Marion, you ridiculous fool! Who on earth do you think youre marrying? shouted my mother, tugging at the lacy veil perched on my head.
Explain, at least, what about Simon is wrong for you? I was stunned, tears glistening in her eyes.
Well, whats there to say? His mother runs a shop and barks at anyone who passes. His father vanished somewhere unknown, spending his youth drinking and carousing.
Our own grandfather drank and chased the village maid about. And what of that?
Your grandfather was a respected man in the village, a figure of legend.
Yet his wife never found peace. I was little then and I remember how terrified she was of him. Mother, with Simon everything will be fine. You must not judge a man by his parents.
When you have children, youll understand! she whispered, and I simply sighed.
Life would be hard if my mother never changed her opinion of Simon. Still, Simon and I held a whimsical wedding and began our own family. Fortunately, Simon inherited a cottage in the hamlet from his grandparents the couple whose whereabouts were as mysterious as his wandering fathers.
Simon renovated the old place until it blossomed into a proper modern manor, which I now call our home, complete with every comfort. What a splendid husband you are, my mother used to mutter, and what a tale she spins about him!
A year after the wedding our son James was born, and four years later a daughter, Emily. As soon as our children fell ill or caused a minor disaster, Mother would appear, wagging her finger, Little children, little troubles! Theyll grow up, bring you another handful of woes, and inherit this estate!
I tried to ignore her constant chiding; she complained out of habit. Still, my daughter married without my or Fathers blessing, and my mother, ever the controlfreak, wanted everything her way. Yet deep down, somewhere in the quiet corners of her heart, she had accepted my choice and, though never aloud, agreed that Simon was good as gold.
She would never say it openlyadmitting shed been wrong was unthinkable. She never spoke seriously of grandchildren, only out of fear. In truth she loved them fiercely; if any danger ever fell upon them, shed leap into the river, hair flying, to save them.
Sometimes I feared the big troubles foretold by generations, the inevitable hardships of raising children.
And the children grew. James finished his eleventh year and was about to embark on adult life. He was set to start at a respectable university in the nearest city, a tidy 140 kilometres awaythough to a mothers heart those kilometres stretched as far as Earth to Mercury.
For four sleepless nights I fretted: what if someone hurt him? What if he ate poorly? What if the city corrupted him? James was a good lad.
At first he lived in a drab dorm room, the sort that made a country boy feel out of place. My mothers heart could not bear it; I persuaded my husband to rent him a flat in the town. James offered to chip in for rent and took odd jobs online, proving himself the cleverest of us all.
Every weekend I drove to the city to check on him, to help, to tidy, to cookeven though his flat was spotless. At home, his own room was a perpetual mess, a shrine to classic chaos, yet his meals were always perfectly preparedsteamed cutlets one night, pot roast the next. Smart lad, Id think.
Soon my trips began to wear on Simon.
Marion! Enough of clutching James to your skirt! Let the boy breathe! Youve left me no time for anything! Im off to see Larkspur the postmanshe greets everyone, youll see!
I laughed, but the warning lingered. How could I live without my husband if he left for Larkspur? Simon was right; it was time to let James spread his wings.
I behaved like a nervous hen for a while, then gradually learned to accept that my son had matured. I granted him freedom and stopped hovering, though it proved futile.
One day the dean called, announcing James was skipping classes, teetering on the brink of expulsion. Are you sure you have the right James? I gasped. This cannot be! I grabbed a few days of leave and raced to the city. Simon could not stop me; I felt like a tank.
James did not expect me. He hadnt managed to hide why hed been absent.
The reason was a girl named Grace, a vision of innocence, an angel in a dress.
Everything would have been fine; a girl appears in a boys life eventually. But Grace also had a oneyearold son in the flat. I understood instantly: this woman, infant in arms, was trying to entangle my son and marry him off.
Im a modern mother, after all; such scandals happen. Yet James was far too young to wed and raise a child. Grace looked no older than eighteenhow could she have a baby already?
A storm raged inside me, but I kept my composure. I greeted Grace politely, then locked myself in the kitchen for a serious talk with James.
James, are you deeply in love? I asked, pulling a smile like a mask.
Very much, Mum, James replied, smiling back.
What about your studies? I pressed, careful as a sapper in a minefield.
I know Ive slipped, Mum, but its a phase. Ill fix it.
And this phase? Care to share?
I cant, Mum, thats my secret. Maybe later, when you and Grace get to know each other better.
I didnt know what else to do, so I took a timeout and returned home.
This is your fault! I lunged at Simon. Give our son his freedom! What shall we do now?
What actually happened? the everoptimistic Simon asked. Whats wrong with an alreadyborn child? If James loves her, she isnt a stranger.
Would you become a grandfather then?
Why not? I always knew Id be one day.
But she isnt my child!
Marion! I feel Im speaking to someone else. A child cant be foreign! Think on that.
Simon retired to the guest room; I roamed the empty bedroom at midnight, first cursing the surprise, the girl Grace, my son, my husband, then slowly calming, realizing Simon was right as ever.
The child was innocent. Grace, too, was a victim of circumstance. By dawn I had wept, then clung to Simons sleeping form on the sofa.
Simon, forgive me! I truly see now. I love you all dearly!
Come here, you silly woman! he lifted the blanket, and I curled up beside him.
We fell asleep with a contented smile on my lips. I shall be a grandmother soon! I thought, What a miraclea little boy in Jamess flat, named Mick.
But things were never that simple. Weeks later James announced he was transferring to the evening department of his university and planned to marry Grace.
