Childless old woman she isnt even a proper woman any more, just halfawoman, my motherinlaw would mutter, and I, Molly, would sigh and force a bitter smile.
Dont listen to her, snapped the halfdeaf neighbour, Mrs. Sheila, leaning over me with a sudden, startling volume. God knows what Hes up to. Youre still too young to be worrying about babies; He sees the whole picture ahead of time.
Mrs. Sheila, how can He see? I cried, tears sliding down my cheeks. I hardly ever spoke of this out loud; the ache lived inside me, quiet, a secret kept in my heart. I had come back to my native hamlet, ten miles from my husbands farm, to visit my mothers grave and to chat with the old, halfdeaf neighbour.
Its a known fact a sad one, I admit. But it isnt us who find children; they find us. Keep your chin up, love.
The village dogs barked, sparrows chirped. The usual countryside sounds were gone. Littleford, in the county of Westshire, was practically a ghost town, its crooked cottages huddling by the river as though paying a final tribute.
Molly headed home to her husband in the larger village of Eastbrook. She had to leave Littleford at first light. The night woods and fields had always terrified her a childish fright that never quite left.
She was born there. Six years ago she was left completely alone. Her father had died shortly after the war, and her mother passed away early. She took a job as a milkmaid on the local cooperative farm.
When she met her future husband, it was June. It was Mollys seventeenth summer, and the first one she spent working on a farm. The farm was a mile away, but she would run there with gusto, even though her hands ached from the hard milking work.
One morning, a sideways rain caught her on the road. The sky darkened, low clouds rolled in, a grumbling thunder rolled. Everything seemed to tilt, leaning to one side.
Molly ducked under a sagging shed at the edge of the village, near the woods. She sat on the wooden bench, pulling her long black hair into a braid and wringing out the rain. Through the slanted sheets of water, she glimpsed a darkhaired lad in a checked shirt, the shirt clinging to his skin, trousers rolled just above the knee. He slipped under the shed, saw her and flashed a grin.
Now thats a present! Im Nick, and who might you be?
Mollys heart thumped against the gloom of the sideways rain. She stayed silent, edging back to the benchs edge.
Did the thunder knock you out? Or are you just born mute? he teased.
Not mute. Call me Molly.
Cold? Need a warm? he continued, keeping his distance, The rains gotten us both soaked. Im from the MTS depot.
He jokingly jabbed at her for a while, then his teasing turned a shade too forward. Her blouse stuck to her skin perhaps that excited him, or perhaps he was just overly flirtatious. Molly bolted out into the rain, legs pumping, glancing back constantly.
Oh, the forest under those brooding clouds was terrifying!
Later, Nickfull name Nicholas Hartshowed up as a temporary farmhand. Molly looked at him with a pinch of resentment, but he soon began his courtship, following her seriously. Clearly that first encounter had left a mark.
Molly dived into marriage with optimism, though she could only imagine what life with a husband and a new village would hold. Her motherinlaw turned out to be stern and unwell. She gladly shifted part of the chores onto her daughterinlaw, but kept a sharp eye on everything.
Even though the workload was tough, Molly never lost her pluck. She was diligent and toughhearted only the motherinlaws occasional rebukes bothered her. After all, shed arrived as a penniless girl, no dowry, an orphan, nothing but a hope.
After a while the motherinlaw softened, seeing Mollys competence. Other criticisms fell away. A year passed, then another, yet no pregnancy came.
Youre a rotten thing, my childless old woman, halfwoman. Whats the use of this house without grandchildren?
Molly wept into Nicholass shoulder; he chastised her mother, who grew even angrier. The old man stared at Molly only when she placed a bowl before him.
But Molly didnt lose hope. She visited the village nurse herself, slipped to the neighbouring parish priests house for herbal infusions, and followed every folk remedy the local old wives whispered about.
Life went on. The Hartley household wasnt rich, but it wasnt destitute either. Postwar times were still lean; there was always a squeak for a piece of bread.
One early morning Nicholas brought a halfbushel of damp grain.
Dont let them see, love his mother clucked.
Everyone pulls, Im not the only one. Calm down, Mum
Molly fretted, urging Nicholas not to get tangled in such schemes, but he persisted, hauling odd scraps from the coop.
Molly began to sleep poorly. Shed sit on the bed with the lamp off, legs tucked under, waiting for him.
One day she went to meet him. She felt around, found a skirt, a shirt, a smock, discovered a pair of tall rubber boots under the bed, snatched his canvas coat, and stepped onto the porch. A November gust slammed the open doors, rain lashing her face.
