Two wives
A barren old woman no longer truly a woman, just a halfwoman, my motherinlaw mutters, Poppy sighs and forces a bitter smile.
Dont mind her, the halfdeaf neighbour Mrs. Grayson says sudden and loud, leaning close, because God knows what Hes doing. Its early for you to think of bearing a child; He sees everything ahead.
But, Mrs. Grayson how can He see? Weve been together five years. I want a baby so badly, tears trace down Poppys cheeks.
She rarely spoke this aloud; she kept the ache locked inside. Now shes returned to the tiny hamlet ten miles away to tend her mothers grave and sit on the doorstep with the old halfdeaf neighbour to talk.
Its a known thing a sorrowful fact. Its not us who find children, they find us. Be patient, girl.
The village dogs barked, sparrows chirped. The ordinary sounds of the countryside had faded. Hollowford, a parish in Yorkshire, was nearly dead, its crooked cottages leaning toward the river as if offering a final bow.
Poppy heads home to her husband in the larger village of Linton. She must leave Hollowford at dawn. All her life she feared the night forest and the fieldsa childish terror that never quite left.
Poppy was born here. Six years ago she was left completely alone. Her father had perished after the war, her mother died young. She took a job milking cows on the local collective farm.
She met her future husband in June, the seventeenth summer of her life, and the first summer she worked on the farm. The farm was a distance away, but she ran there gladly, even though her hands ached from the hard milking at first.
One rainy morning a slanting downpour caught her on the road. The sky thickened, clouds rolled in, a low rumble cracked the air. Everything seemed tilted, bent to one side.
Poppy ducked under a leanto by the edge of the village near the woods. She sat on the wooden bench, pulling the long black braids from her head, squeezing out the rainwater. Through the angled sheets of rain she saw a darkhaired lad in a checkered, clinging shirt and trousers rolled just above his knees. He slipped under the leanto, saw her and broke into a grin:
What a present! Im Nicholas, and you are?
Poppys heart hammereddarkness surrounded her from the slanted rain. She stayed silent, edging back to the benchs edge.
Did lightning strike you deaf? Or have you been mute from birth? he jested.
Not mute. My name is Poppy.
Cold? Need warmth? he teased, keeping his distance, The rain has knocked everything flat. Im from the local coop.
He kept joking, then his teasing turned forward, making Poppys skin crawl. Her blouse clung to her bodyperhaps that stirred him, or perhaps he was simply overly eager. Poppy fled the rain on all fours, running fast, looking back.
The forest, dark under the looming clouds, felt terrifying.
Later Nicholas Nikiforov arrived as a temporary farmhand. Poppy looked at him with a hint of resentment, then he began to court her seriously. That first encounter left a mark.
When they married, Poppy plunged into joy, though she could not picture what awaited her in her husbands house and foreign village. Her motherinlaw proved severe and ailing. She gladly shifted some chores onto her daughterinlaw but watched every task with hawk eyes.
Though life was hard for Poppy, she never despaired. She was diligent and strongwilled, yet the motherinlaws reproaches nagged. She had arrived penniless, without a dowry, an orphan.
After a while the motherinlaw softened, seeing Poppys competence. Other criticisms fell awayPoppy could not bear a child. One year passed, then another, and still no pregnancy.
Youre a spoiled wretch. A barren old womanno longer even a woman, just a halfwoman. Whats the point of this house without grandchildren? the motherinlaw snapped.
Poppy wept into Nicholass shoulder; he scolded his mother, who grew even angrier. The motherinlaw stared at Poppy only when a bowl was placed before her.
Poppy, however, clung to hope. She visited the village nurse herself, slipped away to the neighbouring parish to see the vicar, brewed and drank potions the old folk swore would cure childlessness.
Life moved on. The Nikiforov home was not the poorest, though postwar times were lean. A piece of the house was always cracked.
One early morning Nicholas brought half a sack of damp grain.
Oh, dear, dontdont let them see! his mother shrieked.
Were all pulling together, not just me. Calm down, Mother Nicholas tried to soothe her.
Poppy fretted, urging Nicholas not to get involved in such matters, but he persisted, hauling odd bits from the fields.
Sleep eluded Poppy; she sat in the dark, feet tucked under her, waiting for her husband.
One night she set out to meet him. By feel she found a skirt, a cardigan, a nightgown, and hidden under the bed a pair of rubber boots, a canvas coat, and she stepped onto the porch. A November wind cut through the open doors, sharp droplets searing her face.
Where could he be, lingering in such rain?
Her feet carried her to the villages edge. The windows were dark, even the dogs had hidden. A scrappy terrier named Fido, whom she adored, trailed behind. Poppy walked, eyes scanning the mist, then stopped before an old barn on the outskirts.
