Hold your tongue, my dear! Youre now part of another household, and you must respect their ways. You married into this family, you didnt just drop in for a visit, my mother had warned me.
What ways, Mother? I had retorted, exasperated. Everything here is mad! Especially my motherinlaw. She despises me, thats plain to see!
Have you ever heard of a kindly motherinlaw? she had asked, as if the notion were a myth.
The old kitchen was a stage for the next outburst. Eleanor Whitford, my husbands mother, stood in the centre, her face flushed with fury, eyes blazing. If a man roams, his wife bears the blame. Do you think I need to explain everything to you now? she snapped.
Eleanor was in a rage, shrieking at her daughterinlaw Lily, as though she were a lunatic. The cause lay in Lilys suspicion that her husband, Robert Whitford, was being unfaithful.
Lily, a young, delicate girl with wide, trusting eyes, pressed herself against the wall, trying to calm the irate woman.
Eleanor, thats unreasonable. He has a family, children Lily began, attempting to defend herself, but Eleanor cut her off with a sweeping hand, as if swatting an annoying fly.
Is that what you call family? Or the child who wont let us and his grandfather near? the matriarch sneered. Your upbringing, may I add!
What upbringing, Eleanor? Lily pleaded softly. Jack is only a year old. Hes still a babe.
Babe? Eleanor snarled. The Yates grandson is even smaller. He toddles about, never sitting stilljust like yours she gestured toward the nursery.
Actually, hes your grandson, Lily corrected, her voice trembling. Children sense wicked people. Perhaps thats why he keeps his distance.
Are we the wicked ones? Youre a painted goat! Eleanor roared. And where do you live on charity? Whose provisions do you eat? Whose money do you squander? Ungrateful!
Lily ceased arguing with her tempestuous motherinlaw. She had begged Robert a thousand times to set up a home away from his parents, but Robert, the pampered son, saw no need. He loved the comforts of his parents house, feeling as snug as a lamb in its mothers fold. He went to work calmly while the elderly handled laundry, cleaning, and cookinga fairytale life, not a marriage.
Meanwhile, Lilys attempts to win over Eleanor were futile. She helped around the house, listened to endless complaints about neighbours and the village, but soon realised her efforts were in vain. No matter how dutiful she acted, Eleanors hatred lingered, unmasked.
The Whitfords brought this sorry creature home as if decent girls didnt exist, Eleanor told her neighbour while Lily gathered the toys Robert had strewn about the front step, hearing every word.
Even the next hamlet would turn its back on us! Our grandmothers are finer, harderworking, wiser, the neighbour, gossiploving Mrs. Mabel Clarke, agreed, polishing the villages gossip stones.
Dont you dare! Mabel urged. You once said your hands were clumsy; you cant set anything right.
You have no idea how terrible she is! You cant trust her with anythingshell lose it or break it. And that child of hers not right at all.
The Yates grandson is a different storyquiet and sensible. This one, though, rehearses his tantrums, proves his genes are lacking, they muttered.
When the situation grew unbearable, Lily called her mother in the neighbouring village of Willowbrook, poured out her woes, and wept. Her mothers voice rang back, stern yet weary:
Patience, my child. Youre now in another family; you must heed their rules. You married, you didnt just come as a visitor.
What rules, Mother? Everything here is mad! Especially the motherinlaw! She hates me, thats obvious!
Have you ever heard of a kind motherinlaw? We all endured it, and youll have to too. The key is not to show how hard it is. Endure.
Realising her timid mother could not intervene, Lily threatened to ring her fathers bell.
Spare your father, dear! her mother warned, eyes wide. Hes on a conditional release; one misstep and hell be back behind bars!
Lily knew the truth. Her father, Nicholas Whitfield, had earned his conditional term for a brawl after someone insulted Lily in the village shop. He loved his only daughter fiercely and would not stay silent if he learned of the abuse she suffered in a foreign household. He was a hotblooded man.
Fine, I wont tell Father, Lily said, but if they keep this up, if Eleanor behaves any further I dont know what Ill do.
All will be set right, love, her mother soothed. Give it a few weeks; youll forget this conversation altogether.
Lily would have liked to forget, yet the rift with Eleanor deepened. Eleanor seemed to blame Lily for every misfortune. Even Roberts aged father, Henry Whitford, weary from life, could no longer stand the tension.
