Two Wives: A Tale of Love and Loyalty

My motherinlawshe calls herself a nonbearing old woman, a halfwoman at bestalways mutters that about Mary. She sighs, a bitter smile curving her lips. Dont listen to her, snaps Sally, the halfdeaf neighbour, leaning close. God knows what Hes doing. Youre not meant to have a child yet; He sees ahead of us all.

Do you really, Mrs. Sally? How can He see? Marys eyes well up. She rarely says this aloud; she keeps the ache locked in her heart. Shes back in her birthplace, a hamlet ten miles from the family plot, to tend her mothers grave, and now shes sitting with the old halfdeaf neighbour for a chat.

Its a sad story, but were not the ones who find children; they find us. Be patient, love.

The village dogs bark, sparrows chatter. The familiar sounds of a thriving hamlet have long since faded. Littleford, in the county of Yorkshire, is nearly deserted, its crooked cottages leaning toward the river as if bowing a final salute.

Mary makes her way home to her husband in the larger village of Ifton. She must leave Littleford at first light. All her life shes dreaded the nighttime woods and fields, a lingering childhood fear.

Mary was born here. Six years ago she was left all alone. Her father died after the war, and her mother passed away when she was young. She took a job as a milkmaid on the local cooperative farm.

She met her future husband in June, the seventeenth summer of her life and her first season working the farm. The trek was long, but she ran gladly, even though her hands ached from the hard milking.

One morning a sharp rain caught her on the lane. The sky turned a heavy grey, clouds rolling in, thunder growling low. Everything seemed to tilt sideways.

Mary ducked under a shelter by the woods edge, sat on the bench and wrung the rain from her long black braids. Through the slanted sheets of rain she saw a darkhaired lad in a checked shirt clinging to his body and trousers rolled above the knee. He slipped under the shelter, saw her, and flashed a grin.

Now thats a present! he shouted. Im Nicholas, and who might you be?

Marys heart hammered; darkness swirled around the rainspattered lane. She stayed silent, edging back on the bench.

Did a bolt of lightning knock you senseless, or are you just born mute? he teased.

Im not mute. Marys my name.

Cold? Need a warm-up? he continued, keeping his distance. The rains knocked us both flat. Im with the MTS.

He kept joking, then his jokes grew more forward, making Marys skin crawl. Her blouse stuck to her skinwhether that stirred him or he was simply a roving flirt, she couldnt tell. She bolted out into the downpour, sprinting away as fast as she could, glancing back over her shoulder.

The forest, shrouded in low clouds, felt terrifying.

Later, Nicholas Nikiforov returned as a temporary herdsman. Mary gave him a cold glance, but he soon began courting her in earnest. That first encounter clearly left a mark.

She married Nicholas with joy, though she could barely picture what life would be like in his household and in a foreign village. His mother turned out to be stern and unwell. She gladly shifted part of the chores onto her daughterinlaw but kept a sharp eye on everything.

Even when things were tough, Mary never wallowed. She was a hardworking, sturdy womanthough his mothers rebukes bruised her. She came in penniless, no dowry, an orphan, people would mutter.

After a while his mother softened, seeing that Mary could run the farm well. The other nags faded. A year passed, then another, but Mary still bore no child.

Youre a blight, a barren old crone, his mother spat one day. Whats a house without grandchildren?

Mary sobbed into Nicholass shoulder; he scolded his mother, who grew even angrier. The fatherinlaw kept his distance, only appearing when Mary set a bowl before him.

Yet Mary clung to hope. She visited the local midwife herself, slipped off to the neighbouring village to see the vicar, and brewed folk remedies to cure infertility.

Life trudged on. The Nikiforov household wasnt poor, but postwar times were lean, and a scrap of bread was always there. One early morning Nicholas brought home half a sack of damp grain.

Oi, Kolya, dont botherdont let them find out! his mother shrieked.

Its all of us pulling together, Nicholas replied calmly.

Mary tried to persuade him not to get involved in shady deals, but he persisted, bringing home whatever he could scrounge from the farm.

Nights became restless for Mary. Shed sit on the bed with the lamp off, legs tucked under her, waiting for her husband.

One November, she decided to meet him. She felt her way to the wardrobe, found a coat and a thick wool sweater, slipped on her rubber boots and a canvas cloak, and stepped out onto the porch. The biting wind howled through the open doors, driving cold rain against her face.

Where was he, out in such weather? Her feet carried her to the edge of the village. The windows were dark, even the dogs were hidden. Her faithful collie, Fenny, whined softly. Mary walked, eyes scanning the fields, then paused at an old barn on the village fringe.

Beyond lay only open field. She had always feared the nighttime fields and woods. She thought of waiting a while longer, then turning back.

