repeats.
'I could train as a teacher while Father still runs the farm and I am not needed, and then – later on, after I have qualified – I could do both. Run the farm, and teach.'
'I thought you clever,' says my mother. 'I thought you understood. I should have made it clear. I saw where your heart was leading you, but I thought you would not give way to it. The farm will not be yours to look after, Shirley. That is not why you have been given an education beyond what I could have dreamed of. You have been given the skills to make yourself bright and interesting to the kind of young man who can run a place like this. To help him, and to keep him.'
And so.
So she stops speaking and we continue in silence.
So my thoughts do not matter at all.
After a few more trots along the road by Nellie, as steady as ever, my mother transfers the reins to her left hand and places her right hand upon my knee. 'Your father wanted to knock sense into you.'
'A husband,' I say.
But I want a husband anyway. Did they think I never wanted to marry? How can it be that everything I want and everything they want is incompatible? I can surely find places where our plans fit together. I believe in conversation, in resolution, in peace. There can be no line drawn that cannot be crossed, and no obstacle erected that cannot be overcome. This is no different from a bloodless war, and I will not take part in a war. That is the very thing I am determined to abolish.
'Why did you think we took you to the farmers' balls?' my mother is saying. 'But you would not talk to any boy there, and you were proud and haughty. I see I should have taken you aside and counselled you then, but I wanted you to have your time of happiness. Now look what has become of it. I know who you would have, too, Shirley, and I tell you now clearly that it cannot be. You must find someone fit and strong, for farming is hard work at all times. When your father returns home tonight be meek, and make it clear to him that you understand what I have said to you.' Her hand tightens on my knee. I flinch. I do not know her at all; she seems to delight in ripping down my dreams. I would love to simply get down and run away from her and the cart and plodding Nellie. I could throw myself off if only she would let go of my knee. How can I make peace with such a creature?
'But I have not been taught to be meek, have I?' I say, stiffly. 'That is your failing, and now it must be taken out on me. Kindly remove your hand.'
She snatches back from me, but I do not get down from the cart because I feel a surge of triumph. I see now how weak she has always been; she does only what she is told. She has failed me, and my father, by not teaching me my place; she is the reason I am not docile in acceptance of my place. And she is the reason my father is unhappy.
I will not behave for her. I will not rip up this letter.
I hold it in my hands, quite plainly to see, and we do not speak further on this journey. When we reach the farm I get down and walk away from the house, my back stiff, and she does not call after me.
*
My newfound joy in saying things that upset others surprises me. I suppose it is my only source of power. If I must obey, then I will do it with no good grace.
So I waited that Sunday, in the top field. I remained in view of the farm until I saw my father making his way home, and then I beat him back, running at speed, by only the merest of moments. I took great comfort in the panic on my mother's face, which gave way to relief as I dissembled all sweetness for him, and pretended I had been at home for hours.
I did nothing but sit in the top field, of course. I considered going straight to see Mr Tiller, but regardless of what my mother says I am not stupid. I know he would only have turned me away. He will not rescue me – see how well I know my love! He has no taste for the small concerns of the present world, but instead concentrates on saving the future.
Speaking of which, my
'I could train as a teacher while Father still runs the farm and I am not needed, and then – later on, after I have qualified – I could do both. Run the farm, and teach.'
'I thought you clever,' says my mother. 'I thought you understood. I should have made it clear. I saw where your heart was leading you, but I thought you would not give way to it. The farm will not be yours to look after, Shirley. That is not why you have been given an education beyond what I could have dreamed of. You have been given the skills to make yourself bright and interesting to the kind of young man who can run a place like this. To help him, and to keep him.'
And so.
So she stops speaking and we continue in silence.
So my thoughts do not matter at all.
After a few more trots along the road by Nellie, as steady as ever, my mother transfers the reins to her left hand and places her right hand upon my knee. 'Your father wanted to knock sense into you.'
'A husband,' I say.
But I want a husband anyway. Did they think I never wanted to marry? How can it be that everything I want and everything they want is incompatible? I can surely find places where our plans fit together. I believe in conversation, in resolution, in peace. There can be no line drawn that cannot be crossed, and no obstacle erected that cannot be overcome. This is no different from a bloodless war, and I will not take part in a war. That is the very thing I am determined to abolish.
'Why did you think we took you to the farmers' balls?' my mother is saying. 'But you would not talk to any boy there, and you were proud and haughty. I see I should have taken you aside and counselled you then, but I wanted you to have your time of happiness. Now look what has become of it. I know who you would have, too, Shirley, and I tell you now clearly that it cannot be. You must find someone fit and strong, for farming is hard work at all times. When your father returns home tonight be meek, and make it clear to him that you understand what I have said to you.' Her hand tightens on my knee. I flinch. I do not know her at all; she seems to delight in ripping down my dreams. I would love to simply get down and run away from her and the cart and plodding Nellie. I could throw myself off if only she would let go of my knee. How can I make peace with such a creature?
'But I have not been taught to be meek, have I?' I say, stiffly. 'That is your failing, and now it must be taken out on me. Kindly remove your hand.'
She snatches back from me, but I do not get down from the cart because I feel a surge of triumph. I see now how weak she has always been; she does only what she is told. She has failed me, and my father, by not teaching me my place; she is the reason I am not docile in acceptance of my place. And she is the reason my father is unhappy.
I will not behave for her. I will not rip up this letter.
I hold it in my hands, quite plainly to see, and we do not speak further on this journey. When we reach the farm I get down and walk away from the house, my back stiff, and she does not call after me.
*
My newfound joy in saying things that upset others surprises me. I suppose it is my only source of power. If I must obey, then I will do it with no good grace.
So I waited that Sunday, in the top field. I remained in view of the farm until I saw my father making his way home, and then I beat him back, running at speed, by only the merest of moments. I took great comfort in the panic on my mother's face, which gave way to relief as I dissembled all sweetness for him, and pretended I had been at home for hours.
I did nothing but sit in the top field, of course. I considered going straight to see Mr Tiller, but regardless of what my mother says I am not stupid. I know he would only have turned me away. He will not rescue me – see how well I know my love! He has no taste for the small concerns of the present world, but instead concentrates on saving the future.
Speaking of which, my
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