Through Sorrow and Joy
Margaret became a widow early, at forty-two. By then, her daughter, Florence, had already married a decent lad from the next village and moved up north with her new husband to seek a fortune, as they liked to call it.
Now and then Florence would ring her mother, telling her not to worry, that all was very well: she had friends, a good job, and new relations. In those moments, Margaret realised how distant her daughter had become, like a loaf sliced away, never to be rejoined.
There was no work to be found in the village. The school where Margaret had been listed as a kitchen assistant had closed for good.
Unemployed but not defeated, Margaret began taking the bus to the next village twice a week, where she sold milk and cottage cheese to her regular customers.
The few pounds she made barely covered her household expenses, but Margaret had nothing to complain about. She lived alone and could manage on the milk, cheese, and the vegetables she grew out back.
There was scarcely time for loneliness, for her days were a blur of tending to hens, geese, ducks, and in the barn her beloved cow, Buttercup, mooed gently. Underfoot was her marmalade cat, Dandelion, ever twining about her legs. By the time shed fetched the feed, cleaned the pens, and looked after them all, the day was spent.
Once a day, usually after lunch, Margaret would sit on the little stool at her window and gaze at the surrounding countryside. This was her greatest solace: slender birch trees stood at the edge of the open sky, unmoved and white.
Beyond the birches, a spring gushed from the earth, icy-cold. The water, pure and sweet, collected in a tiny pond. Such a marvel could not but draw attention, so it wasnt a great surprise when one morning Margaret awoke to the clang of machinery outside her window.
Yawning, she wrapped herself in the warm, checkered dressing gown that had belonged to her mother and stepped out onto the stoop.
She craned her neck to see a huddle of people, examining and debating the lay of the land. She marched up to one of them, a smart-looking gent in a tailored overcoat.
Good morning. May I ask whats going on here? she called.
The man turned at once, eyeing her and glancing at her cottage. Do you live here? Ive just bought the plot. Planning to build a house. So, it seems, well be neighbours.
Neighbours? she echoed, before retreating to her own house, deeply unsettled. She needed to find out about this new builder, so she dressed hastily and headed to the shop.
Chattering Maureen, the shopkeeper, was always in the know. She told Margaret that the plot beside hers had been bought by some wealthy businessman.
Hes planning to put up a house. Not for himselfhis twin brothers quite unwell, and the doctor advised living closer to the countryside. You know yourself, our woods are proper clean, and the springs are full of goodness.
A businessman, you say? Margaret mused. Well, perhaps hell like it here and be generous enough to open a shop. Wouldnt new jobs be handy in these parts.
Maureen chuckled. Youve got high hopes, love!
As she left the shop, Margaret nearly collided with David, the van driver who brought bread from the town. He hefted a huge delivery tray.
All right, Margaret, be a dear and hold the door, would you? he asked.
Of course, she replied, and smiled as she propped it open.
At the threshold, David paused. Where are you off to in such a rush? Take some warm bread, just out the oven.
Margaret flushed and took a loaf, shouting back, Maureen, put it on my tab, Ill settle up later!
She had reason to blush; David had been courting her for years, but Margaret shied from the younger man, thinking to herself, Let him find a woman nearer his age. David was six years her junior, and the villagers would mutter, Hes too young for her. So Margaret banned herself from even pondering his affection.
Yet David made no moves towards marriage elsewhere. He would eye her from a distance, sometimes attempt to woo her until she shut him down. He could only sigh, watching her slip away.
*
The building work went quickly. Before long, a rather grand house stood in the field, its windows blazing with light. Margaret made up her mind to visit.
She opened the new, stiff front door and called out, Hello, neighbours, good day to you!
The house was redolent of timber and fresh paint. Margaret hesitated in the hallway, clutching an apple tart.
Two men appeared from behind the archway, followed by women in overalls.
Who are you here for? they asked.
I live just along thereIve baked some pies, thought Id bring you some, as neighbours.
Thank you, one of the women said politely, taking the tray.
Margaret fidgeted. I dont suppose you need any extra help? I can hang wallpaper, plaster a bit, whitewash the ceiling No?
One of the builders shook his head. Not likely. Whole team of us here, doing the inside. Youll need to talk to the owner. Hell be here in a few days.
Oh, I see, Margaret replied, disappointed, and turned for home.
Extra work wasnt forthcoming.
Back at home, Margaret glanced around her shabby house and sighed. It needed repairs too, though what good would it do? The roof leaked, the walls greened with moss, bits were falling away.
