Megan sighs, a bitter smile tugging at her lips as her motherinlaw, Mrs. Hargreaves, mutters, A barren woman is no longer a woman at alljust a halfwoman.
Dont listen to her, the halfdeaf neighbour, Aunt Shirley, snaps, leaning in. God knows what Hes doing. Its too early for you to bear a child; He sees everything ahead.
Mrs. Shirley, how can He see? Megan cries, tears streaming down her cheeks. She rarely speaks this out loud; she keeps the pain locked in her heart, but today she has returned to her native hamlet, ten miles from her husbands farm, to visit her mothers grave and sit down with the old, halfdeaf neighbour for a chat.
Its a sad business, Mrs. Hargreaves says, her voice trembling. But its not us who find children, its they who find us. Be patient, girl.
Dogs bark in the fields, sparrows trill. The familiar village sounds have long faded. Little Whimsey, in the northeastern shire, is practically a ghost, its crooked cottages huddled close to the river as if offering a final bow.
Megan turns homeward, toward her husbands larger village, Brindleford. She must leave Whimsey at first light. All her life she fears the night woods and open fieldschildish dread she never outgrew.
Six years ago she was left alone. Her father died soon after the war, and her mother passed away when she was a child. She took a job as a milkmaid on the local coop farm.
When she met the man she would marry, it was June. It was Megans seventeenth summer and her first season working on the farm. The journey was a stretch, but she ran to it gladly, even though her hands ached from the hard milking at first.
One rainy morning a squall catches her on the lane. The sky darkens, clouds roll in, thunder growls hoarsely. Everything seems tilted, leaning to one side.
Megan darts under a shed at the edge of the village, near the woods. She sits on the bench, pulls her long black braids tighter, squeezing out the rainwater. Through the slanting sheets of water she spots a darkhaired young man in a checked shirt pressed to his skin and trousers rolled just above his knees. He slips under the shed, sees her and flashes a grin.
What a surprise! Im Nicholas, and who might you be?
Megans heart jumps; darkness swirls around her from the driving rain. She stays silent, edging back toward the benchs edge.
Did the thunder knock you out? Or are you just shy? he jokes.
No, Im not shy. Call me Megan.
Cold? Need a warm drink? he teases, keeping his distance, The rains knocked the whole field flat. Im from BT.
He continues with jokes, then presses a little too close, making Megans blouse cling to her skinwhether that thrills him or merely shows his lack of restraint, she cannot tell. She bolts out of the rain, running as fast as her legs will carry her, glancing behind.
The forest, dark and looming beneath the overcast, feels terrifying.
Later, Nicholas Nikiforov shows up as a temporary farmhand. Megan watches him with a flicker of resentment, then his courtship begins in earnest. That first encounter evidently left its mark.
Megan dives into marriage with hope, though she cant picture what life with her husband and in a new village will hold. Her motherinlaw proves stern and unhealthy, shifting a share of the chores onto Megan while keeping a hawks eye on every task.
Even when the load is heavy, Megan refuses to wilt. She is diligent, sturdythough the motherinlaws reproaches sting. She arrived emptyhanded, without a dowry, an orphan, after all.
After a while, the motherinlaw eases her criticism, seeing Megans competence. Other accusations fade; Megan still cannot conceive. A year passes, then another, and still no pregnancy.
Youre a rotten girl, the motherinlaw snaps. A barren woman is no longer a womanwhats the point of this house without grandchildren?
Megan weeps into Nicholass shoulder; he scolds his mother, who grows even more furious. The fatherinlaw watches Megan only when she serves him a bowl.
Megan does not lose hope. She visits the village doctor herself, sneaks to the nearby parish priests house for herbal teas the women claim cure childlessness. Life trudges on. The Nikiforov home is modest but not destitute; postwar times are hard, but theres always a bit of bread on the table.
One early morning Nicholas brings half a sack of damp grain.
Dont waste it, his mother calls, Or theyll snitch!
Its a joint effort, Mum. Calm down, Nicholas replies.
Megan worries, urging Nicholas not to get tangled in such chores, yet he drags home scraps from the farm anyway.
Megan begins to suffer insomnia, lying awake in the dark, legs tucked under her, waiting for him.
One day she decides to meet him. She feels for her skirt, sweater, and nightgown, finds a pair of rubber boots under the bed, grabs his canvas coat and steps onto the porch. A November wind pierces the open doors, large drops of rain sting her face.
Where could he be, out in this relentless rain?
She walks on, the village empty, windows dark, even the dogs have hidden. Her beloved puppy Finn, the one she dotes on, follows close. She wanders, eyes scanning for her husband, until she reaches an old barn on the edge of the hamlet.
