A Mother's Place

　

by Donna Gamache

　

    Dorothy feels that she is getting old and doubts her place in the family. Now she wants to move out and start a new life. Why does she want to live by herself? Will she really leave her son and daughter-in-law? Read the following story for the answers. 

　

    The rain still fell in a silent gray sheet when Dorothy opened her bedroom curtains to peer outside. "Another gray day, gray and gloomy," she muttered, though really the rain was more than welcome after last year's drought.

    "Old and gray and gloomy, just like me," she added to herself, though it wasn't exactly true. Her hair wasn't completely gray, and she was only in her mid-fifties, middle-aged really, she knew. And usually she acted younger than her years, if anything. She could still do all the work she'd ever done － keep the house going, plant and weed the garden, drive the truck when needed － though maybe she wasn't as speedy at some tasks, as she once was. And Tim, her son, did suggest a couple of years ago, that she needn't bother to drive the tractor anymore. But that was because it wasn't really necessary, anyway, it wasn't because she was getting old. So why, all of a sudden, did she feel old?

    "Blame it on the rain," she muttered. But, watching through the window as Tim hurried through the downpour from pig barn to cattle shed, she knew the answer. She'd known it last night, of course, after the blow up with Jenny, Tim's wife.

    Oh, it hadn't been a real blow up, just an argument over where to plant the garden. Jenny wanted it close to the house, so she could work there once the baby was born. Dorothy argued that the closest garden patch needed fallowing. They'd left the decision to Tim, who sided with Jenny, and Dorothy stumped off to bed at 8.30 p.m., feeling old and lonely, and missing Steve as she hadn't missed him for a long time.

    Steve － Dorothy's husband － had died ten years ago, when Tim was just twenty. Tim had quit his agriculture course at the university and come home to work the farm, toiling like a Trojan to pay off the debts his father left. Dorothy worked alongside him, in the beginning, until he proved himself; then gradually she relinquished more of the work to him and concentrated on her garden and flowers, and the housework.

    Things didn't change much when Tim married Jenny two years ago. Dorothy wondered, in the beginning, how the arrangement would work out, for she stayed in the house and Jenny just moved in. It couldn't have been easy for Jenny, Dorothy knew that, to move into your mother-in-law's house and let her run your life.

    But there hadn't been much change, really. Everybody adapted. Jenny worked at the potato plant in town, and kept her job. Dorothy surrendered some of the housework to her, and occasional meals, but she still did most of the day-to-day household running. Jenny either worked days, or slept, depending on her shifts at the plant. Most often she worked nights and slept until four or so.

    The washing was still Dorothy's responsibility, and the garden work and the flower beds. She still drove dinner out to the fields for Tim, and sometimes she drove the truck, during harvest or spring work. She wasn't ready to retire yet!

    "But it looks like I'll have to," she murmured, turning away from the window to dress. "Last night was just the tip of the iceberg. The rest will show up soon."

    Things were changing now. Tim and Jenny's baby was due in two months, and last week Jenny stopped working at the potato plant. "I can't take all the bending any longer," she said. "And anyway, I need time to get things ready for the baby."

    She'd been home now, full time, for a week. She'd prepared all the meals during that time, and driven Tim's dinner out to him in the west field for the last two days. Last night she'd announced new plans for the garden, and that's when the argument developed.

    "I'm redundant," Dorothy thought, then realized she was speaking out loud. "A relic on this farm. They don't need me here anymore."

    Not that anything had been said to that effect. There had been no suggestions that she should move out and leave the house to them. But they must be thinking that, weren't they?

    The house was small, with only two bedrooms and the study. Originally, of course, she and Steve had planned the study to be a third bedroom. But when Tim was their only child, the study was created instead. Now, Tim and Jenny planned to change it into a baby's room. But she'd noticed Jenny's glance in the direction of her own bedroom. If Dorothy didn't occupy it, then the baby could. And what a pity it was to reconvert the study, with all its space for Tim's farm records.

    The kitchen was small, too, for a farm kitchen. Too small for two women to work there all the time. They'd be in each other's way, Dorothy knew that. How would they ever manage at canning time?

    She sighed, and turned back to look outside once more. A few yards away, the lilacs hung heavy in the rain. She could almost smell them, though her window was shut. While she watched, Tim made a dash for the house, splashing through large puddles as he ran. It must have been pouring all night. Surprisingly, she'd slept, though her mind was churning when she went to bed.