What stung most was the feeling of being unneeded by her new neighbours. Time was, neighbours would call on one another: a new house meant introductions and welcomes. It was the decent thing. Yet, in all this time, the new owner hadnt stopped by or asked a thing, as if he had no need of neighbours at all. Peculiar, she thought.
*
But everything changed soon after. First, the new house was decked in Christmas lights. Next, the residents arrived.
Pressing her face to the glass, Margaret watched as lorries brought in furniture and boxes. From one vehicle stepped a young woman in an elegant white coat, who strode confidently into the house.
Who does she think she is? thought Margaret, Must be a beauty queen. Only the well-to-do visit houses built by businessmen.
She never did glimpse the owners brother, the one Maureen spoke of, as much as she watched from the window.
Strangely, the brother never left the houseonly once a week did the young woman, whom Margaret had spotted, slip out to the village shop.
Margaret often saw her there and tried making conversation, but the neighbour would draw her lips in a tight line, glance away and, with a crisp hello, scurry off.
Margaret mourned the lack of friendliness. Too high and mighty for me, she thought. Doesnt see the need to speak to the likes of me.
So the months passed, more than a year, with Margaret giving up on her neighbours and becoming invisible to their guests. Once a week, a fancy car would arrive, and an imposing gentleman would fetch bags from his boot and take them inside.
But something finally shifted.
One day, there came a knock at Margarets door. It was the neighbour, who stated her business directly:
Ive noticed youve a cow, chickens, all sorts. Would you be willing to sell me some meat? And I would also love butter, cream, and potatoes, if you have any.
But of course, Margaret said, warming to the visitor as she rummaged in her pantry.
Its just, the meat and cream in the shop arent quite right, the neighbour explained awkwardly.
Margaret retrieved a bag of beef from the freezer. Its good, fresh. Needs barely much boiling.
How long do you boil it? the neighbour asked quietly.
An hour and a half, love.
That long?
Oh, Ive had meat thats taken even longer. Dont you know your cuts? Not to worry, Ill show you.
What if I dont want to boil it? the visitor mused, Can I just fry it?
You can indeed.
Only, I dont know how. Im afraid Id burn the lot. Do you think, perhaps, you could fry it for me here, with some potatoes, and Ill come collect the finished dinner?
Margaret regarded her guestfar too young, she thought, with delicate features and polished nails that had clearly never seen hard graft.
Do you cook at all? Margaret inquired.
The beauty shrugged. Of course not.
Whats your name, love?
Imogen, and you?
Margaret. You can call me Maggie. I could make dinners and suppers for you, for a small fee.
I would be grateful for your help! When can you come?
Now, if you like.
Without waiting to be asked twice, Margaret packed up the food and snapped the lock on her front door before heading out.
Neighbours House
Margaret was swept up by the size and finery withintasteful furniture, all gleaming and new. In the lounge sat a dour man reading a book, who glanced up, scowling.
Whos this? Has something happened?
Margaret was surprised; shed half-expected to see someone closer to Imogens age, but here was a man of perhaps forty-five.
Imogen gushed, Darling, imagine! I found us a helper. This is Margaret, shell cook for us.
Margaret interjected, Actually, Im your neighbour, live next door. Pleased to meet you.
The man huffed and looked away with complete indifference.
Come along, Imogen said, dropping formalities.
She showed Margaret the kitchen and, with a fluttery sigh, commanded, Cook us something.
Margaret blinked at how familiar they were from the startstill, no time for indignation. She laid out the groceries, washed her hands, and set about preparing the meal.
In just over an hour, she served up beef stewed with potatoes.
At last, Margaret found her desired employment.
The taciturn owner, Mr. Alexander, would hand over her wages every Friday. In time, he thawed towards Margaret, as hearty food often works wonders.
While working there, Margaret realised Imogen never tidied. The beds were unmade, the floor unswept.
Margaret fetched a bucket and rag, and cleaned the whole place.
Imogen pouted, and Alexander frowned, snapping, Who asked you to clean? If you think Ill pay for your sudden fits of goodwill, youd better think again. We didnt mind the dust! Stick to the cooking, and Ill pay for that and the groceries.
Fair enough Margaret replied, but still finished the job. Soon, Alexanders businessman brother stopped visiting altogether, and Imogen ceased leaving for the shop, eyeing Margaret with growing discontent.
At last, Imogen snapped, Dont wash up after us, Ill do it. And dont bring meat anymore. Only potatoes, eggs, and milk from now oncook with those.
Margaret eyed her gloomy face in wonder, Is something the matter?
Thats just it! cried Imogen. Ive had enough of village life. No shops, no cafés, nowhere to gonothing!
