Two Wives: A Tale of Love and Loyalty

Childless halfwoman, my motherinlaw snapped, her voice as thin as dry straw. Eleanor sighed, a bitter smile curving her lips.

Dont listen to her, shrieked the halfdeaf neighbour, Mrs. Brigid, leaning close enough to make the words echo. God knows what He does. Its too early for you to bear a child; He already sees whats ahead.

Motherinlaw, how can He see? Eleanors tears traced rivers down her cheeks. She rarely spoke of the ache that lived in the hollow of her heart; she kept it secret, a private fire. Now she had returned to the parish of Willowbrook, ten miles from her birthplace, to tend her mothers grave and, as fate would have it, to sit and talk with the old, halfdeaf neighbour.

Its a known sorrow, Brigid muttered, the words tasting of old stone. We do not find children; they find us. Be patient, girl.

The village dogs barked, sparrows trilled, but the familiar hum of country life was fading. Willowbrook, once a bustling hamlet in Yorkshire, seemed to bow its crooked cottages toward the river, as if offering a final salute. Eleanor turned back toward home, toward her husbands house in the larger village of Ashford. She had to leave Willowbrook before darkness fell; the night woods and fields had always frightened her as a child, a lingering, inexplicable dread.

Six years earlier, after the war, her father had died and her mother passed away when Eleanor was still a babe. Shed taken work as a milkmaid on the local collective farm. It was June, the seventeenth summer of her life, when she first met the man who would become her husband. She walked the long distance to the farm with a smile, despite the initial ache in her arms from the hard milking.

One morning a slanting rain caught her on the path. The sky darkened, heavy clouds rolled in, and a low rumble shook the air. Everything seemed to tilt, leaning to one side. She ducked under a wooden shelter at the edge of the village, near the woods, and sat on the low bench, twining her black hair into a loose braid and squeezing the rain from it. Through the angled sheets of rain she saw a darkhaired boy in a checkered shirt, his trousers rolled up to the knees, running toward her. He slipped under the shelter, saw her, and broke into a grin.

Now thats a present! he shouted. Im Nicholas. And you are?

Eleanors heart hammered; the rain swirled darkness around her. She stayed silent, sliding to the edge of the bench.

Did the thunder strike you deaf? Or are you just shy? he teased.

Not shy. My name is Eleanor.

Cold? Need a warm hand? he continued, keeping his distance, his words a teasing drizzle. Im from the MTC.

He joked for a while, then pressed closer, making Eleanors breath catch. Her blouse clung to her skin; perhaps that thrilled him, or perhaps he was simply eager. She bolted from the rain, legs pumping, glancing back at the looming, cloudladen woods. The forest seemed a dark mouth ready to swallow her.

Soon after, Nicholas Nayloran itinerant farmhand filling in temporarilyjoined them. Eleanor regarded him with a flicker of resentment, but his sincere courtship soon followed, a reminder that their first meeting had left a mark.

She entered marriage with hope, though she could not picture the life that awaited her in her husbands village. Her motherinlaw proved stern and frail, quick to shift responsibilities onto her yet watching her every move. Though the tasks were hard, Eleanor never gave up; she was diligent and resilient, even if the motherinlaws reproaches pricked at her. After all, she was a penniless orphan without a dowry, a true nomoney bride.

In time the motherinlaws temper eased as she saw Eleanors competence. But the years slipped by, and still no child came.

Youre a spoiled wretch, the motherinlaw snapped one evening. A childless halfwomanwhats the use of this house without grandchildren?

Eleanor wept into Nicholass shoulder; he scolded his mother, who only grew angrier. The motherinlaw stared at Eleanor only when a bowl was placed before her.

Undeterred, Eleanor visited the local nurse herself, whispered to the village priest, brewed herbal teas that the old women swore would cure infertility. Life moved on, the Naylor household never truly poor, despite the postwar hardships that left every stone cracked.

One morning Nicholas returned with half a sack of damp grain.

Dont bring that, lovedont you think theyll notice? his mother crooned.

Its all of us, not just me. Calm down, Mother.

Eleanor tried to dissuade Nicholas from hauling such scraps, but he persisted. Nights grew restless; she sat on the bedside, legs tucked under her, waiting for him in the dark.

