The childless woman shes not even a woman any more, just a halfwoman, my motherinlaw says, Mabel sighs and smiles bitterly.
Dont listen to her, the halfdeaf old neighbour, Aunt Shirley, snaps at her, God knows what Hes doing. Youre too early for a baby, He can see the future.
Then how can you see, Aunt Shirley? Ive been here five years and I want a child, Mabels tears roll down her cheeks. She rarely speaks this out loud; she keeps the ache hidden in her heart. Today she has walked ten miles back to her native hamlet to tend her mothers grave and is sitting with the old, halfdeaf neighbour to talk.
We know the sorrow, we know the grief, Shirley says gravely. But its not us who find children, they find us. Be patient, girl.
The remaining dogs in the village bark, sparrows chatter, but the familiar sounds of the countryside have faded. The little village of Hawthorne, Northumberland, is nearly dead, its crooked cottages huddled by the river as if bowing a final goodbye.
Mabel heads home to her husband in the larger market town of Alnwick. She must leave Hawthorne before dark; she has always dreaded the night forest and the fields, a childish fear that still clings to her.
Six years ago she was left alone. Her father died in the war and her mother passed away young. She took a job as a milkmaid on the local cooperative farm.
It was June when she first met the man who would become her husband the seventeenth summer of her life, and her first summer working the farm. The walk to the farm was long, but she ran gladly, even though her hands ached from the hard milking.
One morning a sharp rain catches her on the road. The sky darkens, clouds roll in, and a low rumble rolls through the hills. Everything seems to tilt.
Mabel darts under a leanto by the edge of the woods. She sits on the boards, pulls her long black braids down, and squeezes the rain from them. Through the slanting sheets of rain she spots a darkhaired young man in a checkered shirt clinging to his skin and trousers rolled above the knees. He slips under the leanto, sees her and smiles wide:
Now thats a gift! Im Nicholas, and who might you be?
Mabels heart jumps; darkness swirls around them. She stays silent, edging to the edge of the board.
Did lightning strike you? Or are you just mute? he jokes.
Im not mute. My names Mabel.
Cold? Need a warm spot? he teases, keeping his distance, The rains knocked us all over. Im from the MTS.
He continues his jokes, then starts to press her, making her blouse stick to her skin. She bolts into the rain, running as fast as she can, glancing back.
The forest, heavy with hanging clouds, feels terrifying.
Later Nicholas Nikiforov comes to the farm as a temporary herdsman. Mabel looks at him with a flash of hurt, then his courtship begins in earnest. That first meeting has clearly left a mark.
Mabel throws herself into marriage with joy, though she cant picture what awaits her in her husbands family and in a village that isnt hers. Her motherinlaw proves stern and illhealthful. She gladly dumps some of the chores onto her daughterinlaw, but watches every task with a hawks eye.
Despite the strain, Mabel does not give up. She is diligent and strongtended, though the scolding from her motherinlaw stings. After all, she arrived as a penniless orphan with no dowry.
In time the motherinlaw calms a little, seeing Mabels competence. Other criticisms fade. A year passes, then another, yet no pregnancy comes.
Girl, youre useless. A childless woman is not even a woman, just a halfwoman. Whats the point of this house without grandchildren?
Mabel weeps into Nicholass shoulder; he rebukes his mother, who grows angrier. Her fatherinlaw watches Mabel only when she brings a bowl to the table.
Mabel refuses to lose hope. She visits the local nurse herself, sneaks to the parish priest for herbal teas, and tries every remedy the village midwives recommend for barrenness.
Life goes on. The Nikiforov household is not the poorest, despite the harsh postwar years. One early morning Nicholas brings home half a sack of damp grain.
Dont let them get it, mother, he says.
Everyone pulls their weight, not just me. Calm down, love.
Mabel worries, urging Nicholas not to get involved in such schemes, but he persists, bringing back bits of waste from the farm.
Mabels sleep worsens; she sits up at night on the bed without a lamp, legs drawn up, waiting for him.
One day she decides to meet him. She feels under the bed for his nightgown, finds his coat, pulls his worn canvas cloak, and steps onto the porch. A November wind slams the open doors, driving cold rain against her face.
She wonders where he could be at this hour. Her feet carry her to the edge of the village. The windows are dark, the dogs are huddled, and even the little terrier, Fen, whines softly. She walks toward the old barn at the villages fringe.
Beyond it lies only field. The night field and woods have always terrified her. She pauses, thinking of waiting a while before heading back.
Rain hammers the damp ground, sometimes gusting, sometimes steady. Through the din she hears a light female laugh coming from the barn.
