Martha was condemned in the same afternoon the bruise showed beneath her coat. Fortytwo years old, a widow, a scandal the whole village whispered about. Samuel, her husband, had been buried ten years ago, and she had taken on the work herself, dragging a sack of letters across the mudslick lanes.
Whos responsible? the women at the well hissed.
Who knows? The devilish one! they retorted. Shes quiet, modestlook where its taken her!
Girls should be married, and their mother runs around like a wild goose! they crowed.
Martha kept her gaze low, the heavy postbag slung over one shoulder, her lips pressed tight. If shed known how things would turn, perhaps shed stayed away. But how could she turn away when her own bloodred child wept over her?
It all began not with Martha, but with her daughter, Mollie.
Mollie was not a simple girl; she was a portrait of the dead Samuelhandsome, blond, blueeyed, the villages first lad to catch a girls eye. The whole hamlet stared at her, admiring the likeness. The younger sister, Agnes, was the oppositedarkhaired, browneyed, serious, almost invisible.
Martha had no hope for her daughters souls. She loved them both, clung to each like a cursed mother. By day she was a postwoman, by night she washed the farms livestock pens. Everything was for them, for the bloodred children she bore.
You must go to school, girls! she urged. I dont want you ending up like me, stuck in the mud with a heavy bag forever. You belong in the town, among people!
Mollie left for the town as if she were a bird taking flight. She entered the trade college and was noticed at once. Photographs arrivedher at restaurants, in stylish dresses. A suitor appeared: the son of a local council officer. Mum, he promised me a coat! she wrote.
Martha rejoiced while Agnes frowned. After school Agnes stayed in the village, became a ward attendant at the infirmary, hoping to train as a nurse but lacking the money. All of Marthas pension and her own wages poured into Mollies city life.
That summer Mollie returnednot flamboyant, but quiet, greeneyed, withdrawn. She didnt leave her room for two days. On the third, Martha found her sobbing into a pillow.
Mother mother Ive disappeared
Mollie confessed. Her golden fiancé had abandoned her after a brief fling. She was four months pregnant.
Too late for an abortion, Mum! Mollie wailed. What now? He wont acknowledge me. He said if I keep the child hell give me nothing, and the college will throw me out! My life is over!
Martha sat, stunned as thunder.
You what happened, dear? she whispered. Didnt you protect yourself?
It doesnt matter! Mollie shrieked. What now? Send him to an orphanage? Or toss him into the cabbage patch?
Marthas heart cracked. An orphanage? A grandchild?
That night she roamed the cottage like a specter. At dawn she sat beside Mollie on the bed.
Nothing, she said firmly. Well get through this.
Mum! How can we? Everyone will know! Itll be a disgrace!
No one will know, Martha snapped. Ill say its my child.
Mollie stared, disbelief flashing in her eyes.
Your child? Youre fortytwo, Mum!
Its mine, Martha repeated. Ill go to my sister in the nearby district, claim Im helping her, and live there. You return to the town, finish your studies.
Agnes, sleeping behind a thin partition, heard everything. She lay with a pillow clutched to her chest, tears streaming down her cheeks, feeling both pity for her mother and revulsion toward her sister.
A month later Martha left. The village whispered and soon forgot. Six months later she returned, not alone but with a blue envelope in hand.
Here, Agnes, she said to her pale daughter, meet your brother Michael.
The village gasped. The quiet Martha, now a widow again, had a son.
Whos the father? the women hissed again. Is it the council chairman?
No, Martha replied. Its the farm manager. Hes a respectable bachelor.
Martha endured the gossip. Life unfolded cruelly. Michael grew restless and loud. Martha stumbled from one job to anotherpostwoman, farm hand, now sleepless nightswhile Agnes helped where she could, silently washing nappies, rocking the infant. Inside, her anger boiled.
Mollie wrote from the town. Mum, how are you? I miss you! I have no money, Im scraping by, but Ill send something soon.
A year later a sum arrived: five pounds, enough for a pair of jeans two sizes too big for Agnes.
Martha spun, Agnes by her side. Their lives were spiralling. Young men looked, then left. Who would want a bride with such a tainted background? A mother who had wandered, a brother who was a troublesome boy
Mother, Agnes said when she was twentyfive, should we tell anyone?
No! Martha snapped, frightened. We cant. Wed ruin Mollies life. Shes married now, to a good man.
