There never was a woman who made a more loving mother, nor a mother more
proud of her son than Mrs. Taylor. Tom was a boy that any mother might be
proud of, so obedient and affectionate. But Tom was going to get married
and bring his wife to the old home, and the widow Taylor assured me that
she was going to be such a model mother-in-law that there would be never
a cloud of discontent hover over the Taylor home. Tom’s girl was such
a sweet little soul that anybody could get along with her; and even if
she was not, Tom would not let his mother be abused or slighted or made
discontented in her own home.
I didn’t return to the Taylor home for ten years, but I noticed at once a
change in the Widow Taylor. There was a look of sadness in her white face
and she seemed to have grown old very fast since I saw her last. I knew
she couldn’t be more than sixty, but she looked to be easily seventy-five
years old. When I found myself alone on the wide porch with the sad faced
woman I made bold to inquire: “Well, Mrs. Taylor, did you succeed in
playing the part of a model mother-in-law?”
She smiled at me with a look of pain in her face, and slowly said: “I
don’t believe there could be such a thing. Perhaps a mother could be a
model mother-in-law to a son-in-law, but she couldn’t be one to her son’s
wife, and live in the old home. When Tom brought Bessie to this house it
was my home. My word was law. You well know that I couldn’t be a tyrant
if I tried, yet it was a satisfaction to arrange the house to suit my
taste and run things after the style I had practiced for years.”
Then, in answer to my startled look, she continued: “No, Bessie and I
have never quarreled. I wouldn’t allow myself to do so. She is Tom’s
wife, and he loves her to devotion. If I quarreled with Bessie Tom would
have to take one side or the other. I wouldn’t want him to decide against
his wife, and if he turned against me it would break my heart. So I try
to bear my lot without complaining, but I can hardly help the feeling
that I am a stranger in my own home. I have no longer any authority
about the house. The pictures are no longer arranged as they were ten
years ago. The portraits of the family no longer grace the walls of the
downstairs rooms. Bessie says it is not fashionable, so the pictures of
Tom’s father and my own, are banished to the narrow confines of my own
bed room.
“And my bedroom has been changed, too. I no longer sleep over the parlor,
facing the public road. Bessie thought it would make such a pleasant
spare room for visitors, so I was removed to the east room over the
kitchen. When Bessie’s mother visits her she occupies my old room, while
I must go off to my den over the kitchen. I may be selfish, though I pray
God to keep me from thoughts that are narrow; but it does hurt an old
woman to be thus set aside in her own home.
“And no longer any callers or visitors come to see me. I’m a back number.
Even you came to see Tom, and not me. I am a deposed ruler. My kingdom
has been handed over to another and my own son is a subject of the new
ruler. I never complain to Tom, because he does not understand. He thinks
that I ought to be satisfied with things as they are, and maybe I should,
for I have nothing to do. Well, nothing to do is the hardest life a
person can live. I can go and come at will, but that is not enough to
satisfy a woman. I long for the old home in which I was once an entity, a
moving force, a working energy.
“Where nothing is expected of the mother-in-law, she can expect nothing
in return. I am reduced to an eating, drinking, sleeping non-entity.
I once overheard Bessie tell a caller that I was getting queer. Maybe
I am, for I certainly feel queer under present conditions. Neither
responsibility nor authority rests on me. I am on the scrap pile, an
unwilling supernumerary.
“But oh, Mr. Haiden, I am so much more fortunate than some mothers-in-law
I know of! I know a poor old mother who is obliged to live with her son’s
wife in the home that belongs to the daughter-in-law. And the poor old
mother is told of this every day. The daughter-in-law is an unnatural,
ungrateful tyrant, and she plays tyrant all the year ’round. And the son
is obliged to take sides with his wife, for the sake of peace. When I
talk to that poor old mother I feel that I ought to be thankful, and that
my daughter-in-law is a saint; but she ought to consult me now and then
on household matters. She ought to give me some of the responsibilities
and cares. She should at least make me vice-president of the home, since
she usurped the presidency. Two women can not live happily in the same
house unless they share the cares and responsibilities, and the honors.
Every young woman going into her mother-in-law’s home should be taught
this fact. It would save many a tear and heartache on the part of the
poor old mothers.”