Womens Fates. Marianne
When Granny Hester passed away, a crushing loneliness engulfed Marianne. She had never truly belonged in Henrys family, at least by her mother-in-law Ediths measure. Too thin, not hardy enough, and no one was certain such a delicate thing could ever bear children.
Marianne bore it all in silence. When her heart was at its lowest, shed run to her old granny. Hester was everything: standing in for Mariannes father, long lost to a mining accident, and for her mother, whod succumbed to consumption ten years past.
How Henry fell for an orphan, only God could say. Tall, handsome, prosperousyet hed fallen for a penniless girl with not a coin to her name. Behind her back, Edith called Marianne precisely thata beggar, a foundling.
Still, Marianne tried her utmost to please her mother-in-law. She turned herself inside out around the house and the farm, never complaining about any labor. No matter how hard she worked, nothing was ever good enough.
Things were bearable when Henry was home, but as soon as he set out to the nearest town for business, Marianne wished she could flee.
Bear it, Marianne, my dear, Granny Hester used to soothe her, youll find your footing in time.
Now, even Gran was gone, years slipping by, and Ediths resentment only grew stronger. Edith never forgave the upheaval when Henry brought a rootless waif into her solid, respected household. Shed long since picked out a bride for her sona sturdy, well-dowered girl from the next estate. That wouldve joined the families, leaving plenty for generations to come.
But Henry had a streak, stubborn as his fathers; once he made up his mind, no one dared argue. He was a true master of the houseafter his father died, all responsibilities fell to him, and he only added to the familys prosperity. He respected his mother, but hed bow to no one.
Henry adored Marianne, utterly. From the first glanceher slender frame, white face, those enormous blue eyes, and upturned nosehe was lost. Hed have given her every treasure he owned.
She needed none of it; she loved him simply and wholly, seeing the goodness deep in him.
Shed heard the stories of his motherher sharp tongue and all-consuming greed. Still, seeing Henry stand firm, Marianne agreed to his proposal.
She moved into Henrys cottage and endured Ediths barbs. Whenever the world pressed too hard and tears stung, Marianne would rush to her grandmother, seeking solace. Shed lay her head in Hesters lap, weeping like a beaten pup. Grannys old hands would stroke her hair, murmuring prayers to the Virgin, begging for her granddaughters protection.
An hour with her and the sorrow would ebb. Life, for a while, felt possible.
But now Marianne had nowhere to go. Her last link gone, Granny Hesters passing was quiet, unnoticed. Marianne mourned like a wild thing; she was entirely alone now.
People say time heals, but Marianne felt otherwise. As the years passed, the pain persisted. Every so often, the grief would descend, and shed remember the warmth of those gentle hands, shedding tears anew.
Meanwhile, the tension in Henrys home only thickened. Ediths persecution grew cruelerthree years Marianne had lived there, doing nothing, and still not produced an heir.
The topic tormented Marianne more than anything. She knew Edith whispered to Henry that his wife was damaged and would never bear children. Henry brushed it aside, but gossip spread; villagers said Henrys legacy would die with him.
Henry grew moody, but when home to Marianne, worries melted away. He treated her as his sun.
Perhaps God heard her prayers, or perhaps love wrought a miracleMarianne conceived at last.
Edith seethed, and Henrys devotion grew fiercer. Edith stalked the house like a raven. If ever Marianne dared rest, her mother-in-law swooped in.
Lounging, are you? Think just because your bellys swelling youve naught else to do? Edith sneered, arms akimbo, catching Marianne sitting on the bench.
No, Mum, Marianne stammered, just resting a moment. Ive been busy all morning.
Busy, she says! We have no servants, youre not a lady! Fetch waterthe pails are empty, and Henryll be home soon. If youre too feeble, you can get outmy boy needs a wife, not an invalid.
Without a word, Marianne hefted the yoke and heavy buckets, trudging to the well. Old neighbours shook their heads behind the hedgesEdiths gone off the rails, working the girl to death, belly and all!
When her babe arrived, there was no joy. The boyJamescame frail and blue, breathless at times, more ghost than child.
Weak mother, weak child, Edith muttered, disdainful. Well be building a coffin before hes christened.
How can you say that, Mum? Marianne sobbed. Hes Henrys heiryour own flesh and blood, for heavens sake!
Only if the wretch survives long enough! Edith crowed. Wouldnt hold my breath.
Marianne wept until shed no tears left. Edith took twisted comfort in her cruelty. Secretly, she thought if the baby died, Henry would abandon Marianne, and shed finally find him a vigorous, proper wife.
Henry came home nightly, tender with Marianne. He gave her rest, rocking tiny Jameswho fit wholly in his broad palmswhile the child, sensing his fathers strength, seemed to revive.
Doesnt matter if hes weak, Henry told himself, well show them all, you and I.
They christened the boy James. But he didnt rally. Week by week, he grew paler, thinner.
Henrys work called him away downriver to London. The journeys long, he warned, dont fret. Raise James up and dont listen to idle tongues…
Ediths reign began in earnest. Sensing Mariannes last shield was gone, she redoubled her tyranny: water, chopping wood, tending the animalsshe gave Marianne no respite. At night, instead of sleep, James wailed, fighting for breath till dawn broke and the farm called again.
