Empty Life of Daisy
Snow no longer seared Daisys bare feetshed stopped feeling them long ago. Only the wind stung now, lashing her face and hands and neck, slicing through her nightdress and gnawing at her chest. Her greying hair, heavy with sticking snow, hung down like tragic icicles. The blizzard stormed past, untiring, and Daisy was lost, wandering in her own garden, not knowing where she ended and the world began. She pressed her back against the frozen wooden fence, hugged herself, and muttered in a cracked voice,
Wish Id hurry up and die Take me, Lord, just take me
Surely she would have died that night, frozen stiff, if her neighbour Mary hadnt come outside to check on the cowconcerned it might have calved. She noticed Daisys door wide open, a triangle of yellow light spilled onto the snow.
Daisy! Are you out there in the dark, then?
No answer. Daisy just cowered in a corner of the yard, lost between trees and swirling snow, eyes screwed shut, repeating her crooked prayerdie, die, dielike she was possessed by the wind itself.
Mary rushed from her own garden, burst through Daisys gate.
Daisy, where are you? Daisy, you foolish old bird! Daisy!
Even if Daisy had wanted to answer, she no longer could. With an exhausted groan, she slipped down the fence and, mumbling something ancient, dropped her tangled grey head into her lap. She curled up, thin as a whisper, tears tracing frozen leathered cheeks. Then arms lifted her, tried to drag her insidebut she was stiff, heavy as ice, and would not be moved.
Oh, you daft old bat, just wait! Mary scolded, then dashed back to fetch her husband. It took both of them to pull Daisy into the cottage.
She took to her bed from that day. By morning, the young nurse, Helen, arrived, surprised to find the old woman, ninety-one and survived with nothing more than frostbitten feet. No fever, no cough, just blackened toes. Bending close, Helen offered,
You really ought to come with us to hospital, Daisy. Shall we phone for an ambulance?
Daisy gazed at the nurses dark hair, her wind-pink cheeks, and shook her head stubbornly.
No need, love. Let me lie here, Ill not trouble you. Spend your time with young folk. Theres nothing more for me. Off you go, dearie.
So Daisy stayed in bed for two weeks. And why had she wandered out, barefoot, that night in the storm? The neighbours called it old-fashioned folly, foolishness, but to Daisy it seemed something strangersomething fated. The night before, shed sat on her bed under the lazy golden lightbulb, unravelling a woollen sock. Her gnarled fingers worked with their own memory. But her mind had drifted far, her gaze blank on the cold wall, and the ghostly flicker of a smile haunted her thin lipsa smile for long-pressed memories.
Nothing bright had touched Daisys life since childhood. Only toil and lack, only a single rare flinch of happiness, a glint that vanished almost before it arrived.
His name was Henry.
Henry my Henry boy she whispered now, lips limp with age, her smile ghostly and secret.
Was it a dream or a memory that eveningthe sense that shed gone out to the field beyond the wood, past the end of Lady Ashcrofts estate? Daisy shielded her eyes from the sun with a knotted hand, stood waiting a long while. Waiting for him. Hed promised. Inside, fear and hope twined together. Through the shimmer of ripe wheat, she saw a mans shape, and she ran, shouted his name in giddy joy: Henry! Henry!
Daisy drifted, riding such memories into sleep. But that night, she awoke restive, twisting on her bed as the second half of night crept coldly in. She blinked through the windowsnow shrieked outside, glass rattling in the gale. She tossed aside the blanket, stretched empty arms, and, groping along the wall for support, shuffled to the door.
Ill be quick, just a minute
She nudged open the door, not thinking, barefoot, not herself at all. She peered into the white maze spilling over the village, then stretched out her hand again, as if reaching for something lost,
Henry
The ice burned straight through her; her insides cowed before it. Bare soles fumbled over the frozen steps, then she headed along the path, only looking straight ahead, toward the hedge, fighting the wind.
Henry! Im here, Henry!
She came to the fence, peered over, paced along it searching, and only then did she noticenumb toes, her feet clumsy blocks of stone. She hurried along the boundary, still smiling to herself,
Ill just check from that side
But the gate wasnt there, not any more. The garden spun round her. No matter where she turnedtree, hedge, snow up to her kneesshe was lost, hopelessly so. And thats how the neighbours found her.