Beyond the barn lies only field and forestplaces that have always terrified her. She decides to wait a while, then head back.
Rain hammers the cold, damp earth, sometimes in gusts, sometimes in a steady drumming. Through the sound she hears a light, feminine laugh coming from the barn. She leans in and recognises Nicholass voice, then a second voiceKatya, a girl from the neighbouring village who works with her on the coop.
At first Katyas chatter was bold, merry, full of dreams to leave the village for the city, to find a rich, bald suitor. She sang about not wanting to stay on the farm forever. Lately, however, her sparkle has dimmed; the other women whisper that shes become bitter, perhaps because of a jealous husband.
Megan is sure Katya is citybound, but the truth surprises herher jealous husband is Nicholas.
Rainwater rushes down the ditches, and a stunned Megan remains by the barn, listening to Katyas sudden, piercing laughter. When it quiets, Katya darts home, slipping on the slick path, her makeshift militarystyle coat tangled in the mud.
She rushes inside, starts scrubbing in the washbasin, muttering, Well wash this grime away, Finn, well wash it away.
Everything in the house feels like loveher love, his loveyet its all gone. Whether because she never truly saw that love with her own eyes, only hearing it in the rains roar, or because of an endless, desperate hope, Megan refuses to believe hes betrayed her.
When Nicholas peeks into the washroom, she says nothing, choosing to wait until tomorrow.
At dawn two police officers and the coops chairman arrive. Megans motherinlaw sobs, clutching the chairmans lapel; the fatherinlaw watches his son silently, eyes narrowed at the unexpected guests. Megan rushes to help, lifts the bewildered motherinlaw from the floor.
Fourteen villagers are rounded up and taken to the council hall. A crowd gathers outside until noon, handing over sacks and bundles. By lunch a lorry arrives, loading the detainees into its bed and driving them to the town for trial.
Megan glances back. A short distance away, Katya stands beneath the birch trees.
The arrests shake the whole hamlet; people whisper behind closed doors, huddling in their cottages. The motherinlaw collapses in grief, the fatherinlaw fades away. Megan has not slept in days.
She never resolves anything with Nicholas; she is neither fully his wife nor entirely abandoned. Yet now pity and fear for her husband outweigh jealousy. She cannot run away; a prisoners wife is not welcomed in other farms, and divorce is never spoken of.
A few days later, returning from the farm with a bucket of milk, Megan opens her front door and finds Katya sitting at the table, hands folded beneath a swollen belly, with the grandparents of the house looming behind her. Katya looks straight at Megan, clicks her tongue, while the grandparents bow their heads.
Good day, Katya greets.
And you stay well, Megan replies.
Megan, the motherinlaw says, unusually warm, Katya used to visit the city, see our sisters Olga and Nina, her fathers brother Vasily, and his wife.
Megan puts the milk bucket on the hearth, washes her hands at the basin, listening.
The court gave Colin ten years, the motherinlaw says, handing Megan a handkerchief, pressing it to her eyes.
Megan collapses onto a stool.
What? Ten?
Katya, speaking for the motherinlaw, adds, They said hes a state criminal. They handed out tenyear sentences to almost everyone.
Lord! Megan gasps, disbelief raw.
Her motherinlaw cries, and Megan tries to soothe her:
No, Mum, it cant be. Maybe theyll think again, maybe theyll let him go Theyll scare us, then release him, Megan hopes.
Who will release them now? Foolish girl, Megan! Its all by stages. They tried a court, a court trial, Katya insists, assured of her story.
They linger over the details of the trial, then a pause, only the soft clink of a teacup from the grandfather.
Listen! Katya slaps the table, startling everyone, If the masters stay silent, Ill speak: Colin planned to marry me. He wanted to divorce you, but never got the chance. So here I am, Megan. Believe it or not, Ill have a child with him, and I wont raise him alone. My father wont let me return to the village with a child, hes already heard the rumors. I thought wed marry, hed forgive, but look how it turned out Thats why Im hereto nurse your grandson.
She looks at Megan, awaiting shock, protest, tears. Megan sits calmly on the bench, hands resting on a militarystyle skirt, eyes fixed on the floor.
The motherinlaw finally breaks:
This is our house, we decide. A grandchild will come. What about Colin? How is he? Let Katya stay; thats our decision. Let the sons child grow here. You decide, Megan.
Megan sighs, Im not against it, and rises to strain the milk.
Katya and the grandfather gather their things. The motherinlaw busies herself, waiting for Katya.
Where will they sleep? In the barn? The child will need a corner, she frets, Oh, the sorrow.
Megan drags a bundle of straw from the yard, spreads it on the kitchen floor, tops it with a handwoven quiltnow her makeshift bed, much like Finns little hut.
