Two wives
A barren woman she isnt even a proper woman any more, just a halfwoman, my motherinlaw muttered, and Evelyn sighed, forcing a bitter smile.
Dont listen to her, snapped Aunt Betty, halfdeaf, leaning in. Only God knows what Hes doing. Its still too early for you to think about children He sees the whole road ahead.
But, Aunt Betty how can He see? Weve been here five years and Im desperate for a baby, Evelyns tears ran down her cheeks.
She rarely spoke those thoughts aloud; most of the ache lived inside her. She had come back to the tiny hamlet of Brockfield, ten miles from her childhood home, to tend her mothers grave and sit with her old, halfdeaf neighbour for a chat.
Its a sad business, love, the neighbour said. But we dont choose the children, they choose us. Hold on, child.
The village dogs barked, sparrows chirped, but the usual sounds of a bustling country hamlet were gone. Brockfield, in the heart of Yorkshire, was dying. Its crooked cottages leaned toward the river as if bowing their last farewell.
Evelyn headed home to her husbands larger village, Ilminster. She had to leave Brockfield before dark. The night woods and open fields had always terrified her as a child.
Six years earlier Evelyn had been left alone. Her father died shortly after the war and her mother passed away when she was young. She found work as a dairymaid on the local cooperative farm.
She met James in June, the seventeenth summer of her life and her first summer on the farm. The walk to the fields was long, but she went gladly, even though her arms ached from the heavy milking.
One morning a slanting rain caught her on the road. The sky darkened, clouds rolled in, and a low thunder rolled. Everything seemed to tilt to one side.
Evelyn ducked under the small wooden leanto by the woods at the edge of the village. She sat on the bench, pulling her wet black hair into a braid and wringing the rain from it. Through the sideways rain she saw a darkhaired young man in a checkered shirt and trousers that rode just above his knees. He slipped under the same leanto, saw her and grinned.
Well, what a treat! Im Thomas, and who might you be?
Evelyns heart hammered; the rain made everything look black. She stayed silent, edging back on the bench.
Did the thunder knock you out? Or are you just shy? he teased.
Not shy. Evelyns my name.
Cold? Need a warm spot? he continued, keeping his distance. The rains knocked me flat. Im from the MTS farm.
He joked for a while, then pressed a little too hard, making Evelyns blouse cling to her skin. Whether it was the teasing or his eager interest, she bolted out into the rain, running as fast as she could, glancing back.
The forest, dark under the looming clouds, seemed frightening.
Later Thomas returned to the farm as a temporary herdsman. Evelyn looked at him with a mixture of annoyance and curiosity. He began courting her seriously, and that first meeting left a mark.
She married James with joy, though she could not picture what life would be like in his village and under his mothers roof. Mrs. Harper proved sharptongued and unhealthy. She happily shifted some chores onto her daughterinlaw but watched every task closely.
Even though the strain was heavy, Evelyn never lost her spirit. She was diligent and strong, though her motherinlaws reproaches nagged at her. After all, shed arrived with no dowry, an orphan, and little else.
After a while Mrs. Harper softened, seeing Evelyns competence. The other complaints faded; Evelyn could not bear them. A year passed, then another, yet no pregnancy came.
Youre a cursed thing, childless woman. Whats a house without grandchildren? Mrs. Harper snapped.
Evelian wept into Thomass shoulder; he scolded her mother, who grew angrier. The fatherinlaw watched Evelyn only when she set a bowl before him.
Evelyn, however, clung to hope. She visited the village nurse herself, stole to the nearby parish priest for herbal teas, and tried every folk remedy the local women whispered about.
Life went on. The Harper household was not among the poorest, though postwar times were lean and a single room was always cramped.
One early morning Thomas brought half a sack of damp grain.
Oh, dear, we cant let this go to waste, his mother cried.
Everyone helps, not just me, Thomas replied.
Evelyn tried to dissuade Thomas from taking such risks, but he kept bringing scraps from the collective farm.
Nightly, Evelyn lay awake, refusing to light a lamp, her feet tucked under her, waiting for James.
One day she decided to meet him. She rummaged for a skirt, a shirt, a sweater, found her rubber boots under the bed, grabbed her oilcloth coat and stepped onto the porch. A November wind tore through the open doors, cold droplets slashing her face.
Where was he, out in that drenching weather?
Her feet carried her to the edge of the village. The windows were dark, even the dogs hid. Her loyal terrier, Fenny, followed silently. Evelyn walked, eyes scanning the fields, then stopped by an old stone barn at the villages rim.
Beyond the barn lay only open fields. Evelyn had always feared night fields and woods. She paused, deciding whether to wait or turn back.
The rain hammered the cold ground, sometimes rattling, sometimes a steady drumming. Through the sound she heard a light, feminine laugh coming from the barn. She strained to hear and recognized Thomass voice, then anotherSarahs voice, a girl from the neighbouring hamlet who worked beside her on the cooperative.
Sarah had once been lively, singing about leaving the village for the city, dreaming of a rich, bald gentleman. Lately her cheer had dimmed; the other women whispered that jealousy over a married man had soured her.
Evelyn stood frozen, the rain soaking her to the bone, as Sarahs laughter turned to a sob. The barns door creaked, and Sarah stumbled out, her dress tangled in the mud, her face flushed.
She fled home, slipping on the slick path, her skirt caught in a strip of discarded canvas.
At home she scrubbed herself in the washhouse, muttering, Well wash this mud away, Fenny.
All that remained in the house was love that seemed to have vanished. Yet Evelyn could not bring herself to believe that betrayal had truly happened.
The next morning two police constables and the cooperatives chairman arrived. Mrs. Harper clutched the chairmans coat, sobbing, while the cooperative manager stared at the strangers. The villages fourteen men were hauled to the council hall, later loaded onto a lorry and taken to the town for trial.
