A quiet evening settled over the countryside as Agnes Whitmore, known to everyone in the village simply as Granny Agnes, stepped out of her little cottage. She walked to the neighbours fence and tapped three times on the windowpane with her knuckles. The glass responded with a familiar, muffled knock. Moments later, the wrinkled face of her neighbour, Margaret Hartley, appeared at the window, surprised. She flung open the creaky old door and stood on the porch, tucking a stray grey lock behind her ear.
“Agnes, love, what are you doing standing there like a stranger? Come in, dont be shyIve just put the kettle on!” she called across the yard, though her voice held a note of concern.
“No, Margaret, thank you, I wont come in,” Agness voice trembled, and she herself was surprised at the sudden weakness in it. “Ive come to ask you something important, very important. Listen, Margaret, I need to go to the city, to the county hospital. Ive got a referral, urgent-like. My eyestheyve been giving me such trouble. They wont stop watering, everythings blurred, like Im walking through thick fog, and at night the pains so bad I cant bear it. The young doctor took one look and said I need surgery, straight away, or else… or else I might go blind. But I dont know how to get there, what to doIm all alone. Still, I suppose the worlds not without kindness. Someone will help, point me in the right direction.”
“Agnes, dear, of course, of course you must go, dont wait!” Margaret replied at once, shifting from foot to foot in her worn-out slippers. “Ill look after your placeyour goat Daisy, the chickens, everything! Dont you worry! Youre rightbeing left alone in the dark, thatd be a terrible thing. Go, and may the Lord keep you safe!”
Agnes was well into her seventies. Her life had been long and hard, tossing her about like a leaf in the wind, testing her strength, knocking her down so often it seemed impossible to rise again. But rise she did. And in the end, like a wounded bird, she found refuge here, in this quiet village, in a cottage left to her by long-gone relatives.
The journey to the city felt endless and frightening. Clutching her worn handbag on the rattling bus, she couldnt shake the same gnawing thought.
*”A scalpel… touching my eyes? How can that be? The doctor tried to reassure meDont worry, its a simple procedurebut my heart aches, heavy with dread. Im scared. Oh, so scared to face this alone.”*
The hospital ward was clean, smelling of antiseptic and quiet. By the window lay a younger woman, and across from her, another elderly patient like Agnes. The company eased her nerves a little. She sank onto her assigned bed and thought, *”Trouble comes to us all, young and old alike.”*
After lunch, which they called “quiet hour,” visitors arrived. The younger womans husband burst in with their schoolboy son, arms laden with fruit and juice. The other patients daughter arrived with her husband and a curly-haired granddaughter who chattered and giggled without pause. They fussed over their mother and grandmother with warmth and care. The ward grew lively, cheerfuland unbearably lonely. Agnes turned to the wall and wiped away a traitorous tear. No one had come for her. No one brought her so much as an apple or a kind word. She was forgotten, unwanted, just a lonely old woman. Her heart clenched with bitter envy and despair.
The next morning, the doctors made their rounds. A woman in a crisp white coat entered, radiating calm assurance. She was young, beautiful, and Agnes felt an instant comfort in her presence.
“How are we feeling today, Agnes? Keeping your spirits up?” The doctors voice was warm, rich with kindness.
“Getting by, dear, no choice, is there?” Agnes fidgeted. “Sorry, love, what should I call you?”
“Dr. Eleanor Parker. Im your physician. Now, Agnes, is there anyone we should notify? Family? Children?”
Agness heart lurched. She lowered her eyes and whispered the first excuse that came to mind, bitter and far from the truth: “No, love, no one. The Lord never blessed me with children…”
Dr. Parker gave her hand a gentle squeeze, made a note, and left. Agnes sat frozen, burning with shame. *”Why did I lie to that kind woman? Why deny the one sacred thing in my life? Its not truenot true!”*
She hadnt wanted to reopen the old wound, the pain shed carried for decades. But the truth was, shed had a daughter. A beloved, cherished girlEleanor.
Long ago, in her youth, Agnes had met Peter, a war veteran whod lost an arm. In those post-war years, when men were scarce, she hadnt hesitated to marry him. They were happy at first, and a daughter was born. But Peter fell ill suddenly, and no amount of care could save him. After his death, Agnes was left alone with her little girl.
Shed been a beauty in her daytall, rosy-cheeked, with thick chestnut hair. She worked the farm, straining every muscle to provide. Then one day, Nicholas, a city man with a silver tongue, passed through on business. He noticed the pretty widow and began courting her. Starved for affection, she lost her head. When it was time for him to leave, he urged her to go with him.
“But Ellies just a child, Nicholas! Where would I take her?” she protested.
“Leave her with your mother, just for a while!” he insisted. “Well get settled, make a proper lifethen fetch her straight away! I promise you the world!”
Young and foolish, she believed his sweet words. She left five-year-old Eleanor with her ageing mother and followed Nicholas to the far ends of the country. They found work, but Nicholas was restlessalways moving. Whenever she mentioned her daughter, he brushed her off. “Soon, soon!” Letters from her mother grew scarce, then stopped altogether. At first, Agnes wept for her child, but with time, the pain dulled. Nicholas only joked, “Well have our own, then fetch yours!” But no more children came, as though she were being punished for her choice. Then Nicholas took to drink, then to his fists. Twenty-five years passed in miseryuntil he was killed in a drunken brawl.
After his death, Agnes sold their meagre belongings and returned to her homeland, hoping to find her mother and daughter. But no one waited for her. Her mother had died years before, and of Eleanor, no one knew muchjust that shed come for the funeral and left. The old house stood boarded up, rotting. Agnes spent three days searching for answers, but in vain. She laid wildflowers on her mothers grave, then left, sobbing with regret, and settled in a distant village, living alone with her guilt.
The night before the surgery, Agnes couldnt sleep. Despite Dr. Parkers reassurances, fear gnawed at her. She nearly confessed everythingthe lie, the daughter shed abandoned.
“Youll be fine, Agnes. I promise,” Dr. Parker said softly, squeezing her hand before leaving.
But anxiety clung to her. Then, just before dawn, a wild thought struck her: *”My daughters name was Eleanor… and her middle name was Parker, after her grandfather. Could it be…? Her eyesso familiar, so kind… I must ask her surname tomorrow!”*
But morning came too soon. A nurse arrived early, and Agnes was whisked away to surgery before she could ask.
When she woke, her eyes were tightly bandaged. The darkness terrified her. *”What if Im blind forever?”* She heard the other patients chatting, but she lay helpless, seeing nothing. Then she sensed someone beside her. Gentle hands removed the bandages. Blinking cautiously, she saw a nurse smiling down at her.
“Can you see? Ill fetch the doctor.”
The surgeon, a brisk man, examined her and nodded. “Perfect. Just rest nowno tears, no straining.”
After he left, the nurse placed a bag on the bedside table. “From Dr. Parker. Apples, lemon for tea, and some sweets. She said you need the vitamins. Shes off today.”
Agness heart swelled. “A doctor, bringing gifts to an old woman like me… like sunshine itself.”
She waited eagerly for Dr. Parkers return, her stomach fluttering with strange anticipation. Two days later, the doctor appeared during evening rounds. The room seemed to brighten as she entered, holding an official envelope. Agness soul trembledshe knew this paper held something monumental.
“Good evening, Mum,” Dr. Parker whispered, so only Agnes could hear.
Agnes froze. Her heart hammered in her throat. “Good evening, love… but why call me Mum? Im flattered, but”
“Because you
