Her father had married her to Jonas, the second son of the farmer across the road. Returning from his neighbour’s, flinging his sheepskin coat aside, he had announced the arrangements. He would get a son-in-law to help with the land. Jonas would get a farm of his own. And Ona, part of the settlement along with the chickens, horses and pigs, would get a husband.
In Canada, they had nothing. Who would want Danguole, this spoiled child, simply for herself?
With a shrug, she left the doctor’s mother folding her precious son’s trousers. Going back downstairs, she entered the kitchen in which they mainly lived. A curtain split the two remaining rooms into living room and bedroom. Two single beds, the headboards pushed against the fabric, were for her and Jonas. Danguole slept on a small couch by the wall. A chamber pot served them at night and in the morning, leaving the single second-floor bathroom free for the tenants.
“Always let the doctor go first,” Ona told Danguole.
Anything could happen with two young people brushing up against one another on the stairs every day. The doctor might not be interested in her daughter yet — well who would be, a silly girl like that — but Danguole was not bad-looking, plump once again after years of little food. She could be pleasing enough if she wanted. The doctor would be quite a catch for the family. And in old age, it would be handy having him in the house.
“Hurry up. What kind of wife will you make for the doctor,” she said, watching her daughter getting down on her hands and knees to pull the chamber pot out from under the bed.
“But he doesn’t like me,” Danguole said, her thumb firmly fixed on the stained cardboard cover cut to fit.
Her highly developed radar, skilled at homing in on anyone well-disposed towards her, knew that the doctor was not interested. His words and smiles were only politeness. When his look landed upon her, it slid away. Even she knew that a farm girl could not snare a doctor.
“Do you think my husband liked me?” Ona said, waving a wooden spoon.
Jonas had raged around the house, drunk. Circling the outside, he’d smashed windows. He’d chased her into the fields until she fell. He’d stood over her, a rock held high over his head. If, in the end, he’d merely beaten her black and blue, such was life.
“But what about Lidia?” Danguole had seen the doctor’s sad distant look.
“Lidia’s not here. You are. What man won’t take warm flesh over a cold ghost?”
At that moment, taking a break from his studies, Vytas came into the kitchen. Seeing mother and daughter together, working amid the peaceful burble of steaming pots, his face softened. Ona had seen that look on farm labourers come to the door for a drink of water at midday. She understood the unchanging attraction of family and food. And imagining him already as her son-in-law, she turned upon him an earthly, ribald charm.
“Come in, Doctor. Come join us women.”
“I’m not a doctor yet.”
He had tried more than once to dissuade her from using a title not yet his, but to no avail. What could you say to a woman like that? Nothing. You just let her talk. He smiled down at his shoes.
“Oh, you will always be Doctor to me. Danguole, where are your manners? Make the doctor some tea.”
Ona watched her daughter hurrying to wipe her hands on her apron. Seeing her put the kettle on the stove then make to join the doctor at the table, Ona stopped her with a look. Don’t you know anything? Wait on him. Serve him. Don’t sit next to him. Not yet. And lowering herself into a chair beside the doctor, she started talking about who was marrying whom.
“Everyone seems to be marrying these days,” Ona said.
“Mother, please,” Danguole whispered, her eyes lowered.
“What of it daughter?” Ona said. “Everyone marries sooner or later.”
Vytas glanced into the pleasantly sunlit back garden. He could ask the girl to sit on the steps. Just for a few moments. Just to get her away from her mother. Feeling her longing look, he thought better of it.
Danguole bent towards him, pouring tea. Her body emanated heat. A dark drop hung from the spout. She caught it with one finger. Putting it to her mouth, she gave him a secret smile.
Just a matter of time, Ona thought.
Juze had heard Vytas go downstairs. Following him to the kitchen, she saw her son seated between a mother engaging him in conversation and a daughter leaning in to refill his cup. So that’s what the old hag’s up to, she thought. Well, if she’s hoping for a marriage between our children, she can hope forever. Even for a farm woman, that’s very foolish.
“Shouldn’t you be working, Vyteli?”
“Just finishing my tea, Mother.”
Rising, he drained his teacup in elaborate silence, then left.
All was not perfection then between mother and son, Ona thought. Opportunity leapt into view.
“You work your boy hard.”
“No harder than you work your daughter, Šeimininke.”
Šeimininkė. Housekeeper. There it was again. Well, Miss High and Mighty Mother-of-a-precious doctor, we’ll see what life brings.
“Isn’t it time he had a wife to help him?”
“He is well taken care of.”
“I mean someone other than a mother. Now take my daughter Danguole. She’s a little foolish but not a bad girl. A hard worker. Not bad looking either. What more could a man want?”
She sent Juze a roguish look. We women know what we are about. We know how it’s done.
Juze pulled back, appalled. This may be how you do things on the farm, but my son for your daughter? Never. He’s meant for better things than marriage to a foolish farm girl.
Oh no? Ona thought. Just you wait and see.
Danguole stood at the sink in the ill-lit corner. Washing up, rattling the cups, she tried not to hear the conversation. She would have climbed into the darkness if she could. She wanted to get away from her mother. All I want is a family, she thought. With husband, children and home, she would be happy and loved.
Ona prepared a surprise lunch for her tenants, especially for Vytas, future doctor and prospective son-in-law. Rejecting zrazai, beef rolls filled with minced veal, pork and mushrooms, she had settled on cepelinai, potato dumplings served with crispy fried bacon bits and cool sour cream. There was nothing wrong with simple food. It would show their frugality. When the doctor became her son-in-law, there would be time enough for steak.
Danguole worked in the kitchen, preparing the dumplings. Waiting for a large pot of water to boil, she grated potatoes. Her face was moist and flushed. Her fine hair hung limp. Ona looked with distaste at her daughter’s appearance.
“He’s not going to want you for yourself so you’d better show what you can do in the kitchen. When he arrives, greet him first. Seat him in the centre. Offer food. Don’t make him ask. Serve him before everyone else. Make sure his plate is never empty. Treat him like a king. And don’t sit down at the table yourself. You can eat afterwards. Now go clean yourself up.”
Ona went looking for Jonas. He was sitting in the living room, reading the newspaper and smoking his Craven ‘A’ cigarettes. He wore a clean green plaid shirt. His wet hair was neatly parted and combed. She stood the doorway, brandishing her wooden spoon.
“Cut the grass,” she said.
“You stick to your business, woman, and I’ll stick to mine.”