Women’s Fates: Marianne After Granny Nancy passed away, Marianne felt utterly desolate. In her moth…

Fates of Women. Mary

When Granny Agnes passed away, the world seemed a duller, sadder place for Mary. She just didnt fit in at the farm, at least as far as her mother-in-law, Dorothy, was concerned. Too gawky, too thin, never worked hard enough, and as for childrenwell, Dorothy muttered darkly about that, too. “What goods a wilting flower in the house if she wont even grow a family?

Mary put up with it all. But when the gloom got too much, shed slip away to Granny Agnes for comfort. To Mary, Granny Agnes was worth her weight in goldthe kindest soul in her world, standing in for the father whod faded from her life, and the mother whod succumbed to consumption a decade on.

How Dan first looked at Mary is anyones guessyoung man from a proud farming family, with a well-swept house and plenty for all, falling head over boots for a penniless orphan. Dorothy, of course, had other plans. Shed had her eye on a sturdy local girl from good stocka fitting match, in her opinion.

Mary tried her best to please Dorothy. She buzzed about the house like a bee in spring, leapt at every chore without complaint. Nothing was ever enough. With Dan home, things were bearable, but once he went off to the neighbouring village, Dorothy was unbearable.

Patience, Mary-bird, Granny Agnes would murmur, Hearts can soften, given time.

But time seemed to make Dorothy only meaner. She just couldnt forgive her son for dragging a stray into the family. Dan, stubborn as his late father, did as he pleased and wouldnt hear a word against Mary. Proper lord of the manor, that onefirm but fair.

Truth be told, Dan adored Mary. The day he set eyes on herpale, wildflower-delicate, blue-eyed, with a nose a bit upturnedhe was smitten. Would have laid the entire farm at her feet, if shed so much as hinted. Mary didnt need giftsshe could see his heart was true, and she adored him right back.

Shed heard talk of his mother, mind, and had no illusions about Dorothys reputation for pettiness or penny-pinching. Still, with Dans support, she said yesand moved into his cottage.

She endured Dorothys icy barbs, and when she couldnt bear it, shed dash off to Granny Agnes, settle on the floor by her feet, head on the old womans lap, and whimper like a little lost pup. Grannys hands would stroke her hair, her soft palm soothing Mary’s worries, whispering prayers for God’s mercy on orphans.

Theyd sit so until Marys cloud lifted and hope crept in again.

But Granny Agnes slipped away one night, quiet and gentle as rain. Mary wailed for daysnow truly alone in the world.

“Time heals,” they say. Rubbish. It just dulls the ache, but on some days, the sorrow smacks you anew and you remember those kind, familiar hands all over again.

The years trudged on. Dorothys venom sharpened. “Three years living in my house doing nothing, not even giving me a grandson!”

The very mention of children was torture for Mary. She knew Dorothy whispered to Dan shed given him a dud. Dan brushed her off, but village tongues wag fastfolk were soon muttering that Dan would go to his grave, estate and all, with no heir.

Dan glowered when he heard the gossip, but as soon as he saw Mary, all that rubbish drifted away. Hed carry his precious dove around the house if she asked.

God knows if it was prayer or love or sheer bloody-mindedness, but Mary fell pregnant at last. Dorothys annoyance knew no bounds, but Dan doted on her more than ever.

Dorothy haunted the house like a crow. Let Mary stop two minutes for a rest and shed swoop in, hands on hips, hissing, “Sitting about, are you? Think that bellys an excuse to skive off everything?” The neighbours, peering over their hedges, pitied poor Mary dragging water with her growing bump, while Dorothy cawed on.

Mary gave birth at lastbut not without trouble. The little boy was so frail, pale as milk, and sometimes hed stop breathing altogether. Dorothy sniffed, “Well, what did you expect from her stockweakness breeds weakness. Mary sobbed, cuddling her son. Please, Motherhes your own grandson! Dorothy sneered, Ill be surprised if he makes it to the cot, let alone his inheritance!

Mary wept buckets, but Dorothy seemed satisfiedif the baby died, Dan would be free to find a more suitable wife. And maybe some hearty, rosy-cheeked children to carry on the line…

Dan came home each night and treasure his wife, soothing her, holding his tiny son who smiled and gurgled in his strong hands.

