The family verdict came from the elder daughter, Eleanor. Because of her troublesome temperament and skyhigh expectations of suitors, she never married; by the time she hit thirty shed become a bitter, fullblown misandrista sort of ulcer in the family, a husbandhaters nightmare in flesh.
Scandalous, she said, as if shed stamped it on a label. The younger sister, Lucy, a plump, giggly girl, chuckled approvingly. Their mother kept silent, but the grim line on her face made it clear she didnt like the new daughterinlaw either. What could possibly be appealing? Their only son, the familys pillar and hope, had gone off to the army and returned with a wife. This socalled wife brought neither a father nor a mother, nor a penny. Nothing at all. Maybe shed grown up in a childrens home, maybe she was a distant relatives nieceno one knew. Tom, the son, kept quiet but joked, Dont worry, Mum, well make our own fortune. So you talk to him, that simpletonwhat sort of person did he drag into the family? Perhaps a thief, a conartistwho knows how many rogues are roaming these days!
From the moment Mabel moved in, Dorothy Whitakerher maiden namehad not slept a full night. She dozed halfopeneyed, waiting for some mischief from the newcomer, for the moment shed start rummaging through wardrobes. The daughters even nudged her, Mother, youd better hide the valuables in the familys loftwho knows what she might pilfer? Fur coats, gold jewellerydont let us wake up one bright morning to find the house stripped bare!
And Tom, after a month, was left scratching his head: Who did you bring home? Where were your eyes? No skin, no face!
But life goes on, so they had to make do with Mabel. The house was comfortable: a thirtyacre garden, three piglets in the sty, chickens and other birds aplenty. You could work around the clock and never finish. Yet Mabel never complained. She tended the garden, fed the piglets, cooked, cleaned, and tried hard to please her motherinlaw. The only catch was that, no matter how much gold she laid on the table, if the matriarchs heart wasnt in it, everything would go awry.
On her very first day, the unwilling daughterinlaw, grimacing with annoyance, declared:
Call me by my first and middle name. Thatll be better. I already have daughters of my own; youll never be more like them, no matter how hard you try.
From then on she was called Dorothy Whitaker, and the mother never used a proper title for the new bride. Something must be done, shed mutter, and that was all. No coddling. Yet they wouldnt let any unwelcome relative slack off. Every little chore was assigned, and on occasion the mother even had to reign in her own daughtersnot out of pity for Mabel, but to keep order and avoid scandal. After all, the girl turned out to be a hard worker, never a lazybones. Slowly, the mothers icy stance thawed.
Maybe things would have settled, if only Tom hadnt gone off gallivanting.
What man could stand it, when from dawn till dusk hes being nagged in two voices about who he married and why? Then Eleanor introduced him to a new friend, and the whole thing spun out of control. The sisters cheered, certain that the hated Mabel would finally clean up the mess. Mother kept quiet while Mabel pretended nothing had happened, her eyes drooping, looking as hollow as a washedout sponge. And then, like thunder on a clear day, two bombs dropped: Mabel was pregnant, and Tom was filing for divorce.
Dont you dare, their mother snapped at Tom. I didnt set her up as your wife.
But once youre married, you stick it out. Dont be a wimp. Youll be a father soon enough. If you wreck this family, Ill throw you out and never see you again. And Sarah will stay here.
For the first time ever, the mother called Mabel by her proper name. The sisters were stunned. Tom flared up, Im a man, I decide! Yet his mother planted her hands on her hips and laughed, What kind of man are you? Youre still just a pair of trousers. Have a child, raise him, give him education, turn him into a proper gentleman, and then you can call yourself a man!
She never missed a beat, and Tom was left speechless. If anything, he clung to his mothers words.
Mabel went on to give birth to a little girl, whom she named Vicky. The mother said nothing when she heard the name, but the sparkle in her eyes gave away her secret delight.
On the surface, nothing changed in the house; only Tom lost his way home and grew sour. Mother, of course, worried quietly, but never showed it. She doted on her granddaughter, buying sweets and presents, while Sarahwho never quite forgave Mabel for taking her son awaykept her grievances to herself.
Ten years slipped by. The two sisters married, and the big house was left to three: the mother, Sarah, and Vicky. Tom enlisted again and shipped off with his new wife to the north. A retired soldier, a respectable older gentleman, moved in next door to Sarah, bringing with him a modest flat hed inherited from his exwife. He drew a pension, was steady, and soon won Sarahs affectionthough she wondered where hed take her. To her mothers surprise, he showed up at the door, bowing, Mrs. Whitaker, I love Sarah; I cant live without her.
Not a single muscle twitch crossed the matriarchs face.
Love, eh? she said. Well then, get married and live together. She paused, then added, I wont let Vicky be dragged around the flats. Stay here, with me.
And so they all lived under one roof. The neighbours chattered until their tongues ached, gossiping about how the crazy Whitaker had driven her own son out and taken in Mabel with a laugh. No one dared to criticize the lazy neighbor who never cleaned up after Vicky. She, however, ignored the idle talk, never joined the gossip, kept her dignity, and held fast.
Sarah later gave birth to Kate. The mother could not help but beam at her beloved granddaughtersthough to her, what use was a Kate? She was just another name.
Then disaster struck, as it always does. Sarah fell gravely ill. Her husband broke down, even turned to drinking. Without a word, the mother emptied the familys savings and whisked Sarah off to London, buying every medicine, seeing every specialist. It didnt help.
One morning Sarah felt a little better and asked for chicken broth. The delighted mother slaughters a chicken, plucks it, boils it up. When she brings the steaming bowl to Sarah, the girl cant swallow it and, for the first time, bursts into tears. The mothernever seen cryingbreaks down with her.
What are you doing, dear, leaving me now that Ive loved you? she sobbed.
She soon wiped her eyes, whispered, Dont worry about the children; theyll be fine, and, from that moment, she never shed another tear. She sat by Sarahs side, held her hand, stroked gently, as if asking forgiveness for all the years of tension between them.
Another ten years passed. Vicky was set to be married. Eleanor and Lucy, now greyhaired and a bit frazzled, turned upboth childless. The whole clan gathered, and Tom arrived, by then separated from his wife and nursing a strong drink. He was stunned by how lovely Vicky had become and, for a moment, was proud of his remarkable daughter. But when he heard that Vicky called the man who raised her dad, his face clouded, and he blurted at his mother, Its your fault! You let some stranger into the house; he should be cleaning instead. He has no right to be here. Im the father!
The mother, unfazed, replied, No, son. Youre not a father. Youve been wearing the same trousers since you were a lad and never grew into a man.
She said it with the same finality as before. Humiliated, Tom packed his belongings and hit the road again. Vicky married, had a son, and named him Alexander in honour of her stepfather. Last year, Vickys mother, the late Dorothy, was laid to rest beside Sarah.
Now they lie side by side: daughterinlaw and motherinlaw, with a birch sapling sprouting between them this spring. No one planted it; it just appeared, a silent emblemperhaps a farewell from Sarah, perhaps a final pardon from the mother.