Beyond lay only fields. The night field and woods had always terrified her. She decided to wait a little, then turn back.
Rain hammered the cold, damp earth, sometimes in gusts, sometimes in a steady drum. Through that sound she heard a light female laugh drifting from the barn.
She strained to hear and recognised Nicholass voice, then felt a chillhe was not alone.
The rain sometimes swallowed voices, sometimes carried them. She heard a woman’s voice: it was Katie, a girl from the neighbouring hamlet who had worked with her on the farm.
At first Katie had been bold, merry, talkative, dreaming of leaving the village for the city, of finding a rich, bald gentleman. She sang at the village dances:
Go home, go home, bake, go home, and the galgal
Im the only daughter of my mother, a leader!
Ill find a city, a rich bald man.
I wont stay in the collective, foolish as I am! she crooned.
Lately, though, Katies spark had dimmed. She stopped making the other girls laugh, grew heavier, and the women whispered that she had become jealous of a married man.
Poppy was sure Katie was citybound, but she could not have guessed that the jealous man was Nicholas.
Rain streamed down the lanes, foamlike, while Poppy stood frozen by the barn. Then, a sudden burst of Katies clear, ringing laughter cut through the gloom; she bolted home, slipping on the slick, familiar path. Her armycoatstyle skirt tangled in her feet.
She burst into the house, scrubbing herself in the washbasin, a bucket sloshing. Well wash this mud away, Fido, well wash, she cooed to the terrier.
All that remained in the house was her love and his love for her. Yet even that seemed gone. She could not see the love picture in her mind, only hear it amid the rains roar, a deeprooted hope that refused to believe in betrayal.
When Nicholas peeked into the washroom, she said nothing, choosing to wait until morning.
At dawn two policemen and the collectives chairman arrived. The mother wept, clutching the chairmans coat. The father escorted his son silently, eyes narrowed at the uninvited guests. Poppy bustled, gathering her husband, lifting the sorrowful motherinlaw from the floor.
Fourteen villagers were taken to the council hall. A truck arrived at noon; the arrested were shoved into the back and driven away, told theyd be taken to the city for trial.
Poppy glanced back. Beside the birch trees, Katie stood apart.
The arrest rattled the whole village, though everyone whispered behind closed doors, huddled in their cottages.
The motherinlaw sank into her grief; the father withered. Days passed without sleep for Poppy.
She never resolved anything with Nicholas, left neither truly a wife nor a discarded lover. Yet now compassion and fear for her husband outweighed anger and jealousy. She could not flee; a prisoners wife would not be welcomed elsewhere. Divorce never entered conversation.
A few days later, exhausted, Poppy returned from the farm with milk, and opened her front door to find Katie seated at the table, hands folded beneath a swollen belly. The father and motherinlaw sat opposite, heads bowed.
Hello, Katie sang.
And youre not ill, Poppy replied.
Poppy, the motherinlaw said warmly, Katie went to the city, visited our folksOlga and Ninaher fathers brother, and his wife.
Poppy set a milk pail on the stove, washed her hands at the basin, and listened.
Poppy, the trial was they gave Kolya ten years! Think about it, the motherinlaw handed a handkerchief, pressed it to her eyes and wept.
Poppy collapsed onto a bench.
Ten? she gasped.
Yes, Katie answered, they called them state criminals, handed everyone a decade. They tried us all in one sweep.
Oh God! Poppy whispered, disbelief in her voice.
The motherinlaw sobbed, and Poppy tried to soothe her:
Mum, it cant be. Maybe theyll think better, maybe theyll release us theyll frighten us then let us go, I hope.
Who will free them now? Silly girl! Its stage by stage. I tell you, the court tried us properly, Katie insisted.
They lingered, listening to Katies account of the trial. A pause fell, only the fathers tea clink heard.
Well then! Katie slammed her hand on the table, making everyone jump, and declared loudly, If the masters stay silent, Ill speak: Kolya planned to marry me, wanted to divorce you, but didnt get the chance. So, dear Poppy, believe it or not, Ill have a child with him. And I wont raise it alone. My father wont let me return to the village with a child; he heard the storm. I thought wed marry, hed forgive us, but thats how it turned Thats why Im here, to look after your grandchild. I talked to Kolya in the city, hes fine with it. He just told me not to send you away; theyll split later.
Katie rattled off everything quickly, eyes fixed on Poppy, waiting for a reactionastonishment, protest, tears. Poppy sat by the stove, hands resting calmly on her wartimefabric skirt, staring at the floor.
The motherinlaw finally burst.