This time I paused, letting the news settle before we drove to the city for the weekend. Simon, whom I trusted to untangle the mess, would help us navigate without splitting the wooda phrase wed used to describe unnecessary drama. The thought of a whole winters worth of wood was absurd enough to make me laugh.
In the hallway we were greeted by Grace, who wiped a tear and said:
Please forgive me. I dont want James to act this way, but hes stubborn, you know.
Stubborn isnt the word, Simon replied, slipping off his shoes, but hes no fool. If hes decided, it must be so. Calm down, Grace, and well discuss.
We moved to the kitchen; James was nowhere to be seen.
Hes just out for milk, will be back shortly, Grace muttered.
Why do you keep apologising? Simon asked, looking at her. We havent even figured out what youre at fault for. Lets start from the beginning. Would you like some tea? Ive just driven the 87 miles here.
Oh, pardon, Grace hurried.
Simon rolled his eyes at another apology; Grace smiled. I sensed Simon had already accepted Jamess choice and sighed in relief.
Tea steamed in our cups, Simon nibbling a third biscuithomebaked, a rarity among modern ladies. Suddenly James returned, his face solemn, a sack of groceries in his arms. In his eyes flickered a steellike gleam, something new, something distinctly adult. I felt I no longer had the right to lecture my grown son.
So, youve decided to marry? Simon asked as we all sat.
Yes, thats final, James declared.
I understand. But what drives this haste? Expecting another child?
No, of course not! Grace blushed, shaking her head.
A wild thought fluttered in my mind, absurd yet vivid: perhaps the relationship hadnt yet reached a stage where children could appear. It seemed impossible, yet
Then what pushes you toward a quick wedding? I asked.
Otherwise Mick will be taken to a childrens home, Grace whispered, eyes down.
Why would a child be taken? Simon demanded.
Because his mother passed away in prison, she murmured, lips trembling.
Grace, you dont have to explain! James interjected. Mum, Dad, please accept only what I told you on the phone. The rest is our matter!
Wait, James, Grace cut in. If were together now, our families will be involved. I wont hide anything from themit would be wrong.
Grace fell silent; Simon and I exchanged a look.
Grace, is Mick your son? I ventured.
No! Mick is my brother on my mothers side; our fathers differ.
In that instant I felt ready to tear the world apart, yet held back. Grace continued:
My mother died in prison, her heart was faulty from birth. They say she lived long despite the diagnosis. She also had a volatile temper, I think.
Grace sipped her tea, exhaled heavily. The words strained her. She went on:
The first time my mother landed in prison was after a fight with my father; she hit an old lady crossing the pavement. Newspapers wrote about it.
When she was arrested, my father took me away; we lived apart. Before my mother left prison, my father remarried. I dont blame him for abandoning her in tough times. My stepmother, Tess, is gentle; we have a wonderful relationship. Perhaps my life is stable because of my fathers actions. They raised me, and I truly consider them my family.
Grace fell silent again. I watched James and Grace clasp hands under the table, realizing the darkest part of her story was still ahead.
Three years ago my mother fell in love with a man ten years her junior, Denis. They had Mick. I was delighted with a little brother and visited often. No fights broke out in their home, yet neighbours later testified hearing constant shouting and broken dishes.
One day, after a heated argument, my mother shoved Denis. He stumbled, grabbed a curtain, and fell, striking his head on a coffee table corner. Two days later he died in hospital, and my mother was arrested.
Grace inhaled sharply, then rushed to finish:
My mother died in a detention centre before she could stand trial. Her heart simply stopped. Please, do not judge her harshly! She was like a hummingbirdbright, restless, untamedbut I loved her dearly.
Forgive us, Grace, Simon said as she fell quiet. For making you recount all this, we forgive you. Were now a family and must support each other.
A shameful thought flashed: What are you doing, James! Stop this madness! Our family has never been criminal! I caught myself, remembering my wedding dress and my mothers wailing, trying to halt the ceremony with Simon.
I whispered to myself, You cannot judge people by their parents! The inner beating of my heart birthed a wild, brilliant idea. I looked at Simon, saw him smiling, and understood.
Simon nodded, confirming my thought:
How about this? Well take guardianship of Mick, and you both hold off on marriage and finish your studies.
How? Grace asked.
Father, stop! James shouted.
Mick will be fine in the village; remember your own childhood. And if you wish, you can always take him back.
Wed be bored without you, James, so well gladly look after Mick.
Your sister now prefers boys over fathers.
Grace, the decision is yours, I said, meeting her eye.
How can I bear such a burden? Even my father and Tess wouldnt accept him.
We didnt notice the original cause of the dispute stirring. He slipped from the sofa, shuffled to the kitchen, and stretched his tiny hands not toward anyone else but Simon.
What a heavy load, Simon joked, lifting Mick onto his shoulders.
Simon, youre still piling on dads weight, not granddads, I laughed.
Wait, he threatened, leaning close to my ear, Ill show you granddads secret tonight.
The children squirmed a bit but eventually agreed to our plan, and the guardianship paperwork went through without a hitch.
The lady who helped us said it was now common for families of our age to adopt babies. Their own children were grown, yet the well of parental love was still a wagonload deep. With that extra energy, Simon and I felt rejuvenated, caring for Mick as if we were children ourselves.
Night after night I tended to him, shedding tears of joy at my unexpected happiness.
Mother, as ever, scolded us for the decision, scolding and scolding, yet she loved Mick more fiercely than anyone, and he adored her.
Oh, Marion! What are you doing! she cried, then cooed at Mick, Whose little eyes are closing? Who wants to sleep?
Later she added:
What are you thinking, Marion! Whose tiny fingers are dirty now? Oh, I dont know how youll manage! Where is my Mick, where has he hidden?
