The Mother

Yes, we are in touch - mainly by letter, and not that often. I find writing hard, you know, and my eyes....not what they were. Too much close work in poor light, the doctor tells me. But no choice, I have to eat, I have to live and all I know is sewing. I used to make lace, but now, no one wants it - they want that cheap machine made stuff. 

You’ve spoken to my mother, yes? She has a soft spot for Sidonie, that’s her name, none of this Severine nonsense, please. She was christened Sidonie, and that is what we call her, a pretty name.

She was a docile enough child, although stubborn and a bit sentimental - you can’t be soft in the country! Whenever we killed an animal to eat, there were tears. Silly girl! And she would hide, so as not to have to help - got a beating every time, but she didn’t care. As I said, stubborn.

Her twin brother was killed in the fire. We never really got over it, Jaques and I, and I think he blamed her, or at least I think he wished it had been her who died, not our only son. After that we moved - couldn’t bear to see those ruined barns every day. We settled in L......, a mining town. There was employment and Sidonie went to school every day, clever girl she was. The other two, well, they soon went out to work on the surface and Jaques,he was down the mine. Filthy dirty, he got, but good money, and the girls had the chance to go out, meet people, young men. They married and as far as they tell me, they are very happy, grandchildren in plenty! Not Sidonie, she hated the town, hated the dirt and hated our neighbours - honest miners all, bit rough, but kind. Not good enough for her, I dare say. She always thought she was better than us, superior.

Do I love her? Yes, I loved all my children, but I cannot say I liked her and after her brother’s death, I found it hard to have her near me. I used to see the neighbours’ little girls laughing and playing, and there was my sullen Sidonie, sitting with her doll, all by herself. She was never one to join in after the fire, it was as if she closed her door upon herself, and there she sat, unreachable. 

If I found her sisters mistreating her, I scolded them, I know they used to tease her and take her things - she was so pretty, you see, and they were big country girls, made for work, as she was made for pleasure, or so I hear.  I think they were jealous of her. 

Anyway, one morning, when she was almost fifteen, I called her for work - she was an apprentice seamstress by then - and she had gone. Without so much as a by your leave. Off to the city!