The Fates of Women. Marianne
When Grandma Agnes passed away, Marianne felt utterly forlorn. Her mother-in-law, Joan, never fancied her. Too skinny, too feeble, never mind that she worked harder than most and as for grandchildren, well, who could say what such a daft girl would produce?
Marianne bore it all, but when it got unbearable, she’d flee to her granny. Grandma Agnes meant more to Marianne than anyone in the world more than the father she lost so young, more than her mother who died a decade later of consumption.
How Tom noticed the orphaned Marianne was anyone’s guess. A tall, handsome fellow with a warm home and all he could wish, and yet he fell for a girl with no name and no fortune. Joan, his mother, always called Marianne “that waif” behind closed doors.
The poor girl tried to please her mother-in-law in every way: spinning around the house like a dervish, never refusing a chore. But nothing was ever good enough.
While Tom was about, things werent so bad. But the moment he stepped out to the next village well, you’d think of running away yourself.
Patience, dear Marianne, old Granny Agnes would say. Bear it a while; all will come right in the end.
But now Granny was gone, and year after year passed, with Joans dislike growing ever more sour.
It never sat well with Joan that her son brought a nobody into the household. She’d had a bride picked out for him ages ago: robust, well-to-do, from a fine family. The sort of match that would see their estate handed down to the great-grandchildren.
But no it was that willful streak, inherited no doubt from Toms late father. Wouldnt take a word of advice. He was the man of the house, after all.
And that, Tom truly was. When his father died, he took up the reins and grew the farm bigger than ever. He respected his mother but wouldnt be bossed around by anyone. Said his piece and wouldnt be argued with.
Tom loved Marianne as if she hung the moon. As soon as he laid eyes on her pale, slender as a reed, wide blue eyes and a pert nose he was lost. Wanted to lay all his treasures at her feet.
She didnt care for treasures. Marianne agreed to marry him simply because she could see his kind heart. Besides, she fell for him, head over heels.
Mind you, shed heard about his mother. Knew Joans tongue was sharp as a hedgehog and her purse tight as Scrooges fist. But seeing how Tom stood his ground, Marianne agreed to the match.
She moved into her husbands cottage and swallowed every dart Joan threw her way. When it got too much, shed run to Grandma Agness grave, just to pour out her troubles.
Shed sit on the earth, her head bowed, quietly sobbing like a stray pup. Her grandmothers gentle hands seemed to reach through the soil, soothing her brow, whispering prayers to the Queen of Heaven, asking for mercy for an orphan child.
They say time heals all wounds. Nonsense. You forget for a moment, and then pain creeps back in, and you remember those kind hands and the tears fall all over again.
Time passed, and the tension at Toms house grew thicker than Yorkshire fog. Joan fretted that Marianne still hadnt produced a grandchild, letting all the family hopes wither on the vine.
Worse still, Joan fed Tom poisonous tales: That girls not right you wont get children from her; mark my words. Tom shrugged her off, but tongues will wag in any village, and the rumour soon grew that the family line would die out with him.
Tom scowled, but no sooner did he see Marianne than every trouble slipped his mind. Hed have carried her about on his shoulders if shed let him.
Perhaps it was the prayers Marianne whispered nightly or maybe love works miracles but soon enough, she fell pregnant.
Joan was furious, of course, and Tom grew fonder of Marianne with every passing day.
Joan swept about the house like a crow. If Marianne so much as paused for breath, she was there: Lounging about, are we? Think a bellys an excuse to do nowt? Water needs hauling; husband returning; nothing done! If youre this frail, off you go my son deserves a proper wife!
Marianne, never saying a word in her own defence, would pick up buckets and the yoke, shuffling off to the well. Hauling heavy pails, all while the old ladies shook their heads behind the hedges: Joans gone off her rocker, working the poor girl to death when shes expecting!
In time, Marianne gave birth to a little boy. But all was not well. He was a sickly thing, limp as yesterdays lettuce, forever on the edge of death. Sometimes hed go blue and stop breathing altogether.
Shes a weakling, and sos the child, Joan snapped, looking at the boy with disgust.
How can you say that, Mum? Hes your blood, your grandson! Toms own heir! Marianne protested, weeping.
Hell be dead by Christmas, mark me, Joan sneered. Then well find my son a wife worth having!
Marianne would sob her heart out. Joans secret hope was that if the baby died, Tom would leave the waif and take the robust village girl shed always wanted for him.
Tom still came home from work and did his best to comfort his wife. Hed rock their weak, wriggling son on his big palm, and the baby, feeling the safety of his fathers arms, would calm.
Never mind. Sick or not, thats our lad. Well show them all yet, Tom would think.
When it came time to christen the baby, they named him Edwin. But the boy didnt seem to thrive or gain weight.
One day, Tom had to travel by river to the next county a long stretch, he warned Marianne.
Take care of Edwin, dont listen to anyone, and dont worry, he grumbled, kissing her head.
Joan seized her chance at once. With Tom gone, she cracked the whip. Marianne barely sat down all day: water, wood, cattle no minute to rest. At night the baby wailed, kept her up till dawn, and all the while the chores waited.