Right then, young man, Dan would say, Youll show them all what youre made of yet.

Soon they christened the babynamed him Edmund. But even so, Edmund wasnt putting on much weight, and Marys heart ached with worry.

One day, extra work called Dan to a distant village along the river. He kissed Marys head, Ill be gone a while. Grow strong, little Neddont fuss about old stories. Ill be back.

Dorothy made the most of his absence, riding Mary hard through every chore. Wood to chop, animals to feed, buckets to carryshe didnt let the girl rest a moment. Night-time brought no peace, as Edmund bawled, purple-faced, until dawn.

Mary lived on her nerves, and little Edmund, as though sensing his mothers exhaustion, grew ever sicker.

Autumn closed indrizzle, damp, and cold. Mary yearned for her husbands return to put Dorothy in her place, but he delayed, and Dorothys taunts turned sharper.

Ones better off away than with the sickly! Dorothy croaked. Perhaps hell find himself a real woman elsewhere.

That cruel hint gnawed at Mary. What if she was right? Grief became a pit with no ladder out.

Dorothy stepped up her campaign, dripping seeds of doubt each day. Do you really want Dan to be stuck in this house of mourning? shed say. Why not let him go, Mary?

Mary tried to protestwhere would she go with a sickly baby, with the cold settling in? But Dorothy just shrugged. If things get worsewell, not much of a loss, is it? Hes barely lived at all. Cold comfort indeed.

As if on cue, Edmund gave a shuddering cry, turned blue, and fell limp in Marys arms.

Think about it, Maryno happiness grows from anothers misery, Dorothy hissed, gliding from the room.

A fortnight passed; the first snow came. Mary, haggard and hollow-eyed, finally began snapping back at Dorothys jabs. Not that it matteredthis was Dorothys house, not hers. And the endless reminders that Dan wasnt coming home, that she was no longer wanted, pressed a cold stone on her heart.

At last, Mary decided enough was enough. Without a word, she packed a few things, bundled Edmund tight, and walked out into the biting night.

Dorothy watched, silent and stone-faced. Shed no worry for her sonword from the city said his caravan had been attacked by brigands, but Dan was alive, just healing. No need for Mary to know that. Let her think what she would. Dorothy planned to tell Dan the baby had died and Mary had run mad with griefgood riddance.

Next morning Dorothy spread her sad tale across the village, weeping for the lost daughter-in-law and grandson. But tongues wagged a few days, then winter closed doors and the story faded away…

***

Mary walked for hours, through woods and fields, half-frozen, desperate for shelter. Edmund whimpered, but she pressed on, clinging to hope. At last, the rooftops of another village shimmered in the morning mist.

She doubted anyone would take her inhoped only that kind souls might offer bread and a chance to warm the baby.

She paused by the village well to rest, ashamed to ask for help. A tall, broad-hipped woman approached, cheeks red from the cold, and eyed Mary up and down.

Whose lass are you, then? All blue from the cold, by the looks of it!

Im no ones, Mary murmured. Just passing through, heading for the next village. (A white lie, but who could blame her?)

Oh aye? And whos waiting for you there? the woman pressed.

My dad, Mary fibbed, glaring at her shoes.

In this weather, even a stray dog would be offered a roof, but they sent you tramping miles with a baby?

At that, Mary broke down, sobbing, her frozen hands over her face.

Right then, up you get! declared the woman, scooping her up. Youre coming home with me.

Inside, the cottage was warm and snug; logs snapped in the hearth and the room smelled of herbs. Mary collapsed onto the bench, bone weary. The woman helped her out of her coat and gently took the baby from her arms.

Im Mrs Millicent, she said, unwrapping Edmund. Blimey, what a tiny thing! Is he baptised?

He isEdmunds his name, Mary replied faintly, before slumping to the floor in a dead faint.

How long she lay there, she didnt know. She woke in a strange bed, wrapped in blankets, all alone. Panic seized her when she realised Edmund wasnt nearby. She flew from room to roomempty. Mrs Millicent and Edmund were nowhere to be seen. Mary threw on the nearest coat and rushed for the doorjust then Millicent swept in on a chill gust.

Awake at last? she said, eyebrows raised. Wherere you off to in such a tizz?