She leans in and recognises Nicholass voice at first, then a second voice its Kate, a girl from the neighbouring hamlet who works with her on the farm.
Kate was once bold, cheerful, and talkative, dreaming of leaving the village for the city to earn a living.
Go home, go home, bake, go home, galley, she used to sing.
Im the only daughter of my mother, a proper lass!
Ill find a city boy, rich and bald.
I wont stay on this farm, foolish as I am! Kate would croon at the village gatherings.
Lately her sparkle has faded; the women on the farm whisper that shes become sour, perhaps because of a jealous husband. Kate insists shes citybound, but Mabel cant imagine that husband being Nicholas.
The rain pours over the thatched roof, and a stunned Mabel stays by the barn, listening as Kates laughter rings out. Then, abruptly, Kate rushes home, slipping on the muddy path, her skirt catching on a piece of canvas. She bursts into the kitchen, scrubbing herself in the washbasin, muttering to Fen, Well clean this mess, little one, well clean.
The only thing the house holds is love hers and his but now that love feels absent. She cant shake the echo of Kates voice, her husbands whisper to another.
When Nicholas finally appears in the washroom, she says nothing. She decides to wait until tomorrow.
At dawn two police officers and the cooperatives chairman arrive. Mabels motherinlaw clutches at the lapels of the chairmans coat, sobbing. The fatherinlaw watches silently, eyes narrowed at the unexpected guests. Mabel hustles, helping her husband, supporting the weeping motherinlaw.
Fourteen villagers are dragged to the council building, bundled onto a truck and taken to the town for court. The crowd gathers outside the building, handing over sacks and parcels. By noon a lorry arrives, loading the detainees into its bed and hauling them away, saying they will face trial in the city.
Mabel looks back; near the birch trees stands Kate, watching.
The arrest rattles the whole village, though everyone whispers behind closed doors. The motherinlaw collapses in grief, the fatherinlaw sighs heavily. Mabel has not slept for days.
She never resolves anything with Nicholas; she is neither fully a wife nor a castaway. Yet now pity and fear for her husband outweigh resentment and jealousy. She cannot run away; a wife of an arrested man is not welcomed elsewhere, and divorce is never spoken of.
A few days later, Mabel returns from the farm, carrying a bucket of milk, and opens her front door to find Kate seated at the table, hands folded over a swollen belly. Beside her sit her parentsinlaw, heads bowed. Kate looks directly at Mabel, clicks her tongue, and the elders lower their gaze.
Good day, Kate sings.
And you stay well, Mabel replies.
Mabel, the motherinlaw greets unusually warmly, Kate used to visit the city, see our friends, Olga and Nina; their father and little Vas are there, and Kates husband, Oliver.
Mabel places the milk bucket on the stove, washes her hands, and listens.
The court gave Nicholas ten years, the motherinlaw says, handing Mabel a handkerchief and pressing it to her eyes. Think about it.
How ten? Mabel asks.
They said they were state criminals. Almost everyone got ten years. They were tried together, Kate explains.
Murderers! Mabel gasps, disbelief in her voice.
The motherinlaw weeps, and Mabel tries to soothe her: Mum, perhaps theyll change their minds, maybe theyll let him go they might scare us first, then release him.
Who will release them now? Foolish girl! Now its step by step. They tried them properly, Kate insists.
They discuss the trial, then a pause as the fatherinlaw sips tea.
So, Kate claps her hands on the table, the owners are silent, so Ill say this: Colin was going to marry me. He wanted to divorce you, but didnt get the chance. So Ill have a child with him, but I wont raise it alone. My father wont let me go back to the city with a child; hes heard the rumours. I thought wed marry, hed forgive, but look how it turned out Thats why I come to you, to ask you to look after his son.
Kate looks at Mabel, waiting for a reaction surprise, protest, tears. Mabel sits quietly, hands folded on her wartimestyle skirt, staring at the floor.
At last the motherinlaw cant hold back:
This is our house, we decide. There will be a grandchild. As for Colin whats become of him? Let Kate stay; the child will grow here. You decide, Mabel.
Mabel sighs, Im not against it, she says, rising to strain the milk.
Kate and the fatherinlaw fetch their belongings. The motherinlaw busies herself, worrying about where the child will sleep.
Mabel brings a bundle of straw from the yard, spreads it on the kitchen floor, covers it with a handwoven coverlet a makeshift bed, almost like Fens little nest.
Days grow shorter and colder. The motherinlaw is ill through the winter. Kate, in her final days, becomes almost a friend, even defending Mabel when she seems too strict.
