Ties
Eliza had been pacing up and down the lawn fretting about Isaac when she’d spotted Jules and Beulah walking towards the willow tree.
The older woman carried a rake in one hand and a spade in the other whilst Jules held some form of paper parcel with outstretched arms as if whatever it contained might bite.
Immediately Eliza felt a sense of alarm as if something terrible was about to happen.
Where was Isaac? Why had he not returned from his walk?
He knew how she hated storms. She watched as Jules let go of the parcel with one hand and tugged at Beulah’s sleeve, causing her to pause.
‘I’m not sure we should be doing this,’ Jules said.
Then don’t, Eliza willed. If only she could say it out loud. Maybe she could whisper it in Beulah’s ear.
She was meant to be attuned to matters beyond the normal limited view of existence.
But no, Eliza could see that it would be futile.
Beulah was far too wrapped up in concern for her daughter and any intuition would have left her; stress, worry, trying too hard to please, robbed you of the gift of sensing so much more.
The woman who Isaac had rightly warned her about took a step forward and parted the fronds, invading their sacred place.
Eliza ran across the upper lawn, down the steps, skirted the magnolia and slipped inside the canopy of the willow at the back.
Beulah was standing in the centre of the space looking around while Jules hovered at the edge, unwilling to take part in this strange human ritual.
And for a moment Eliza had hope that everything would be all right.
Whatever was about to take place would be abandoned.
The women would return to the cottage and all would be well.
Except it wasn’t. Eliza watched in horror as Beulah began to rake away layers of fallen leaves before reaching soft loam.
Then she picked up the spade, pushed it into the earth and began to dig.
Eliza needed Isaac here, by her side. He would know what to do.
Men always went missing just when you needed them most. Could he not sense that she was distressed?
That the remains of their beloved dogs, which they had so carefully laid to rest beneath this tree, were about to be revealed.
Those dogs had been more than companions, they had filled a void, had seemed to sense her every mood and always offered comfort.
She would not have them disturbed. These women were desecrating her space, Isaac’s space.
She could not allow it. She wafted her arms around, she rustled the weeping branches of the willow, she even brushed her hand against Jules’ face.
She didn’t want to alarm her but what else could she do?
Maybe the Beulah woman wouldn’t dig too deeply.
Maybe they would place whatever it was in a shallow hole and then Jules’s mother could go and leave them in peace once more.
But as she watched, as she moved closer to the darkness of the hole, something shifted in her memory and began to reveal itself and she knew that she would never feel peace in this place again.
Eliza had never run so fast. Her feet barely touched the ground.
It almost felt as if she were flying. If she hadn’t been so distraught it would have been a wonderful sensation.
As a girl, much to her mother’s dismay, she had lain on the grass in the orchard and watched the birds high in the sky, wishing she could join them.
‘I despair, Eliza,’ her mother used to say, ‘your frock will be ruined. I have a daughter who likes nothing better than to climb trees, roll around on the grass in an unseemly fashion with her hair completely awry and a son who spends all his time inside drawing and reading poetry. I really don’t know where I went wrong. I’ll have to go and lie down.’
Her mother had spent a lot of time lying down, Eliza thought.
What a waste when you could be running, jumping, skipping and feeling the wind and rain and sun on your face.
Sometimes she had escaped the confines of their walled garden and run down through the village of her youth, not with a view to counting her steps like Carrie – whosoever had heard of such a thing – or trying to become fitter or relieving stress, but for the pure joy of it and the heady sense of freedom it gave her.
She would laugh and wave to people as she passed by.
Now there was no freedom, there would be no more waving, no laughter, just grief.
‘Eliza!’
Isaac was striding across the field towards her, but she was determined not to stop. She would just keep running as if he didn’t exist.
‘Wait,’ he called as she raced past.
He put out a hand and grabbed at her arm, but couldn’t hold her properly.
She felt an improper sense of triumph that she had eluded him.
She had always been the faster runner. He would not be able to catch her now except she had been thrown off balance.
She stumbled and he caught up, grabbed hold of her.
‘Eliza, what is it? Where are you going?’
She tried to fight him, to wrench herself from his grasp, which became stronger the more she resisted.
‘Stop!’ he said, his voice raised so that the sheep looked up from their sheltering place beneath the hedge. ‘Tell me what is troubling you. Is it the storm? I went further than I intended, and I heard thunder in the distance. I was hurrying back as fast as I was able.’
