Dear Diary,
When I first heard that John was marrying Eleanor, my mother, Martha, took to my sisterinlaw like a child to a new doll. Shed noticed Eleanor many years before, when John was still at school and would dash off to the local dance hall with her.
John, are you smitten? Youre staring at yourself in the mirror like a lovesick schoolboy, Martha would tease, Show us the bride before you take me to the altar.
John would grin and dart off, Im smitten, Mum. Youll see soon enough. Hed always leave with a grin that made me think hed taken a secret shortcut straight to her heart.
At dinner one night Martha whispered to my husband, If only our boy had a daughterinlaw like Eleanor.
What sort of Eleanor? he asked.
Shes the granddaughter of old Mr. Frederick, brought up by him alone. Not spoiled, polite, cheerful, and a beauty, too. Marthas eyes glittered with the same excitement that once made her watch Eleanors every move.
When John arrived at our cottage for tea with Eleanor, my mother could hardly contain herself.
Sweetheart, youve read my thoughts, havent you? Ive been hoping youd take Eleanor as your wife for ages, she giggled, eyes shining. John and Eleanor exchanged shy smiles.
Their wedding was a modest countryside affair in Yorkshire, no lavish banquet, just two young people pledging love. Eleanor, though gentle, was determined; when she set her mind to something she did it with care and sense.
My Eleanor, my mother would tell the neighbour, is like a swallowsflight, kind and watchful. What a good housewife shell be.
A year later our grandson Michael was born. The grandparents adored him, yet he entered the world premature and fragile. He grew slowly, becoming a calm boy.
Time moved on. Johns parents passed away, and two years after that John himself died, suddenly in the yard while stacking hay under a scorching sun. His heart simply gave out. Martha wept bitterly, but there was nothing I could do.
Eleanor was left with little Michael. They settled into a quiet, measured life, planning each task together, dividing chores fairly. Their smallholding had a cow, a horse, a pig and a few chickens. Unlike many neighbours, there were no shouting matches, no harsh words between mother and son.
If a sudden rain ruined our freshly stacked hay, Eleanor would say, Dont worry, love, the summers long enough to dry it out. The neighbours often argued over such misfortunes, sometimes nearly coming to blows.
Eleanor kept the house immaculatepolished floors, starched curtains, tidy rooms. She loved to cook, not in great quantity but with variety, and Michael always asked what shed make the next day.
Our neighbour Anne would pop in now and then, surprised at the spread on our modest table.
Eleanor, you live just the two of you and still have a feast? shed ask.
Come sit, Anne, Eleanor would reply, Michael loves a good meal, however small his frame.
Anne would laugh, Your son may not have Johns brawn, but hes handsome enough to make any girls heart skip a beat. Shed bless us, wishing Id find a calm, steady husband for Michael.
The village came to respect Eleanor and Michael, seeing them as sensible, cleanliving, friendly folk who never envied others. When Michael chose a wife, he went for a tall, sturdy girl named Harrietalmost headtaller than him, not traditionally beautiful but brash, quickwitted, and a bit argumentative.
Eleanor stared at the couple and thought, What on earth drew Harriet to my son? Theyre as different as chalk and cheese. Still, she kept her peace, hoping for Michaels happiness, even if it meant tolerating Harriets sharp tongue.
Harriet, for her part, chattered endlessly, while Michael was a man of few words. He promised his mother hed try to guide his children, but he said little beyond that.
Their wedding was calm, no brawls, just a few villagers who had indulged too much in the pub and fell asleep in the yard. In the morning Eleanor went out to tidy the tables; Harriet joined, muttering, Did we really need this fuss? We couldve just signed the papers and left it at that.
Eleanor replied softly, Rest a bit, Harriet. Ill finish up. Harriet snapped, Soon the whole village will think Im a lousy daughterinlaw, sleeping in forever.
Let them talk, Eleanor whispered, theyre still dreaming.
Harriet huffed, Youll spread the gossip, old woman, and glared at her motherinlaw. Eleanor kept her silence; there was no point in arguing with a storm.
From that day onward Harriet made her presence felt. She kept an eye on how Michael treated his mother, often offering a kiss on the cheek for a wellcooked meal, then complaining when he didnt shower her with the same affection he gave Eleanor.
When Harriet went to the shop, she bragged to the other women about Michaels devotion to his mum, never uttering a word of criticism.
Grandfather Matthew, whod watched it all, sighed one evening, Poor Eleanor, they let a crow sit in a swallows nest.
Many pitied Eleanor, though none heard her speak badly of Harriet. People knew Harriet could be quarrelsome and sharptongued, even refusing to speak to her own mother at times.
Eleanor never confronted Michael about his marriage; she kept her counsel to herself, choosing instead to endure. Harriet, meanwhile, set her own house rules, scrubbing every hinge, chopping potatoes into large chunks, and hurrying through meals without care. Eleanor, ever methodical, inspected milk pails, cleaned the cows udder before milking, and sliced onions finely.
During dinner I occasionally caught Michaels eyes on Eleanors plate, his smile saying he preferred her cooking. What could I do? Arguments were rare between Michael and Harriet, yet the tension was palpable.
A year later Harriet gave birth to a son, Tommy. He was a restless sleeper, and Harriets milk supply waned quickly, leaving the baby hungry. When she ignored my suggestions to supplement, I began feeding him myself in secret. When Harriet discovered, she shouted, Youre spoiling my son! Youll turn him into a weakling.
I kept quiet, continuing to nurse him. Tommy soon grew stout, kept up with his schoolmates, and thrived under my gentle guidance. He loved visiting me, and I taught him quietly, hoping hed carry a piece of my love into his own life.
Tommys father, a kind man, would hug and kiss him, while Harriet growled, Raise a man, not a daisy, with this soft touch. He merely shrugged.
Harriet and I never truly quarreled; I treated her with kindness, though she muttered behind my back. The village whispered, but I let the wind carry their words away.
Michael worked at a local garage, competent and humble. Some men stared, wondering how he endured such a fiery wife, yet he simply shrugged when asked.
Tommy excelled at school. I sat beside him, offering help even when I didnt understand the lessons, nodding proudly as he tackled his homework. When he confessed that Harriet treated his grandmother harshly, my heart ached. Hed often ask me to bake something special, and his eyes would light up at the scent of fresh scones.
One evening, as I was folding laundry, Tommy whispered, Gran, Ive met a girl, Taya, from the next lane. Shes sweet. I smiled, Thats lovely, dear. Keep her close to your heart, and well all be blessed.
He promised, Ill come back after college, Gran. Ill bring Taya home, and well build a new house together. I wont stay in the city; Ill return as a qualified man. I clasped his hands, God bless you both.
Soon Tommy left for university, and I felt the knot in my throat loosen a little, knowing my grandson would carry the love I poured into him.
Now, as I sit by the fire, I reflect on the twists of fate that have bound our family. Eleanors gentle hands have steadied a household through loss, a tempestuous daughterinlaw, and the quiet triumphs of a grandson who will one day return home. I am grateful for the simple comfortsa warm cup of tea, the scent of fresh bread, the knowledge that love, however tested, endures.
Eleanor.
