Usually, sons bring their wives and brides into the family home. Nicholas brought only his wife. The morning after the wedding, while Nicholas’s parents washed dishes in the kitchen, his new wife entered, her footsteps sounding like the hush of clouds crossing the sun.
As your son Nicholas sleeps, she said, almost whispering, I would like to speak with you…
Mrs. Margaret Stevens dried her hands and sat warily in a wooden chair, glancing at Mr. Arthur Stevens, who passed her the tea towel he had been using.
Were listening, dear, Margaret said, folding the cloth with trembling fingers, concealing her unease.
You were probably told by Nicholas that Im from an orphanage, the young woman began. I have never called anyone mum or dad in my life… So I will call you Mrs. Margaret Stevens and Mr. Arthur Stevens.
Margaret looked helplessly at Arthur. Her fingers quivered and she began fiddling with the frayed corner of the towel. Arthur stared in silence at his daughter-in-law.
As you wish, my dear, Margaret finally replied, her voice uncertain.
If you are Mrs. Margaret Stevens and Mr. Arthur Stevens to me, the young woman continued, then I am not your daughter or daughter-in-law, but Emily. Just Emily.
When Emily left the kitchen, Margaret glanced at Arthur.
She must be upset with us, Margaret murmured.
I told you, we should have celebrated the wedding at a restaurant, not at home, Arthur replied quickly, snatching the dishcloth from Margarets hand. But youd squeeze a penny till it squeaks…
If only we had more pennies… Margaret whispered.
With Emilys arrival in the house, life began to shift like the furniture moving on its own accord. The boundaries of the family became more pronouncednow four lodgers in a single flat, united only by a shared kitchen and bathroom, where their paths crossed as if by dream logic. Over time, even those encounters were regulated by Emily.
Id like to know, Emily said to Margaret one day in the kitchen, when is best for you to cook?
Do you mean the hob? Margaret asked, confused. Arthur and I can get by with one burner. The other three are yours… I wont disturb you…
Mrs. Stevens, were not dividing the hob, Emily said, irritated. I dont want to bump into you all day, so lets agree: who uses the kitchen before lunch and who after.
Margaret realised slowly she was being offered specific times to use the kitchen. Stammering, she explained that Arthur needed his medications in the morning and had to eat beforehand.
So mornings would be better for me, Margaret asked softly.
Who cooks breakfast for your son? Emily pressed.
Ill do it, Margaret offered, eager. For him and you…
No, thank you! Emily shrugged. Im quite capable myself.
Emily allowed Margaret to use the kitchen after lunch.
Margaret, distressed, never complained to Nicholas, nor to Arthur. She hid her hurt and her tears. Nicholas noticed nothing; Arthur sometimes glimpsed her sadness. After another slight from Emily, Arthur wanted to speak to her, but Margaret held him back.
Its hard for her, Margaret told him. Were all family, but shes alone… She needs time…
How much? Arthur asked, his anger subsiding.
Now Margarets life revolved around one thingnever causing her son distress. She prayed nightly for wisdom and patience, begged to avoid situations where Nicholas would have to choose between his wife and his mother. Enduring Emilys slights in silence, she kept Nicholas unaware so he wouldnt quarrel with his wife. Nicholas’s initial worrywhether his parents would get along with his wifedisappeared. Outwardly, their calm and even relations soothed him. But their true feelings emerged only in his absence. Almost every evening Margaret would ask Arthur, tears sliding silently,
Why does she dislike us?
Though perhaps she should have asked, Why does she hate us? Only such feeling could explain Emilys behaviour. In the morning, entering the kitchen, Emily would demonstratively wash the floor, scrub the hob and sink, leaving Margarets previous nights efforts looking invisible. Every visit to the bathroom, Emily came armed with her mop, her rag, and deodoriser spraying paths like torchlight. She brought her own toilet roll and carried it back out. Before loading the shared washing machine, she disinfected it as if previous users were lepers. If anyone vacuumed the hallway rug, Emily would soon do it again with the still-warm vacuum. Nothing made sensedreamlike, illogical, painful in its consistency.
Margaret and Arthur had never felt so humiliated. If asked, Emily would admit only to herselfshe was seeking revenge. At first, unconsciously, then deliberately, she punished Margaret for her own motherfor being abandoned, not by Margaret, but by the woman who birthed her. For the family Margaret had built, full of love and warmth. For the home where Nicholas, though grown, was still called son, kissed goodnight, and his mother doted with gentle affection. For the order and kindness in both the house and the relationships, all held together by Margarets maternal patience. Emily compared the woman who left her outside the orphanage to Margaret, and knowing her mother lost that comparison, she tried to diminish Margarets strength and virtues, at least in her own eyesknowing full well that silent suffering only raised Margaret higher. She could not forgive Margarets love for Nicholasa love no one had ever given Emily.