After that, Mary called each day, brought soups, chatted, stoked the hearth. Helen, the nurse, would come to tend Daisys feet, daubing stinking ointment and checking fevers. Daisy did all that was asked, but her empty eyes tracked the ceiling when alone, ears pricked to the clicks and barks of the village: dogs barking, sledge runners crunching, schoolchildren skipping home, their voices echoing.
Most days, sleep claimed her gently. Shed open her eyes to dawn or find the night had stolen in again. Embers snapped in the fireplace. The roof dripped water, tentatively. God, when will I go? Let me go Daisys thoughts repeated, quiet but insistent.
From her earliest days, Daisy had known her fatea steep, muddy hillside, roots and thorns, no path up, only down. You tumbled through life, bruised by stones and branches, and no one reached a hand, no one offered rescue, no way back to the unreachable sun. Everyone lived that way, and shed never expected different. Life was a long, wearying collapse. Best to clench your teeth and stay silent.
That year, spring came late and mean. It brought not warmth, but brittle winds and endless rain, turning the roads to smears of impassable mud. The snow relented only by May, exposing cold earth, yellow-brown and old as dishwater rags. The trees put out no leaves, gardens stood bald, blackened and burnt. Daisy, hiding grey curls beneath a threadbare scarf, trudged the sticky lane back from the village well. Buckets swung from her yoke, splashing icy water onto her cracked, bare feet. Across the street, hunched men smoked by a collapsing fence, talking in low tones, peeking her way, but Daisy passed without looking up. Shed long learned to be a shadow, part of the colourless world.
Daisy! Mrs. Agatha shouted, voice sharp as vinegara farmworker, once her partner in servitude under Lady Ashcroft. Hurry to the shop! Tell Tom to send the finest muslin for Miss. With flowers, mind! Were laying supper for town guestsgo, chop-chop! And grab some blossoms, too!
Daisy set her buckets gently on the step, careful with every drop, wiped her hands on her old apron, and headed off, wordless. She was twenty-two but felt life was already finished, not reaching her even in passing. At ten, after her parents died, the sharp-tongued, sparrow-thin Lady Ashcroft had taken her in for a crust and a bed, nothing more. Daisy grew up lean and bruised, wide-eyed and jumpy, alarmed by every click and shout. Now she was tall, sturdy, silenta woman with battered hands and lowered gaze, all light long since faded.
She worked dawn to dusk, bones aching, ears ringing, legs heavy as wet clay. Shed split logs under thorny autumn rain, milked the goat in a frosted hut, pressed heavy clay for the oven, scrubbed in icy water till her hands numbed to stumps. She weeded from sun-up, the scent of currants and raspberries heady as wine, but not a single berryLady Ashcroft counted every last one; for any missing, Daisyd get a whipping with nettles, spat at, Not for you, scrounger! So Daisy learned not to look, just pulled the weeds, teeth on edge to keep from crying, working only for peacemaybe Lady would go soft and leave her be for half an hour. The ribbon of Daisys back flickered between green shadows till sundown, with fat berries dangling so low she could taste their perfume, but she endured.
Saturdays meant lighting the old bathhouse, lugging tubs of water from the river, stoking the heater till the air choked and spots flickered before her eyes. Then, in clouds of steam, Daisy would scrub Lady Ashcrofts swollen, molten back with a bristly brush until her own vision faded and nausea rose. The old woman would rotate, offering shoulder after shoulder, always harder, and dont dawdle! Daisy scraped and dried her, struggled into clean shifts, and, bracing herself, led Lady home. Daisys head would thrum and her stomach roll. Sometimes Lady Ashcroft pinched or snapped at her, but occasionallyrare, fleetingshe patted Daisys cheek, callused palm hot and heavy, Good workhorse, you are. Daisy was used to this lifeshe knew nothing else, wanted nothing else; insult rolled off like water. A thick, invisible wall separated her from the worldmade from tiredness, indifference, and a hope quietly buried long ago. Daisy didnt mind what she wore, who spoke to her, or what ribbons or rags Lady handed down at Christmas. She sat out the gossiping girls gatherings, ignored boys pinches and quiet smiles. She never wasted a second, and Lady grew unable to go a day without her.
One afternoon, as Daisy dusted the tall mirror, stretched slim and deft on tiptoes, Lady Ashcroft watched her knowingly.
Daisy, perhaps Ill marry you off, howd you feel about that?
Daisy descended, wrung out the cloth, and shrugged.
As you wish, my lady.
Or would you rather grow into an old maid?
Makes no odds to me.