Poppy, this is our house, we decide. The grandchild will be here. And Kolya what about Kolya? Let Katie stay, thats our decision. Let at least the sons child grow in this house. You decide yourself, she sniffed, wiping tears on her apron.
Fine, I dont mind, Poppy answered, standing, beginning to strain milk.
Katie and the father went for belongings. The motherinlaw fussed, waiting for Katie.
Where shall we put the bed? In the outbuilding The baby will need a corner. Oh, grief
Poppy fetched a bundle of straw from the yard, spread it on the floor by the stove, layered a crocheted quilt over ita makeshift bed, almost like Fidos little nest in the kennel.
Days grew shorter, colder. The motherinlaw fell ill all winter. Katie, in her last days, grew harsh, marching about. The farms weight settled on Poppys shoulders; there was no escape.
Katie even befriended the motherinlaw, sometimes defending her when the old womans criticism grew too sharp.
Lie down, dear, or theyll trample you, she urged Poppy.
From milking at noon to milking at dusk, Poppy watched the white woods across the river, pondering her fate. She could not return to her birth hamlet; the cottage there sang with the wind, and the tenmile trek to work in the bitter cold was impossible.
She often thought of her own mother. What would she say now, seeing her daughters disgrace? Two wives under one roof, who was the true matriarch? Her mother had been a proud, independent woman.
Winter days passed, marked by fatigue and monotony. Only a baby born in January brought a flicker of joy.
In the harshest freeze, the father brought the newbornlittle Egorfrom the hospital on a cart, wrapping him in a swaddling cloth.
Poppy tried not to linger on the child, her heart ached that the baby was not hers, though she prayed and healed herself.
Unrealised maternal longing bound her to the infant.
All yours, Kolya, tell me, Poppy, the motherinlaw kept urging, forgetting her own feelings.
Yes, hes Poppy agreed.
Mostly, Katie tended to the boy, yet Poppy noticed the child mattered less to Katie than to herself, as if his future held less weight than her own.
What now? Rot here in this collective? I wanted to study at the district centre, become a lab assistant. Kolya wont wait ten years. I dont know what to do
Changes came to the farm. Four twobed houses were built in the village, families moved in. New temporary milkmaids arrived, talkative, from elsewhere but diligent. Weekends appeared. Poppy befriended one of the newcomers, Vera.
On her day off, Vera asked, Whats this about? Poppy recounted her tangled home life. Vera was astonished. Shed never heard of a wife and a lover sharing one roof.
Leave, Vera advised.
Oh, come off it, Vera, Poppy shrugged, I have nowhere else. How could they manage without me? The farm
Egor grew, crawling, then toddling on his knees, reaching for Poppy more than for his mother, tugging his curls, planting kisses on her cheek, laughing as the sun set. With the nowgrown terrier Fido they staged playful scuffles.
Poppy loved the little boy. Katie, though, was sharp, strict, sometimes brutally so; the child sometimes irritated her.
Poppy understood why. He shattered her dreams of a city life, of work at the district centre.
The elders, motherinlaw and father, doted on the grandson, but could not shoulder his care.
On May1st, Poppy rolled out flour, scooping four shovels into a castiron pot, then returned to the cottage to knead dough.
Katie prepared for a village dance, slipping on white beads and fleeing. The motherinlaw sat beside Poppy, holding Egor.
Oh, Poppy, I must tell you something. It feels like youre a mother to the child, not Katie. Shes scared to speak, so Ill say it: she wanted to leave for the city, study, work. She wants us to raise the boy, not her. She thinks Kolya will come back, but he wont. the motherinlaw confessed, eyes glinting.
Poppys shoulders relaxed as she kneaded, halfautomatic now.
What shall we do, Poppy? Vera asked, sympathy in her voice.
I suppose maybe its best. You didnt get your own child, so youll have one. Kolya will return and choose who raises his child, Poppy mused, looking at the grandson on her lap, And a wife cant be discarded like a rag. Perhaps God twisted it all this way. What do you think? the motherinlaw whispered, eyes pleading.
I dont know, Mum. Well see
Why look? What for? the motherinlaw babbled, While youre on the farm Ill have a bit of fun, and then the old man Anyway, well raise him. Katie isnt a mother, just a name. Yesterday she barely managed a towel
Poppy went for the evening milking. The celebration felt like any other, yet the milking must continue. She couldnt decide what to do; everything felt foreign, even baking pies no longer appealed.
Whats wrong, Poppy? Your face is blank, Vera said with pity.
The pies turned out fine. Poppy covered them with a cloth and set them on the stove. Katie returned, flushed, cheerful.
As the last drops fell and the dawn painted the fields gold, Poppy walked toward the horizon, feeling every tangled thread of her dream unravelling into a single, quiet breath.