Mollie indeed had settled. She finished college, married a businessman, moved to London, sending glossy photos from Egypt, Turkey, the capitals highrise. She never asked about her brother. Martha wrote to her, Michael is in first grade, getting top marks.
Mollie replied with expensive toys that meant nothing in a Yorkshire cottage.
Years passed. Michael turned eighteen, tall, blueeyed like Mollie, cheerful, hardworking. He adored both his mother and his sister. By then Agnes had become senior nurse at the district hospital, called a old maid behind her back, yet she bore the burden of caring for Martha and Michael.
Michael graduated with a medal.
Mum! Im going to London, applying to university! he declared.
Marthas heart thumped. London where Mollie lived.
Maybe the regional college? she suggested timidly.
No, Mum! I have to push forward! Ill show you and Agnes what I can do! Youll live in a palace! Michael laughed.
The day he passed his final exam, a sleek black foreign car rolled up to their gate. From it stepped Mollie.
Martha gasped. Agnes, emerging onto the porch, froze, a towel still in her hands.
Mollie, near forty but looking like a magazine cover modelslim, in an expensive suit, dripping in goldburst into song, planting a kiss on Marthas cheek.
Mum! Agnes! Hello! she sang. Where?
She spotted Michael, wiping his hands on a rag in the barn.
Mollies eyes filled with tears.
Good afternoon, Michael said politely. Are you Marina? Sister?
Sister Marina echoed, her voice trembling. Mum, we need to talk.
They sat in the cottage. Marina pulled a pack of thin cigarettes from her bag.
Mum I have everythinghouse, money, husband but no children.
She wept, smearing expensive mascara.
We tried everythingIVF, doctorsnothing. My husband is angry. I cant go on.
What did you come here for, Marina? Agnes asked, her voice low.
Marina lifted her tearstained gaze.
Im here for my son.
Youre mad! What son?
Mum, dont shout! Its mine! I gave birth to him! Ill give him a life! I have contacts! Hell get into any university! Well buy a flat in London! My husband agrees! I told him everything!
Everything? Martha gasped. Did you tell him about us? About how I was shamed? About Agnes?
Agnes! Shell stay in the village forever! Michael has a chance! Mum, give him back! You saved my life, thank you! Now return my son!
Hes not a thing to be handed over! Martha roared. Hes my child! I didnt sleep for nights, I raised him! Hes mine
At that moment Michael entered, pale as a sheet, having heard everything.
Mum? Agnes? What what is she talking about? A son?
Michael! Its my son! Im your mother! Do you understand?
Michael stared at her, as if at a ghost, then glanced at Martha.
Mum is this true?
Martha covered her face, sobbing uncontrollably.
Then Agnes, the oncequiet one, rose, lunged at Marina and slapped her so hard the sound cracked the cottage walls. Marina flew back, hitting the plaster.
Wretch! Agnes screamed, the cry bursting with eighteen years of humiliation, broken life, anger at the mother who had left them. Mother? How can you be his mother? You abandoned him like a stray dog! You knew the whole village stared at us, pointing fingers! Because of your sin Im left aloneno husband, no children! And you return now to take him away?
Agnes, stop! Martha whispered hoarsely.
Its enough! Stop! Youve suffered enough! Its your turn to suffer! she turned to Michael. Shes the one who pushed you onto my mother so you could chase dreams in London! And you she jabbed at Martha, youre the old woman who buried her own life in the mud for us!
Michael stayed silent, then slowly approached the weeping Martha, knelt, and embraced her.
Mother he murmured. Mum.
He lifted his head, looked at Marina, who clutched her cheek and slid down the wall.
I have no mother in London, he said softly but firmly. I have one motherhere. And a sister. Thats all I need.
He rose, took Agness hand.
You aunt please go away.
Michael! My son! Marina wailed. Ill give you everything!
I have everything, Michael cut in. I have my mother, my sister. You have nothing.
Marina left that night, her husband watching from the car never stepping out. Rumor says he later left her for another woman who bore him children. She stayed alone, with her money and her beauty.
Michael never went to London. He enrolled at the regional university, studying engineering. Mum, we need to build a new house, he said.
Agnes, now thirtyeight, blossomed after that nights outburst. The farm manageronce the subject of village gossipbegan to take notice. He was a respectable widower.
Martha watched them, tears finally of relief streaming down. The sin shed committed was heavy, but a mothers heart will never be fully soothed.