A few days on, Margaret, coming as usual, found the house unlocked. Inside, things were scattered everywherecandlesticks, knick-knacks, an upturned bookcase spilling volumes onto the floor. The kitchen was a shambles, curtains ripped down.
Oh, whats happened Imogen! called Margaret.
No Imogen here, came a voice from the kitchen.
She found Alexander slumped at the table, bottles crowding the surface.
Whats happened, Mr. Alexander? Have you quarrelled with Imogen?
He glared. Dont mention that name. Imogens left me. Said a country life wasnt for her, left a note.
He looked up at Margaret. Maggie, could you fetch some meat? Youve still got some, havent you? Fry some up for me, would you?
So Margaret fetched the meat, cooked, and tidied.
The kitchen filled with appetising smells as he, half-asleep, stumbled up to the stove and began forking the meat straight from the pan.
Thats not right, Alexander, let me serve it at the table.
He sat down and declared, Youre wonderful, Maggie. I adore you.
Margaret froze, surprisedit had been years since anyone addressed her as a woman.
Dont go. Sit and drink with me.
I dont drink.
She realised Alexander was drunk and best left alone, but suddenly he sprawled across her lap.
Didnt realise you were so interesting, Maggie, he purred.
Married Life
Margaret felt the neighbours eyes on her in the shop. People whispered but didnt pry.
Only Maureen the shopkeeper raised an eyebrow. Margwhose cigarettes are those, then? You never buy cheese or sausage either. All for your neighbour, is it?
I told you, Im working for him, Margaret replied, her voice thin.
Maureen leaned over the counter, grinning, Since when do you sleep over there? And share meals? Come off it, Maggie; hes not your match. Hell use you and toss you away.
Margaret glared, Finished? Give me my change, or Ill write a complaint.
Grabbing her coins, she stormed out.
Inwardly, she seethed: People are such gossips, never mind their own business!
Outside, she nearly tripped over David, the bread man, carrying his crate. She didnt hold the door, and neither did he ask, bustling past with a scowl.
Him too, Margaret thought. Doesnt even say hello anymore.
She remembered how it felt each time David had blushed at her, how her spirit soared. But now he only ignored her, and the silence hurt.
*
Heading back, Margaret walked not to her own home, but the grand house.
Alexander spoke of marrying her soonthe house, he said, would then be hers too.
She began settling in, though she still rose early to stoke her old stove and feed what livestock was leftAlexander promised hed set up a proper pen so she could bring all her animals over after the wedding.
Alexander kept his word, taking her by taxi to the registry office, where they signed the book and he slipped a ring on her finger.
How lovelyis it gold?
Of course. Guard it.
At home she threw together a spread. Alexander, as usual, started to drink.
Havent you been drinking a bit much, dear? she murmured, admiring her ring.
Im celebrating. Go bring some meat, fry it with something. I need a snack.
Theres none left, I made a salad
How, no meat? Theres Buttercup in your shed, I hear her.
Buttercups my milker; I make my living on her. I cant just
Forget your pennies; your rich husband will provide! Chicken every dayI want beef!
But slaughtering a cow will take all day
He banged his fist. Did I stutter? Bring me the beef!
The Meat
Margaret traipsed through the village, hunting a butcher. None would cometoo cold, too much trouble just for one cow. At last, David agreed.
He fixed her with a hard look. Why get rid of your cow?
Margaret dropped her eyes. She could hardly admit her husband demanded meat.
She lied, Too expensive for the feed and hay, thats all.
But youre married, doesnt he help with the hay?
She sighed, Will you help or not?
I will. Ill be round in an hour.
Back home, Margaret lit the stove and set water to warm. Alexander never once offered to help.
Her heart ached as Buttercup, trusting, met her eyes.
Afterwards, with butchery finished, David heaved the beef inside. Whys your man hiding?
Hes a city gent, not cut out for farming.
Margaret handed over a tub filled with meat. For youthanks, David. I couldnt have done it without you.
Thats a lot, David said quietly, but took the meat. Just then, Alexander lurched drunkenly out the door.
Wife! Whos that with you? Get over here! I want meat for my wedding night too!
Davids face fell. Youre married?
Margaret murmured, shivering, Yes.
David dumped the tub in the snow and stalked off.
Florence, Her Daughter
Married life quickly soured. All Alexander did was drink and eat. Hed become a glutton for meatlearning poorly how to cook it for himself, tossing it in the pan or boiling it to death.
Margarets yard emptied; only the forlorn mewling of Dandelion, her cat, remained.
That cats a pest, groused Alexander. Chuck him outside.
