TWO SISTERS
Once upon a time, there were two sisters. The elder, Hannah, was beautiful, successful, and wealthy. The younger, Elsie, was a hopeless drunk. By the time this story takes place, any mention of beauty was long past: at thirty-two, Elsie looked more like an old crone than a young woman. She was painfully thin, her face swollen and bluish so far that her eyes were nearly invisible, her hair so dull and tangled, it hadnt seen shampoo or a brush in ages.
You couldnt blame Hannah: shed spent a fair bit of time and money trying to pull her sister out of that bog of alcoholismsending her to expensive clinics, trying every miracle worker and quack she could find. It was useless. Hannah had bought Elsie a cosy little flat, though wisely kept the deeds in her own name so her sister couldnt sell it for booze. Half a year later, the only thing left in the flat was a filthy mattress, where Elsie was lying, close to death, when Hannah arrived to say goodbye before moving abroad for good.
By then, Elsie could no longer speak. She barely managed to crack open her eyelids and see, through the muck-stained window, the blurry outline of her sister. Empty bottles were scattered about, left by local drunks whod happily polished off their contents with her.
Hannah couldnt just abandon her sister. Shed never live it down; her conscience would eat her alive. She decided, for her own sense of peace, to take Elsie to their aunts cottage in the countryside. The sisters scarcely knew Auntie Dorothyonly that their late mothers sister had visited them years before, always arriving with rural treats: a jar of homemade jam, fragrant red apples, bundles of dried mushrooms.
Hannah barely remembered the name of the village but figured if she hadnt been summoned to a funeral, Aunt Dorothy must still be alive. She enlisted a friends help, wrapped Elsie carefully in a blanket, settled her in the backseat, and off they drove to Tansy Hollow. The village was easy enough to findnot much more than four cottages nestled together. They located Aunt Dorothys house, gently set Elsie on the old brass bed, and Hannah placed some pounds on the table. Shes dying, Aunt Dorothy, and I must be off. Heres money for the burialperhaps Ill return one day, if only to find her grave. This should cover the headstone and fence. She handed over the key to Elsies flat as wellwho else could she trust with it? Declining a cuppa, she hurried away.
Aunt Dorothy, a spry and solitary woman of sixty-eight, unwrapped Elsie to check she was still breathing, then set the kettle on. While the water boiled, she fetched herbs from her linen bags, clipped some berries, steeped the mixture, and left it to infuse under a tightly shut lid. For the next three days, she dosed Elsie with strong herbal teas mixed with honey, tipping them painstakingly into her mouth with a teaspoon every half houreven in the dead of night. By the fourth day, she added in fresh milk from her goat, Matilda. Still one spoonful at a time. Soon came vegetable broths and chicken soup, lovingly made from her own hensthere were only seven, but two went into making a good, hearty broth for the ailing niece.
It took a month before Elsie could sit up by herself in bed. Dorothy would bundle her up in a woollen shawl and a thick blanket, then wheel her out to the little bathhouse behind the cottage (it was winter by then). There, Aunt Dorothy washed her with more herbal infusions and afterwards combed her hair, which gradually began to smell of summer meadows. The lonely old aunt poured all her unused love and warmth into her niece, nursing Elsie back to a fragile sort of lifeone teaspoonful of herbal remedy at a time, loaded with the comfort of a gentle soul.
Expensive clinics and dubious miracle workers had failed to save her, but her own aunt succeeded. Elsie survived. She regained her strength thanks to sweet, clover-scented milk from Matilda, the gentle omelettes made with the freshest eggs each morning. Her hair grew glossy and soft, and soon a rosy blush appeared on her cheeks. They realised, to their surprise, that underneath it all she was a beauty, with striking blue eyes.
Slowly, Elsie began to help around the house and the barn. She learned to milk Matilda, collected fresh eggs every morning. They cooked simple meals, nearly all from their garden and larder. Having come back from the brink, Elsie never thought about her old life. She far preferred this new onea clean slate. She noticed how the sunrise painted the sky each morning, how the white clouds chased one another overhead, how the flowers blossomed come spring. Down by the riverside, a duck paraded her ducklings, and Elsie would take bread to feed them. Soon, she discovered a hidden talent: Dorothy taught her to crochet, and soon Elsie progressed from doilies to intricate, plush shawls. On a trip to town, they bought bundles of wool, and Elsie began making stunning, one-of-a-kind shawls; soon, orders started pouring in for her handiwork.
Within three years, the once-fragile beauty had saved enough to move her beloved aunt out of sleepy Tansy Hollow to a peaceful seaside town. Pooling Dorothys savings and the money from her unique shawl sales, Elsie bought them a sweet little home with a small garden near the shore. Each morning, Matilda the goatwith special transport paid for by Hannahwould pluck an apple from the lowest branch of the apple tree, chew it slowly, and watch the sea with quiet contemplation. Not far away, in the warm waters near the beach, Dorothy and Elsie would swim together, laughing.
And do you know the most remarkable thing about this tale? It is absolutely true.
