We loathed her the very instant she stepped over the front step of our cottage.
Her coat was plain, yet her hands differed from Mothersshorter, broader, the fingers curled like a clasp. Her legs were slimmer than Mothers, and her feet longer.
Victor, my brother, was seven; I was nine, and we began to hurl insults at her. Milly, we called her, youre nothing but a milelong nuisance! Father, noticing our rudeness, snapped, Mind your manners! Behave like proper children.
Will she stay? Victor asked, his tone full of childish entitlement.
Forever, Father replied.
We sensed his irritation mounting. If he lost his temper, things would turn ugly, so we tried not to provoke him further.
An hour later Emilyher name, the one that fit only English tonguesgathered her things to leave. As she slipped on her shoes, Victor plotted a petty trip, attempting to trip her as she headed for the door. She nearly stumbled into the hallway.
Father rushed over, What happened?
She glanced at Victor and said, I just caught my foot on another pair of shoes.
Everythings in order. Ill tidy up, he promised, his tone suddenly soft.
And then we understood: he loved her. No matter how hard we tried, we could not erase her from our lives.
One afternoon, with Father away, Emily, in a tone as flat as a ruler, announced, Your mother has passed away. It happens, though its a bitter thing. She now sits on a cloud, watching everything. I doubt shes pleased with the way you behave. She knows youre only being nasty out of spite, protecting her memory.
We were taken aback.
Victor, Charlotte, youre decent lads! Does protecting Mums memory really require such prickly conduct? Good deeds make a good person. I cant believe youre always as sharp as hedgehogs! she added. Her words gradually dulled our urge to be cruel.
Later I helped her unpack the groceries shed bought. Emily praised me, patting my back. Though her fingers werent Mothers, the touch felt warm. Victor, jealous, watched.
She arranged the clean cups on the shelf, and Emily praised us both. That evening she told Father, voice bright with pride, how helpful we were, and he beamed.
Her foreignness haunted us for a long while; we wanted to let her into our hearts but could not. Not mother, after all! we would mutter.
A year passed, and we could no longer recall life without her. After a particular incident we fell hopelessly in love with Emily, just as Father had.
In the seventh year at school Victors life grew difficult. A cheeky boy named Billy Harper, the same height as Victor but far bolder, tormented him. Billys family was welloff, his father openly urged him, Youre a man nowstand up and beat them down; dont wait for anyone to squash you. Billy chose Victor as his convenient target.
Billys father never spoke to me, his sister, preferring the silence of a brewing storm. Victims, after all, do not flourish under impunity. Billy began to strike Victor openly, landing blows on his shoulder each time he passed. When I finally coaxed the bruises from Victors shirt, he confessed that men should not lay their burdens on their sisters, even older ones. Little did we know Emily lingered just beyond the doorway, listening.
Victor begged me not to tell Father, fearing the consequences. He also pleaded I not go out now to scar Billys cheekthough I wanted to defend my brother with my life. Involving Father would have drawn him into a clash with Billys father, a step too close to the gaol.
The next day was Friday. Under the pretense of a shop run, Emily escorted us to school and, in secret, asked to see Billy. I obliged, whispering, Let him know who hes messing with.
The scene that followed was theatrical. During Victors English lesson, Emily breezed into the classroom, hair neatly done, manicure polished, voice sweet, asking Billy Harper to step out because she had business with him. The teacher, none the wiser, permitted it. Billy, thinking she was some new organizer, left calmly.
Emily seized him by the shirt, lifted him off the ground and hissed, What do you want from my son?
What son? he stammered.
From Victor Ryebinin! she snarled.
Nothing he muttered.
Exactlynothing! If you lay a hand on my brother again, come near him, or look at him the wrong way, Ill cut you down, you wretch!
Miss, let me go, Billy squealed weakly. I wont do it again!
Emily, with the authority of a stern matron, threw him out, declaring, Ill have your father locked up for grooming a juvenile criminal! Tell the teacher Im his neighbour, that I asked for the key! After school youll apologise to Victor, and Ill see to it yourself.
Billy scurried back to his desk, adjusting his uniform, muttering about a neighbour. From that day he never glared at Victor again; he even apologized, trembling, the same afternoon.
Dont tell Father, Emily urged us, but we could not hold our tongues and spilled everything. He was impressed.
At some point Emily guided me onto the right path. At sixteen I fell headlong into a reckless love, hormones drowning reason, longing for the forbidden.
Its a shame to recall, but Ill tell it. I fell for a downandout, perpetually drunk pianist, oblivious to the obvious. He whispered to my naïve ears that I was his muse, and I melted in his arms like wax. It was my first encounter with a man.
My mother once visited the pianist, asking two blunt questions: Does he ever sober up, and what will we survive on? With a steady life plan she promised to consider the prospect of our loveprovided the pianist would support me, for a single shabby flat was insufficient for serious intentions.
He was five years younger than Emily, and twentyfive years older than me. She cared not for propriety. I wont recount his answers here, but I have never felt more ashamed before Mother, especially when she said, I thought you were smarter.
Thus my love story ended, oddly and ungracefully, yet neither the pianist nor Father ended up in prisonEmily intervened in time.
Many years have passed. Victor and I have families built on the core values Emily instilled: love, respect, and a willingness to stand up when a loved one errs.
No woman could have done more for us than she. Father is happy, wellkept, and loved. Once, long ago, a family tragedy struck her, unknown to Victor and me; Father never spoke of it. Emily fell in love with our father and left her husband. She had a son who died because of her husbands fault, a grief she could never forgive.
We like to think we eased a fraction of Emilys pain. Her massive role in our upbringing was never, and could never be, downplayed. The whole family still gathers around her. We never quite know which slippers best suit her feet, but we cherish and protect her.
For true mothersno matter the hurdles, even a cruel stepnever truly stumble.