When Florence came to visit, she took in her new stepfather, snoring, face in his plate.
Mum, is this what you call being married?
Oh, love, dont go on. Alex is a good man, just stressed. Imagine, a city man, forced into the sticks.
Mum, stop defending him. Hes drunk his whole life. Youre not a wife, youre his servant.
But look at the house! I never dreamed of a place like this.
Sorry, Mum, but you dont own this house. You gave up your home for this freeloader. What if he kicks you out?
Afterwards, Florence gathered her things to leave.
Take some meat, pleaded Margaret, running to the larder where she kept it cool in barrels. But the door was padlocked.
Margaret was baffled, returned inside and roused her husband.
Alex, why lock the larder? Wheres the key?
He, petulant, replied, Why do you need it?
To give Florence some for her journey.
No. Lets agree: no children, ever.
Whatever do you mean?
Margaret couldnt believe it, but after rummaging she found the key. The rest of the conversation Florence overheard, and whispered, So thats it I wont be coming back.
Despair washed over Margaret.
Later, Alexander, awake again and slamming his fist, revealed. My brother died, you know. This house was in his name; now it belongs to his widow. Shes told me to vacate.
Margaret gasped.
Whatll we do, Alex?
What do you villagers do, Maggie? Dont give up the house. Have a child. Two. Lock yourself in, fight for it.
She shook her head in horror. Thats not me, Alex.
Alexander poured himself another glass and declared, Well, if you’re not up to it, pack your bags. We’re moving back to your place. And take everything hereeven the lightbulbs. Smash the windows on the way out! Get your butcher to help move the furniture.
Margaret, coming out of her daze, asked, You didnt marry me out of love just to have somewhere to go, didnt you?
He snorted. Youre not young enough to think otherwise, are you? You just wanted the house.
After he polished off the meat and vanished into a new bottle, Margarets mind cleared. She slipped outside, opened her larder. There was barely any meat leftthe barrels and boxes nearly empty.
She returned inside. Alex, wheres the meat?
None of your business. I swapped it for something more useful.
You traded it for drink, didnt you? That meat could’ve lasted a year!
Alexander just grinned, Youre clever, youll manage.
Go to hell, Alexander. Ill be filing for divorce!
Epilogue
The divorce went through quickly, yet it wasnt the end.
Now homeless, Alexander schemed to seize Margarets house. Once night, he crept in as Margaret slept, slipping into bed beside her.
Oh, Lord! Whos there? she screamed.
Calm down, Maggie, its just me, your Lex.
Dont touch me!
Bolting out, still in her nightdress, Margaret ran barefoot through the snow to Maureens door, knocking frantically.
Maureen emerged, squinting, Whos there?
Its me, Maureenopen up, please!
Margaret?! Is the house on fire?
Worse! That brute is after melock the door. You were right I should never have got involved with him
Margaret hid with Maureen for weeks before Alexander finally left the village.
Still, Margaret was uneasy at home. Empty cupboards, empty pantryeven the potatoes were gone. Jars of preserves, tins, flourall pilfered. The house felt desolate.
Thats what comes of marriage, Margaret thought. No animals, no Buttercup. How will I live?
The door creaked and in stepped David, cradling Dandelion the cat.
Margaret, I had a word with your Alex, told him to clear off. Kept your cat with megood mouser, that one.
Margaret clutched her cat, weeping with gratitude. Oh, David, thank you.
He hesitated, Youre not upset I scared him away? Hed been flogging your firewood all over the village
Margaret sobbed harder.
Sorry, Margaret.
No, Im the one to apologise For letting you down, for acting above you.
He smiled gently, Lets light the fire. Mums put the kettle on and baked piescome stay with us a while. No need to sit in a cold house alone.
*
Not long after, Margaret married David. Florence forgave her, visiting with her husband more than once.
Alexander moved to the city, rumour had it he wed an older widow.
As for the big house, the late businessmans widow came to stay every summer.
She turned out to be quite decent, paying Margaret a friendly call with a pie by way of welcome. They even became friends.
Margaret once asked, Was Alexander truly unwell?
The widow only scoffed, Him, sick? Nonsense, hes sturdy as an ox. Just a terrible drunk. While my husband lived, he kept Alexander afloat, hoping a spell in the country might cure him. No such luck. Alexander tipped every gin palace dry, ran up debts everywhere, and hasnt changed a bit!
And so, in sorrow and joy, Margarets dream ebbed and flowed like the strange haze of an English afternoon, where even the unhappy endings have a kind of gentle melancholy, and the pie always tastes a little of hope.
