15April
My dear diary,
Mothers voice still rings in my ears: Patience, love. Youre now part of another family and you must respect their ways. You didnt just pop round for tea; you married into this house. I could hear the weariness in her tone, as if shed been through this a hundred times. What ways, Mum? I asked, my frustration bubbling. Everyones a bit daft here, especially the motherinlaw. She loathes me, thats obvious! I muttered. Have you ever heard of a kindhearted motherinlaw? she replied, the old proverb hanging in the air.
The next day I heard Margaret, Thomass mother, storming through the kitchen, her cheeks flushed with anger, eyes blazing. If a man roams, the wife is to blame, she snapped. Do you expect me to keep explaining everything to you?
Margaret was in full fury, shouting at her daughterinlaw, Emily, as if shed lost her mind. All because Id dared to question her sons fidelity.
I, a young, delicate girl with wide, trusting eyes, pressed my back against the wall, trying to calm the raging woman. Margaret, thats not reasonable. He has a family, children I began, but she cut me off, waving a hand as if swatting away an annoying fly.
Is that your family? Or the boy who wont let his grandfather near us? she jeered, disdain dripping from every word. Your upbringing, by the way!
What upbringing? Jack is only a year old. Hes still a baby, I whispered, my voice barely audible over her tirade.
Baby? she sneered. The Yates grandson is even younger. He toddles about, never sitting still, unlike this you. She flailed toward the nursery.
Actually, hes your grandson, I replied, my throat trembling. Children sense bad people. Perhaps thats why he stays away from you.
Are we the bad ones? Youre a nightmare! she shouted, raising her voice to a scream. Who do you think you are, living off us? Whose groceries do you eat? Whose money do you waste? Ungrateful!
I stopped arguing with my spiteful motherinlaw. Id told Thomas a thousand times I wanted a home of my own, away from his parents, but hepampered as the only sonsaw no need. He liked living with his folks; it felt as safe as a church pew. He went to work calmly while the elderly handled all the choreslaundry, cleaning, cooking. It wasnt life; it was a fairytale for them.
Meanwhile, Margaret kept pressing me for every little thing. At first I tried to make peace, helping around the house, listening to her endless complaints about neighbours and the garden. But soon I realised it was all for naught. No matter how dutiful I was, she hated me openly, and I could not hide it.
The one we brought into the house was a sorry sort, as if proper girls didnt exist, Margaret told Mrs. Mannie, the local gossiper, while I gathered the scattered toys Thomas had left in the hallway, hearing every word.
Even the other village would think better of you! Mannie chimed, stirring the pot of rumors.
I know you cant do anything, Margaret, I heard her mutter, Your hands were never meant for work. You cant make a proper home.
You cant trust her with anythingshell lose it or break it. And that child of hers not right.
The Yates grandson is a different story. Calm, clever. This one is always fussing. Must be the genes.
When life became unbearable, I called my mother in the neighbouring village, pouring out my tears. She answered, Patience, love. Youre now in another family; you must heed their customs. You married, not just visited.
What customs, Mum? Everyone here is daft, especially the motherinlaw! She hates me, thats clear!
Have you ever heard of a kind motherinlaw? We all went through it; youll have to too. The main thing is not to show youre struggling. Hold fast.
Knowing I couldnt get any help from my timid mother, I threatened to call my father.
Dont tell your father! she gasped. You know his shortterm licence. One step wrong and theyll lock your dad up!
I understood. My father, a stern man of two metres, broad shoulders, had once served a short custodial term for a fight after someone insulted me in the village shop. He loved his only daughter fiercely and would not stay silent if he learned how badly I was being treated.
I wont tell father, I said, but if they continue like this, I dont know what Ill do.
Everything will settle, dear, Mother soothed. In a few weeks youll forget this conversation.
I hoped I could forget, but the relationship with Margaret only grew colder. She seemed convinced I was the cause of all her woes. Even her husband, Harold, an elderly man weary of life, could no longer bear it.
One day, why do you keep shouting at her? Harold asked one morning, as the argument peaked. Shell leave us!
Leave her! Margaret shrieked, directing her fury at Harold. Ill take every pound weve saved over the years and the child with me, so she wont be raised in this wretched household!
I knew Margaret was spouting nonsense, yet her threats terrified me. Besides, I still loved Thomas.
Rumours of Thomass secret outings with his former lover, Olivia, turned out to be nothing more than village gossip, spread by women like Margaret.
If Margaret hadnt had such a long tongue, perhaps the torment would have ended sooner. One day, after a small victory in her eyes, she boasted to her best friend, Mrs. Mannie, about her heroic deeds, then added a fresh embellishment, passing the tale to another neighbour, then to her husband, and finally it reached my father.
Father, a formidable man, took his axe, still wearing his work jacket, hopped on his old Royal Enfield, and without a word to my mother, rode to the next village to free his daughter from this humiliation.
At the same time, in Margarets house a true scandal erupted. The young mother, in a rush for a fresh nappy, left baby Jack on a brandnew, bright orange sofa for a moment. When she returned, a small brown stain marked the fabric. To Margarets eyes, that spot grew like a black hole, ready to swallow the whole room. She stormed in like a summer storm, yelling at me.
Youve ruined my sofa! My favourite! Do you know how much it cost? Ill rip your arms off and stitch you up so you never speak again!
Ill fix it, Ill clean it, I trembled, taking a cloth in shaking hands.
What will you clean? Its new! How would you know? Youve never bought anything yourself!
You think youre buying everything on someone elses money? I snapped, finally daring to call her out for living off her husbands purse all her life.
The nerve! Look at her! Enough of this insolence! Margarets face reddened.
Now wipe that stain, then march out with your son! Live in my house and disgust me until you learn proper manners!
Tears streamed down my face as I tried to scrub the stubborn brown patch, which clung to the bright fabric like a taunt. Little Jack, sensing my panic, wailed at the top of his lungs, his cries adding to the tension.
Margaret loomed over me, doling out a fresh volley of curses, when a stranger slipped through the doorway. It was my father, Nikol, standing like a granite statue, his grip tight on the axes wooden handle.
For a split second Margaret turned, eyes flicking to the weapon. She knew all too well the temper of my father, his past sentence, and the fury that lay beneath his calm exterior. Fear crept into her voice.
Oh, hello, Nikol. I was just raising your Emily she stammered.
Ive heard how youre raising her, he growled, entering the room barefoot. He lifted the axe above his head, but instead of striking, he rested it on his shoulder and reached for my hand.
Come on, Emily, theres nothing for you here, he said gently, guiding me toward the door.
Wait! Margaret shouted, regaining some composure. What will I say to my son?
Let your son come to me if he wishes, as a husband. Ill speak with him myself, my father replied, his icy glance saying more than words.
He led me and baby Jack out. Thomas hesitated, fearing a clash with his father, but eventually followed, his resolve hardening.
My father sat Thomas down, his voice steady, the axe lying on the table as a silent witness. He promised that Thomas would live separately with me, that his mother would no longer meddle, and that he would protect us and our child. Thomas shook his hand firmly, understanding that any joke with this man would carry weight.
From that day on, Margaret avoided me and Jack. She no longer greeted us on the street. Thomas and I moved to our own cottage, and life settled into a quiet harmony. Perhaps it was the old mans stern advice, or perhaps true love finally prevailed.
I write this now, feeling the weight lift from my shoulders. The road was rough, but I see a glimmer of peace ahead.
Emily.
