A Real Woman
Sarah, where are you?! Bring the pickles! How much longer must I wait?!
James’s patience had clearly run out if he was actually raising his voice. But I was preoccupied, delicately applying expensive mascara to my left eyeanother ridiculous indulgence, but what could I do? Now and then, Id halt, admiring the dazzling difference my new eyeliner and the eyeshadow (which my friend, Molly, insisted was fit only for a night at the Savoy) made. My right eye was now almost twice the size nature intended, making my own reflection a bit alarming. But giving up half-finished, of course, simply wouldnt do.
As for the pickles, soaking in the bathwell, those could wait.
This all started just a week ago, when James, my very own husband, who was now fussing in the kitchen with endless jars of pickles for the winter, came out with a pronouncement out of the blue:
I want you to become a real woman!
And with that, he handed me his debit card, containing a years worth of secret savings.
To say I was gobsmacked would be putting it mildly.
My first reaction, naturally, was to spark a full-blown row. I mean, honestly! If James managed to squirrel away this much without my noticing, what else had he been hiding? Was it just part of his wages he kept back, or was I missing something else entirely? The mind reels. How could I even begin to unpick it all?
But before I could speak, a second thought crept in. Instead, I just slumped onto the stool by the cooker, forgetting entirely about the bubbling stew threatening to boil over.
And what, precisely, do you mean by a real woman?!
Oh, I could have screamed the words, shattered the fine china set my lovely mother-in-law had only recently given mea set Id dreamt of owning, never believing Id even touch such loveliness. Outwardly, though, I only managed a strangled, What do you mean?
My mother-in-law saw me handling the precious plates and laughed:
Oh, dearest Sarah! Youre too soft-hearted! Id do anything for you. All I want is for you to both be happy together.
To this day, I never truly understood her reasons; she never explained, just hugged me, then her son, kissed the grandkids, and off she went. She was never one for long visits, claiming there was always something at home needing her watchful eye.
I never argued. Every few weekends, Id take the children to see her, making sure they were well-behavedand always fretting over how I might repay such generosity and acceptance from a woman who, lets face it, barely knew me before the wedding.
And I gave her reasons to doubt me. If even my own relatives had done so, what could I expect from a near stranger? I still remembered my first visit to hers: James driving me, heart in my mouth, with my infant son dozing beside me in the back. I tried to make every excuse.
James, are you certain about this? What on earth will I say? Or her to me? Shell turn us away for sure!
Dont be daft! James protested.
Daft? When I had Leo, my own aunt kicked me out. Said Id brought shame to the family. And you reckon your mother will greet me with open arms, babe in arms? Dont fool yourself!
You might just be surprised, you know.
Surprises were the last thing I wanted. But there was no going back with the gate shut behind us. So, I gathered sleepy Leo and trudged after James.
Oddly, his mother did surprise me. She greeted me warmly enough, and then reached out for Leo.
Will you trust me to settle him? The poor things worn out from travelling.
And for some reason, I handed my son over. Leo just peeked at her, squeezed her neck, and fell straight back to sleep in her arms as she quietly hummed a lullaby.
He started calling her Granny as soon as he could speak, and she never objected, instantly winning my heart.
Id had Leo young, just barely eighteen. The whole village gossiped, wondering if Sam Butler would do right by Sarah Watson, or just drop her like the others. Sams reputation was rotten, and I knew itwe all did. I tried to avoid him, but Sam had a way of saying just the thing to make a girl drop her guard.
One evening returning from visiting my aunt, with the last bus stopping miles before the village, I was left to walk home through the fields. Sam turned up in his shabby car.
Sarah, whatre you doing out here so late? Hop in, Ill give you a lift.
Ill walk, thanks, Sam I stepped away, but it was already too late…
I came back home with my dress torn and cheeks streaked with tears, slipping into the shed so my ailing mother wouldnt see. I sobbed, furious, trying to wash Sams touch away, and all the while, dreading what would happen if my mother ever found out. The doctor was blunt: my mothers heart couldnt take any shock or stress.
Anything could happen if she gets upset. Do you understand?
Did I understand? Oh, all too well. Besides my mother, there wasnt a soul to turn to. My aunt hardly counted, but I didnt know that yet. I helped out on her farm, carried eggs and milk into town, thinking thats what family was forhelp when needed.
