Susan never loved her boys. She saw them as dimwitted, narrowminded, rough and uncouthjust like their father.
Mum, whats for supper? shouted twentyyearold George, the eldest. His voice was already deep, a thin patch of hair sprouted on his chin, and his hands, like his fathers, were long and gaunt at the wrists, ending in thick, clumsy fingers that could crush a fist into a solid block.
Susan knew all too well that George was prowling the local pubs, flirting with the older widows who had been abandoned by their husbands. Those women stared shamelessly at the young men, and even at the teenagersrecklessly bold, werent they?
One evening Susan slipped a warning to Daisy, Dont get carried away with George. Hes barely fifteen yet. Daisy laughed wildly, her response so scandalous that Susans eyes clouded over with disgust.
From that moment Susan stopped caring for George. He reminded her of his fathercoarse, perpetually drunk, reeking of lard, garlic and homebrewed spirit, always thrusting his filthy hands wherever he pleased.
She tried to pair him off with every woman in the hamlet. When a match was forced, the bride wailed, but there was no one to defend her. Old Mrs. Whitaker, the villages spinster, took it upon herself to push Susans son onto a reluctant girl.
Why do you linger, girl? the old woman croaked. Look at Peterhow fine he is. Every girl swoons over him, hoping only for his glance. Yougo on, be gone.
I wont, sobbed young Susan, Ill go to the city, work in a mill, learn, make something of myself.
City? the old woman snarled, You should have married before you even lay a foot under that roof
Her blows were harsh, relentless, as if Susan were a stray beast. Did the old crone really think Susan consented to Peter?
She didnt know anythinghed taken her by force.
Mrs. Whitaker kept pounding the old wounds with words, pointing at Susans sin, shouting that soon her belly would swell higher than her nosetruth in every cruel syllable. Susan finally understood that something was breaking within her.
She was forced to accept Peter. He was older, brought Susan into his house; at first his mother railed, saying shed chosen the wrong daughterinlaw, but then she gave in, even feeling pity for Susan when Peter tormented her night after night.
She cursed, calling her a weak girl, a burden.
One by one the children arrived, peas in a podeach a boy.
Susan loved them fiercely until they grew up and turned into copies of Peter.
Then Susan became a harsh mother.
War took Peter, twisted him, spat him out alive, yet countless men never returned.
Peters luck seemed boundless. Three of his brothers went to the front, and when they came back, five more darkhaired lads roamed the village, eyes like blackcurrants.
Susan bore three more sons, all boys. Not a single daughter ever graced her womb.
There was no escape from him; as soon as night fell, hed stalk the house, pinch, grab a waist, press his weight down.
Susan kept delaying his entry into the bedroom, inventing endless tasks.
When Peter announced he was leaving for widowed soldier Lucy Browning, Susan exhaled a sigh of relief.
George fought with his father that night; Susan barely settled the wound, bandaged his arm, and stroked his head as she had done when he was a child.
Let the boy go let him be. No more, she whispered.
Mother, dont fear. Well see this through, George managed to say, his voice trembling. He was about to marry, and Susan tried not to think of what he would do with that fragile, wideeyed girljust as Peter had.
All the boys turned out alike, as Susan shook her head, recalling how each was once a sweet, tender child. She had hoped nature might make a difference, that one would not become a Peter. It never happened.
She never let her voice grow hoarse, never let a whisker sprout on her chin, never let that gleam appear in her eyes and that was why she never loved her sons when they grew, and why she deemed herself a bad mother.
The boys wives eventually bore daughtersat least one, she thought.
She finally held the youngest, little Lily, in her arms. Lily was delicate, spry as a vine, darting around the kitchen.
What is this? Susan gasped as Sasha stepped out of the bedroom, and Lily, unafraid, clung to him like a calf to its mother.
She pressed her cheek to Sashas chest, froze, while he ruffled her hair and kissed her forehead lightlysoft as a mothers kiss to a child.
Susan began watching her other sons, wondering if any behaved like Petergrabbing, pulling their wives onto the bed at the slightest chance.
No.
God, no! she cried. Had she been blind all these years? Had she missed the other boys ugliness?
It took decades for Susan to realise the truth.
Her sons.
George, dear, is everything alright? she asked her eldest.
Everythings fine, Mother. Anything wrong? Is the new daughterinlaw causing trouble? Theres room for her, George replied, his words careful, always measured since birth.
Mother, dont hold back if you need anything whispered Katya, Georges wife.
No, my children, all is well. I just came to check on you, miss you all. George, forgive your mother if shes ever failed you
Mother what do you mean?
Ive never been a very good mother
You? Not good? Kat tell her
Exactly, look for mothers like us, mothersinlaw too, who raised boys like these Stop blaming yourself, say youre a bad mother, and have a cup of tea with a scone.
After checking on every son, Susan dragged her feet home, exhausted.
One daughterinlaw refused tea, another acceptedshe didnt want to hurt any girl.
She hadnt birthed a daughter herself.
How foolish, Susan muttered to herself, I already have six children, six daughtersinlaw maybe Im not such a terrible mother after all.
At home Lily baked pancakes.
Susans eyes burned, but she could not turn away. She didnt want to offend the little one.
The pancakes are wonderful, she sighed.
Lily, perhaps youll give me a grandchild? she asked, hopeful.
Ill try, Mother, Lily giggled, then kept her promise, delivering two girlsOlivia and Yvonne, the granddaughters the old woman adored, showered with affection.
Susan loved those grandchildren, even if they resembled Peters boysdamned and baldwhile the granddaughters were princesses, queens of her heart.
Ill raise these girls, pull them out of the mire and into the world, never let them ruin their lives, Susan swore, and she kept it. The granddaughters excelled, reached great heights, always remembered their grandmother with kind words, and loved Susan dearly.
She truly loved everyone.
Did you ever not love your sons? someone asked.
How could I not? If I hadnt, they wouldnt have turned out the way they did.
Can a mother not love the child she carried beneath her heart?
As for Peter God help him, Susan forgave him long ago, even loved him a little.