She couldn’t bear to look at him. He took her firmly by the shoulders and suddenly all the fight went out of her. He looked back towards the house where lights now shone brightly from every window.
‘They have been digging,’ she said quietly, ‘beneath the willow tree.’
She felt his fingers tighten around her.
‘Why would they do that?’
He seemed to be speaking to the ominous sky as much as to her.
‘To bury a broken mirror,’ she replied. ‘Apparently it prevents bad luck if it is buried.’
Now she had the strength to look up at him.
‘And do you know what they found, Isaac?’
He didn’t reply, but she felt his fear. Be gentle, Eliza, a voice seemed to echo in her ear, but she could not. Compassion had left her.
‘They found bones. Not one of our beloved dogs, as I first believed.’
She paused, not knowing she could be so cruel.
‘They found the bones of a baby. Our baby. You see, I remember now.’
He released her and she took several steps backwards.
‘All of these years I’ve struggled to remember, knowing that there was something missing, something important, something vital to my wellbeing. How could you let me go through that, Isaac? How could you not have told me what it was I needed to know?’
His whole face contorted in anguish. She would not stroke those lines away.
‘I was trying to protect you from pain. We had been through so much.’
‘But you stopped me from all the memories of motherhood, that I had finally carried a baby to full term and, for a few precious months, nursed her. You denied me all of that joy as well as the pain. Did that not occur to you?’
‘We had struggled for so long to have a baby. To lose her felt like a punishment from God. It was the worst of times, and I nearly lost you, too. You were ill for weeks with the consumption, Eliza, barely conscious for much of that time, and when you began to recover you were so weak. Any setback would have been dangerous so it seemed to be a blessing that you had forgotten.’
‘But I dreamed about her. I thought she was the baby I had never had. That it was my mind playing tricks because of the longing. But she was real.’
Isaac let go of her and collapsed to his knees.
‘Yes, she was real. She was the most beautiful baby I’ve ever set eyes on and just like her mother.’
‘And you buried her beneath the willow tree?’
‘I wrapped her in the shawl you had knitted and laid her to rest here. I wanted her close to us in the garden where I used to carry her and point out the flowers and the birds and let her hear the sound of the wind rustling in the trees. I would show her the gleam of the sea in the distance and promised to take her in our little rowing boat one day.’
‘And the articles beneath the floor. You placed those there, too?’
He nodded, unable to look at her, lost in his memories, which she could tell were as painfully fresh now as hers.
‘Her little bonnet, apricot like her curls which were just beginning to blossom, the rattle which I bought even before she was born, and her name.’
‘Philly,’ Eliza whispered, ‘my precious Philly. But I didn’t recognise that as your handwriting, Isaac.’
He shook his head in shame.
‘I disguised it just in case you should ever find the little box.’
‘When you said that you had gifted that tea caddy to a friend I often wondered why. And her crib? What happened to that?’
‘I gave it away. I cleared out everything that would be a reminder. It has been such a burden, Eliza, to keep all of this from you.’
She should have felt sorry for him, but he was a different man to her now.
‘I didn’t think we had any secrets between us, Isaac. Everything has changed.’
He fell to his knees.
‘Please do not say that, Eliza. You know I am nothing without you. I was so afraid that you would pass over first. That I would be left alone.’
He was right. She was the strong one. She’d had to be. She had to be now.
‘I would not have gone without you, Isaac. But where is Philly’s spirit? It is not here in this house, in the garden, dancing on the wind or weaving in and out of the tree branches. I can’t feel it anywhere.’
He sobbed and still couldn’t look at her as he spoke.
‘Gone. I had left the window open by mistake, and I saw it leave her body. I tried to hold on to it, but it was so small and wriggly.’
He looked up and reached for her hands, pleading for compassion.
‘I saw her pass over, Eliza, and it was a bright smiling light. She was no longer in distress, I promise you. We can go to her now. Together. Leave all of this and be reunited with our daughter.’
And Eliza got a tantalising glimpse of release and new possibilities.
‘That would be wonderful, Isaac.’
And suddenly he looked like a young man again, as if all the strain had fallen away from him. She looked back towards the cottage.
‘You have done more than enough here, Eliza. It is time to go. Come, all we have to do is to let go of the ties that have been binding us here.’
Maybe he was right. Maybe now was the time. But not with her husband. She would go alone and be reunited with her daughter.