Marianne was worn to the bone. And as she flagged, so did her sonblue more often, fighting for every breath.
Autumn set indrizzle and mud, and Henry stayed away longer. Mariannes heart ached for her husband: What if Edith was right? What if Henry regretted herplanned never to return? Despair crept through her thoughts.
Edith sensed victory. Drip by drip, she undermined Mariannes hope.
Dont you pity Henry? The boys at deaths door, youll pine away with grief, and youd drag my son down too? You should let him go, Marianne.
But Mum, where would I gowith the baby, and winter coming? James is poorly; hed catch his death, his health would worsen.
So he does, its no great loss, Edith replied icily. Hes barely alive as it is. If the Lord takes him, youre freeand so is Henry, to start a proper family, with healthy little ones.
Marianne stared, stunned. How could any mother speak so?
Right then, James screamed, his lips turning blue, tiny body going limp.
Think on it, Marianne, Edith hissed, retreating from the room, no happiness is built on anothers suffering.
Weeks passed. The first snow dusted the fields, the winds came sharp as knives. Marianne shrank and withered, occasionally spitting fire at Ediths cruelest words, but what good did it do? Not her house; not her husband. The words burrowed into her chest: unloved, unwantedabandoned. There was no word from Henry.
She never considered some mishap had befallen him. Ediths poison blinded her to all but her own failings, her own guilt.
And she neither lives nor lets Henry be! Edith muttered darkly. That last drop, and Marianne broke.
In silence, she packed her few belongings, careful not to take what wasnt hers. She wrapped James in scarves and quilts, and stepped out into the December night.
Edith didnt stop her; didnt dare spoil her chance, knowing Henry would hear her version and be rid of Marianne for good. Weeks ago, Edith had word from a London Doctors surgeryHenry had survived a highway robbery, was recovering, but there was no need for Marianne to know, no need at all.
The next morning, Edith told the neighbours Marianne had lost her mind after James died, snatching the childs body and disappearing into the night. She wept and wailed for their benefit. No one knew the truth, and soon, as winter closed in and snow piled deep, it all faded to silence.
***
Marianne walked for miles, heart racing with fear through hedge and frosty field. She didnt care for herself any moreher own spirit was a scorched wastelandbut her boys survival plagued her every step.
Dawn finally painted the roofs of an unfamiliar village with weak gold. Marianne expected no shelter, just hoped for a scrap of bread, a patch of warmth to feed and rest her baby.
Chimneys smoked, the smell of wood fires heavy in the air. The lanes were empty this time of year, only the odd villager on urgent chore.
She slumped on a bench by the village well. As she sat, a broad woman approached, arms laden with pails. Her cheeks glowed in the cold.
Whose are you, then? she asked, sizing her up. You look blue, near frozen.
Im… no ones, Marianne whispered. Just passing throughon to the next village. The lie fell flat.
And who are you for there? the woman prodded, squinting sceptically.
My father, he lives there, Marianne answered, covering her tracks with another falsehood.
In this weather, even a mangy dog gets a roof. But you, with a wee one, are sent packing? The woman shook her head.
Something in her voice undid Marianne; she burst into great choking sobs, tears running over her frozen hands.
Up you get, love, come with me, the woman commanded. Abandoning her buckets, she helped Marianne to her feet.
Inside, the house felt like a warm embrace. The old stone hearth flickered, sweet herbal scents hanging in the air. Marianne collapsed on a bench, only then realising her exhaustion.
The woman, introducing herself as Clara, gently unwrapped James from Mariannes arms. Good gracious! Hes tiny. Has he been christened?
Yes, christened James, Marianne murmured, collapsing onto the floor in a faint.
She didnt know how long she lay unconscious. When she woke, she was bundled in foreign blankets, in a room both unfamiliar and strangely safe. She jolted uprightJames was gone, Clara nowhere in sight. Panic seized her.
The front door banged open, and a bitter gust swept in as Clara entered.
Awake, are you? Where are you running, then? Clara laughed softly at her startled look.
My boywhere is he? Marianne gasped.
Silly thing. Stop fretting. Three days you spent in fevered delirium. Nowtell me how you came to be on my bench. Dont worry for James; hes safe, taken to my mother nearby for some herbal strengthening.
Why? Marianne asked, cold terror stabbing through her.
For his health. Now, tell me what ails you.
They sat at the scrubbed pine table with mugs of steaming herbal brew. Marianne confessed everythingher great love, her mother-in-laws bitterness, her sickly boy, and the slow suffocation of her spirit.
Clara listened without judgement. Gods ways are mysterious, Marianne. Fear not; your boy will live, and your own path will turn. You found your way to me for a reasonthough troubles are not yet done, keep light in your soul.
My heart aches for James, Auntie Clara. Let me go to him…
Youll see him, but only for a timehe must stay with my mother, Clara replied.
Why frighten me so? I could never leave him!
Come, Clara said simply. Youll understand.