They both faded away Marianne through sheer exhaustion, Edwin through sickness.
Soon autumn settled in, damp and bleak. Tom ought to return and set things straight. But he didnt.
One can see why, Joan sniffed. Whod come back to a house of sickness? Maybe hell find someone better on his travels.
Those words buried themselves in Mariannes heart. What if Joan were right? The despair gnawed at her.
Joan noticed and redoubled her efforts, dripping doubts into Marianne day after day.
Dont you feel sorry for Tom? The boys as good as dead; youre not far behind, guilting my poor son into misery. Let him go, Marianne.
But where would I go with a baby, Mum? Winters almost here, and Edwins so poorly. Hell die of cold for sure.
Well, if he does, hardly matters hes never really lived. If he goes to meet his Maker, well all be better off. Tom can find a real wife and have proper children, lots of them.
Marianne stared in disbelief. Was it possible to be so heartless? Surely Joan must realise she was hurting her. Didnt she care if her grandson died?
Almost as if he sensed it, the baby wailed, turned blue, and went limp in her arms.
Think about it, Marianne. You cant build your own happiness on anothers misery, Joan said coldly, leaving Marianne alone with her grief.
Two more weeks passed. The first snow dusted the fields, bitter winds rattled the windows. Marianne wilted to a shadow, snapping back only when Joan said something nasty about Edwin. But it was no use arguing if you were living under anothers roof, without your husband. Joans words Tom doesnt want you; thats why hes gone echoed day and night. No letter ever arrived from Tom, not once did Marianne wonder if something might have happened to him; Joans poison had worked so well that she blamed only herself.
Im unhappy, and I wont let my husband be happy either, Joan grumbled. That was the last straw.
Marianne went to her room, packed her few belongings in a bundle, swaddled Edwin in shawls, and slipped quietly from the house.
Joan watched in silence, not daring to interfere. Shed learned already that Tom had survived an attack by bandits and was recovering in a London hospital; she saw no reason for Marianne to know. Let her believe whatever Joan wanted! By the time Tom returned, she could spin any tale: Mariannes madness, Edwins death all suited her just fine.
At dawn, Joan herself was spreading the story: Marianne had lost her mind when the baby died; shed run off into the night, never to be seen again. She wept for the neighbours so tragic, but what could a mother-in-law do? They muttered for a day or two, then forgot about it; winter drove everyone indoors, and gossip faded away.
Marianne wandered through fields and woods, clutching Edwin, praying she might meet a kind soul whod spare her a crust or a bit of warmth for the boy.
Eventually, she staggered into another village. Windows smoked with the warmth of home, but the streets were empty. Shame kept her from knocking on doors who begs from strangers? She made it as far as the well and sat down, utterly spent.
A woman approached with buckets robust, rosy-cheeked, towering over Marianne.
Whose are you, shivering away? You look half-frozen, she said, looking down her nose.
Im no ones, Marianne whispered. Just passing through off to the next village.
And whove you got there? the woman squinted, unconvinced.
My father lives there, she lied gamely.
In this weather? Any dog would get a roof, but you and your infant are out? The womans tone softened and Marianne couldnt hold it in any longer. She howled with grief, cold hands shielding her face.
Well, come on, up you get, the woman said briskly. She ditched the buckets and helped Marianne to her feet.
They entered the cottage, where it was warm and homely. The woman, Mrs. Beatrice, carefully unwrapped little Edwin.
Heavens above, what a little scrap! Is he christened? she clucked.
His names Edwin yes, hes christened, Marianne managed, before fainting dead away.
She awoke on a strange bed, wrapped in blankets, the house silent. Panic seized her as she realised there was no sign of Edwin or the woman.
She dashed about, wild-eyed, when suddenly Beatrice walked calmly in, wind and snow following her through the open door.
So youve come round, Beatrice said. Where were you off to?
Wheres my baby? Marianne burst out.
Silly thing, calm down. Youve been raving with fever for three days. Ive taken Edwin to my mother in the woods, for his health.”
For his health? Marianne stammered, filled with dread.
Drink this, Beatrice insisted, handing her a steaming cup of herbal tea. And tell me how you ended up here.
So Marianne poured out her heart her love for Tom, her mother-in-laws hatred, her frail little boy. She told everything.
Beatrice simply nodded. God works in mysterious ways. You ended up with us for a reason. Your trials arent over, but hold onto your hearts light itll guide you out of any darkness.
Can I see Edwin, Aunt Beatrice? Dont keep me from him, I beg you.
Ill take you. But well come back without him you cant bring him away just yet.
Marianne shivered. What do you mean? Why would I leave him?
Put your coat on, youll see.
They walked into the woods, Beatrice leading the way through twisting paths.
My mother and I usually live out here all winter, Beatrice explained. I never go to the well unless theres a reason. I was drawn there the morning I found you. Providence, you might say.
At last, the trees opened into a clearing, where a small cottage stood. An elderly woman opened the door.
Come in, dear, she said warmly. Your boys sleeping, dont wake him.