One night she gathered a skirt, a shirt, a woolen frock, found a pair of rubber boots under the bed, slipped on a canvas coat, and stepped onto the doorstep. A biting November wind slammed into the open doors, and large drops of rain seared her face. Where was he, lingering in such a storm?

Her feet carried her to the edge of the village; the cottages were dark, even the dogs tucked themselves away. Her faithful terrier, Fen, followed obediently. Eleanor stared ahead, searching for Nicholas, then stopped before an old barn at the villages fringe. Beyond lay only fields and the night forest shed always feared. She decided to wait a while, then return.

Rain hammered the cold, damp earth, sometimes a howl, sometimes a steady patter. Through the sound she heard a faint, feminine giggle drifting from the barn. She sharpened her hearing and recognized Nicholass voice, thenanother voicebelonging to Kate, a girl from the neighboring hamlet who had worked with Eleanor on the farm.

In the early days Kate had been lively, cheeky, dreaming of leaving the village for the city, singing about big houses, bright lights, and a handsome, rich bachelor. Lately, however, her laughter had waned; rumors swirled that she was bitter about a married mans attention. Eleanor had imagined Kate as citybound, never suspecting the man was Nicholas himself.

Rainwater streamed down the barns walls as Eleanor stood, paralyzed, until a sharp burst of Kates laughter cut through the gloom. She bolted from the barn, slipping on the slick path, her wartime coat catching on a knot of rope, tearing her dress. She stumbled home, drenched, and began washing herself in the washhouse, her mind haunted by Kates voice and Nicholass whisper to another.

All that remained in the house was loveher love, his loveyet it felt hollow, as if she were hearing it through the roar of a storm, unable to grasp its shape. When Nicholas later entered the washhouse, she said nothing, choosing instead to wait until dawn.

At sunrise two police constables and the collective farms chairman arrived. Her motherinlaw clutched the chairmans lapel, weeping; her fatherinlaw stood solemnly, eyes narrowed at the strangers. Eleanor scrambled to gather her husband, supporting her motherinlaw as she was led away with thirteen others to the council hall. The townsfolk gathered, shuffling bags and crates, until a lorry arrived and carted the detainees to the town for trial.

Eleanor turned, spotting Kate standing beneath the birch trees, a silent witness. The arrest shook the whole village; whispers filled the cottages, but fear kept them shut. The motherinlaw collapsed into her grief, the fatherinlaws health waned, and Eleanor found sleepless nights a constant companion.

She never resolved her marriage with Nicholas; she was neither fully wife nor entirely abandoned. Yet fear for her husbands safety outweighed jealousy. Divorce was not spoken of; a wife of an accused could not be welcomed in another collective.

Weeks later, returning from the dairy with a pail of milk, Eleanor opened her cottage door to find Kate seated at the table, hands folded under a swollen belly. Beside her sat her own parentsinlaw, heads bowed.

Good day, Kate sang softly.

And to you as well, Eleanor replied, setting the milk on the stove, washing her hands at the sink.

The court gave Kolya ten years, her motherinlaw whispered, pressing a handkerchief to her eyes. Think about it.

Ten years? Eleanor gasped.

Its what they saidstate criminals, all of them got ten years, Kate answered, eyes solemn.

Lord have mercy, Eleanor breathed, disbelief cracking her voice.

Her motherinlaw sobbed; Eleanor tried to comfort her: Maybe theyll pardon him, maybe theyll release him theyll scare us but then set us free.

Who will release them? Foolish girl! Kate snapped, her tone harsh. Theyll sit there and pass judgments.

They lingered over the details, the clink of tea cups punctuating the gloom. Kate then slammed her palm on the table, startling everyone, and declared, If the owners stay silent, Ill speak: Kolya planned to marry me. He wanted a divorce from you but never got the chance. So my child will be his, and I wont raise him alone. My father wont let me go back to the village with a child, but I thought marriage would fix it. Now look how things turned. She faced Eleanors motherinlaw. Youll look after his grandson.

The motherinlaw, eyes swollen, whispered, Our house, our decision. The grandson will be here, and Kolya what of him? She burst into tears, leaning against her apron.