Lie down, youll be worn out if you stay here, Kate advises gently.
Mabel spends her days milking, watching the white woods by the river, thinking of her fate. She cannot return to her original hamlet; the wind whistles through the thatch, and the tenmile trek in frost is impossible.
She often recalls her own mother, wondering what she would say seeing her daughter in such disgrace two women under one roof, each claiming the title of wife. Her mother was a proud, confident woman.
Winter passes with a thin thread of joy when a baby is born in January. The fatherinlaw brings the newborn, a boy named Edward, from the hospital on a cart.
Mabel tries not to look at the child too much, her heart aching that she didnt bring him into the house, though she prays and seeks cures. Yet the babys presence binds her to the family.
Everythings for Colin, right, Mabel? the motherinlaw chimes, He looks like him
Yes, he does, Mabel agrees.
Most of Edwards time is with Kate, but Mabel notices the boy cares less for her future than for his own.
What now? Stay here rotting in the coop? I wanted to study lab work in the town centre. Colin wont be back for ten years. What am I to do?
A new development arrives: four twobed houses are built in the village, new temporary milkmaids come, talkative and eager. Weekends appear for the first time. Mabel befriends one of the newcomers, Vera.
On a day off, Vera asks, Why do you stay?
Mabel tells her the home is anything but cheerful. Vera gasps, Ive never heard of a wife and a lover sharing a roof.
Leave, Vera suggests.
No, I have nowhere else. Who would run the farm without me?
Edward grows, crawling, then toddling, pulling at Mabels hair, kissing his cheeks, laughing as he watches her chores. The old terrier Fen joins in their playful fights.
Mabel finds herself falling for the little boy, while Kate remains strict, occasionally harsh, pushing Edward away when he irritates her.
On May1st Mabel rolls out flour, scoops four ladles into a castiron pot, and begins kneading dough. Kate prepares for a village gathering, fastening white beads to her hair and dashing off. The motherinlaw sits beside Mabel, cradling Edward.
Mabel, I have something to say. It feels as if youre a mother to the child, not just Kate, she says, eyes soft. Kate wants to leave for the city, study and work. She thinks Edward will be our burden, but we have no nannies.
What? Mabels eyes widen.
The childs future rests on you. Shes not a mother, just a name. She barely managed to pull the baby from a blanket yesterday.
Mabel continues kneading, thoughts drifting.
What shall we do, Mabel? the motherinlaw asks.
Mabel shrugs. Maybe its for the best. You didnt have your own children, so youll have a grandchild. Colin will return, and hell choose the one who raises his son. Thats Gods way, perhaps.
The motherinlaw nods, Well raise him together. Let Kate stay, at least until hes fed.
Later that evening, Mabel walks to the milking shed. The celebration feels distant; the milking must continue. She feels lost, unable to decide, the world around her suddenly alien.
Vera, concerned, asks, Whats wrong, Mabel? You look pale.
The pies bake, Kate returns, rosy and laughing, snatching a piece.
Mabel manages the yard, pausing now and then, staring into the emptiness of her life. Fen circles her, unaware of her turmoil.
Kate falls asleep beside Edward; the parentsinlaw sit quietly in the pantry. Mabel rocks the boy, placing him next to his mother, covering him with a blanket.
Outside, dusk settles. A light drizzle taps the roof. Mabel thinks calmly; rain cannot stop her. Neither can the forest she feared as a child. Who deserves freedom if not her?
No, Mum, I wont endure this any longer. Theres no love left, no hope, she whispers to the memory of her own mother.
She slips a canvas bag into the attic, pulls on rubber boots, grabs her coat despite the summer heat, and steps onto the wet path. The road feels pleasant, the field no longer frightens her. She pauses at the edge of the woods, breathes deeply, and heads toward the railway station, determined to reach the town of York where a weaving apprenticeship is offered with lodging. Vera had mentioned it.
She has a few pounds left, enough for the journey; if it runs short, shell find work. For the first time she feels steadier than ever.
A splash of hooves startles her; a rider appears from the gloom. He lifts her bag onto his cart.
Let me take you; walking with that load is foolish, he says.
Forgive me, Mabel replies, departing the station.
Will you ever escape? he asks, handing her two tenpound notes. Dont look back.
Mabel watches him disappear, turning her back on the past.
At dawn a train whistles, the scent of new beginnings in the air, and the carriage rattles down the tracksMabel slipped into the moving carriage, a flicker of hope finally stirring in her heart as the countryside blurred past.