Just so! Lady Ashcroft gave a peremptory pat. Old maids are easier by far. No children howling and getting underfoot. With those hips youd haul out ten brats! Lucky you, not like my Pollys narrow ones.
She tried to cross herself, thinking of her daughter, but stopped short as Pollys call came. The matter was delayed for another day.
The whole conversation barely twitched Daisys soul. It slept heavy and docile. Daisy, healthy and strong, asked nothing for herself. Desire didnt trouble her, even as others her age yearned for something, anything. That wall stayed firm, separating her from the restand behind it, Daisy felt nothing very much, just calm and quiet. The village lads and men grew used to her stony beauty and workmans walk; soon no one nursed anything like a fantasy. Old groom Walter once said, Daisys beautys not for men, I reckon. Shes for the Lord. And maybe that wouldve stayed trueexcept one sunny coincidence nudged her out, letting her peek, quick as a breath, into the life of people.
It was at the start of June, when at last the days swelled with heat and the meadow grass grew lush, that the household made ready for important guests. The young Miss, all pale nerves and fine clothes, was expecting a suitor from London. Daisy was ordered to the meadow for armloads of wildflowers. She was tiptoeing through the slick grass, thatch of hair damp, when a stranger blocked the path. He wore a smart checked vest, smart boots bright even in dull weather, and pomaded blond hair with a glint of arrogance in his eye. It was Henry, a groom from the next estate, come with the young London gent. He spread his feet and stared bold as could be, like a horse trader at market.
All right there, pretty Daisy? he smirked, eyes lazy, following her shape, strong arms suntanned against her faded blouse.
Daisy looked down, made to skirt past, but he sidestepped too, blocking her way.
What do you want? she muttered, eyes still on the grass.
Whats your name then?
He who needs to know, knows itnone of your business, she replied, walking round him like a milestone in the lane.
Henry was smitten. He started coming every week with the London visitor. Daisy heard his bullish voice in the yard, felt his sticky gaze as she whitewashed the walls or scoured endless pots. He appeared everywhereby the well, by the barn door, at the back steps. He tossed teasing, dirty jokes, tried pinching her, but she simply shrugged him off, silent as stone. One time in the dark storehouse, when she reached for flour, he leapt out, clutching her tight against sacks, but Daisy, animal and ancient, pushed him off so hard he crashed into the wall, head thudding. She looked down at him coolly, more curious than afraid,
Thatll teach you
She neatened her scarf, dusted her skirt, and left him, half-dazed in a musty heap. Henry sat rubbing his neck, startled into a new kind of fascination. He was used to coy girls falling over him, but this was something elsebig, quiet, unreadable Daisy was stronger than hed thought.
As for Daisy, she couldnt say she was indifferentbut nor was it the flutter of a girls fancy. What she felt was unfamiliar and unshaped. She never thought of Henry in words, he was more a private shift inside her, a sudden slant of light.
She began to smile more. Something inside ached, hungry and sweet. She would wake at dawn just to watch the fog rise along the fields, milk the cow, and linger over the sunrise, dew shining in the grass. She wanted to sink into that green world and laugh, just because she could. She didnt know what she wantedonly to be alive. Then she remembered she ought to work, and hurried back to task. May drifted by this way.
Henrys efforts got nowherea kiss taken by force in the larder, repaid with a hard slap that made him rethinkbut his stubbornness left a mark. Once, as she emptied water pails and saw him coming to help, she gave him, very quickly, a sly half-smile. Another time, she stared long from the window as he teased the horses in the yard. These moments meant little, perhaps, but Henrys hope brightened. Yet it wouldnt last.
One day, Henry stepped in to shield a boy caught stealing cabbages in the gentrys fields. Lady Ashcroft ordered the head groom to flog the child. Daisy, watching, trembled all over. She ran to intervene, to take the blows herselfshoved for her trouble. So she snatched up a stick to defend the boy from behind, and the crowd froze. Daisy crept closer, but Henry dashed in, snatched the whip away, and, with a wild swing, caught the head groom on the chin.
Get out! he roared. Ill tell Lady myself. Off with you!
Women rushed to the sobbing lad, trying to soothe him, asking his name.
My mum died yesterday She died, the boy whimpered.
At that, Daisy clamped both hands to her mouth, as if memories slammed into herthe heavy brick of childhood loss. She saw herself in that boy. Tearing open her blouse, breaking her cross necklace, she slipped away to her room and flung herself face down on her narrow bed, sobbing, arms clamped around the mattress. She cried for herself, for her feebleness and her hunger for something unnamed, unknowable.
