Two wives
A barren womanshes barely even a woman any more, just a halfwoman, as my motherinlaw likes to say. I, Mollie, sighed and forced a bitter smile.
You keep your mouth shut, shouted Shura, the halfdeaf neighbour, leaning in. Only God knows what Hes doing. Youre still too young to think about childbearing; He sees everything ahead of us.
But, Shura what does He see? Weve been together five years. I want a child so badly, tears ran down my cheeks.
I rarely spoke those words aloud; I kept the pain in my heart and whispered it to myself. Id come back to my home village, a tenkilometre walk away, to tend my mothers grave, and now I was sitting with my old, halfdeaf neighbour for a chat.
Its a sad business, she said, sighing. But it isnt us who find children; they find us. Be patient, love.
The village dogs barked, sparrows chirped. The familiar sounds of a thriving hamlet had long faded. Harrowfield, in the Yorkshire countryside, was practically dying, its crooked cottages leaning toward the river as if giving it a final salute.
I headed home to my husband in the larger village of Ilford. I had to leave Harrowfield at first light. All my life Id been terrified of the night woods and fieldsa childish fear, perhaps.
I was born here. Six years ago I was left alone. My father died shortly after the war, and my mother passed when I was very young. I took a job milking cows at the local cooperative.
I met my future husband in June, the seventeenth summer of my life and my first summer working on the farm. The farm was a distance away, but I walked there gladly, even though my hands ached from the hard milking.
One morning a slanting rain caught me on the road. The sky darkened, clouds rolled in, and a low rumble filled the air. Everything seemed tilted, leaning to one side.
I ducked under the small shelter that stood at the edge of the village near the woods. I sat on the bench, pulling my long black braids over my lap, wringing the rain from them. Through the slanting sheets of rain I saw a darkhaired lad in a checked shirt stuck to his skin and trousers rolled just above the knee. He slipped under the shelter, saw me and broke into a grin.
What a treat! Im Nicholas, and you are?
I froze, my heart hammering in the gloom of the rain. I stayed silent, edging back to the benchs edge.
Did the thunder stun you? Or are you simply mute? he teased.
Not mute. My name is Mary.
Cold? Need a warm? he kept teasing, staying at a distance. The rains knocked us both down. Im from MTS.
He joked for a while, then grew bolder, making me flinch. My blouse clung to my skinperhaps that sparked his interest, or maybe he was simply a lovesick fellow. I bolted out into the downpour, running as fast as I could, glancing back.
The forest, heavy with overhanging clouds, seemed terrifying.
Later, Nicholas Nikiforov turned up as a temporary farmhand. I looked at him with a hint of resentment, but then his courtship began, earnest and steady. That first meeting had left a mark.
I threw myself into marriage with joy, though I had little idea what awaited me in my husbands household and the foreign village. My motherinlaw turned out to be dour and frail. She gladly dumped part of the chores onto me, but kept a sharp eye on my work.
Even when things got hard, I didnt lose heart. I was diligent and strongwilled, though my motherinlaws reproaches pained me. After all, Id arrived penniless, without a dowry, an orphan.
Eventually my motherinlaw softened, seeing my competence. Other criticisms faded. A year passed, then another, and still no pregnancy.
Youre a rotten girl, barren as a stone. Whats the point of this house without grandchildren? she snapped.
I wept into Nicholass shoulder; he chided his mother, who grew even angrier. My fatherinlaw barely looked at me, only when I set a bowl before him.
Hope still lingered. I visited the village nurse on my own, and slipped away to the neighbouring parish to see the vicar, brewing remedies that the local midwives swore by for childlessness.
Life went on. The Nikiforov household wasnt the poorest, though postwar times were lean. One early morning Nicholas brought home a halfpound sack of damp grain.
Oh, Colin, dont dont let them tell you his mother wailed.
Everyones pulling, not just me. Calm down, Mum
I tried to dissuade Nicholas from such petty schemes, but he kept dragging bits of waste from the fields.
Sleep eluded me; Id sit on the bed with the lamp off, legs drawn up, waiting for him.
One night I gathered a skirt, a shirt, a woollen jacket, and a pair of rubber boots from under the bed, slung a canvas coat over my shoulders and stepped out onto the porch. A bitter November wind slammed the open doors, lashing my face with cold rain.
Where could he be at such an hour?
My feet carried me to the edge of the village. The houses were dark, even the dogs hid. My dear dog Fenny, whom I adored, was nowhere to be seen. I walked, scanning the fields, then stopped by an old barn at the villages fringe.
Beyond the barn lay only field and forestplaces Id always feared at night. I decided to wait a while, then turn back.