Why do you keep shouting at the girl? he asked one morning as the quarrel peaked, trying to mediate. Shell leave us! That would be the right thing.
Ill take her! Eleanor shrieked, directing her wrath at Henry. Ill drag every penny weve earned over the years back! Ill snatch her child so he never grows up in this wretched clan!
Lily knew Eleanors words were empty threats, yet fear still clung to her. She still loved Robert, her husband.
Rumours that Robert secretly consorted with his former sweetheart Octavia were nothing more than village gossip, spread by women like Eleanor who delighted in idle chatter.
How long those torments could have continued is unknown, had Eleanor not possessed a tongue as long as a country road. One bright day, after yet another victory over Lily, she bragged about her exploits to her best friend, the evergossipy Mrs. Mabel Clarke, embellishing the tale each time, passing it on to another friend, then to her husband and so the legend of the quarrelsome daughterinlaw and her stern motherinlaw spread through the whole parish until it reached Lilys father.
Nicholas Whitfield, a towering man of nearly two metres, broadshouldered, thought swiftly. He grabbed his axethe very one he used to split firewoodslipped on his work overalls, mounted his battered old motorcycle, the Yorkshire, and without a word to his wife, rode to the neighbouring village to free his daughter from her humiliating captivity.
Meanwhile, in the Whitford household a fresh scandal erupted. The young mother, for a moment, left baby Jack on the brandnew, brightorange sofa to fetch a fresh nappy. When she returned, a small brown stain marred the upholstery. To Eleanor, that blot grew into a yawning chasm, as if a black hole threatened to swallow the entire room.
She stormed in like a summer thunderstorm, screaming at Lily with all the force she could muster.
Youve ruined my sofa! My favourite! Do you know what it cost? I could tear your arms off and stitch them back just to keep you from wincing! she roared.
Ill fix it. Ill clean it, Lily whispered, hands trembling as she grabbed a cloth.
What are you going to clean? Its brandnew! How would you even know? Youve never bought anything with your own money! Eleanor snapped.
Did you ever buy anything yourself? Lily exploded, finally daring to call out Eleanors lifelong reliance on her husbands earnings.
Eleanors face flushed crimson. Enough! Scrub that stain, then march out with your son! Youll stay in my house, eating my food, until you learn proper conduct!
Tears streamed down Lilys cheeks as she tried to wipe the stubborn brown mark, which clung to the orange fabric as if mocking her helplessness. Little Jack, sensing his mothers distress, wailed at the top of his lungs, his cries adding to the already tense atmosphere.
Eleanor hovered over Lily, hurling a fresh barrage of curses. She didnt notice the door open to reveal a silent figureNicholas, standing like a granite statue, his grip firm on the axes wooden handle.
For a heartbeat, Eleanor sensed a presence and turned, eyes landing on the weapon.
She knew all too well how hotblooded Nicholas was, and she remembered his conditional release. Fear crept into her skin like ice.
Realising the stakes, Eleanor tried to keep her composure, her voice trembling.
Oh, hello, Nicholas! I was just raising your Lily, she managed.
Ive heard how you raise her, Nicholas growled, stepping into the room in only his shoes.
He lifted the axe above his head, prompting Eleanor to flinch instinctively. Instead of striking, he rested the axe on his shoulder, then turned to Lily.
Come, Lily, you have no business staying here, he said, extending a hand.
Wait, Nicholas! Eleanor sputtered, regaining a sliver of control. What shall I tell my son?
Let your son come to me on his own, bring his wife, and Ill speak with him as a man should, Nicholas replied, his cold stare saying more than any words could.
He escorted Lily and baby Jack out. Robert hesitated long before daring to fetch his wife and child, fearing a clash with his father. When he finally arrived, Nicholas and he spoke at length. No threats were shouted; Nicholass steady, firm voice and the axe resting on the table gave weight to every promise.
Robert pledged that he and Lily would set up a home of their own, that his mother would no longer meddle, and that he would protect his wife and child from any further affront.
When Nicholas clasped Roberts hand, the younger man felt the seriousness of the moment; the jokes hed once made were now dead weight.
From that day onward Eleanor kept her distance from Lily and Jack, no longer greeting them on the lane, and the Whitfords lived separately, in peace and understanding. Whether it was the fatherinlaws stern counsel or genuine love, the memory of that ordeal lingered like a folk tale told around the village fire.