Henry came after her. He crept through the creaky door, settled heavily on the edge of the bed, and said little. Instead, he put an awkward arm round her bony shoulders. And she, for the first time, did not push him away. She leaned into him, feeling his young solidity, and froze, listening to the rhythm of his breathing. At last, she whispered,
Whats out there, beyond the woods? What then?
London, Henry replied, puzzled by her question. Big city. Tall houses, shops and churches.
And farther still?
More towns. Theres a railway. And after that, the sea, they say. Quite a way off, like.
Daisy was silent. Shed never seen the sea. Shed feared even to swim the river. Now, the urge burnedshe wanted to see it, to run from this place where shed been beaten and worked till her hands bled, where they called her a beast and forgot her name. She wanted to be a person. Turning to Henry, she grasped his face in her cracked hands, looked right into his eyesperhaps for the only time ever.
Will you take me? Marry me?
Henry faltered. He was a bragger, more talk than act, not ready for such a leap. He muttered, looked away, said it would have to wait, money needed, so on. But Daisy had already set her heart loosesomething inside was unstoppable now, fearless, full of wild will. She raised him to her, kissed his lips, said shed do anything, be anyone, just to be with him, to leavedidnt care for the worlds judgement. That night, her copper cross fell unseen to the floorshe didnt search for it. So be it, she said calmly, with strange, solemn finality.
Henry came twice more. They met in secrethayloft, cellar, bramble thicket. Daisy blossomed; she walked lighter, daring, even pretty again. Her cheeks coloured, her old smile, clumsy with inexperience, struggled onto her lips.
Soon, it ended. The Misss wedding passed in a blur of dancing, drunken shouts, accordion music, and then the young squire carried her back to London. Henry, of course, was gone too. No warningDaisy heard by chance from the cook: Hes off with his master, Daisy. Gone with the wind, youll not see him now.
She waited anyway. Every evening she took to the lane, staring down the rutted way to the woods. Shed wait there for hours, arms folded, watching for movement until dusk drowned the world and the first stars rocked into place. She stopped eating, stopped sleeping. Her beautiful, sharp face grew transparent, eyes sunk in deep, feverish brights. Agatha scolded, shoved her, called her a fool, flung bowls at her, but Daisy only smiled her strange, beatific smile. Hed come. Of course he would. She could feel it in her bones.
Summer passed slow and hot, all thunder and restless rain. Then came autumngrey, saturated, fog forever and leaves turning black in the gutters. Daisy took to watching the far hallows where the trees pricked the sky. She believed if she waited, truly waited, Henry would return. She asked no one and, when told otherwise, simply smiled. She knew: it was only some wicked force keeping Henry from her; surely, if she wanted those days so much, so must he. Who wouldnt wish for happiness? She believed patience was all that was needed.
One cold October afternoon, when the fields stretched black and the trees rattled bare, Daisy, digging in her little plot, suddenly lifted her head. There, among the autumn weeds, far at the woods edge, stood a man. Her heart missed a beat. Henry? She ran, stumbling with excitement, arms wide, crying out until her voice broke,
Wait! Please wait!
The man didnt turn. Daisy came to the swollen brook, traced the bank in confusionshe couldnt swim, and he was far on the other side. She climbed a wobbly log, peered between her hands at the retreating back. She didnt dare weepif she blinked, he might vanish. Already, his gold head, his white shirt, blurred into a single shape, shrinking, flickering. Daisy stretched to her full height, desperately reaching for himbut the figure melted into green, endless meadow. Nothing left. Just the field.
A peasant woman came along, trimming raspberry bushes. She shook her head,
What are you sitting here for then, eh? Who you runnin after?
That was Henry, Daisy said, not turning.
Which Henrys that?
The groomfrom Misss suitors estate, years back.
From next village, you mean? Well, really! Why him?
Im waiting for him.
What for? the woman sighed. Hes got no time. I heard he married long ago, before the war. Lives in Badgers Holt, same as ever.
Dont lie, Daisy said quietly, a dull wildness sharpening her voiceenough to make the other woman flinch.
Im not lying! Good grief! she spat. My sisters mans seen him, poor blokes a cripple now, cart accident. Got a load of kiddies too. Barely getting by, awful hard. Might be dead for all I know. Why are you laughing?
Ha-ha-ha! Daisy blurted, rocking on the wet ground. Her hair wild, skirt twisted, knees pale in sunlight. The laughter was hard, tearing, not meant for anyone living.