Days shorten and grow colder. The motherinlaw is ill all winter. Katya, in her last days, becomes frail, shuffling about. The farms burden rests on Megans shoulders; theres no escaping it.
Katya and the grandparents even grow close, sometimes defending Megan when the elders are too harsh.
Lie down, dear, or theyll keep on nagging you, Katya whispers to Megan.
Megan spends her days milking from dawn till dusk, glancing out the small window at the white woods by the river, pondering her fate. She cant return to Whimsey; the wind whistles through the cottages, and the tenmile trek in the biting cold isnt feasible.
She often remembers her mother, wondering what shed say seeing her daughters disgracetwo women sharing one mans house, each fighting to be the primary one. Her own mother had been proud, confident, a woman of her own mind.
Winter days bleed into each other, marked only by fatigue and monotony, until a baby born in January brings a brief sparkle of joy.
In the harshest frost, the grandfather brings the newborn, a boy named Ethan, from the village hospital on a cart. Megan, though exhausted, tries not to stare too long at the child, her heart aching because she did not bring him into the house, even as she prays and takes remedies.
The motherinlaw keeps reminding her, All for Colin, Megan, and Megan replies, Yes, he looks alike Their bond is mostly with Katya, yet Megan notices that the boy cares for Katya far less than for his own uncertain future.
What now? Let this farm rot? I wanted to study to be a lab assistant in the town centre. Colin wont be back for ten years. I dont know what to do, Megan sighs.
Changes arrive at the farm. Four twobed houses are built in the village, families move in, and new, chatty replacement milkmaids appear, hardworking but from elsewhere. Weekends appear for the first time. Megan befriends one of the newcomers, Vera.
On a day off, Vera asks, Whats going on?
Megan recounts her home lifehow a wife and a lover share one roof. Vera is shocked.
Leave, she advises.
Dont be ridiculous, Vera, Megan laughs. Where would I go? The farm needs me.
Ethan grows, crawling, then toddling, tugging at her hair, planting kisses on her cheeks, laughing as the sun sets. He and Finn the pup spar in playful bouts.
Megan has fallen in love with the little boy, and Katya, though strict, sometimes helps. Shes harsh, even cruel at times, because the child irritates her. She knows why: his presence shatters her dreams of a city life.
The grandparents dote on Ethan, but they are too old to bear his full care.
On May1st, Megan kneads dough, measuring four scoops of flour into a castiron pot, then returns to the cottage to start the batter. Katya plans to go to a village fete, slipping on a string of white beads before she runs off. The motherinlaw sits beside Megan, cradling Ethan.
Megan, I have to tell you something, she says, a tremor in her voice, Katya wants to leave for the city, study, work. She hopes to put the child on us, but we cant. She says Colin will come back and choose, but he wont.
Megans eyes widen.
So thats why shes counting on you. Shes a shrew, not a mother. Shed abandon her child.
Megan continues kneading, her movements automatic.
What shall we do, Megan?
Megan shrugs.
I think maybe its for the best. You have no children of your own; at least youll have a grandchild. Colin will return; who will he pick? Surely the one who raises his child, the motherinlaw says, gazing lovingly at the grandson on her lap, And you cant just walk away like a stray dog.
Megan heads out for the evening milking. The celebration is a celebration, but the milking must go on. She feels adrift, unable to decide, the world around her suddenly foreign, even the thought of baking pies no longer comforts her.
What’s wrong, Megan? You look pale, Vera observes with concern.
The pies turn out fine; Megan covers them with a cloth, and Katya returns, flushed, cheerful.
Delicious, Megan! You shouldnt have missed the fete! she exclaims, snatching a slice.
Megan watches the village life swirl around her, the puppy Finn circling, the barn echoing with soft rain on the roof. She thinks calmly about the rain, about the dark forest she has feared since childhood.
No, Mum, I wont endure this any longer. Theres no love left, no hope, she whispers in her mind.
Unnoticed, Megan grabs her canvas bag, pulls on her rubber boots, slips on her coat despite the summer chill, and steps out onto the wet lane. She walks toward the old railway line, the only path that could lead her away.
She decides to head for Birmingham, where a textile apprenticeship is opening at a college, offering dormitory rooms. Vera had mentioned it. Money is scarce, but she hopes it will stretch for the journey; if not, shell find work along the way. For the first time, Megan feels steadier than ever.
A clatter of hooves pierces the rain. Startled, she ducks into a dark copse and calls out to a passing farmer. He grabs her bag, lifts it onto his cart.
She climbs onto the cart, watches the village recede under the rainsoaked fields, and rides toward Birmingham, where a new life and a hopeful future await.