The granddaughter, when she arrived, looked like no one in particular. So each relative claimed she resembled them. When it was time to name her, Nicholas said he wanted to call her Margaret after his mother.
I dont think Emily will object, Nicholas said, stepping out of the parents room.
That night Margaret cried tears of gratitude and joy. Nicholass words felt like a reward for her patience, a chance for reconciliation with Emily. She wanted nothing more. But the granddaughter was named Charlotte. When Margaret learned this, she wept for nights, stung by disappointment and the loss of hope for peace in the household. When Nicholas tried to explain, Margaret quickly hushed him, palming his lips,
Hush. I understand, my son…
Unlike her grandmother, who cried at night, little Charlotte cried day and night. Grandparents hearts broke for her and for the exhausted Emily. Margarets attempts to help were cut short by Emily. Arthurs offer to wash nappies led to a row, after which Emily forbade them even to enter her room. In a month, Emily became almost unrecognisableher face gaunt, cheeks hollow, eyes red from sleepless nights.
Someone needs to tell Nicholas to help her, Arthur murmured, pulling cotton from his ears to escape the crying. Shell collapse soon…
Hes no help, Margaret sighed. He needs help himself…
Nicholas looked as tired as his wife. A month before the birth, he found extra work, but exhaustion came not from labour, but from Charlottes ceaseless crying.
Emily felt her arms loosening, fearing she might drop her daughter. She stopped pacing and sat down, Charlottes cry growing louder. Emily tried to get up, but couldntshe drifted to sleep, fear and exhaustion mingled. Instinctively, she tucked Charlotte against the sofa back and collapsed beside her.
She awoke when night had already fallen outside, darkness pressing close like velvet. She felt afraidfrom the silence. Charlottes usual crying was gone. Emily probed the space beside herCharlotte wasnt there. Ready to spring up and search, she was stopped by a soft voice drifting from another room.
Theres no need to cry, little precious, Margaret crooned. Granny will dress Charlotte in clean, dry things. And my darling granddaughter will be the prettiestlike her lovely mummy. Yes, of course! Our mummys the most beautiful. Youll be beautiful too. Your nose, just like mummys, your brows, your eyes But no need to cry. Let mummy sleep awhile, and when she wakes, shell feed our girl. Dont cry. Let mummy sleep…
Emily was pierced by the thought: No one has ever watched over my sleep like this! She froze, frightened to lose the feeling of blissfrom being cared for, at last. Cared for! For once in her life, she was cherished as a little girl, something shed yearned for in the orphanage. An unfamiliar sensation gripped her throat, making it hard to breathe. She opened her mouth, afraid shed suffocate. From deep within, a strangled moan burst out. Trying to smother it, she bit the pillow, clamping it tight, her body trembling. A feeling often suppressed, deep pity for herself, unspoken grievances, hidden loneliness, burst free and echoed through the flata cry everyone heard.
Margaret and Arthur dashed to her door. Margaret hurriedly handed Charlotte to Arthur.
Go to the sitting room
And you? Arthur whispered.
Im going to her
Do you need your valerian? he tried to stop her.
Emily felt someones hand on her hair. She realised it was Margaret. Such unexplored tenderness and compassion in that touch made Emily cry harder. As she sobbed, Emily physically felt that everything shed wished for as a child in the orphanage was here, nearby, in this home, with these patient, loving people. The horror at her own ingratitude toward Margaret seized her heart. She felt, for a moment, the pain shed caused Margaret over and again. Emily turned sharply, grabbed the hand resting on her head, and pressed it to her dry lips.
Forgive me forgive me, she sobbed, kissing the hand.
For what, my girl? Margaret asked through tears.
For everything
Margaret knelt by the sofa.
Poor dear, my own poor girl, she murmured, kissing Emilys tear-stained, exhausted face. Unhappy soul
Their tears mingled. With every gentle kiss, Emily felt something heavy, like a window being flung open letting in fresh air, leaving her, easing her burden. Margarets hand soothed Emilys head, as if drawing away the weight from her spirit.
Mum, Emily whispered. Mummy
Floorboards creaked in the sitting room as Arthur paced with the sleeping child in his arms. The clock on the town square chimed four times. The city slept beneath a starry canopy, watched over by the strange and tender blessing of the night.