My babywhere is he? Mary wailed.

Calm yourself! Millicent laughed. Youve been out for three days, half delirious. Ive taken the boy to my motherin the wood. Shell look after him.

Why? Mary choked, horror in her eyes.

For his health, thats why. Now, sit down and start at the beginning.

Mary poured out her storyher love for Dan, her mother-in-laws cruelty, the sickly baby, her heartbreakeverything.

Millicent listened, nodding. The Lord works in mysterious ways. Dont fret, child. Your boyll be right as rain soon, and fate may yet smile. But you can’t take him now, not till were sure hes better. Comelets go see for yourself.

Off they went, winding into the woods. My mother, Mrs Agnes, lives here year-round. Folk keep awaythey say shes a witch, but she simply knows her herbs and her prayers.

At last, they reached a little cottage nestled in a clearing. Inside, a wiry old woman greeted them with a cackling chuckle and directed Mary to a corner where Edmund snoozed in a cradle.

He looked rosier alreadyalmost healthy. Mrs Agnes nodded knowingly. Hes getting stronger. Sit down, and listen well. People call me a witch, but I’ll tell you trulyvillagers scapegoat what they dont understand. Why do you think your boys ill?

Mary didnt answer.

You kept visiting graveyards while pregnant, didnt you? Spirits cling to mourners. That sorrow leeched into your boy. But fear notwe can fix it. Edmund will stay here two more days, and well draw the weakness out.

Mary felt peace brush her soul, like Granny Agness old caress. Soon, she and Millicent returned, and when the time came, Edmund was pink and gurgling, brand new. The house was a haven; Millicent treated Mary like her own.

Why does Mrs Agnes live in the woods? Mary asked one evening.

Millicent explained the talea season of bad luck, blame, fearful villagers. You help folk and they like youuntil trouble comes, then youre the first accused. But if anyones a witch, its your Dorothy!

Mary laughed for the first time in months.

Dont worry how Mum works her magicjust know no devils are involved, Millicent teased.

*

Meanwhile, in Marys old village, Dan finally returned. Rushing to their cottage, he found the whole place stripped bare of Marys warmth, all trace of her erased. Dorothy sobbed her own rehearsed linesMaryd run mad with grief, taking Edmund and disappearing into the night.

Dan felt hollow. Grief numbed him that winter. Dorothy paraded a train of eligible lasses, but at Dans scowl, she soon desisted.

Couldnt save one wife or sondont dare mention weddings to me again! he snapped.

He sulked through the days; the house echoed with emptiness. Dorothy became a bitter wraith, envying every neighbours grandchildren. Eventually, guilt and sorrow weighed so hard on her that even Londons best doctor couldnt reach her. Dorothy faded and passed away, her secrets buried with her.

Dan was left truly alone. Mourning dragged on, and finally he decided there was nothing for him but to follow his mother into the next life. When its her fortieth day, he muttered, Ill join her.

*

On the eve, Dan wandered into the forest, thoughts heavy as sodden peat. Memories flashedsmiling Mary, little Edmund, distant parents. Whats the point anymore? he thought, stepping into a marsh.

The swamp clung hungrily to his legs, and he didnt fight it. Then, through the fog, he heard a lilting voice singingso familiar it stopped him cold.

A white shape flitted among the trees; surely a mirage. Mary? he gasped.

The vision called out, Dan?

He blinkedthere she was, real, living Mary, eyes wide, holding out a hand. Dan, what on earth are you doing?! Im alive!

He thrashed free, crawling out of the muck still half believing it was some spectre welcoming him to the beyond.

But it was true: Mary was alive, Edmund too. Dan embraced them both, sobbing like a child.

Back in Millicents, Dan clung to Mary and baby Edmund, laughing and crying in turns, while Millicent brewed soothing tea for his nerves. They talked long into the night, telling their tales, never letting go of each others hands.

Dan decided theyd never go back to the old place; instead, he moved his affairs to Millicents village, where they made a home with the woman whod shown Mary such kindnessfamily not by blood, but by bond.

*

Meanwhile Dorothys grave, overgrown and forgotten, held its silence. No one much wondered if her soul found peace, after all the misery shed sownboth to herself, and to those she claimed to love.