Mum, I forgive you!
Margaret Whitfield lay prostrate on the worn sofa of her cottage. One quiet evening she called out to her daughter.
Emily, love, Im dying. Its time I told you everything. Im afraid I dont have much left. Forgive me, my girl!
Mum, dont say that! Ill call an ambulance right now!
No ambulance, dear. Just listen to me!
The ailing woman began her tale. It started a long time ago, sweetheart. I had a friend, Gillian. We both grew up in the same orphanage, made friends there, and later went to the teacher training college together. After we qualified, we were both posted to a tiny village school.
The authorities split us up. They gave me a little cottage next to the school, while Gillian was lodged with an elderly couple down the lane. In our free moments we were inseparable. Wed go to the village hall for the weekly ceilidh, where a handsome accordionist played. The moment I saw him I knew he was the one. His name was Victor, darkeyed and charming.
Victor and I became a regular pair at the hall every weekend. I could never take my eyes off him, and his mellow voice struck a chord in my heart. My pulse would skip whenever his gaze flicked my way. Then I noticed he kept staring at Gillian, smiling at her, while she blushed like a sunrise. It hit me Victor had chosen my shy, unassuming friend over me.
I tried everything to catch his attention, but he barely noticed me. I was fuming with jealousy! I began to loathe Gillian. She seemed to glow with happiness, oblivious to the hatred I was nursing. One day she burst into my room, beaming, and whispered, Margaret, Victor and I are getting married soon.
That was the end of my world. I felt crushed, stopped eating, stopped sleeping, and the only thought in my head was: Victor must be mine! I would do anything for that. I heard rumors about a crone living in the neighbouring hamlet a witch called Hilda. I went to her for help.
I know why youre here, the old woman croaked.
My first instinct was fear, but the thought of Victor gave me courage. Hilda brewed a love potion, poured it into a bottle and handed it to me.
Give him a drink, she instructed.
I tried to pay her, but she laughed wildly.
Your money isnt what I need. Youll find out what I do want. Go.
That evening Victor and Gillian stopped by for a visit perfect timing. I set the table, slipped the potion into Victors glass. He swallowed it and his demeanor changed instantly. Gillian, sensing something odd, whisked him home. The next morning Victor stood at my doorstep, declaring in a feverish tone that he belonged only to me. The witchs spell worked; I had my Victor! We married soon after and lived blissfully. He was all I could think of, and I could barely breathe without him. You may wonder what became of Gillian?
Gillian kept her distance, though we still had to cross paths. I still see the sorrow in her eyes, the tears that never cease. The old couple who housed her spat at me, calling me a witch. Rumours spread through the village that Gillian was pregnant with Victors child and had almost taken her own life. I felt sorry for her, but my husband was the love of my life.
One day the elderly farmer Tom, who lived with Gillian, turned up at our door.
Come with me, he said.
Why? I asked.
Your friend is dying. She wants you, Tom replied.
I followed him silently. Inside the farmhouse a child wailed, and on the bed lay Gillian pale, barely breathing. My heart clenched painfully; I wanted to flee. Then Gillian opened her eyes and whispered weakly:
Margaret, Im dying. Take my daughter. Let her be with you. Let the child of Emilys father be hers.
The old couple muttered a prayer, and the matriarch, Mrs. Beatrice, burst into tears, thrusting a squalling bundle into my arms. It was you, my dear. I didnt want to take you, but Tom growled:
I would never entrust you to anyone else, but Gillians wish must be honoured. She was a good soul. Take the child and go home, and God forbid you ever hurt her.
So you arrived in my life. Your father was furious that I kept you. Your endless crying drove both him and me mad. Victor turned to the bottle again, staying out late, and my happy life crumbled. I hated you, my child.
Later I discovered I was pregnant. Victor, upon learning this, quit drinking and dreamed of a son. For a while, happiness seemed to return. On the eve of my labour, I had a nightmare: I was in a dark forest clearing, a hideous creature with black, shaggy paws stared at me.
Do you know me? it rasped in Hildas voice. Ive come for whats mine.
I awoke screaming in pain and, by nightfall, delivered a stillborn boy. Your father, devastated, drowned his sorrow in ale and passed away soon after, freezing in a snowdrift. Tom and Beatrice followed shortly after. I was left alone with you, the only light in an otherwise bleak world. Emily, you became the purpose of my sinful existence, the one I could not imagine living without.
You grew up just like your mother. I tried countless times to tell you the truth and beg forgiveness, but never found the words. You married, had a wonderful grandson, and now I have no time left to linger on heavy confessions. Im terrified to leave this world with such a burden on my conscience.
The old woman fell silent.
Im responsible for my parents deaths. Will you forgive me, my child? My sins weigh heavily before God and before you.
Emilys body trembled. Tears streamed down the young womans cheeks. She gathered her strength, embraced the weeping mother, and whispered:
Mum, I forgive you.
Margaret Whitfield slipped away that night in her sleep, a faint smile frozen on her lips.