    There was only one possible solution, she had decided: to move out, move into town and establish a new life. Life was full of changes, and this would be one of them. She'd adapted after Steve's death, and after Tim's marriage; she could do it again.

    There were a couple of houses available in town, she knew, small houses suitable for a middle-aged widow who didn't need much space. And there were suites available, if she could stand living in an apartment without a yard or garden. The solution was there. And yet － to leave the farm where she'd spent the last thirty years? To leave these fields and pastures where she'd worked first with Steve, later with Tim? To leave behind the poplar grove where she liked to bird-watch； the small creek where she and Steve walked, in younger years, and made their plans; the swimming hole where Steve taught Tim to swim? How could she leave these memories behind?

    Opening the curtains wider, to let in what light there was, she turned and went out to the kitchen. Tim and Jenny were there, Tim working on his usual big breakfast, Jenny relaxing with a cup of coffee. Dorothy saw the look that passed between them as she came out. What were they planning? Had they decided to ask her to move? To leave the farm? Well, she'd fool them. She'd have her say first!

    "Coffee, Mom?" Tim asked, and poured her a cup without waiting for a reply. He knew her habits well.

    "Thank you," she grunted, settling into her chair. Then, the decision made, she looked at him sharply. "I guess we have to talk, don't we? There have to be some changes made here, don't there?"

    "Mom, please," Tim interrupted. "About last night, we're sorry. We weren't thinking properly. With the baby and all, you'll probably be doing most of the garden work still. So we'll leave the garden up to you. Where it is and what you want to plant. You'll be officially in charge, Garden Manager, if that's okay."

    Dorothy closed her mouth, the wind gone from her sails for a moment. Then she squared her shoulders and started again. "But the garden's not all, is it? Let's face it. Around here, I won't be needed anymore. More than that. In this house, I’m in the way."

    "Mother －" Tim started, but she spoke above him.

    "The way I see it, the answer is for me to move into town, give you and Jenny the house, and a life of your own without your mother always looking over your shoulder. And I'll make a new life for myself." Abruptly she stopped, took a gulp of coffee, though it was almost too hot, and stared out the window at the rain.

    For a few minutes silence reigned. Then Tim spoke again. "Is that really the way you want it, Mother? If it is, okay. But I don't believe it is. I think you're making a sacrifice because you think that's what we want. And you don't have to, you know. It's not necessary." He paused to chew on his toast for a moment but Dorothy didn't answer.

    "We have another idea, Mom," Jenny said quietly, hesitatingly. "If you don't like it, say so. But we'd like to tell you."

    "Say what you want," Dorothy grunted. She knew she sounded old and crabby. She didn't want to sound like that. It just came out that way.

    "Jenny and I," Tim began, "we know it isn't easy for you with another woman in your house. But we don't want you to leave. We need you here, even if you don't realize it. We'll need you more, once the baby comes. We'll need you to help babysit, if Jenny is working with me. Or we'll still need you to help me, if Jenny is busy with the baby." He paused. "But we have another idea."

    Dorothy turned away from the window where she'd been staring resolutely at the rain, and looked at him. He looked so much like Steve when he set his chin in that determined way.

    "Jenny and I went to look at a trailer that Jim Briscoe is selling. We thought maybe we'd buy it and move it into the yard here for us. Only, it's small. Not really big enough for us, with the baby and all. So, well, we wondered, what about using the trailer for you?"

    "We could set it up on the other side of the lilac bushes," Jenny broke in. "It would be a little closer to the garden, and you could still have your own piece of land and flower beds."

    "You'd be close to us, but not with us," Tim said. "I know this is your house, and if you don't like that idea, well," he shrugged, "we could look for a bigger trailer for ourselves, and you could still stay here. But we don't want you moving to town, leaving the farm, unless that's what you want." He stopped abruptly, as though he had run out of words, and turned back to his breakfast.

    There was a long silence, broken only by the patter of rain on the window. There must be a wind starting up, Dorothy thought momentarily. And it's blown a weight off my shoulders.

    Then, through the sudden lump in her throat, she spoke. "I like the idea fine, Tim. And Jenny. When can I look at the trailer to see what I'll need?" She smiled, hoping they wouldn't notice the moisture in her eyes.

    "Better wait until this rain stops and things dry up a bit," Tim said. "We don't want to track it up with mud. It's just newly painted."

    "What rain?" asked Dorothy, the day's gloom suddenly gone. "What rain?"

    (1 860 words)

TOP