Mad thing! scolded the other, crossing herself with worry. Mans likely in the churchyard by now and shes carrying onGod have mercy.
Hes young, handsome, strong, Daisy pointed to her own chest, mad light ricocheting in her gaze. And Im his wife, see. Only no babies yet, thats all.
Mad? Hes nearly fifty now, silly! Bygone days! The woman hauled Daisy to her feet. Get inside, you silly cow.
But Daisy was laughing, giggling at the hedge. Why did you lie? Eh? Why?
Poor lost woman, thought the neighbour, backing away. May Christ pity her, and she scurried off, crossing herself, as Daisy sat alone on the muddy ground.
From that afternoon, everyone in the village called her blessed and pitied her openly. Daisy didnt cry or yearn any more, not with passion; she worked her strip of earth in silent, stubborn, tightening motions, as if to bury the pain still, tight in her chest. In free moments, shed perch on the steps, looking out to the woods where, she believed, the sea lay hidden. Her gaze was bottomless, empty; people crossed themselves, gave her wide berth.
Before age fully folded her over, even on the heady midsummer days, when dahlias and limes thickened the air, Daisy donned a clean washed blouse, brushed out her pailing hair, and wandered into the meadow, staring and staring toward that thin blue line where woodland met the sky. Shed stand immobile, not yet ugly but no longer lovely, and in her posture there was something stone age, patient, as though shed been waiting centuries in the earths memory. If, out of mercy or nosiness, someone asked who she waited for, she said quietly, with a white smile
My happiness. Its over there, past the woods. Henrys coming today.
Daft, poor soul, theyd whisper.
Only the treetops groaned with the wind, only the river rolled slow and brown, and far, far away, beyond fields and towns and all that Daisy knew, the sea churneda mystery calling her with a name, and nothing more.
The door of her cottage squeaked. Mary came in to stoke the fire. Daisy looked up with eyes that had lost all colour.
Well, how are your feet? Mary asked.
Daisy mumbled something low, indistinct. Mary came closer.
Whats that, love? I didnt catch.
Wish Id hurry up and die. No, hes not coming anymore. Only thing left is to dieMary sank into the lumpy chair beside Daisys bed and laid her rough hand over the old womans trembling one. For a moment, the fires glow flickered uncertainly between them, drawing the walls inward and making the room feel close and timeless, suspended in a hush deeper than any sleep.
Outside, the wind battered the eaves, but within the cottage, warmth wrapped round Daisys brittle bones, and Marys gentle weight on her palm steadied the trembling fingers. The voices of the villagescolding, pitying, prayingdrifted away. In the hush, Daisy felt the ache inside her become light and thin, stretched almost to breaking.
Rest now, Daisy, Mary said softly. Youve waited long enough.
Daisy didnt answer. She stared at the ceiling, her lips moving without sound: Henry, my Henry But even the hope that had haunted her for a lifetime felt distant now, like the echo of a bell rung far across water. Daisy closed her eyes and exhaledslow, untroubled, less like a sigh than a letting go.
In her mind, she was young again, sunlight tumbling through tall grass, Henrys laughter rippling ahead, just beyond her reach. The meadow was endless, the wheat gold as honey, wind warm on her cheek. She ran, lighter with every step, the old pain and wanting falling away, until she wasnt running to anyone anymore, but simply runningher own breath, her own life, a wide world opening before her, bright and fathomless.
Mary stroked her hand and watched as Daisys furrowed brow smoothed, as her lips curved at the edgesnot into madness, but into peace. At last, Daisy slept, soft as new leaves, as quiet as rain in spring.
The village kept onchildren played in muddy lanes, doors opened and closed, fields greened once more. When word came that Daisy had slipped away, folks paused, hats lowered or hands pressed to hearts, and remembered her not just as the madwoman by the hedge, but as someone who had loved fiercely, even if the world never gave her cause.
In early summer, when the wildflowers spilled from ditches and the sky stretched high and blue, Mary found herself wandering the meadow. For a moment, she thought she saw a shape, far off, a tangled figure striding where grass met treesunhurried, arms swinging, laughing into the wind. There was no one, only the suns shimmer, only the wild hum of bees. But Mary wiped her eyes, and in the hush that followed, she felt sure that Daisy, at last, had crossed that field, out past the woodsher happiness her own, the rest of the world turning gently onward, summer after summer, beneath the endless sky.
