her.
She realized she had to get Peter out of the way.
Peter was older, took her into his house, and at first his motherinlaw complained that shed chosen the wrong daughterinlaw. Eventually she gave in, even pitied Margaret when Peter tormented her night after night.
She scolded her, saying the girl was weak, a burden on the farm.
One by one, the village children, all boys, started to appear like peas from a pod.
Margaret loved them fiercely until they grew up and turned into copies of Peter.
Then she became a terrible mother.
The war crushed Peter, broke him, spat him out alive, and countless men never returned.
Peter, meanwhile, went off to the front with three sons; when he came back, five more gaunt lads roamed the village, eyes black as berries.
Margaret gave birth to three more boys; not a single daughter ever arrived.
There was no escape from him. As soon as night fell, hed stalk the house, pinch, grab a hip, or squeeze tight.
Margaret always delayed his entrance into the bedroom, inventing errands and chores.
When Peter announced he was leaving to live with Lucy Bartlett, a widowed soldiers wife, Margaret let out a sigh.
Henry fought with his father then, and she barely steadied herself, bandaging his arm later, gently rubbing his head as she used to when he was a child.
Let him go, my son let him be. No need for more trouble.
Mother, dont worry, well manage, Henry managed to say, his voice shaky. He was about to marry, and Margaret tried not to think of what he would do with that delicate, bigeyed girljust like Peter had.
All of them turned out the same, every single one, as if by design, thought Margaret, as she watched each tender child, each one she hoped would be different, perhaps a girl? No.
She imagined her hair darkening, a chin fuzz appearing, that sparkle in the eyes returning.
Thats why she never loved her boys as they grew; she saw herself as a bad mother.
The boys wives gave birth, but never a girl.
Finally, she wrapped up little Sam, her last son, with a blanket.
She spent ages looking for a husband for him, hoping maybe another Sam would turn upnone did.
His daughter, Lily, was a beautiful sight, Margaret adored her as she watched Lily flit about the kitchen, thin and supple like a vine.
Whats that? Margaret asked as Sam stepped out of the bedroom, and Lily, unafraid, pressed herself against his chest, clinging like a calf to its mother.
She froze there while Sam stroked her hair and forehead, kissed her lightly as a mother would a child.
Margaret began to watch all her sons, wondering if they behaved like Petergrabbing, pulling, dragging wives onto the bed at the slightest chance.
No!
No, Lord, no! she cried.
Was she blind? Had she never seen before? Other boys turned out just as twisted.
It took her many years to understand that.
Her own sons.
Henry, lad, everything alright? she asked her eldest.
All good, mum, anything wrong? Is the new daughterinlaw causing trouble? We have room for her, Henry replied, his words slow, always the quiet one since birth.
Dont be shy, dear, if you need anything said Katie, Henrys wife.
No, my children, everythings fine. I just came to chat, feeling a bit lonely. You, my son, forgive your mother if shes ever been hard on you
Mother what did you say?
I wasnt a very good mother
Did you? What about Katie?
Oh, you know, the same old storyfind a motherinlaw, a good one, a boy, a son Dont make it up, say youre a bad mother, thats it. Here, have some tea with a scone.
After checking on each of her sons, Margaret dragged herself home, exhausted.
She worried about one daughterinlaw having tea while the others refusedshe didnt want to hurt the girls.
No daughters at all?
Stupid me, Margaret muttered, I already have six childrensix daughters
Maybe she wasnt such a bad mother after all
At home Lily was making pancakes.
Margarets eyes were on the brink of tears, how could she refuse? She didnt want to hurt the little one.
And the pancakes really were delicious.
Lily, could you perhaps have a grandchild for me? she asked the youngest daughterinlaw hopefuly.
Ill try, Mum, Lily giggled, and kept her promise, soon giving birth to two girlsOlivia and Yvonne, the grandparents darlings, so affectionate, a well of love for their granddaughter that the old woman poured out freely.
Grandchildren, too, Margaret loved, even if they resembled Peters boysdamned and bald as hellwhile the granddaughters were little princesses, queens of Grandmas heart.
Ill pull myself together, teach the girls, bring them up proper, wont let them waste their lives, Margaret swore to herself.
And she kept that word; the granddaughters learned, excelled in their fields, always remembering their granny with kind words, and they all loved Margaret.
She loved everyone.
So, did she really not love her sons?
Of course she didhow else would they have turned out the way they did?
Can a mother not love a child shes carried beneath her heart?
And Peter well, God be with him; Margaret forgave him long ago and even, in a quiet way, loved him a little.