Evelyn looked up; Sarah stood under the birch trees, watching.
The arrests rattled the hamlet, though no one spoke of it openly, keeping their doors shut. Mrs. Harper fell into a deep grief, the fatherinlaw grew frail, and Evelyn stopped sleeping.
She never resolved anything with Thomas; she was neither fully wife nor fully abandoned. Yet pity and fear for her husband outweighed her anger and jealousy. She could not leave; a wife of a man under arrest was not welcomed elsewhere, and divorce was never discussed.
A few days later, returning from the farm with a bucket of milk, Evelyn opened her door to find Sarah sitting at the table, hands folded on a swollen belly. Beside her sat the Harper couple, heads bowed.
Good day, Sarah sang softly.
And you too, dear, replied Mrs. Harper, unusually warm. Sarahs been visiting the city, seeing Oliva and Nina. Their father and a man named Vicky are there.
Evelyn set the milk bucket on the hearth, washed her hands, and listened.
The court sentenced James to ten years, the mother whispered, pressing a handkerchief to her eyes.
Ten years? Evelyn gasped.
Sarah answered, They called them state criminals. Almost everyone got a decade. They tried them all together.
Mrs. Harper wept, and Evelyn tried to soothe her.
Sarah then slammed her palm on the table, eyes flashing. Listen, James was planning to marry me. He wanted to divorce you but never got the chance. Ill have his child, but I wont raise him alone. My father wont let me stay in the village with a baby, he already knows somethings wrong. So Im here to ask you to look after my son.
She stared at Evelyn, awaiting a reaction. Evelyn, hands resting calmly on her wartimefabric skirt, remained silent, eyes on the floor.
Mrs. Harper burst out first.
This is our house, we decide what happens here. A grandchild will come, and James what will happen to James? she sniffed, Let Sarah stay; the child should grow up in this house. You decide, Evelyn.
Evelyn sighed, Im not opposed, and began straining the milk.
Sarah and the fatherinlaw fetched some things. Mrs. Harper busied herself, asking, Where shall the child sleep? On the loft? Hell need a corner.
Evelyn spread a bundle of straw on the floor by the hearth, laid a handwoven blanket over it, and made a makeshift bed, much like the one she had for Fenny.
Winter grew colder, and Mrs. Harper fell ill. Sarah, despite her earlier haughtiness, grew close to the Harper couple, sometimes defending Evelyn when she felt the motherinlaws criticism was too harsh.
Evelyn spent her days milking, watching the white woods beyond the river, wondering about her fate. She could not return to her birthplace; the wind whistled through the thatch, and the tenkilometre trek to the farm in the biting cold was impossible.
She often thought of her own mother. What would she say now, seeing her daughter trapped in such a disgrace? Two wives under one roof, each claiming the man. Her mother, a proud, steadfast woman, would have said, You must choose your own path.
The days passed in a dull monotony, brightened only by the baby boy born in January, a small spark of joy.
When the child, Egor, arrived, the village midwife brought him home on a cart. Evelyn tried not to watch too closely, her heart aching that she hadnt birthed the child herself, though she prayed and took remedies.
She noticed the boy clung more to Sarah than to his own mother, barely noticing Evelyns own future.
The farm changed. Four twobed houses were built, new families moved in, and temporary dairymaids arrived, talkative and diligent. Evelyn befriended one, Vera, who was shocked to learn that a wife and a lover lived under the same roof.
Leave, Vera advised.
Where would I go? Evelyn replied. The farm would fall apart without me.
Evan grew, toddling on his knees, pulling at Evelyns hair, kissing her cheeks, laughing. The terrier Fenny joined in their playful fights.
On May1st, Evelyn made a batch of scones, scooping flour into a heavy iron pot, kneading dough with tired hands. Sarah dressed in white beads and slipped out for a village dance. Mrs. Harper sat beside Evelyn, holding baby Egor.
The thing is, Mrs. Harper began, you act like the childs mother, not Sarah. She wants to go to the city, study, work. She fears well be left with the child. But were already here, caring for him.
Evelyns eyes widened.
What shall we do, Mum? she asked.
Mrs. Harper sighed, Maybe its a blessing that the childs there. James will return, and whoever raises him will be loved. Perhaps God has turned things for a reason.
Evelyn finished the scones, placed them on the hearth, and covered them with a cloth. Sarah returned, flushed and cheerful, grabbing a scone.
Delicious, Evelyn! she exclaimed, biting in.
Evelyn watched the village life swirl around her, feeling a quiet melancholy. The rain pattered on the roof, the forest shed feared as a child no longer seemed a barrier but a path.
One evening, after the last milking, Evelyn gathered a heavy canvas sack, slipped on her rubber boots, tucked a coat over her shoulders, and stepped out into the damp lane. She walked toward the railway station in the town of Harrogate, where a training centre recruited women for weaving apprenticeships and offered hostel rooms. Vera had mentioned it.
A horsedrawn cart appeared, its driver offering to help. He lifted the sack onto the cart.
Sorry, he said, I cant let you walk all the way with that weight.
Thank you, Evelyn replied, clutching a pair of tenpound notes the driver tossed her as a fare.
She watched the cart disappear, feeling the weight of her past lift as the wheels turned.
The next morning a train to Harrogate whistled, its steam cutting through the cold air, carrying Evelyn toward a new beginning.
She left behind the villages tangled loyalties, the whispered judgments, and the endless waiting. In the carriage, she thought of the lesson she had learned: that when life binds you to a place that no longer fits, the courage to walk away and carve a new path is the truest freedom.
And so she rode onward, knowing that the strongest bond is the one you forge with yourself.