I dont mind, Eleanor replied, rising to strain the milk. Kate and the fatherinlaw fetched their belongings.

The motherinlaw fretted, Where will we put the baby to sleep? We have no room

Eleanor gathered a bundle of straw from the yard, laid it on the floor by the stove, and draped a woven blanket over itnow a makeshift bed, much like Fens little corner in the doghouse.

Winter tightened its grip; the motherinlaw fell ill, and Kate, in her final days, grew frail, leaning on a walking stick. The farms burdens rested on Eleanors shoulders, inescapable. Kate, surprisingly, began to aid her, occasionally defending her when the motherinlaws harshness grew too sharp.

Eleanor spent her days milking, watching the white forest beyond the river from a tiny window, pondering her fate. She could not return to Willowbrook; the wind whistled through the thatch, and the tenmile trek to work in the biting cold was impossible. She often thought of her own mother, wondering what she would say seeing her daughters disgracetwo women living under one roof, each claiming the title of wife.

The cold months passed, marked by fatigue and monotony, brightened only by the birth of a small boy in January. The fatherinlaw, in a rare moment of tenderness, brought the infant from the hospital, naming him Edward. Eleanor, though not his mother, cared for him, feeling a pang each time she watched the child she hadnt birthed.

Years slipped by. The collective decided to replace four tworoom cottages with new flats, bringing in substitute milkmaids from elsewhere. One of them, Vera, befriended Eleanor on a day off.

Whats your story? Vera asked.

Eleanor recounted the strange household where a wife and a lover shared a roof. Vera blinked, Leave that place.

Cant, Eleanor protested, where would I go? The farm needs me.

Edward grew, toddling on his knees, tugging at her hair, planting kisses on her cheeks. Their terrier Fen joined in playful tussles. Eleanor adored the boy; Kate, stern yet caring, sometimes pushed him hard, a reminder of the dreams Eleanor once held of a better life.

On May Day, Eleanor rolled flour into a castiron pot, kneading dough for pies. Kate, dressed in white beads, prepared to attend a neighbouring fête. Their motherinlaw, cradling Edward, sighed, Eleanor, Ill tell you what I think. Youre like a mother to the child, not Kate. She wants to leave for the city, study, work. Edward will be our burden, and we have no one else to look after him.

Eleanors eyes widened. What?

The child will stay here, dear. Well raise him together.

She continued, Maybe its for the best. Youll have a child, though not yours. Kolya will return and choose the one who raises his boy. She glanced at Edward, Hes not a nuisance; hes our future.

Eleanor, baffled, shrugged. Maybe.

The pies baked, golden, and Kate returned, cheeks flushed, laughing. Oh, lifes grand, Eleanor! You should have come to the dance, youd have loved it! she exclaimed, grabbing a slice.

Eleanor tended the farm, sometimes staring into the distance, a quiet sorrow in her gaze. Fen circled, unaware of the turmoil. Kate fell asleep beside Edward; the parentsinlaw settled in the pantry. Eleanor rocked the boy, laying him next to his mother. The sky outside dimmed, a thin drizzle pattering on the roof.

Rain could not stop her, nor the dark forest that had haunted her since childhood. No, Mother, Ill no longer endure this, Eleanor thought, There is no love left, no hope.

She slipped on her rubber boots, pulled on a light coat despite the summer heat, and, with a heavy canvas bag, stepped out onto the damp lane. The road felt soft beneath her feet, the fields no longer frightening. She walked toward the distant station, determined to reach the town of Sheffield, where a seamstress training programme promised a dormitory and a new start. Vera had mentioned it, and the thought of a fresh life steadied her.

The rains drum rose, and a horses hooves echoed. She ducked into a shadowed thicket, only to hear a voice from the gloom.

Its me, a gruff farmer called, holding a sack. He lifted her bag onto his cart.

Forgive me, Eleanor whispered as she boarded the cart.

He chuckled, Youll be free soon enough. He tossed her a pair of tenpound notes, eyes flickering. Dont forget us.

Eleanor watched him disappear, the cart rattling toward the station. The morning train arrived, its whistle a bright promise. The carriage rocked, the wheels clacking on the rails, carrying Eleanor toward a future she could finally imagine.