Shadows of the Past: A Dramatic Truth in Little Hollow
Thomas fell ill. He had come to visit his grandmother in the village of Little Hollow, where the air was thick with the scent of wildflowers and memories of childhood. Lying on the creaky old bed, he glanced sadly at his grandmother, Margaret Whitmore.
“Thank God I’ve got you, Nan,” he murmured. “I’m all alone in this world. Maybe no one really needs me?”
“Thomas, have you taken leave of your senses?” she cried, throwing her hands up. “A fine man like you—unwanted? Any woman would count herself lucky to have you! Stay put, don’t move—I’ll fetch some honey from next door.”
Shaking her head, Margaret stepped out. Thomas shut his eyes, slipping into a restless sleep. The door creaked suddenly, and soft footsteps broke the silence.
“Nan, is that you?” He opened his eyes and bolted upright, disbelieving what he saw.
Thomas had made it his duty to look after his grandmother in Little Hollow. His parents were too busy—his father still clocked in at the factory, and his mother spent hours in her garden, fussing over roses and vegetables. She visited Nan once a month at most.
“I’ve got the most free time out of all of us,” Thomas would smile. “No wife yet, though I’m pushing forty. And here you are, always on the move or knee-deep in home improvements.”
“Your Nan adores you,” his mother would say. “You bring the groceries, help around the house, spend weekends with her.”
“Aye, I love her,” Thomas would say warmly. “Ran wild here every summer as a boy. Then came the army, work, making ends meet… Time to pay back what I owe.”
“Debts are one thing—when will you settle down?” his mother pressed. “Thomas, it’s high time you started a family, or you’ll end up alone.”
Driving down the dirt road, groceries shifting in the boot, his mind drifted back to his youth—to the neighboring village of Willowbrook, where he’d fallen for a quiet girl with eyes that spoke volumes. Emily had been shy, yet so familiar. Their summer trysts had been tender and fierce.
“Shame it ended,” Thomas sighed. “I went off to serve, and she—turns out she had another bloke, one who came back from work up north and made a scene for the whole village to see. Ah, Emily…”
A girl thumbing a ride caught his eye on the roadside. He slowed.
“Going to Willowbrook?” she asked, brushing dark fringe from her eyes.
“Hop in,” he nodded.
As they drove, he stole glances at her. Something in her face was achingly familiar.
“Local, or just visiting?” he asked.
“Coming home,” she replied. “Finished my nursing exams, so now it’s time to rest. Though ‘rest’ in the village means chores. Still, home’s home—Mum’s waiting.”
She smiled, and Thomas stiffened—that smile was Emily’s, down to the last curve.
“You’re not Emily’s daughter, by any chance?” he ventured carefully.
“I’m Charlotte Hayes,” she said. “Mum was Emily Dawson before she married.”
“Oh, right,” Thomas’s pulse quickened. “I meant your mum.”
“You knew her?” Charlotte’s eyes widened.
“Saw her around, years back,” he hedged, spotting a mole on her cheek—just like his own.
“How old are you, student?” he asked, feigning casualness.
“Nearly eighteen,” she laughed. “Though everyone says I look younger.”
“You’ll grow into it,” Thomas replied, pulling over. “Take after your mum, do you?”
“More like my dad,” Charlotte said soberly, stepping out. “Though he wasn’t lucky. Died when I was ten. Just Mum and me now. Happiness doesn’t last long, does it?”
With a wave, she walked off. Thomas watched her go, gripping the wheel.
Nan noticed his gloom straight away.
“What’s the matter, lad? Taken ill? I’ll brew some tea with honey.”
“No, Nan, I’m fine. Where’s the old photo album?” he asked suddenly.
“In the dresser, on the porch. Why?”
“Fancied a trip down memory lane,” he said.
They paged through the album together, Nan reminiscing about neighbors, friends, kin. When Thomas offhandedly mentioned Emily, Margaret sighed.
“After you left, she married that Stephen quick enough. He adored her, though you nearly ruined the wedding, you charmer,” Nan chuckled. “Always were the girls’ favorite. When will we see you wed?”
