Oliver married at twenty-four. His wife, Emily, was twenty-two. She was the only and much-awaited child of a university professor and a schoolteacher. Soon after the wedding, they had two sons in quick succession, followed by a daughter.
Emilys mother retired and devoted herself to the grandchildren.
Olivers relationship with her was oddhe always addressed her formally as «Margaret Anne,» while she replied with a distant «you,» using his full name, Oliver. They never argued, but he felt uneasy in her presence. Still, she never interfered, spoke to him with measured respect, and remained neutral in his and Emilys affairs.
A month ago, the company Oliver worked for went under, and he lost his job. Over dinner, Emily remarked,
«We cant live long on Mums pension and my salary, Ollie. Youll have to find work.»
Easier said than done. Thirty days of pounding the pavement, and not a single offer!
Frustrated, Oliver kicked an empty beer can. Thank heavens Margaret Anne hadnt said anything yet, but her meaningful glances spoke volumes.
Before the wedding, hed overheard a conversation between mother and daughter.
«Emily, are you sure hes the one you want to spend your life with?»
«Mum, of course!»
«I dont think you grasp the responsibility. If only your father were still here…»
«Oh, Mum, stop! We love each otheritll be fine!»
«And what about children? Can he provide?»
«He will, Mum!»
«Its not too late to reconsider, Emily. His family…»
«Mum, I love him!»
«Mark my wordsyou might live to regret this.»
«Well, regrets come knocking,» Oliver muttered bitterly. His mother-in-law had seen it coming.
He didnt want to go home. He imagined Emilys forced encouragement»Dont worry, tomorrows another day!»Margaret Annes silent, judging sighs, and the children smirking, «Dad, found a job yet?» He couldnt bear it again.
He wandered along the riverside, sat on a park bench, and as night fell, drove to the countryside cottage where his family stayed from spring to autumn. A single light glowed in Margaret Annes bedroom. Tiptoeing up the path, he stepped on a tree root and stumbled.
The curtain twitched.
«Olivers late,» Margaret Anne said. «Have you called him, Emily?»
«Yes, Mum. His phones off. Probably still job-huntingor drowning his sorrows somewhere.»
Her voice turned icy. «Emily, never speak of the father of your children like that!»
«Oh, Mum, dont be so dramatic! I just think Ollies slacking. A whole month lazing about on my pay!»
For the first time in six years, Oliver heard Margaret Anne slam her fist on the table, raising her voice.
«Enough! You made vowsin sickness and hardship, to stand by him! Wheres your support now?»
Emily stammered, «Mum, Im sorry. Please dont upset yourself. Im just tired, thats all.»
«Go to bed,» Margaret Anne sighed, waving her off.
The light went out. She paced, then pulled back the curtain, peering into the dark. Suddenly, she looked up and crossed herself.
«Dear Lord, Merciful and Kind, protect the father of my grandchildren, the husband of my daughter. Dont let him lose faith in himself. Help him, Lordmy dear boy.»
Her whispered prayer was choked with tears.
A warmth swelled in Olivers chest. No one had ever prayed for himnot his strict mother, whod devoted herself to council work, nor his father, whod vanished when he was five. Hed grown up in nurseries, school, and after-hours clubs. At university, hed worked straight awayhis mother despised idleness and expected him to fend for himself.
The warmth spread, rising until unshed tears stung his eyes. He remembered Margaret Anne rising before dawn to bake the pies he loved, simmering hearty stews, her dumplings a masterpiece. She tended the children, kept the house, grew vegetables, made jam, pickled cucumberscrisp and perfectand all manner of preserves.
Why had he never noticed? Why had he never thanked her? He and Emily had just worked, raised children, assumed it was how things should be. Or was that just him? He recalled watching a documentary on Australia once, and Margaret Anne murmuring how shed always dreamed of visiting. Hed joked that the heat would melt her «ice-queen composure.»
Oliver sat under the window, head in hands, a long while.
At breakfast the next morning, he stepped onto the verandapies, jam, tea, milk. The childrens faces bright with joy. He met Margaret Annes eyes and said softly,
«Good morning, Mum.»
She startled, then hesitated before replying,
«Good morning, Oliver.»
Two weeks later, he found work. A year after that, he sent Margaret Anne to Australiadespite her protests.
Sometimes, it takes a moment of quiet honesty to see the love thats always been there.