My mother never learned what happened. She passed away in her sleep when I was barely five months along. I was left entirely alone.
My aunt turned up and instantly disowned both me and the unborn baby.
You made your choicesyou deal with it. Dont expect help from me. Why didnt you go to the police straight away? Youd have been married by now, no scandal. But this? No, Sarah! My problems are enough without yours!
Shattered, I didnt even immediately register what she said. It took days before I realisedI had no one. So I did what I should have done earlier: I went to the police.
Sarah, why on earth didnt you speak before? the constable was aghast. Ill see he gets whats coming!
Sam ended up behind bars.
When I finally told my story, it turned out Sam had children all over the countyseven in all! Their mothers, at first silent, began to talk, and it went from there.
Sams mother, after the sentencing, cursed me in the street, hoping my child would be born sickly or not at all.
But the village stood by me. That night, someone smeared tar on the Butlers’ gate. A couple months later, they were gone, their house sold.
When my time came, I delivered a strong, noisy baby, nothing of Sam about himpure Watson through and through. Leo had my fathers nose and ears and brown, curly hair like my grandmother.
Neighbours pitched in: baby clothes, a crib, food. Thanks to a little money left by Mum, I got by, always careful. Having a baby was only the beginning; raising one on your own, a whole different challenge.
Just as things seemed settled, my aunt stormed back, this time with my unclesmy mothers brothers, whom Id never seen.
Sarah, youll need to move out, they told me squarely. This is the family house, and now were dividing it all fairly. So long as Mum lived, it was simple. Now things have changed. We need the cash. The house is being sold.
Where am I to go?
Youll get your mothers share. Were not monsters. But its up to you after that.
So I pondered my fate. What they offered wouldnt cover even a rundown cottage locally. Id have to move to townwith no support, no friends. Here at least, neighbours helped.
As I sat and cried over my lot, the village gossip-mill started up. Some were angry with my relatives, others with me for my choices. But the next day, the friendly constable dropped by.
Sarah, love, in the next village over, a kind widow is selling half her housemuch too big for her, and she could do with the company. Why dont I take you there this weekend to look it over? Think about it.
Thank you! I nearly hugged him.
And hows Leo?
Growing a storm!
He winked at the baby and left. I stroked Mums portrait on the windowsill.
Dont worry, Mum. Well be alright.
The move to Mrs. Thompsons house worked out perfectly.
Dont be shy, Sarah. I cant abide mess, but if youre quiet and tidy, well get on fine. Ill help with Leo if you ever work, but not for wandering off for a larkfair warning!
Is there work here? I could use it.
Of course! My friend Helen runs the shops here; shes looking for help at her new branch. Shall I put in a word?
Please!
Soon after, I met James in Helens shop. He was visiting to help his mother, and shed sent him shopping. I served him, and without meaning to, poured out my storyabout Leo, Mrs. Thompson, and myselfthough Id never been one for chatting.
But James listened, never interrupting, and after he left, I caught him glancing my way often. My cherry-brown eyes and gentle voice seemed to hook him.
It wasnt immediate. James had his own trialshis first wife had vanished, leaving him alone with two tiny sons. His mother couldnt help much, occupied with his ailing father. The boys missed their mum, calling out for someone they barely remembered.
James didnt know how to share all this with me. Instead, hed just wander around the shop, hesitating.
But I noticed, and gently asked Mrs. Thompson about him. So, when he finally came back, I didnt hesitate:
How olds your oldest?
Three years, just.
And the younger?
Turned one not long ago.
Just like Leo.
Sarah…
Show me your lads. Then well see.
And so we came together.
We had a quiet wedding, just family, and then took the children to the seaside. I think I was happier than any of the kidsnever in my life had I seen the sea.
Happiness wasnt handed to me, though. Shortly after, James’s eldest got ill, and I spent two months with him in hospital. Then, one day, their mother showed up, demanding custody. I fought with everything I had, getting advice from our village constable and, in the end, making sure, legally, the boys were mine as well.
Their mother left before the court finalised everything. My mother-in-law hugged me after it was over:
Now I can rest easy about the children!