“Her husband died, didn’t he?” Thomas asked cautiously.
“Ages ago. Dreadful business…” She studied him before bustling off to the kitchen.
Thomas couldn’t settle all day. The girl he’d driven wouldn’t leave his thoughts. The mole, the smile, her age—it all fit. Could she be his? His chest ached at the thought Emily might have hidden the truth. He cursed himself for not fighting for her back then, for running instead.
At dawn, he drove straight to Willowbrook. Emily was hanging laundry when she spotted him. She froze, dropped the basket, and fled indoors.
“Emily, come out—we need to talk!” His voice shook.
She appeared on the doorstep, hesitated, then unlatched the gate.
“Not here. The garden—Charlotte mustn’t hear,” she whispered. “Why are you here, Thomas?”
“I’m at Nan’s, nearby—”
“You’ve been gone years. What do you want?” Tears glistened in her eyes.
“Did you hate me for leaving?” he asked. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have just walked away. I should’ve fought for you.”
“Why dredge it up?” Emily murmured. “We were young and foolish. My fault too—I swore I’d wait for Stephen, then fell for you. Nothing good came of it.”
“Nothing?” Thomas searched her face.
Then Charlotte stepped out, beaming at him.
“Oh, it’s you! I told Mum about you, but she clammed up. You came yourself!”
“Just remembered, is all,” Thomas mumbled. “My fault, leaving like I did.”
“Why are you here?” Emily hissed. “Go. Charlotte doesn’t need to know about my past.”
“Walk me to the car,” he asked.
At the car, he took her hands.
“What’s my daughter’s name? Don’t say she isn’t mine. That mole—it’s mine.”
“What?!” Emily recoiled. “You’re mad! Charlotte loved her father, and I won’t let you wreck our lives! Leave and never come back!”
Her words struck like thunder. But seeing his shattered look, she softened.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “You’re alone, I’m alone… but I won’t reopen old wounds. You were sweet, but I loved Stephen. Charlotte is his.”
Thomas drove off in a daze. Back at Nan’s, he collapsed into bed—feverish.
“Where’ve you been?” Margaret fretted. “You should be resting, not gallivanting!”
“Chemist was shut,” he lied.
He dozed off, only to wake to the door’s groan. Emily stood there in a cotton dress, a shawl draped over her shoulders—like an angel from his youth.
“You?” Thomas sat up. “Why?”
“Heard you were poorly,” she said softly. “Maybe I was too harsh yesterday. Don’t be cross.”
“Push me away, then forgive me—make up your mind, Emily!”
She sighed, eyes downcast.
“I didn’t sleep. Charlotte… she’s yours. The mole—it’s yours.”
“What?!” He sprang up. “Yesterday you threw me out, now—”
He dropped to his knees, clutching her.
“Christ, I’m the luckiest man alive… Can you forgive me? Why was I such a fool?”
“Don’t tell Charlotte yet,” Emily begged, wiping tears. “I’ll do it… later. And swear you’ll tell no one.”
She left a jar of blackberry jam and slipped out. Then the curtain rustled—Nan emerged from behind the stove, honey in hand, her eyes wet.
“Nan, you heard?” Thomas whispered.
“I understand,” she sniffled. “Your girl grew up without you, while you lived unaware… Oh, Lord.”
“But I know now!” Thomas said firmly. “I love Emily. I love Charlotte. And I’ll let no one take them.”
A week later, he returned to Willowbrook. Charlotte, clutching sweets, dashed off to a friend’s, while Emily led Thomas inside.
“Nan wants to see Charlotte,” he said. “Worries she’ll pass before the truth comes out.”
“She’ll live to see it,” Emily smiled. “Give us time. Who knew you’d come back?”
“We’ll make up for lost years,” Thomas vowed, hugging her. “DoThe years that followed were filled with laughter around the hearth, birthday candles lit in secret celebration, and a love that bloomed late but burned brighter than the summer sun.
