The villagers had been told lies about her daughter, all because of shame. Among the belongings gathered for burial lay lettersletters from her daughter. Hattie pulled them out and tucked them beneath the pillow of the deceased. Let them be buried with her, along with that terrible shame.
From the Unvarnished Truth. A Shame Too Deep.
Eileen had always believed in dreams, even from a young age. She never quite knew why, but it was so. Sometimes, the girls in the village would share their dreams, and she would listen, then tell them what she thought they meant. Rarely was she wrong. And her own dreamsshe always untangled them herself. But the most wondrous of all? She flew in them! Truly, she would rise above the rooftops and soar, breathless with the thrill of it. One dream returned to her often, always the same: white horses with dappled grey coats, harnessed to a sleigh, and there she sat beside Alfred, holding the reins. The horses would gallop faster, fasteruntil they took flight! The wind would rush past, stealing their breath, until theyd drop the reins and huddle together, laughing as they soared. That dream came to her many times before Alfred passed. And even after, she still flewthough now he stood beside her, no longer holding the reins. Just smiling. She loved those nightly flights, though she knew the old saying: to dream of horses meant sickness, or worse, death. And sure enough, after such dreams, her blood would rise or her heart would ache.
That night, they stood together in the sleigh again. But no one guided it. The reins were gone. The horses climbed higher, higher, until they reached the clouds. There, a little angel sat, wings folded, smiling down at them. “Lucy! My Lucy!” Eileen cried out so loudly in her sleep that she startled herself awake.
“Its time time for me to go,” she murmured, calm, without grief or despair.
She had always kept a tidy home, so she swept the floor one last time and shook out the woven rugs. Then she fetched the bundle she had long preparedthe one meant “for the end.” She laid everything out, even writing notes about what should go where. No one else would know. Strangers would rummage through her things otherwise. Or perhaps Hattie would comewho else would? She was the only one left now, both friend and sister. Few of her old companions remained in this world, and none would make the journey to see her, not with their aching bones. But Hattie was still spry. Shed come running.
Eileen took out a school notebook and pen and began to write.
“Forgive me, Hattie. You are the closest to me now. We have lived as sisters Do not tell a soul, I beg you, of my shame. It will not trouble me once Im gone, what people say, but still, I ask For years, I liedto everyone, even to you, my sisterabout my daughter. I said she was dutiful, that she did not visit because she was ill But the truth is, I do not know where she is. I believe she lives, but she left me long ago. And because I could not bear the shame, I spun tales for the world, even for you Do not wait for her. Do not search for her. Bury me beside Alfred, in the plot I kept. The cottage and all in it are yours. Perhaps your children will find use for something. I failed to raise my daughter right The shame of it is too much to bear. Let it go to the grave with me. I beg you, sister”
Eileen stoked the stove well, closed the flue, and lay down to sleep
Hattie had noticed the night beforeno light in her friends windowbut how could she have guessed?
“Did she leave any note?” asked the constable whod come to record the death of the lonely woman.
“Nothing Nothing at all. The loneliness was too much for her, thats all,” Hattie said, her fingers crumpling the farewell letter in her pocket.
* * *
Her Lucy had been a beauty, clever and bright. Her only child, her joy. Alfred, the village agronomist, a married man, had fallen for a simple farm girl. By the laws of the time, he should have lost his job, been expelled from the partybut somehow, he was only reprimanded, and then forgotten. He and his wife had no children, and here was this field-worker bearing his child out of wedlock! Some said the head of the collective farm had his own secrets, so he helped Alfred divorce quickly and marry Eileen. “No need to raise a fatherless child,” hed thundered. Alfreds former wife left for the city and, they said, found herself a townsman. But Eileen and Alfred lived in harmony, raising their daughterthough not for long, and not happily.
Horsesjust like in her dreams, but realbrought the tragedy. Alfred had been riding his bicycle home late from the harvest when, in the dark, a team of horses bolted into him. The driver was drunk, never saw him. If only someone had found him sooner! Eileen waited all night, eyes unblinking. They discovered him at dawn already gone. He might have lived, had anyone seen. Such was fate, they said.
Suitors came for Eileen in time But she paid them no mind. She lived only for her daughter. And oh, what joy Lucy brought! She excelled in her studies, shone in the village choir, even performed at county festivals. Everyone said she had a gift! And luck, tooshe got into the London Academy of Arts on her first try!
Eileen could not have been prouder. She scraped together what she could to visit, bringing food, longing for a glimpse of her girl. The first year, Lucy was glad to see her, even came home at every chance. But slowly, she grew distant. Then sharp-tongued. Nothing pleased her. Eileen arrived once, twiceno Lucy at the dorm. They said shed found a foreign beau. Soon, she was expelled. Old classmates whispered that the foreigner had led her to opium. Such things were unheard of in the villages then. The shame of it! Unbearable! A year after they last met, Lucy wrote: “Forget me. Do not look for me. I have my own life now.”
In the beet fields, Eileen bent low, each row stretching endlessly before her. She wished they were longer, so she need not straighten, need not meet anothers eyes. Only the tears fell, dripping onto the beets
Then one day, before Michaelmas, after the harvest, Eileen gathered her courage and told the women in the field: her Lucy had married. The week before, shed gone to London, and now she confessed: “I was at my daughters wedding! I kept it quiet, didnt want to tempt fate. Shes found a serious mana high-ranking official. His work takes him across the world. Ill not see much of her now. But Ill stand you all a drink!”
And she did! As was tradition, the women celebrated every occasion with a round. But Eileen outdid them all. Shed brought tinned fish from London, sausages theyd never tasted. “From my son-in-law,” she said. Of course, the news spread through the village. Now and then, Eileen would travel, supposedly to visit the capital. In truth, she wandered the streets, searching the crowds for a glimpse of her child
As she aged, the trips grew fewer. Letters came instead. And Eileen would journey to the post office in town to collect them, lest they go astray
“Sit, Hattie, let me read you Lucys latest,” shed say, glowing. “Shed visit, poor lamb, but shes unwell No children yet, but her husband dotes on her. So generouslook, he sends me parcels!” And shed fetch some treat from the icebox, leaving Hattie wide-eyed. Later, under the shop awning, Hattie would boast:
“I ate real sausages! The kind that melt in your mouth! We never get those here! And yogurtdo you know what that is? Eileen gave me some! And bananas! She always has bananas!” The women hung on every word.
Every year, the village read with envy in the county paper: a birthday greeting to Eileen from her daughter. Such tender words! What a devoted girl!
In time, no one cared whether Eileens daughter existed. The woman faded quietly into old age, alone, the truth never spoken
* * *
Hattie read the letter again and again. “Dear God,” she cursed herself silently. “I ate those treats, never guessing she bought them with her pensionjust so Id believe, just so Id tell the others If only shed told me the truth! It might have eased her heart Id never have”
“Well bury her without her daughter,” she told the villagers filing into the cottage. “Shes too ill to come down from her tenth-floor flat Her husbands abroad for work. Well manage without her.” And she grieved as
