**The Fear of Becoming a Stepmother: Eliza Avoids the Widowers Proposal**
The stepmother saw it plainlyEliza did not wish to marry the widower, not because he had a young daughter, nor because he was older, but because she feared him. His cold stare pierced her to the very depths of her heart, and in terror, her pulse quickened as if defending against invisible arrows. Eliza kept her gaze fixed on the ground, unwilling to meet his eyes, and when she did, everyone saw the tears welling within them.
Those tears rolled like an avalanche down her flushed cheeks. Her hands trembled, small fists clenched as though shielding herself from the stepmother and the suitor she had forced upon her. The traitorous words slipped from her lips: “I will marry.”
“Then it’s settled. A home like his, a man like himyoud be a fool to refuse! He treated his first wife like royaltygentle as clay, frail and thin, always coughing. They walked, him three steps ahead, her one behind, stopping so she could gasp for breath while he steadied herunlike your brute of a father.”
When she was with child, she was scarcely seen. She lay abed, and after the birth, it was he who rose at night to tend the babe while she weakened further. So said his mother.
“But youstrong as an ox! Hell seat you in the finest corner of his house. Skilled with a scythe, a needletheres nothing you cant do. A sin to waste you on some green boy, his temper still unproven. This man is known, his ways laid bare. What luck for you!”
The stepmother would throw a modest supper, but widowers need no grand weddingno dancing to disturb the dead. He forbade gathering a trousseau; the house already brimmed with plenty.
Jacob had wed his first wife for love, though he knew Eleanor was often illdelicate as a spring flower. His mother had argued a man so strong needed a woman, not a girl, but neither sense nor others’ words swayed him. Only Eleanor would do.
Whispers spread through the villageshe must have bewitched him, for only a cursed man would chain his life to a sickbed, to suffering and pain. The doctors said her lungs were weak; a mere chill could bring fever, then asthma, and worse.
Jacob believed love could shield her from death, that his care would drive illness away. At first, after the wedding, all was bliss. The newlyweds revelled in joy.
But when Eleanor fell pregnant, her body turned against herconstant fatigue, dizziness, a sleep so deep she could neither wash nor milk the cow, nor even comb her own long, lovely hair.
The doctors called it a passing sickness. She would recover after birth. Jacob tended her without complaint, but his mother railed day and nighthe had brought a burden, not a wife. He defended Eleanor like a starving eagle guards its nest, until at last he barred his mother from their door.
Eleanor bore a daughter, and Jacob hoped strength and joy would return. They didbriefly. Then a winter chill settled in her lungs. She never truly recovered, wasting away before his eyes.
They took her to hospital, but the doctor spoke plainly:
“Her lungs wont hold.”
She knew her time was short. At first, she hid ita strained smile, lips curved but eyes betraying fear. Her gaze seemed to bid farewell, to beg remembrance of happier days. Her thin frame, jutting ribs, hollow chestall whispered deaths approach.
Feeling the end near, she made one request.
“No man can barter with Gods will. Our love has fought death too long. I can bear the pain no moreforgive me. I was born to suffering, and Ive doomed you and our daughter to the same.”
Jacob clasped her burning hands, kissing them. Her ragged breaths told him time was short.
She spoke of love, of their daughter, then gasped and whispered:
“Marry Eliza. Shell be a good wifea good mother. Shes known hardship, like me. Stepmothers, cruel fathers but shes kind. Strong. Shell love our girl. Treat her as you did me. Forgive memy soul is as dark as my lungs. But if you wrong our child, Ill curse you from beyond.”
Her grip tightened before it fell slack.
Jacob wept, tears blurring her face. A peaceful smile lingered as she stared beyond him. He kissed her brow to her feet, vowing to obey.
And so, within a year of her death, he came for Eliza.
The match was urged by his late wifes motherfrail herself, fearing her own end, desperate to see her granddaughter cared for. She knew the weight of his grief, how he had loved her daughter, and would have kissed his feet if it meant his happiness.
The courtship passed in a haze. Seeing his daughters lonelinessand his ownhe resolved to fulfil his wifes wish. He had watched Elizameek, dutiful, lovely, even resembling Eleanor. The same hair, the same smile.
Sometimes he ached to pull her close, to hold her in silence, to trace Eleanors ghost in her shape. Eliza herself could not say why she agreedweariness of servitude, pity for the motherless child, or fear of her drunken fathers rages.
But in accepting, she faced another trial: to love Jacob in return.
After the betrothal, he brought her to meet his daughter.
Little Emmeline seldom left the house, clinging to her father. Every second, he doted on her. Some nights, waking, he would find Eleanor bent over the cradle, whispering secret wisdom for the life she would not see.
Emmeline was a true family childtrusting no stranger, needing only Father, Grandmother, and one cross old aunt.
Jacob led Eliza inside, eager to see her with his girl, away from the stepmothers crowing. Eliza stayed silent, noting his courtesy, his warmth. He asked plainly if she loved anotherif so, he would step aside. Not a word did he say of Eleanors plea.
The house enchanted herhand-carved furniture, paintings in ornate frames, every room bright and wide. Emmeline, upon seeing Eliza, acted strangelyno fear, only curiosity.
She fetched her dolls, begged Eliza to play, reached small fingers to touch her sleeve. Studying her with bright eyes, she smiled. Eliza held her, smoothed her golden hair.
“Shall I plait it? Youll look a princess.”
Jacob watched, heart swelling.
He had feared bringing Eliza homeEmmeline still asked for her mother, still scanned the lane for her. No explanation could soothe a childs heart; she needed a mothers touch.
No matter how he tried, his love could not replace that.
Yet when Emmeline pouted, near tears at Elizas leaving, peace settled over him.
The girl took Elizas hand, led her to her room, stripped the bed, and pounded the pillows like a little mistress. Giggling, she bounced on the mattress.
Eliza remembered her own stepmotherthe withheld bread, the hidden sweets given only to her daughters, the slaps for chores poorly done. How she had draped her drunken father with her own blanket, pity choking her. How the stepmother had called her cattle, driven from the yard.
With a lump in her throat, she gathered Emmeline close. The child slept, peaceful.
Jacob, overcome, did not know how to thank her. They drank tea in silence, smiling at one another.
He did not let her leave.
A wife belongs with her husbandnot where she is unwanted.