Rain hammered the damp earth, sometimes gusty, sometimes a steady murmur. Through the sound I heard a faint, lilting laugh. It came from the barn.
I strained my ears and recognized Nicholass voice, but then a second voice joined ita womans. It was Kat, a girl from the neighbouring village whod worked with me at the cooperative.
At first Kat had been bold, cheerful, and talkative, dreaming of leaving the village for the city, finding a rich, bald man, and never wanting a life on the farm. Shed sung about it at the village dances.
Lately though, her spirit seemed dimmed. She no longer made the other girls laugh; she grew plump, and the farm women whispered that she was jealous of a married man.
I was sure shed been courting a city man, but the truth turned out to be Nicholas. I could not have guessed that.
Rain streamed down the ditches, and I stood frozen by the barn, the suspicion heavy in me. Then, as Kats bright laugh burst forth, she bolted out, slipping on the slick ground, her uniforman old armyissue coatcaught on a twig.
She ran home, panting, and began scrubbing herself in the washhouse, clutching a bucket. Well wash this mud, Fenny, she said to the dog, though the pup was nowhere in sight.
Everything in that house was lovemy love and his loveyet it seemed absent. I could not see the love, only hear it in the rains roar, perhaps because I clung to a hopeless hope that he could be faithful.
When Nicholas peeked into the washhouse later, I said nothing. I decided to wait till morning.
At dawn two police constables and the cooperatives chairman arrived. My motherinlaw clutched the chairmans lapel, sobbing. My fatherinlaw escorted his son in silence, eyes narrowed at the unexpected guests. I flurried about, gathering Nicholas, lifting my motherinlaw from the floor.
Fourteen villagers were hauled away to the council offices. A lorry arrived by noon; the detainees were loaded and driven to the town for trial.
I looked up. A short way off, under the birches, stood Kat.
The arrest sent a shock through the whole hamlet. Still, people whispered in their cottages, eyes cast down.
My motherinlaw fell into a deep grief; my fatherinlaw grew thin and feeble. I hadnt slept for days.
I never resolved anything with Nicholas. I was neither his wife nor a tossedaside lover. Yet pity and fear for my husband outweighed the sting of betrayal; I couldnt simply run away, for a wife of an accused was not welcomed in other farms. We never spoke of divorce.
A few days later, returning from the fields with a pail of milk, I opened my front door to find Kat seated at the table, hands folded beneath a round belly. Across from her sat my parentsinlaw, heads bowed.
Good day, Kat sang cheerfully.
And you stay well, I replied.
Mollie, my motherinlaw said, unusually warm, Kat had been to the city, visiting our cousinsOlga and Ninawhere their father lives and their brother Vas, Olgas husband.
I set the milk bucket on the hearth, washed my hands, and listened.
Moll, the court gave Nicholas ten years! Think about it, my motherinlaw said, handing me a handkerchief, then pressing it to her eyes as she wept.
I collapsed onto the stool.
Ten? I gasped.
Yes, Kat answered, they called them state criminals and gave everyone a decade. The whole lot was tried together.
Lord! I whispered, hardly believing my ears.
My motherinlaw sobbed, and I tried to comfort her.
Mum, it cant be maybe theyll change their minds, maybe theyll let him go Theyll scare us, then release him, I said, hopeful.
Who will release him now? Foolish girl! Its decided. The court has ruled, Kat insisted.
We all listened to Kats account of the trial. The room fell quiet, only the clink of a tea cup breaking the silence.
Listen! Kat slammed her hand on the table, startling everyone, The owners stay silent, so Ill speak: Kolka planned to marry me. He wanted to divorce you, but didnt get the chance. Thats how it turned out So Im coming to look after your grandchild. I told Kolka in the city he was fine with it. He didnt stop me. He said wed part ways later, then wed have a child together. I wont raise him alone. My father wont let me stay, hes heard the rumors. So Im here to help.
She rattled off her story, waiting for my reactionsurprise, protest, tears. I sat by the hearth, hands folded on my militaryfabric skirt, staring at the floor.
My motherinlaw burst out first.
This is our house. We decide. The grandchild will be ours. As for Kolka whats become of him? Let Kat stay; shell look after the boy. Let the child grow here. You decide, she cried, clutching her apron.
Im fine with it, I answered, standing and beginning to strain the milk.
Kat and my fatherinlaw fetched the things they needed. My motherinlaw busied herself, worrying where the child would sleep. Hell need a corner, she muttered.
I brought a bundle of straw from the yard, spread it on the floor by the hearth, and covered it with a homemade quiltnow his bed, much like Fennys little hut.