The rain hammered the cold, damp earth, sometimes gusting, sometimes steady. Through the din she heard a light, tinkling laugh from the barn.

She strained to listen and caught Nicholass voice. At first she felt relief, stepped toward the barn, then a chill ran through herhe wasnt alone.

The rain muffled and then carried whispers. She recognized a woman’s voiceKatya, a girl from the neighbouring hamlet who worked with her on the farm.

In the early days, Katya was bold, cheerful, and chatty, dreaming of leaving the village for the city to earn a better life.

Go on, get a house, get a kitchen, get a kitchen garden, shed sing. Im the only daughter of a widowed mother, a real gogetter! Ill find a city lad, rich and bald. I wont stay on the farm forever.

Lately, though, Katyas sparkle had dimmed. She stopped cracking jokes, grew heavierset, and the other women whispered that she was jealous of a married man.

Mary thought Katya must be after a city life, but she couldnt imagine Nicholas being the object of her desire.

Rainwater rushed through the drainage ditches as Mary stood frozen at the barn, trying to piece together the scene. Katyas laughter rang out sharply, and she bolted home, slipping on the slick path, her skirt getting caught in the mud of a makeshift canvas coat.

She burst into the kitchen, stripped herself of the mud, and began scrubbing her clothes in the washbasin, shouting to Fenny, Well wash this muck away, my dear.

All that remained in that house were the love she thought she had and the love he seemed to give her, but those feelings were now in question. She couldnt bring herself to believe hed been unfaithful, though the rainy din had left her uneasy.

When Nicholas finally came into the washroom, she said nothing, choosing instead to wait until dawn.

At first light, two constables and the cooperatives chairman arrived. His mother clutched at the lapels of the chairmans jacket, her fatherinlaw followed silently, eyes narrowed at the unexpected guests. Mary busied herself, helping her husband, lifting his weary motherinlaw from the floor.

Fourteen villagers were dragged away to the council office. A crowd gathered outside the building until noon, passing sacks and bundles back and forth. By lunchtime a lorry arrived, loading the arrested men into its bed and hauling them away to be tried in the city.

Mary glanced back. Not far off, under the birch trees, stood Katya.

The arrests sent a ripple through the whole hamlet, though people whispered quietly from the thatched houses, too frightened to speak openly.

His mother fell into a deep, motherly grief; his father slumped, his spirit drained. Mary hadnt slept for days.

She never resolved anything with Nicholas; she hovered between being a wife and a castaway. Yet fear for her husbands fate outweighed any resentment. She could not openly protest; a wife of an arrested man would be shunned in other coops. They never discussed divorce.

A few days later, Mary returned from milking, carrying a bucket of milk, when she opened her door to find Katya seated at the table, hands folded over a large pregnant belly. Across from her sat the Nikiforovs parents, heads bowed. Katya stared straight ahead, clicked her tongue, while the elders looked down.

Good day, Katya sang.

And to you, dear, Mary replied.

Mary, his mother said unusually warmly, Katya used to visit the city, see our friendsOlga and Nina. Their fathers there with Vasya, Olgas husband.

Mary set the milk bucket on the stove, washed her hands, and listened.

The court gave my brother ten years, can you believe it? the mother sobbed, pressing a handkerchief to her eyes.

What? Ten years? Mary gasped.

Katya answered, They called them state criminals, slapped a tenyear sentence on almost everyone. It was a sweeping trial.

Lord Almighty! Mary whispered, disbelief shaking her.

Her motherinlaw wept, and Mary tried to console her:

Maybe theyll think again, maybe theyll let him go Theyll frighten us first, then release.

Wholl release them now? Foolish girl, Mary! Thats the next step. The courts are relentless, Katya snapped, certain of her words.

They all listened to Katyas account of the trial, then fell silent as the fatherinlaw sipped tea.

Katya slapped the table, making everyone startle, and declared loudly, If the owners stay silent, Ill speak: Kolya intended to marry me. He wanted to divorce you, but never got the chance. So here I am, with his child. I wont raise it alone. My father wont let me return to the village with a child, hes heard the rumors. I thought wed marry Kolya, hed forgive. Now look where that got us So Im here to ask you to look after my son.

She stared at Mary, waiting for a reactionsurprise, protest, tears. Mary sat quiet, hands folded on a militarystyle skirt, eyes fixed on the floor.

Finally, the motherinlaw could hold back no more.

This is our house, we decide. The grandchild will be ours. As for Kolya whats become of him? she sniffed. Let Katya stay. Let the child grow here. You decide, Mary.

Mary answered simply, I dont mind, and rose to strain the milk.

Katya and the fatherinlaw fetched their belongings. The motherinlaw busied herself, waiting for Katyas arrival.

