Mum, I forgive you!
Eleanor Clarke slumped onto the thin straw mattress. One quiet evening she called her daughter softly.
Emily, love, Im dying. The hour has come for me to tell you everything. Im scared there isnt much time left. Forgive me, my child!
Mum, dont say that! Ill call an ambulance this instant!
No ambulance, Emma. Just hear me out!
The ailing woman began her tale. It happened a long time ago, sweetheart. I had a friend, Agnes. We were both taken in by the orphanage. We became inseparable there, and later we both enrolled at the teachertraining college. When we finished, the County Education Board sent us to a tiny rural school.
We were posted to different cottages: they put me in the empty house behind the school, and Agnes was lodged with an elderly couple on the edge of the village. All our free hours we spent together, sneaking down to the village hall for the nightly dances with the squeezebox player. He was a handsome lad, darkeyed and charminghis name was Thomas.
From the moment I saw him I knew he was the one Id been waiting for all my life. Week after week, Agnes and I would race to the hall. I never took my eyes off Thomas; his voice seemed to stir my very soul. My heart fluttered every time his gaze brushed my cheek. Then I noticed he kept smiling at Agnes, his eyes lingering on her, and she would blossom under his attention. I realised Thomas preferred the shy, modest Agnes over me.
I tried everything to draw his notice, but he never saw me. I was furious, jealous, and I grew to hate my friend with a ferocity I could barely control. Agnes glowed with happiness, oblivious to the storm brewing in me. One afternoon she burst into the cottage, beaming, and whispered,
Eleanor, Thomas and I are getting married soon.
I felt my world shatter. Despair crushed me; I stopped eating, stopped sleeping, and the only thought that haunted my mind was that Thomas must be mine, no matter the cost. I heard rumors of a crone, Old Mother Morwen, who lived in the hamlet over the hill. I went to her for help.
I know why youre here, the crone croaked.
Fear clenched my heart at first, but thoughts of Thomas gave me courage. Morwen brewed a love potion, filled a small bottle, and handed it to me.
Pour it into his drink, she instructed.
I tried to hand her a few shillings, but she laughed wildly.
Money means nothing to me. Youll find what I truly want later. Go now.
That evening Agnes and Thomas came to visit. It was the perfect moment. I set the table, slipped the potion into Thomass glass, and watched as he drank. His eyes glazed, his demeanor changed. Agnes, sensing something wrong, ushered him away. By morning Thomas stood at my front gate, demanding that I be the only one for him. The crones words proved trueI had my beloved. We married soon after and lived in bliss. Thomas poured his devotion into me, and I could not imagine life without him.
What of Agnes? She kept her distance, yet we still crossed paths. I still see her sorrowful face and the tears that never stopped. The old couple who had housed her spat at me, calling me a witch. Rumours swirled through the village that Agnes was left pregnant by Thomas and had tried to end her life. I felt pity for her, but my husband was everything to me.
One day a gaunt old man, George, whose cottage Agnes had once lived in, knocked on my door.
Come with me, he said gruffly.
Why? I asked.
Your friend is dying. She calls for you, he replied.
His eyes bore into me, and I followed him in silence. Inside the modest cottage, a childs sobbing echoed through the room. On the bed lay a pale Agnes, scarcely breathing. My heart clenched painfully; I wanted to turn away. Then, with a final gasp, Agnes opened her eyes and whispered,
Eleanor, Im dying. Take my daughter. Let her be with her father she reached out, but her hand fell limp.
The elderly couple crossed themselves, muttering prayers. Grandmother Matilda let out a wail and thrust a bundle into my arms. It was you, my child. I tried to refuse, but George snarled,
I would never have handed this baby to you! Yet the wish of the departed must be honoured. She was a good soul; may Heaven welcome her. Take the girl and go home. God forbid you hurt her!
And so you arrived. Your father, Thomas, was furious that I took you in. Your endless crying drove him mad, and he turned to drink, often staying out all night. My oncehappy life crumbled before my eyes, and I despised you with a bitter rage.
I had yearned for a child of my own, and you fell into my world. Not long after, I discovered I was pregnant. When Thomas learned this, he gave up his bottle, dreaming of a son. It seemed happiness might return.
A night before the birth, a nightmare seized me. I was in a moonlit clearing, a grotesque creature with matted black fur stretched its claws toward me.
Do you know me? I have come for what is mine, the beast hissed in Morwens voice.
I awoke screaming in agony. By dusk I delivered a lifeless boy. Thomas, shattered, drowned his sorrow in ale and soon died, frozen in the snow outside the pub. George and Matilda followed shortly after, leaving me alone with you on this bleak, white world.
Emily, you became the purpose of my tormented existence. You grew to look just like your mother. I tried endlessly to tell you the truth and beg forgiveness, but never found the words. You married, bore me a wonderful grandson. Now there is no time left for heavy confessions; I am terrified to leave this world with such a heavy burden.
She fell silent, her breath shallow.
I am to blame for my parents deaths. Will you forgive me, my child? My sin is great before God and before you.
Emily trembled, tears streaming down her youthful face. Summoning every ounce of strength, she clasped her mothers frail shoulders, pleaded with her eyes, and whispered,
Mum, I forgive you.
Eleanor Clarke passed away that night in her sleep, a faint smile curving her lips.
