I had turned away suitors for George for the fifth time. Each time, they arrived in their wheezing old Land Rover, bringing with them a waft of foreign cologne and an awkward silence.
Two of his sisters, ample-bosomed women with robust laughs, circled around the topic at firstspeaking of the summer rain, the barley yieldsbefore sighing and getting to the heart of matters.
Alice, you have to understand, George is a good sort! one would begin, emptying a basket on my kitchen table: a jar of honey, a round of farm cheddar. He doesnt touch a drop, works from dawn to dusk! The house is always full. Has his own tractor, hives, two fine dairy cows. Its lonely for one man, you know.
Needs a womans hand, oh, he truly does, the other would chime in, glancing around at my modest but spotless little parlour.
In our village of Willowbrook, every bramble knew that the widower from neighbouring Oakford sought not so much a wife as another pair of free hands. Their syrupy speeches seemed only more insulting in light of this.
Well, his tempers sharp, Ill give you that, Aunt Maud would sigh, pausing at my gate for her daily reconnaissance after the suitors left. But hes not the sort to sponge off a woman. And youre forty-two now, Alice. With your pride who else will want you?
I wiped the dishes, careful not to show how my hands shook. I had poured myself into this house. First, I nursed my mother through her last days, then my fathers illness kept me at his bedside.
My brother James was always away with worksending his earnings home, but the long, dirty nights, the heaviest work, it all fell to me. Yet I never complained. That was my duty, my home.
Every floorboards creak, every chip in the plasterI knew them all. When my parents died and I was left alone, every glance in the village was tinged with something sourspinster, misplaced.
No, I wont go, I told Aunt Maud shortly. He can hire a housekeeper and pay her wages. Im no ones servant!
Rumours about George and his first wife, gentle Mary, swirled with unpleasant detail. Some said hed worked her into an early grave, forcing her to slog in the fields and kitchen both. Others claimed she was ill for years, but George, clumsy with his feelings, simply didnt know how to help and lost himself in his farm work. Regardless, everyone agreed, life with him was no picnic.
Yet fate has a wicked habit of laughing last. One week after Aunt Mauds visit, my brother James returned from his job. But he did not return alone. With him came Carolinea young woman with a shrewd glint in her eyes and hair the colour of straw left too long in the sun.
Come and meet Caroline, James muttered. Shes my wife, and shell be living here now.
Caroline looked me up and down, as though deciding whether I was the sort of clutter that ought to be thrown away or hidden behind the cupboard.
The first days were unbearable. She click-clacked across my scrubbed floors in pointed shoes, picking away at my home.
The geranium bothered her, the granny curtains had to go, and she declared the house reeked of old age. I clenched my teeth, said nothing, waited for James to intervene. But he followed her like a calf, indulging every whim.
The turning point came on the fourth day.
Alice, Caroline said one evening, stabbing at my potatoes with her fork, could you clear out all those jars of pickles from the cellar? I need the space for a sunbedJames promised to get me one.
And anyway, she continued, its so cramped with two women here. It might be time for you to find someplace else?
I looked at my brother. He sat hunched, studying the pattern on the tablecloth. Betrayal. I had cared for this home all my life, and nowfind someplace else.
Humiliated and furious, I rose from the table, stepped out onto the porch, and sat on the cool steps. Quiet evening air, carrying the scents of rain and rotting leaves, pressed in on me. I ached with a loneliness so sharp I could have howledif not for pride.
And as though fate had not finished with me, beneath the glow of the old village lamp, I saw Georges battered Land Rover slinking up to my gate.
This time he came alone. He sat behind the wheel, bulky, brooding, his heavy eyes fixed on me like a cow at marketmeasured and emotionless.
He stepped out, stood at the gate, but did not enter.
Well, Alice? he growled, not bothering with pleasantries. How long will you keep dithering? The farm needs a womans hand.
His bluntness, his cold, businesslike tonedevoid of warmth or any interest in me as a personshould have infuriated me. But just then, in that moment, anger worked on me like cold water.
Anger at my brother, at Carolines insolence, at this twisted path my life had taken. So you want a servant, George? a wild thought flashed through my mind. Youll have a surprise.
What if I agree? I heard myself say, voice dry and rough.
His brow shot up, surprised.
Well then, get your things, he muttered at last. No sense waiting. Well marry tomorrow.
By morning, the whole village was buzzing. I walked out with my pitiful little suitcase to his Land Rover. At the well, neighbours crossed themselves and swirled fingers at their temples.
Alice has lost her mind! Hell work her to the bone! All he wants is a skivvy, not a wife!
I walked by them, head held high, eyes straight ahead.
Ill show them, I thought. Ill give them a life to talk about; theyll be the ones to run.
We wed quickly, unceremoniously, in the bare council office in town. No lace, no crowdsjust the deed done, and off he drove with me to his farmhouse in Oakford.
His house, it must be said, was prosperous: brick-built, two storeys, an iron gate out front. Inside, though, it was the lair of a bachelor grown careless with solitude.