Inside, Marianne found Edwin, already pinker than she remembered. Granny Harriet just smiled knowingly.
This is my mother, Harriet. Villagers call her a witch, Beatrice confided. But shes more helpful than any doctor in these parts.
Marianne stared wide-eyed.
Dont believe everything you hear, Harriet cackled. Your own mother-in-laws more a witch than me, and she still goes to church!
The old woman fixed her gaze on Marianne. You think why is your lad always gasping for breath? You prayed and cried, but youre the cause of it yourself!
How? Marianne gasped.
Never visit graveyards when youre with child! You kept haunting your grandmas grave, and now the dead cling to your child, draining his life.
Marianne blanched.
Dont fret. Hell stay with me a few days, and Ill banish the sickness.
Harriet patted her head and Marianne felt at peace, as though sitting beside her beloved granny once more.
So she and Beatrice returned to the village.
***
Within a week, Granny Harriet returned Edwin to his mother between a pair of plump, pink arms.
Life at Beatrices was gentle, and Marianne became part of the household.
Why did Granny Harriet go into the woods? Marianne asked one evening.
Beatrice sighed. Long ago, she helped everyone for nothing. But when a couple of babies died through no fault of her own they accused her of witchcraft and stormed her house. After the real doctor cleared her, people slunk back asking her to treat their sick children. She agreed, but only if they built her a cottage in the woods and they were never to bother her unless bringing a child. Now, mothers leave their babies at her door. If she returns the child three days later, all is well.
And what does she do in there?
Trust me, my dear youll sleep better not knowing, Beatrice chuckled. She certainly doesnt consort with devils.
Meanwhile, in Toms village, things had taken a bleak turn. He returned home at last, only to find the house empty of Marianne and the baby. Joan wailed that shed tried to stop Marianne, but shed lost her mind after Edwin died and ran away.
Tom grieved deeply. That winter was a blur. As spring approached, Joan tried all her tricks: introducing eligible girls, harping on about marriage. Tom barked at her so ferociously she nearly tumbled off her chair.
If you mention wives again, so help me I couldnt keep one safe, so dont even say the word!
He became silent, wooden all day at the farm, all night locked in his room. A year passed, then another. Joan watched her son and shivered; alive, but as lifeless as the bricks themselves.
She felt her guilt like a millstone and soon fell ill herself. A parade of doctors brought no relief. By late summer, Joan died, never telling Tom the truth.
Now Tom was truly alone. The days dragged by, his thoughts dark as the grave. At last, broken, he resolved to follow his mother to the other side just as soon as hed hosted her memorial meal.
***
Come to haunt me, have you? cackled Granny Harriet, glancing at a fluttering shadow in the darkened corner. No use; you caused your own misery.
The shadow answered half moaning, half sobbing.
I know Tom cant see her shes just a suffering soul. But its too late now.
The ghostly form swirled and pressed upon the old woman, who was suddenly assailed by visions: Tom lost in the marshes, a crowd of imps waiting to claim another unlucky soul
***
Marianne, Beatrice said one bright morning, how about gathering some cranberries? My mother will make a tonic for winter.
Ill do it, Marianne agreed, watching Edwin gurgling on the floor. If you dont mind minding him for a bit.
Beatrice grinned. My pleasure! With a strong boy like this, its a treat just bouncing him. Never had my own, so its a delight having you with me. I always said Providence sent you my way.
Thank Heaven you did. If you hadnt found me by the well that morning, I dont think Id be here now. Youre like a real mother to me, Aunt Beatrice. Ill thank you all my days.
***
On the fortieth day after Joans death, Tom did as custom demanded: offered porridge and pancakes, visited the churchyard, and wept. When the house emptied out, he crept into the woods, lost in grief.
He tramped blindly until the earth grew boggy. No reason to live, so best get it over with, he told himself, stepping into the marsh till the mud sucked him in to his waist.
Suddenly, a voice sweet and plaintive sang through the mist. A white figure flickered between the trees. It was Marianne.
He thought he must be hallucinating. Didnt stay with you in life, my love, but youve come to meet me in death. He smiled at the apparition.
Tom, what are you doing? Marianne cried from the edge of the bog. Alive, flesh and blood.
Toms smile vanished. Alive? he croaked. And realising she truly was, he struggled to pull himself free the bog clutching tighter. Marianne grabbed branches, scraping her hands raw to get him out.
Somehow, she managed. Tom collapsed, weeping in Mariannes arms.
***
To discover his wife and son alive nearly drove Tom mad with joy. When he stormed into Beatrices house and swept Edwin up, he bawled like a child; it took Beatrices soothing tea to settle him down.
There were long talks about grief, about love, about hope. After that, Tom would never let go of Mariannes hand.
With time, the pain faded. Tom decided never to return to his childhood home and slowly moved his life to Mariannes new village.
They made a family with Beatrice, who though not kin by blood, was closer than any mother.
***
Joans grave, untended, vanished under thistles. No one recalled her much. And as for her restless soul, no one knows if it ever found the peace she herself denied so many. In the end, she only brought sorrow all for her own pride and stubborn will.