Time passed, the children grew. I remained the same: a little timid, gentle, always with a smile, but everyone knew, beneath the quiet, Id fight like a lioness for my family.
And thenimagine! James claimed I wasnt a real woman!
All night after he handed me his card, I couldnt sleep. I kept glancing at my reflection in the faint light, turning this way and that, searching for what was wrong. I was too hurt to ask outright. So, when the children were off to nursery and school, I walked straight to Mollys.
Mol, what am I meant to do?
Molly, the dreamer that she is, decided that the best solution lay in womens magazinessurely those writers must know something. We read for half an hour and quickly learned a real woman must eat right, dress right, wear make-up correctly, do everything properlyor shes nothing at all, just a frill on the side. And at least a frill is something; I didnt even have that!
No, I didnt buy a frilly bow. But I did go into town with Molly, bought a good set of cosmetics, a lace nightdress, and a pair of stunning shoes I nervously hid away so the kids wouldnt wreck them.
Of course, James didnt appreciate the effort.
Id nearly finished my eye makeup when he burst into the bathroom, startling me so badly I stabbed myself in the eye with a brush. At that moment, I decided being a real woman was massively overrated.
Sarah, what are you doing?! James yelped, watching me hopping about, tearful and in pain, rubbing at my streaming eyes and worrying about ruining my hard-earned make-up.
This is all your fault! I spluttered, realising I ought to just wash my face rather than smear it everywhere. You wanted a woman, did you? Well, what am I?!
At last, James understood, pulling me into a gentle hug, halting my flailing.
Wait, mad woman! Let me help!
As he delicately wiped away the smeared makeup, he softly scolded me:
I know Im a daft fool, but youre no better. You know Im hopeless with words. You never even asked what I meant! Just went off in a huff!
Why did you criticise me? And what was with the money? I tried wriggling out of his arms, but he wouldnt let go.
Because, as long as weve been together, you never treat yourself. Its always the children, or me. Even my mum gets spoiled, but not you! Thats no way to live. So I decided youd have a bit of money, to spend as you pleaselike those women who wander around shops buying whatever strikes their fancy.
This set me off laughingso much so, I nearly started sobbing all over again. When the kids rushed in, hearing my laughter and thinking I was crying, there was such a racket it took ages to settle them down.
That evening, when everyone was tucked up, I stepped out onto the porch, lifting my freshly cleaned face to the sky, giggling softly at the days chaos.
Thats it! The last ones are finally asleep! James joined me, sitting by my side.
All tucked in?
Wouldnt you know it! Those pickles will be perfect.
Good thingtheyll come in handy soon enough! I grinned, guiding his hand gently to my stomach.
Youre not serious! And you didnt tell me? he goggled, pulling me into an embrace.
When would I have had the time? Between your pickles and your demands, theres barely a moment for me!
Maybe I tried to say more, but he silenced me.
He kissed me, for startersa woman should never forget thatand then held me close, pulling me right to where I belonged.
At his heart, tucked just beneath it. Where my own soul could breathe. ©We sat together, the night humming softly around us, neither of us needing to say another word. Somewhere inside the house, the clock ticked and a floorboard creaked, but for once the world was quiet. I slipped my hand into his, our fingers threading together just right, warm and steady. I thought of everything Id lost and all Id found in return; how the pieces of my lifemessy, jagged, unexpectedhad somehow tumbled into place.
I leaned my head on his shoulder, breathing in the clean scent of soap and hope and pickles, of all things. The darkness curled gently around the porch light, and in the garden, moths danced like tiny scraps of lace. Tomorrow there would be jars to label, shoes to hide from muddy hands, kisses to steal in the midday sun. There would be laughter, and squabbles, and baths to run, and lullabies to hush the house at night.
I smiled, feeling the new heartbeat stitched quietly inside me, and James squeezed my hand, as if he could hear it tooa secret pulse promising that love, real love, grows wildest where you least expect it. I realized then: being a real woman wasnt about paint or polish, sacrifice or stubbornness. It was about living with your whole hearteven when it ached, even when it sang.
Above us, a single star blinked out from behind a drifting cloud. I closed my eyes, rested in the surety of arms Id carved into home, and for the first time, I wished for nothing more.