Where was he, hidden away in such weather? She tramped to the edge of the village. The windows were dark, even the dogs hid. Her beloved puppy, Fen, trailed close behind. She walked, eyes scanning for her husband, until she stopped at an old ruin on the village fringe.
Beyond that lay only fields. Night fields and woods always frightened her. She decided to wait a bit, then head back.
Rain hammered the cold, damp earth, sometimes roaring, sometimes a steady patter. Through that sound she heard a light, feminine giggle drifting from the ruin. She strained, catching Nicholass voice at first, then a womans.
It was Kat, a girl from the neighbouring village whod worked with her on the farm.
Kat had once been lively, chatty, dreaming of escaping the village for the city, a bright future.
Off to the city, Ill find a rich, bald bloke, shed sang at the village dances. I wont stay a farmhand forever!
Lately, however, shed grown quiet, her laughter faded. Rumours said shed fallen for a married man.
Molly realized the man was Nicholas, something she hadnt even guessed.
Rainwater streamed down the ditches, and a stunned Molly lingered by the ruin, trying to make sense of the laughter and the voices. Then, Kats shrill laugh cracked the night, and she bolted home, slipping on the soggy path, her militarystyle coat catching on a fence post.
She burst into the kitchen, plunged into a basin, scrubbing furiously, unable to shake the echo of Kats voice and the whisper of her husbands name.
Lets wash this dirt away, Fen, she muttered to the pup.
All she had in that house was love hers and his but now it seemed thin as a wisp. She didnt want to believe her husband was unfaithful, though the rains relentless roar made everything feel distant.
When Nicholas peeked into the kitchen, she said nothing, vowing to wait until morning.
At dawn two police constables and the cooperative chairman arrived. Motherinlaw clutched the chairmans coat, sobbing; Fatherinlaw watched his son go, eyes narrowed. The villagers gathered, shuffling bags and sacks, until a lorry arrived and carted the detained fourteen people away to the magistrates office.
Molly turned, spotting Kat standing alone under the birch trees. The arrest rattled the whole village; people whispered behind shutters, afraid to speak.
Motherinlaw sank into her grief, Fatherinlaw grew feeble. Molly hadnt slept for days.
She never resolved anything with Nicholas; she remained somewhere between wife and castaway. Yet pity and fear for her husband outweighed resentment and jealousy. She couldnt burst out now; a prisoners wife wasnt welcome in other coops, and divorce was never spoken of.
A few days later, exhausted, Molly returned from the farm with a bucket of milk, only to find Kat sitting at her kitchen table, arms folded, a swollen belly in view. In front of her sat both parentsinlaw, heads bowed.
Good day, Kat chirped.
And to you, Molly replied.
Oh, Molly, the motherinlaw said unusually warmly, Kat has been visiting the city, seeing our friends Olga, Nina Their fathers there, and Vas, Olgas husband.
Molly set the milk bucket on the stove, washed her hands, and listened.
The court gave Kolya ten years, the motherinlaw whispered, handing a handkerchief to her eyes.
Mollys head slammed onto the bench.
How ten?
Kat answered, They said theyre state criminals, gave everyone a tenyear term. All at once.
Lord above! Molly gasped, shaking disbelief.
The motherinlaw wept; Molly tried to soothe her:
Maybe theyll rethink, maybe theyll let them go theyll scare us, then release us.
Wholl release them now? Foolish you, Molly! Its all over. The courts done its job. Kat insisted, certain of her story.
They lingered, hearing the faint clink of tea from the fatherinlaws cup.
Enough! Kat slammed her hand on the table, startling everyone, Since the owners are silent, Ill speak: Kolya was going to marry me. He wanted a divorce, but never got the chance. So heres the twist: Im pregnant with his child. I wont raise it alone. My father wont let me back home with a child he hasnt seen. I thought wed marry, hed forgive me. But look how it turned out. So Im here to ask you to look after his baby.
She stared at Molly, awaiting shock, protest, tears. Molly sat on the bench, hands resting on a warera skirt, looking at the floor, unmoved.
Finally, the motherinlaw broke:
This is our house, we decide. A grandchild will be here. As for Kolya whats his story? Let Kat stay; let the child grow here. You decide, dear.
Molly, wiping a tear, answered, Im fine with it, and began straining the milk.
Kat and the fatherinlaw fetched their things. The motherinlaw fussed about where the baby would sleep, worrying over the crèche.
Molly dragged a bundle of straw from the yard, spread it on the kitchen floor, laid a handwoven blanket atop it now her makeshift bed, almost like Fens kennel.
Days shortened, winters grew harsher. The motherinlaw fell ill for the whole season. Kat, in her final days, grew gaunt, walking on crutches. The farms burden fell squarely on Mollys shoulders; there was no escaping it.