Winter grew longer and colder. My motherinlaw fell ill for the whole season. Kat, in her last days, moved about heavily, and the farms burden fell squarely on my shoulders; there was no escaping it.
Kat and my motherinlaw grew oddly friendly, even taking my side when my motherinlaws harshness became too much.
Get into bed, love, or well have you sewn up, Kat would say, halfjoking.
I spent days milking from dawn till dusk, staring out a tiny window at the woods across the river, wondering about my fate. I could not return to my birthplace; the old cottage whistled with the wind, and a tenkilometre trek to work in the biting cold was impossible.
I often thought of my own mother. What would she say now, seeing her daughter living in such disgrace? Two wives under one roof, each vying to be the main lady. My mother had been a proud, confident woman, not one to be reduced to a mere pawn.
Winter days passed, marked by exhaustion and monotony. Only the baby born in January brought a flicker of joy.
One bitter morning, Kat was brought to the house in a cart from the midwife, a small bundle in her armsa boy they named Ethan.
I tried my best not to look at the child too often; it pained me that I hadnt birthed him, though I prayed and sought cures.
The boys presence bound Kat to me more tightly than any blood.
Hes all yours, say it, Moll, my motherinlaw reminded me, pushing her own agenda.
Yes, he looks like I agreed.
Mostly Kat cared for Ethan, but I noticed the boy cared for Kat far less than for his own future.
The farm changed. Four twobed houses were built in the village, new families moved in, and temporary milkmaids arrivedchatty, hardworking outsiders. We finally got weekends off. I befriended Vera, one of the newcomers, on a day off.
Whats this? Vera asked, eyes wide.
I told her my storyhow our home was a mess of a wife and a lover under one roof. She gasped.
Leave, she said.
No, I cant, I retorted. Who would run the farm without me?
Ethan grew, learning to crawl, then toddle about on his knees. He clung to me, laughing, pulling at my hair, his tiny mouth brushing my cheek. Fenny, now a grown dog, would wrestle with him in playful bouts.
On May Day I made pies. I scooped four shovels of flour into a castiron pot, returned to the cottage, and began kneading dough.
Kat prepared to attend a village dance, slipping on pearl necklaces and dashing off. My motherinlaw sat beside me, cradling Ethan.
Oh, Moll, I want to tell you something, she began, voice trembling. Kat wants to leave for the city, study, work. Shell leave Ethan with us. Well have to raise him.
How? I asked, eyes widening.
She relies on you, dear, shes no mother, just a name. Shes never seen a child like yours. my motherinlaw whispered, eyes wet.
I kept kneading, my thoughts drifting with her words.
What shall we do, Moll? she pressed, hopeful.
Maybe its a blessing, she said, I replied slowly, looking at Ethan on my lap. If God didnt give me a child, perhaps this little one is His gift. And Kolka will return. Whoever raises his child will be the one he chooses, I said, gazing at the boy, and a wife isnt something you can just discard. Maybe thats what God intended.
I dont know, Mum, she replied, wiping her eyes. Well see.
What are we looking at? Vera asked, concerned.
Nothing, just the pie, I said, forcing a smile.
The pies turned out well. I placed them on the iron, covered with a cloth. Kat returned, flushed, cheerful, and snatched a slice.
Oh, life is grand, Moll! You should have come to the dance! she shouted, grabbing a bite.
Here are the pies, I lifted the cloth.
Im starving, Kat said, taking a mouthful. She hurried to change out of her work clothes.
I kept the farm running, pausing now and then, staring into the distance, feeling the weight of my life. Fenny circled the yard, oblivious to the turmoil.
Kat fell asleep beside Ethan; my parentsinlaw quieted in their cupboard. I rocked the boy, laying him beside his mother. The night was dim, a light drizzle pattering on the roof. I thought of the rain, steady and relentless, just like the hardships I faced.
Inside my head, I whispered, No more, Mother, I wont endure this. No one noticed as I slipped out, carrying my battered canvas bag into the barn, pulling on my rubber boots and coat despite the summer heat. I stepped out onto the damp lane, the road feeling easy beneath my feet. The forest loomed, but I walked toward it with purpose, for the first time not fearing the dark.
I was heading for Ilford, where a textile mill was hiring women as weavers, with a dormitory provided. Vera had mentioned it. Money was scarce; I hoped the fare would beWith a final glance at the rainslick lane and the hopeful eyes of the child shed come to love, she stepped onto the train bound for Ilford, determined to forge a new life far from the tangled past of two wives and whispered betrayals.