Dust clung to polished furniture, the windows streaked with last winters grime, the sink piled high with dishes, heels of stale bread by the range. The stench of old stew and tobacco hung in the air. Despair clung heavier than dust.
George chucked the keys on the counter, strode right through.
Well, make yourself at home! Ill expect dinner at two. Im off to the hivesplenty to be done. Heat up the bath for this evening.
And off he wentout the door, as if hed hired me a mere five minutes earlier.
I stood in that foreign, filthy kitchen, squeezed by the silence. For a moment, I thought, Run!drop everything and go back to Willowbrook, even if it meant sleeping in Mauds shed. Anywhere but here, where no one saw me as a person.
But then I caught my reflection in the dusty glass of an old sideboard. A tired woman, eyes emptied of sparkle, with a bitter fold by her mouth.
No, I told myself, you chose this, Alice. Now stand by it. This is a battleand all tactics are fair.
I set aside dinner and the bath. Instead, I opened my case. I laid out my best tableclothwhite linen, embroidered by my mother. I found clean crockery among the cupboards and scrubbed the glasses until they shone. I changed into my smartest blue dresskept for Sundaysand sat, hands folded in my lap, and waited.
George returned after dark, grumpy, hungry, and tiredhe stopped, startled, on the threshold.
Whats this? he scowled, eyes darting between the cold stove, the immaculate table, and me. Alice! Are you deaf? Wheres supper? Why isnt the bath hot?
He loomed over me, red with indignation.
What sort of wife have I brought home? I need a worker, not a lady in a clean frock!
I sat upright. My heart thundered in my throat, yet my voice was steady as stone.
Sit down, George.
He hesitated, mouth open to bark some new order, but met my gaze. To his own surprise, he obeyedsitting opposite me with a heavy thump.
You married me, George Murdoch, I began quietly, every word sharp, not a drudge. I am your wife, not your help. So tonight, well set our terms.
What terms? he spat, but his tone had softened. Serve the food!
My terms. Now, on our wedding night. Disagreeand Ill take my suitcase and walk back to Willowbrook. Let the whole county laugh that you lost a second wife on your wedding night. Doesnt bother me.
His fists clenchedthe prospect of village ridicule must have stung.
First, I said, counting on my fingers, I am not the hired help. I am mistress here. I cook and clean as I see fit and when I see fit. Ask me nicely, Ill help. Order me, I wont lift a finger.
He glared, stunned by my nerve. He was used to women trembling, whispering, eyes cast down.
Second, I pressed on, money for the house stays in plain sight.
That sugar bowl, I tapped the porcelain dish, Thats where the money stays, for groceries and such. I wont beg for bread or soap, reporting for every penny.
Hmph. Youll bankrupt me, he grumbled.
I wont. Im thriftier than you. But I refuse to be humiliated.
Third: dont raise your voice at meever. Shout, and Im gone. I cant abide yelling; my father never did.
He snorted, getting his wind back. Anything else, your ladyship?
Fourth, I answered boldly. Sundays, I rest. No heavy washings, no major cleanings. Well go to town, the woods, or relax like any ordinary family. I am not a carthorse, George! Im a woman. And lastlyfifthIll sleep in the guest room. Until I decide otherwise.
He stared, the old clock ticking on the wall. His jaw worked as he fought himselfyears of barking out commands warring with something else. Perhaps the shock that anyone dared answer back.
Finally, he exhaled, long and deep.
And what if I refuse?
My case is by the door, I nodded. Ive not even unpacked.
He glanced from the battered little case, to me, then down at his huge, grimy hands.
Any food about? he muttered to the floor.
There is, I said, rising. Sausage and eggs in the fridge, pan in the cupboard. Youll have to fry them yourself. Im tired, Im going to bed.
I left him alone in the kitchen, feeling his stare burning between my shoulder blades. I braced myselfwhat if he exploded, flung me from the house? But all I heard was the rattle of a frying pan.
I locked myself in the little guest room and wept into my pillow for half an hourWhat have I done? I wondered. Hell drive me out tomorrow.
But the next morning, bracing myself for the worst, I found a mug of tea waiting on the tablecold, but there. And a note, scrawled on newsprint, nearly illegible.
Gone to the hives. Moneys in the cup in the sideboard. Get bread.
I stared at the note. Had he accepted my terms, or was this just the calm before a storm?
That began our odd new life, a sort of dance in a minefield. For weeks, George brooded, sometimes snapping, but stopping short when I put down my spoon and reached for my coattesting my resolve, as I tested his.
I made the house shinenot as a scullery maid might, but as a proper mistress. The windows gleamed, letting the sun pour in. The curtains, freshly laundered, bloomed white again. Layer by layer, I swept away the neglect. Buried in an old wardrobe, I found a box of photographs.
Most showed his first wife, Maryslight and fragile-eyed, forever apologising with her gaze.
My heart hurt for her. I tucked the photographs back and left the past untouched.
