Ive known Lucy since she was a little thing, and Ive heard the whole lot about her family from my own mother, who never missed a chance to warn her. Watch yourself, love, and youll end up on the doorstep with a stray cat, shed say, as if shame were already waiting for Lucy. The old woman kept on muttering that Lucys mother had been a bit of a wanderer.
From the earliest years Lucy heard whispers that her mother, Margaret, had taken long holidays with a sisterinlaw, Nadine, before Lucy was even born. We lived five years with Tom, no children, and then she went off to the seaside resort and brought back a bundle of trouble, the old lady would proclaim, never caring about the facts. No argument about the timelinewhether Margaret had traveled three years before Lucys birth, or with Nadinecould quiet her. She kept insisting that Lucy was a wayward girl.
Her father, a stern man, looked at his wife like a wolf eyeing a rabbit, and there was little he could do when daily gossip painted his wife as a lazy, troublesome sort. The house was big, and when he married, he never left his mothers side; the younger brother was expected to look after the elders. The matriarch despised her daughterinlaw, constantly telling her son to send her away. I cant stand the way she sits or walks; shes not right for you, shed snap. Yet the son clung to his wife, saying, I love her, thats all.
The same disdain fell on Lucys own daughter, even though the child had grown up right in front of everyones eyes. Lucys granddaughter, dear little Emma, was a bright, pretty thing, sweet as honey, while the other girllets call her Bettywas a sullen, prickly sort, spitting venom like a wolf cub.
One afternoon Emma ran to her grandmother, calling her Gran, while Betty glared from the doorway, a stranger in her own blood. The old woman didnt know where to seat Emma or what to feed her. Darling, have some cucumbers, she offered. No, theyre bitter, Emma replied. Fine, theyre bitter, just like you, Lucy, lazy and cursed, the old woman snapped, calling for more food. Maggie, Maggie, feed the child, the starving babe! she shouted.
Here, dear, some cream and biscuits, she kept insisting. The biscuits are hard, Emma complained coquettishly. Hard, yes, hard as a stone, the old woman retorted, unable to hide her frustration. She kept hurrying the housework, as if shaking the walls would fix everything.
This house will be yours, my only granddaughter, the old lady promised, or shall I leave you a roofless soul? Let your own parents look after you, or take care yourself. And so Lucys life went on.
When Lucy decided to move to the city to study, her mother gave her a final warning. Lucy was a diligent student, bright and lively, and she loved everything about the citygirls in pretty dresses, boys in sharp suits, the bustling streets. She wanted to show her mother the worlds beauty, but how could she take her there? Her mother and father wouldnt let her; the old woman clutched at her, like a snake drinking a bitter potion. So Lucy only visited when her mother allowed.
She befriended the warden of the dormitory, Anne Andrews, whose grown son lived up north with his two grandchildren. The warden kept saying the school called for a parent meeting. Its been a year, the girls grown, and now well fetch her mother to the city, they said. The father grumbled, the old lady sneered, Shes fooling around with boys, not studying. The mother feared scolding, yet teachers praised Lucy, and her spirits lifted.
At the dorm, Lucy introduced her mother to Anne, and the women hit it off instantly. Dont be shy, Mrs. Andrews, Mary, they said, sipping tea through the night. Mary, a former housemaid, confessed, All my life Ive been a servant; besides Lucy, I never had children. My parents are fine, but I need a child. She added, Im a top student, wanted to live in the city, go to the library, but it wasnt meant to be. Thank you, dear, for showing me the city; Ive never been beyond my village.
Anne asked, What do you do, Mary? Im an accountant, Mary replied, laughing. So youre educated? Anne pressed. Of course, I studied locally and always wanted to move to the city. Anne urged, Come on, move. Mary sighed, If only I could learn more
Back home, Marys motherinlaw was a sharp tongue, her husband glared like a wolf, and she ran off to work with bruises hidden beneath her coat. She seemed distant, lost in thoughts. The next month she returned to a meeting with Lucy. That girls misbehaving, chasing after men, like a stray cat, the old lady snarled, Shell bring you trouble, just like Tom did.
Tom, Lucys husband, had beaten Mary badly that nightso badly the old woman herself was frightened, not for Mary but for Tom. She ran to the local constable, bringing a slab of meat and a hunk of pork as though it could heal anything. Tom kept circling his wife, his temper like a spinning wheel.
Mary finally gathered her meagre belongings, wrote a letter, and left without notice. Everyone was stunned; they let her go. Lucy leapt as if to touch the sky. Mum, is that you? she cried. Im tired, love, my body is a mess of bruises. Oh, mother, Lucy sobbed. Itll be alright, dear, Anne will help. Mum, wont you come back? No, Mary whispered, I wont, for your sake, so you can have a better life.
Mary found work at a textile mill as an accountant, got a room in a hostel, and began to blossom again. She and Lucy would stroll in the evenings, hand in hand. Word spread through the village, and Tom heard. He stormed in, Im coming for you, Mary. I wont go with you, she snapped, Ive had enough. Tom snarled, but Mary was no longer afraid; she had changed.
Dont be foolish, Mary, Tom warned, Youll ruin yourself. Go away, Tom, Mary replied, Ill call the police. The police? On my own husband? Tom stammered. We were set up a month ago, Mary said. Didnt you get the letter? Tom asked, bewildered. No, I didnt, she replied, Sorry, Tom, I love you, but youre like a wolf that loved a sheep. He growled, Youre to blame. Mary turned away, Leave me. Are you coming back? No. Youll regret it. Go. Ill leave, but dont expect me to return, Mary.
Later, Tom returned home like a storm cloud, shouting at his mother, drinking and buying more gin. Mum? What is it, Tom? he asked, Did a letter ever reach me? He stared at his hands, chewing his lips, his thoughts tangled. For a week he drank, then brought home a woman named Catherine Yates, a city girl. Mary tried to hide her, but the new stepdaughter, sweet but cunning, took over the household. The old woman feared showing her face.
Then came little Lily, the beautiful granddaughter, bright and clever, but misfortune followed her. A scoundrel tricked the girl; if he hadnt, hed have strangled her. Mary, now seen as a witch, was blamed for all the woes, as if every mishap stemmed from her. The village gossip said Mary lived in the city, had a husband, and was a witch. It seemed that little Lilys fate was sealed.
Lucy, now a granddaughter herself, never showed her face at weddings. She and the others had become city folk, far removed from the old countryside. Some said the old mother swapped love for a flirt, but Mary, despite everything, remained respectable. Nadine, another relative, was also wellliked, though she had little time for anyone.
Perhaps someone will travel to the city and bring Mary a message, hoping shell forgive the old lady one day. We all lived close, heart to heart, with the same old grudges and stories. In the end, Mary was a capable woman, a good cook, and a solid hand at the accounts, while the other characterslike that meddlesome Catherinewere just trying to keep their heads above water. The village still whispered about the births, the strangers, and the little Emma who kept wiping away tears on her tattered shawl, never quite understanding why life was so hard.
