she’s going to be a real Ethiopian beauty
Abyssinian, Joseph, Grace countered
they call it Ethiopia these days, Grace
seven months, eight months, nine months
her nourishing milk filled out her child, after feeding, Lily slept across her chest, light and warm, sometimes she whistled when she exhaled, face squashed to one side, lips tiny and puckered
Grace’s own Ma came vividly back to her at this time, the remembered feeling of being deeply, utterly loved
of being the most important person in her mother’s life
of being utterly safe
ten months, eleven, twelve months and one year
one year and two months and four days
Grace woke up early as usual, keen to begin another day with her daughter, delighted that
Lily had only needed feeding once in the night, they’d been told by the midwife this meant they could start to look forward to more uninterrupted sleeps
she got up and went to Lily’s cot by the side of the bed
she reached out her arms to pick her little darling up, but Lily felt stiff, was cold, did not move, not when Grace stroked her cheek, or put her palm against her forehead
held her hands
cupped her toes
rocked her.
5
Joseph gave Grace no time, he wouldn’t stop trying for another, there had to be an heir, he said, it was his duty to pass the farm on to the next generation
it had been in his family for nearly one hundred and twenty years
at this point
it was only then that she realized how deeply he was attached to the property, perhaps even more than to her, he saw himself as the caretaker of it, his life would be a failure if he didn’t have a child to hand it over to
he had to honour his ancestors
Joseph stormed around the house, knocked things over, bellowed at the dogs, swore at the farmhands, drank too much ale in the evenings
when they were in sexual communion, he entered her like a machine, not with the caresses of before
his only ambition was to ruthlessly pollinate her
she endured his merciless thrusting, looked up at the lampshade hanging from the ceiling, how thrilled they’d been when electricity was installed in the house
it was her duty to provide strong heirs for him, for the land, for his legacy, she understood that, and so far she’d failed
would he cast her out for dereliction of duty? to once more become a maid-of-all-work? replaced by another wife who could deliver on her obligations?
she endured him as the mattress bounced on the wooden frame of the bed that creaked on the wooden floor underneath the rug
they sat apart from each other in the Long Room in the evenings, the sound of the grandfather clock ticked
Joseph might read a farming journal or the National Geographic he ordered monthly
(how her husband loved an excuse to look at exposed native bosoms!)
she read Woman’s Weekly or novels by Dickens, Austen, the Brontës, or any other she found in the study to preoccupy her
to take her away from this, from him, from herself
from a body that gave birth to death
when he went upstairs to bed, she lingered downstairs, as soon as she walked into the bedroom he’d wake up and it would start all over again
Grace gave birth to another one
Joseph named her Harriet when she refused to, after his grandmother, he said, who’d lived to a great age, never had a day’s illness and died in her sleep
this one will survive, Gracie, I can feel it, she’s a fighter, it doesn’t matter that she’s a girl
she didn’t care about the demon who’d almost killed her over three days of labour, who then angrily shouldered her way out of her battered body into the midwife’s hands
who brandished her fists, screwed up her gummy face and bawled the house down with powerful lungs when she was slapped
Grace required morphine and stitching, too weak at first, and later, too unwilling to cradle the latest in a long line of doomed children
she refused to breastfeed it
Joseph refused to talk to her
Lily had been such a delicate, placid child, whereas Harriet’s furious, taunting presence filled the house without respite
it was a demon screaming throughout the night, determined to wreck her mother’s life from her cot in the room next to their bedroom where the wet nurse was camped
later, Flossie moved in, a nanny from Berwick
Grace spent months barely able to speak or haul herself out of bed, barely able to wash or brush her teeth, her hair tangled, skin paled without daylight upon it, she slopped about in nightwear, looked away when the demon was brought to her, felt physically sick whenever she thought of it
she dreamed of slicing her arteries to get rid of the pain, the same way she’d seen Joseph do to farm animals
she studied the kitchen knives to decide which one would do the job most effectively, quickly
she held each one up to the light in the middle of one night, was caught by Joseph who grabbed the knife
don’t you dare, Grace Rydendale, don’t you dare
she thought of walking out of the house, down the fields at the back and entering the lake until the water closed over her head
Joseph threatened her with the asylum, they’ll chain you naked to a wall where you’ll sit in your own toilet for the rest of your life
she didn’t care, she was already in hell, she took to sleeping in another bedroom, that part of our lives is over, she told him
don’t worry, he replied bitterly, I was only doing my duty, and you are now failing in yours
Grace remembered how he used to look at her with a love so powerful she could only return it, now he refused, just as she refused to touch the thing she’d given birth to
when Joseph thrust it under her nose, she pushed past him
don’t you dare walk away from your daughter, you’re a wicked woman, Grace Rydendale
the demon was sent to taunt her with the hope of motherhood, of fulfilling her role on this earth, to have something that was fully hers, only to take it away again
Grace remembered the suffering of when she was a little girl left alone in the world
she missed her ma who’d know what to do, who’d hold her and rock her and say, you can do this, Gracie, you can get through this, we’ll get through this together
one year came and went
Harriet grew strong and sturdy
two years came and went
Harriet began to crawl/walk/ climb
thirty months came and went
Harriet was talking non-stop
Grace woke up one morning for the first time since the child was born and didn’t feel full of dread, the clouds outside were a lovely light grey against a radiant blue sky
she’d not looked at sky for a very long time, or anything else, she’d only felt the heaviness inside her weighing her down
she hadn’t seen Joseph either, not properly, the man who made her his Queen of the Nile, he’d be outside milking the cows
she arose and bathed, tried to comb out the tangles in her hair, had to unpick it with her fingers first
she dressed herself in proper clothes instead of keeping on her nightclothes
Grace walked into the kitchen
Harriet was sat there eating a boiled egg with bread soldiers for breakfast, prepared by Flossie who’d taken her to choose her own egg from the chickens earlier, their morning ritual
Grace usually waited until they’d left the room to have her own breakfast, spent the entire time avoiding the child, was expert at it, alert to wherever the child was in the house or outside it, and made sure their paths crossed as little as possible
ignored Flossie’s disapproving glares when she did
Harriet and Flossie were silenced by her presence, Harriet looked up at her as if she was a new person
she imagined she was – with her hair combed and piled on top of her head instead of the wild tangled mess her daughter was used to, and she wore a white dress with yellow flowers on it instead of her washed-out dressing gown