Long ago, in a small town in Yorkshire, there was a house where tension hung thick as the London fog. “If you argue, my boy will toss you out onto the cobbles,” declared the mother-in-law, quite forgetting whose home this truly was.
“Eleanor, bake a steak and kidney pie for supper tomorrow,” Margaret Whitmore announced, sweeping into the kitchen and settling at the table. “Ive not had a decent pastry in agesyoure always fussing over those foreign dishes.”
Eleanor turned from the stove, where she was frying bangers for tea. Her mother-in-law sat with her usual sour expression, tugging at her familiar tweed cardigan.
“I cant stand kidney, Margaret,” Eleanor replied evenly, flipping a sausage. “I shant make it.”
“What do you mean, you shant?” Margarets voice sharpened like a blade. “Ive asked nicely, and you refuse? Who do you think you are, speaking to me like that? In my day, daughters-in-law knew their place!”
“This isnt about place,” Eleanor said, shifting the pan. “If I cook kidney, Ill be ill. Make it yourself if youve a mind to.”
“Make it myself?” Margaret shot up from her chair. “Im not your scullery maid! Youre mistress heredo as youre told! And this allergy is pure nonsense. Too lazy to handle pastry, more like.”
“Lazy?” Eleanor faced her properly now. “I cook, clean, and mend every day. But I wont make a pie thatll make me sick.”
“Wont or cant?” Margaret stepped closer, eyes narrowed. “Think because my son married you, you can order me about? Well see who rules this roost!”
Keys jangled in the hallEdward was home. Margarets face melted into wounded dignity.
“Eddie, love,” she rushed to him. “Thank heavens youre here. Your wifes grown quite insolent! I asked for a pie, and shes refused me outright!”
Edward hung his coat and gave his wife a weary glanceshe stood by the stove, jaw tight.
“Eleanor, whats all this?” he asked, smoothing his waistcoat. “Why refuse Mother?”
“I cant abide kidney, Edward,” Eleanor said softly. “Ive explained it to Margaret.”
“Cant abide it? Nonsense,” Edward waved a hand. “Mother, dont fret. Eleanor will bake the pie tomorrow. Wont you, dear?”
Eleanor looked at her husband, then at Margaret, who smirked triumphantly. Her chest ached with betrayal.
“No, I shant,” she said firmly, untying her apron. “You two can manage supper yourselves.”
She left for the bedroom, shutting the door behind her. Muffled voices drifted through the wallsEdward and his mother ate calmly, discussing the weather. As if nothing were amiss. As if his wife hadnt stormed off in tears.
Come morning, Eleanor rose early. Margaret still sleptthe house lay quiet as a churchyard. Edward sipped tea at the table, scanning the morning paper.
“Edward, we must talk,” Eleanor said, clasping her hands before her. “Properly.”
He glanced up, brow furrowed.
“About what?”
“Your mother,” she took a steadying breath. “Ive had enough of her meddling. Margaret critiques everythingmy cooking, my cleaning, even my frocks. I wont be ordered about in my own home.”
“Eleanor, really,” Edward set down his cup. “Mother means well. Shes set in her ways.”
“Her ways?” Eleanors voice turned brittle. “Is that what you call bullying grown folk? Edward, perhaps its time she took rooms elsewhere. Were young yetwe need our own peace.”
Edwards cup clattered against the saucer.
“Youd turn my mother out?” His voice turned to flint. “Shes family. This is her home now.”
“Im not turning her out,” Eleanor reached for him, but he drew back. “Just a place of her own. Wed help with the rent”
“Enough,” Edward stood, straightening his cuffs. “Mother stays. Thats final.”
The door slammed behind him. Eleanor stared at his half-drunk tea, bitterness pooling in her throat. She washed the cup slowly, set it to dry.
The injustice gnawed at her. Margaret had given her own cottage to her daughter, then insisted on lodging with them. And Edward saw no wrong in it! Eleanor was weary of living beneath her mother-in-laws gimlet eye.
When Margaret descended later, hair pinned stiffly, robe cinched tight, her face was thunder.
“Well, what a tantrum you threw,” she began without preamble. “Ungrateful, thats what. Thought my boy would take your side, did you?”
Eleanor poured tea, biting her tongue.
“See?” Margaret crowed, settling at the table. “My boy knows whos head here. So youll mind me, or youll answer to him!”
The teapot landed harder than intended.
“Today, youll scour this house top to bottom,” Margaret commanded. “Windows, floors, the looall gleaming. Else youll laze about like some fine lady while filth piles up!”
“The house isnt filthy,” Eleanor muttered.
“Not filthy?” Margarets voice soared. “I found dust on the mantel yesterday! The looking glass in the halls smeared! Argue, and Ill tell my boy you defy me!”
Something in Eleanor snappeda cord stretched too taut. She whirled on Margaret.
“No!” Her voice rang clear as a bell. “Ive obeyed you too long! Ive lost myself in this! Cooking your meals, scrubbing when you snap, biting my tongue when you shout! No more!”
Margaret sprang up, face mottled with rage.
“How dare you?” she shrieked.
“I dare!” Eleanor stood tall. “Im a person, not your drudge! Ill not endure your nagging another day!”
“Defy me, and my boy will toss you out!” Margaret shook a bony fist.
Then something in Eleanor broke freeyears of silence, months of humiliation, surging forth in a mighty wave. She drew herself up. Her voice carried such force that Margaret stumbled back.
“You forget whose house this is! Who lets you live here freeno rent, no bills, not a penny for bread! This is my home! Bought before marriage. Bought before I knew you or your son!”
Margaret gaped, fish-like.
Eleanor pressed on.
“From this day, youll not command me! Or its you wholl leavenot me! Understood?”
For a breath, Margaret stood frozen, then rallied. Her face purpled, eyes slitted.
“You vile little” she sputtered. “Im Edwards mother! Youll respect your elders!”
“Respects earned, not owed!” Eleanor shot back. “And youve earned none!”
“Ill tell my son!” Margaret shrilled. “Hell hear how you abuse me!”
“Tell him!” Eleanor folded her arms. “And mind you mention you live here on my charity!”
Margaret huffed, stomped to her room. The door crashed shut, rattling the china.
Soon, muffled wails seeped through the wallsMargaret weeping down the telephone. Snippets reached Eleanor: “Shameless threatens me wicked girl”
Eleanor finished her tea, smoothed her skirts. Let Margaret tattleshed spoken truth at last.
That evening, Edward stormed in, face like a thundercloud.
“What the devils got into you?” he roared. “Mothers in hysterics! How dare you menace her?”
“Menace?” Eleanor untied her apron. “I merely reminded her this is my house.”
“Yours?” Edwards voice cracked. “Were man and wife! Whats yours is mine!”
“No, dearest,” Eleanor met his glare. “This house was mine before we wed. And Ill not suffer your mothers slights another day.”
“Mothers done nowt wrong!” Edward bellowed. “She only asks for help!”
“She commands,” Eleanor corrected. “And insults. And youve always taken her part.”
“Course I do! Shes my mother!”
“Then live with her,” Eleanor swung the front door wide. “But not here. Gather your things and go.”
“Youre barmy,” Edward gaped.
“Not at all,” Eleanor gestured to the door. “Youve had your fill of my patience, my coin. Now choose how youll live. And I choose to be happywithout you.”
Margaret scurried out, eyes wide.
“Whats this?” she demanded, but the open door told all.
“Pack,” Eleanor repeated. “Youve half an hour.”
As they left, Eleanor exhaleda weight lifted at last. The hardest