They set off into the woods. As they walked Clara explained, Mother and I live mostly in the woods in wintershe prefers it, avoids gossip. Most think her a witch, though she is only a healer. When I found you at the well, it seemed fate led us together.
Soon, the trees parted and they reached a clearing and a small cottage, smoke curling from the chimney. Clara opened the door, ushering Marianne in.
There, an elderly womansmaller than Clara, with kind, lively eyesrose to greet them.
Come here, love, have a look at your little one, she said, nodding to James sleeping pink-cheeked in a cradle.
He seemed rosier than ever.
Yes, yes, brighter already, the old woman giggled, reading Mariannes thoughts. She pulled up a chair.
They call me old Martha, and theyll say what they willwitch, healer, what have you. Dont rush to believe it. But trust me: your boys illness is no random thing.
Marianne stared, silent.
All those nights you visited Granny Hesters grave while expecting? Thats not wise, love. Spirits cling to you, latch onto newborns, sapping their life. Thats whats choking James.
Marianne collapsed onto a bench, as white as chalk.
Its fixable, girl! A few days here and well have him right, Martha assured her, stroking her hair much as Granny Hester had.
After, Clara guided her home.
***
The days passed gently. Within a week, Martha returned James, rosy and babbling. Marianne felt the old pain drifting away as she tended the household, grateful for Claras kindness.
One evening, Marianne asked, Auntie Clara, why did Martha choose the woods? Healers are rare as gold these days.
It happened long ago. My mother helped everyone, never asking for a penny. But peoplewhen disaster strikes, they blame what they dont understand. Once, several infants died in the village. Whispers started about my mother, and soon fires were nearly lit under her roof. My father managed to calm things, but the harm was done.
Later, a London doctor found the deaths were naturalnothing to do with Mum. But Mum never forgave them. She moved to the woods, agreeing only to tend children brought to her door, never adults. She keeps her distance, for their sake and her own.
And how does Martha heal? Marianne asked, glancing at James.
Clara grinned. Best you dont know! But she doesnt call up devils, I promise.
Meanwhile, Henrys return set new troubles at home. Hed come through the door expecting Marianne and James, found neither trace nor scent of them. Edith launched into her performance: Forgive me, son. I couldnt save them. James died when youd barely gone. Marianne lost her wits with grief, carried him away, out into the night. I searched, I cried, butshe vanished.
Henry was hollowed out by loss. The winter passed in a grey haze. Spring came, and still his wound would not close. Edith tried to push him toward remarriage, parading every eligible girl. At last, in a fury, he roared at his mother, forbidding her even to mention it again.
He moved like a ghost: working from dawn but silent at dusk, locking himself away every night. Another year slipped by, Edith watching her son with a chill creeping up her spinethe living image of death. Shed imagined grandchildren, laughter, a bustling home. Instead, she haunted the village, eaten with envy at others joy.
The guilt in Edith grew as heavy as a millstone. She realised, too late, that her own hands had ruined her sons life. She fell ill, no doctors herbs able to mend a wounded soul.
By autumn, Edith died, never revealing to Henry what shed done the night Marianne left. Now Henry was utterly alone. Each night, black thoughts twisted in his mind. He decided: after the forty days mourning, hed host the village for a wake, then follow his mother into the beyond.
***
On the fortieth day, Henry did as tradition requiredgruel and scones, then the churchyard visit. As the guests faded by dusk, he rose and walked into the deep woods. In his mind, his life played out in visionshis fathers early death, his beloved Marianne, baby James. He had known neither joy nor peace.
He wandered further, his boots sucked slowly into the mire of the marsh. Cold tendrils leapt up his legs, dragging him downward. Henry offered no struggleonly surrender.
Just then, a girls song, soft as sunlight on frost, drifted through the bracken. A white shape danced between the trees, and the voice grew clearer.
Marianne, he breathed, Im coming to you, my love.
The vision froze, as if startled.
Henry? A cry from the trees, and there she wasaliveeyes wide with hope and disbelief. Her husband, waist-deep in bog, turned in shock.
I must be dreaming, Henry murmured. Youve come for me in death, since I failed you in life.
Marianne called his name: No, Henry! Im alive! Im here!
The words broke his trance. Alive? He said it again, stunned. When he realised she wasnt a ghost, he struggled to crawl out. The marsh held him fast, but Marianne tore at branches, her hands bleeding. Together, they dragged him free.
Henry swept her into his arms, laughing and crying, covering her face in frantic kisses.
***
When Henry learned that both his wife and son were alive and safe, he nearly went mad with joy. The reunion in Claras kitchen shook the rafters; only her calming draught could quiet him.
They spoke for hours, unpacking years of pain and joy. Henry never let go of Mariannes hand.
Soon, Henry transferred all his affairs to Mariannes new villagetheyd leave behind the old house and all its bitter ghosts. They settled with Clara, a stranger in blood but a mother in every other way.
As for Edith, her grave gradually faded into the weeds, memory of her gone from the village. No living soul ever knew for sure whether her troubled spirit ever found peace, or if, in serving her own petty wants, she had only sown sorrow upon the earth.