What shall we do with the bed? The child will need a corner soon. she fretted.

Mary fetched a bundle of straw from the yard, spread it on the kitchen floor and covered it with a handwoven coverlether makeshift bed, much like Fennys little shelter.

Days grew shorter and colder. The motherinlaw fell ill through the winter. Katya, despite her recent quarrels, began to look after her, sometimes defending her when Mary was too strict.

Come lie down, Katya would say, or theyll keep you here and nag you.

Mary spent her days milking from dawn till dusk, often pausing to stare out the small window at the white woods across the river, pondering her fate. She could not return to her hometown; the wind whistled through the thatch, and the morning milking run ten miles away was not an option.

She often recalled her own mother, wondering what she would say now, seeing her daughter trapped in such disgracetwo wives under one roof, fighting for who was the true lady. Her mother had been a proud, independent woman.

Winter days passed in weary monotony, brightened only by the baby born in January, a small burst of joy.

When the midwife delivered that child, the fatherinlaw carried the bundle in on a handdrawn cart. They named the boy Egan.

Mary, though it pained her, tried not to look at the baby too often, angry that she hadnt birthed him, though she prayed and took every remedy she could.

The little boy seemed to love Katya more than his own mother, clinging to her curls, pecking her cheeks, giggling as he waddled on his knees.

The motherinlaw kept reminding Mary, All his looks are for Kolyas boy.

Yes, theyre alike, Mary would reply, weary.

Mostly Katya cared for the boy, but Mary saw how little Egan fetched her own future hopes.

Will we just rot here on this farm? Mary wondered. I wanted to study to be a lab assistant in the town centre. Kolyas gone ten years, what now?

On the farm, change arrived. Four twobed houses were built in the village, and new milkmaids cametalkative, not from around here, but willing workers. They brought weekends off. Mary befriended one of the newcomers, Vera.

One of Veras days off, she asked, Whats this all about?

Mary recounted her home life. Vera gasped. Two women, a lover under the same roofnever heard of that.

Go away, Vera advised.

Nah, Mary replied, Ive got nowhere else. The farm needs me.

Egan grew, toddling about, clutching at Marys skirts, laughing, his little mouth forming bright smiles. Hed chase Fenny, and the two would tumble in the mud, their laughter echoing across the yard.

On May Day, Mary set about making pies. She scooped four shovelfuls of flour into a castiron pot, returned to the cottage, and began kneading.

Katya was preparing to go to the village fête, slipped on a string of white beads, and hurried off. The motherinlaw perched beside Mary, cradling Egan.

Mary, Ive got to tell you something, she said, voice trembling. Katya wants to leave for the city, to learn and work. She says shes scared of us raising this child. Were already old enough to be his grandparents!

Marys eyes widened.

What do you mean? she asked.

The boyhes counting on you, the motherinlaw whispered, Shes a shrew, not a mother. Shell abandon her own child!

Mary kept kneading, the motions automatic, thoughts swirling.

What shall we do? Vera asked, peering over the kitchen door.

Mary shrugged.

I suppose well see. God didnt give me my own children, but perhaps this little lad will be his blessing. Kolya might come back one day, and hell pick the child who raised him. Maybe thats how God works.

The motherinlaw clucked approvingly, Yes, dear, well raise him together.

The pies baked well. Mary laid them out, covering them with a cloth. Katya returned, flushed, laughing, full of good humour.

Oh, lifes grand, Mary! You shouldnt have missed the village dance.

Here are the pies, Mary said, lifting the cloth.

Starving here, Katya exclaimed, grabbing a slice. She slipped into her dress, ready to join the celebration.

Mary continued to run the household, sometimes pausing, staring into the distance with a quiet melancholy. Fenny circled the yard, unaware of his owners turmoil.

Katya fell asleep on a cushion beside Egan; the grandparents settled quietly in their little corner. Mary cradled the boy, laying him beside his mother.

Outside, dusk settled, a light drizzle pattered on the roof. Mary thought calmly about the rain. Nothing could stop it, nor the dark woods shed feared since childhood.

She whispered to herself, No more tolerating this, no more love, no more hope.

She slipped into the shed, pulling on a sturdy canvas coat and her rubber boots despite the summer heat, and gathered a heavy canvas bag filled with her belongings. She tugged a sleepy Fenny onto her lap and stepped out through the back gate.

The wet lane was pleasant under her boots; the field no longer frightened her. She paused at the forests edge, inhaled deeply, and walked on, determined to reach the railway station.

She had heard there were training programmes for weavers in a nearby townshed learned of it from Vera. She would go to Whitby, earn a room in a lodging house, and learn aShe boarded the train to Whitby, leaving the rainsoaked fields behind and stepping forward into a future she could finally call her own.