Kat and the motherinlaw oddly became allies, even defending Molly when the old ladys temper flared.
Lie down, dear, before they tie you down, Kat would say, halfsympathetic.
Molly spent her days milking, watching the white woods across the river, pondering her fate. She could not return to her original hamlet; the windhowling cottage and the tenkilometre trek in the bite of winter were unforgiving.
She often recalled her own mother, wondering what shed say now seeing her daughter in such a mess. Two wives under one roof, a question of who was the true matriarch. Her mother had been a proud, selfreliant woman, never a victim.
Winter days drifted by, marked only by fatigue and monotony. A tiny baby born in January brought a flicker of joy.
In the deepest freeze, Kat was brought in a cart from the maternity ward, a small bundle in her arms a boy they named Ethan.
Molly tried to keep her distance from the child, her heart aching that the baby wasnt hers, even though she prayed and took every remedy.
The motherinlaw kept reminding her, Hes yours, Molly, you look just like him.
Yes, he does, Molly would sigh.
Mostly Kat cared for the boy, but Molly noticed Ethan cared less about her future than about his mothers whims.
Now what? Rot here in this coop? I wanted to study lab work in the town centre, become a technician. Kolya wont be back for ten years. I dont know what to do
Farm life shifted. Four twobed houses were knocked down, new families moved in. Temporary milkmaids arrived, chatty and diligent, bringing weekends off. Molly befriended one, Vera, on her day off.
Whats up? Vera asked.
Molly recounted her tale the household was anything but merry. Vera was shocked; shed never heard of a wife and a lover sharing one roof.
Leave it, Vera advised.
Dont be silly, Vera, Molly shrugged. Where would I go? The farm needs me.
Ethan grew, toddling about, clinging to Mollys hair, planting kisses on her cheeks, laughing as the sun set. He and the sprightly pup Fen staged little battles, delighting Molly. She adored the boy, and Kat, though strict, also nurtured him.
On May Day, Molly kneaded dough, scooping four shovels of flour into a castiron pot, then returned to the cottage to start the pastry. Kat prepared for a village dance, slipped on white beads, and fled. The motherinlaw settled beside Molly, cradling Ethan.
Molly, Ill be frank, the motherinlaw began, eyes softening, Kat wants to go to the city, study, work. She wont leave Ethan with us, though. She thinks well look after him.
Mollys eyes widened.
So shes counting on you?
Yes. Shes a shrew, not a mother How could she abandon her child? Ive never seen that.
Molly kept kneading, halfmechanically, thoughts swirling.
What do we do, Molly?
Molly shrugged.
I think maybe its for the best. You havent been given your own children, but youll have a grandchild. Kolya will return; hell choose whoever raises his child. Maybe Gods hand is at work here. What do you think? the motherinlaw cooed, eyes shimmering.
I dont know, Mum. Well see
Whats there to see? While youre at the farm, Ill be busy, and the old man well raise him together. Hell be our son, in a way.
Molly headed to the evening milking. The celebration went on, but she felt detached, unable to bake or think clearly.
The pies turned out fine. Molly placed them on the iron, covered with a cloth. Kat returned, flushed, cheerful, eager.
Ah, lifes good, Molly! You should have come to the dance!
Its here, Molly lifted the cloth.
Hungry! Kat snatched a slice, halfrunning to change out of her work dress.
Molly kept the farm yard running, pausing now and then, staring at a small window, quietly mourning her own life. Fen circled, oblivious.
Kat fell asleep beside Ethan; the elders quieted in their closets. Molly rocked the boy, laid him beside his mother. Kat, halfasleep, draped a arm over the child.
Outside, dusk settled. A light drizzle ticked on the roof. Molly thought about it calmly.
Rain could not stop her, nor could the dark forest shed feared since childhood. Who deserved freedom if not her?
No, Mum, I wont stay silent any longer. Love is gone, hope too, she whispered to herself.
No one noticed as Molly slipped a canvas sack into the barn, pulled on her rubber boots, tugged on a coat despite the summer chill, and paused in the kitchen doorway.
Take the pastries? No Let them eat in my memory.
She crept out, the floorboards groaning, lifted the heavy sack, patted sleepy Fen, and stepped out the gate. The damp road felt pleasant, the field no longer frightening. She paused at the forests edge, inhaled deeply, and walked resolutely forward. She needed to reach the train station at Willowby, where a weaving apprenticeship was advertised, with a hostel for apprentices. Vera had mentioned it. Money was thin, but she hoped it would stretch; if not, shed find work elsewhere. For the first time,With a determined stride, Molly boarded the rattling train, leaving the rainsoaked fields behind and stepping into a future she could finally call her own.