I baked, filled the air with the scent of pies and comfort. When he sat to eat, I joined himnot lingering by the stove like a servant. We ate in a thick, expectant silence. Whenever he tried to criticiseThe soups weakId meet his eye, Theres always tomorrow, make your own.
Hed grumble, but eat it all the same.
Small changes crept in. He started leaving muddy boots by the door, not trampling through the kitchen. Washed his mug now and then. Little things, but a start.
The village gossiped; neighbours peered over the hedge, hoping to find me tearful and worn.
How is he, Alice? Still raging?
We manage, Id reply, smiling mysteriously, and leave them baffled.
It all changed after a month, on a sodden day when George had spent hours wrangling with his old tractor. He came in, black with oil and temper.
Alice! he roared, shaking the windows. Heat some waternow!
I sat knitting in my chair. I lifted my head slowly.
The baths already hot, George. You had the fire under it this morning, remember?
Dont cheek me! he thundered, veins bulging on his neck. I said bring water. Am I to slop through mud? Are you my wife or what?
That was his true self showing.
Silently, I set my knitting aside, rose, and fetched my scarf from the hook.
Where are you going? he demanded, caught off guard.
Home, I lied, having nowhere elseperhaps the railway station. I warned you, George. Save your barking for the cattle. I am not livestock.
I reached for the door. Outside, black rain poured down.
Stop! he hollered, suddenly afraid. You cant! Not at nightyoull perish out there!
Better the rain than your shouting, I said, pulling open the door as damp, cold wind rushed inside.
Then something unexpected happened. Georgethis bear of a manstomped across the room and slammed the door shut, blocking me with his bulk. But he did not strike.
He stood, breathing hard, with something near desperation in his eyes.
Dont go, he rasped. Alice Dont. I dont know another waynot trained for it. My father was the same, and his father before Mary, my firstshe never complained, so I thought I was doing right. But youyou cut right through.
Dont sharpen yourself against me, I whispered, holding his gaze, my fear gone at last. Live with me, not at me. All I want is warmth. You want it too. Stop baring your teeth.
He laid his head on my shoulder, heavy and sodden, reeking of diesel and rain. I felt his shoulders tremble.
Im tired, Alice, he whispered. So tired of being alone. They all think Im just mean and selfish, but its just so much to carry. And for what? The children grown, vanished, only asking for money. I thought Id find a simple wife to help, but you
I am not simple, I said gently, for the first time stroking his coarse, greying hair. Go wash up, George. Ill heat up supper.
That night we spoke, not of work or cows, but of life, loss, and survival. George confessed how hard it had been raising the children, losing his parents, how hed grown hard to defend himself from envy and gossip. He told me about Maryshe hadnt died from toil, but from a bad heart shed hidden for years, always wanting to seem strong. Hed only realised too late.
Half a year passed, and life was unrecognisable. Sundays became for resttrips to market in Abington, wandering through the woods. George turned out to be a good companion, full of countryside lore.
One Sunday, we set off for the town market. George wore the new shirt Id bought him, a crooked tie, and walked proudly beside me, arm in arm.
By the clothes stalls, we ran into Aunt Maud of Willowbrook. Her jaw quite dropped.
My goodness! Alice? You look better than ever! And Mr. Murdochten years younger, Id say!
George smiled, squeezed my shoulder.
Thats right, he boomed, so all could hear. My wifes worth her weight in gold. None of your village gossips can match her.
That day, he bought me an angora shawlwhite as a summer cloud, expensive, lovely. When offered a cheaper one, he waved her off:
Nothing but the best for my wife!
Wear it, he said, handing it over as we climbed back into the Land Rover. Dont want you catching cold.
A few weeks later, we had visitorsJames and Caroline. She gushed with false praise:
Oh, Alice, what a palace youve made of this place! Mr. Murdoch looks a new man!
But her eyes flickered with envy at every detail.
James is out of work, Caroline mentioned, We wondered if we might stay with you a while? Theres plenty of room, after all.
George, whod been sipping tea in silence, set down his mug.
Theres spacebut not for you, he cut in. Your wife almost ended up on the street thanks to you two, looking for a corner. Well, shes found one, right here. This is her home, and yours is back in Willowbrook. Good day to you.
Caroline vanished like rain in the wind. James mumbled something about being family and trailed after her.
When the door closed, George took my hand in his.
I wont let anyone hurt youever again.
So, thats how we carried on. His temper still flares now and then, old habits die hard. But now I know the secret. If his voice rises, I simply look calmly at him and say,
George, remember term number three
And this great, fearsome man waves his hand, sighs, and goes off to put the kettle on.
Because respectreal respectis worth more than any free labour. And love, it turns out, can take root even in rocky ground, if you clear out the weeds of resentment and set your own conditions.
It was a battlenot with him, but with heartbreak and angerand in the end, it became a truce with my own conscience. I think, truly, I didnt just win an argument. I won a little happiness.
So ends my tale. If it strikes a chord, I hope youll share your thoughts, or simply know that even the stoniest field can bloom again, given half a chance.
