jmgoyder

One morning, during the breakfast preparations, I saw a huge spider in the corner of the kitchen ceiling and, as Inna wasn’t up, and Husband-to-be and the dairyhands hadn’t come in yet, I took it upon myself to spray it with a can of flyspray I found in the pantry. It took a lot of spray to kill it but eventually it fell, lifeless, into the kitchen sink and I picked it up in a paper towel and threw it in the bin.

Proud of myself, I told Husband-to-be when he came in and he asked me to show him the spider’s body, which I did.

“That’s Mary,” he said solemnly.

“What do you mean?” I asked nervously.

“Mary is our pet Huntsman spider,” he said, “And now you’ve killed her.”

I was devastated and, full of remorse, I said how sorry I was, and my eyes filled with tears.

Husband immediately broke into laughter, unable to believe I’d taken him seriously. “It’s just a spider, Jules!”

For just a split-second it seemed that he might hug me, but he didn’t.

It took quite awhile for me to get used to the culture of Inna’s household. There was a constant stream of visitors to Inna – not just her family members (and with seven children, numerous nephews and nieces, and an assortment of grandchildren, this meant a bit of a rushy stream), but friends – so many friends.

You see, despite Inna’s formidable reputation (maybe even because of it), she was extremely popular; she was a little bit iconic I guess – a local legend maybe. I mean not many women in their 70s begin again with a new farm, but Inna did, with Husband-to-be and another son at her helm. She was the boss though – she was always the boss.

It took quite awhile for me to get used to the politics of Inna’s household, but what struck me most in those days was her incredible ability to rise to whatever occasion presented itself.  In the kitchen, which was the hub of the house, and in the back veranda, Inna entertained family and friends on an almost daily basis.

I was always hugely relieved when Husband-to-be came in from the dairy at 5pmish because not only was his entrance booming but he would always look at me affectionately, especially if I were flustered with all the visitors. He seemed to see that I was a bit out-of-depth and sometimes he would give me an amused, sympathetic glance and, momentarily, I would think he was going to ruffle my hair or something, but he usually just fetched himself a drink and joined the others.

I would stand, stirring whatever Inna had told me to stir, on the Aga, and I would listen to the chatter and I would nearly die of joy every time Husband-to-be glanced at me.

It took quite awhile for me to get used to Husband-to-be’s proximity.

That first overnight I stayed at the farm was the only time I ever slept on the floor beside Inna’s bed. I didn’t know why she was so frightened that night except that she thought Husband-to-be had gone out and left her alone. He had never gone out and left her alone before, but they must have discussed it before asking me to stay.

Her bed was positioned in the centre of the room, surrounded by a pale pink carpet, so I simply fetched a pillow from the spare room where I was supposed to sleep, and cuddled down very comfortably. A couple of times, during the night, Inna reached her arm down to squeeze my hand and I squeezed back.

Eventually, Husband-to-be’s veranda party ended and I heard him go to bed in the adjacent bedroom. It was only then that Inna and I went to sleep, our fingers still loosely entwined.