Daily the mother and her children went through the motions. The mother stayed at home and tried to make sense of their lives. She did her best with what he brought her to make them comfortable and keep them fed.
The older children went to the nearby one-teacher school. They did their best to learn. They did their utmost to blend in.
As to the community, however, they did their best not to notice any of the family. ‘Fly-by-nights’! ‘Urchins’! This is the way they were seen! This is the way they felt! They did what they felt was expected of them anyway. What choice did they have?
At home, the mother struggled with the dust, the babies and the lack of all things nice … all things safe … all things nurturing. At times as she accidentally noticed again the life which held her captive, her heart broke anew. She would choke it back again … choke on it until she felt her chest would burst.
Mustn’t let the children see. Mustn’t let the father see. Must not let the children run too wild ... mustn’t, mustn’t, mustn’t!
She was certain that the house was swaying more than ever. The fear at times almost paralysed her. Only her fierce maternal need to protect her children prevented this.
These issues were never discussed. The father had made his choices. They were his to make. He was the head!