Lova and Esther took the path that snaked past the cottages, an old post office, Mr Brambley's butcher shop and the market to get to the Hamill farm house which was made of gray, rich stones and had a wide lawn and a well kept herb garden. The house was surrounded by a painted fence, and beyond the house was the farm stretching as far as her eyes could see. The farm accommodated a barn for the cows and a stable for the healthy mare and groom they possessed.
On the edge, the pine forest stood tall, ancient and sentient. A darker green, turning grayer with Winter.
Lova stepped inside the barn and one by one, ushered the cows outside. One of the young ones trotted close to Esther, making her start back, but Lova was quick to lead it aside. Esther realized they had not spoken a word since they stepped out from the kitchen backdoor.
"I forgot what it was like to live here,"She said, as she followed Lova and her herd of cows up the hill behind the farm. The bells hanging around their necks jingled pleasantly.
Lova glanced back. "A decade is a long time after all."
"Where are you from, Lova?"
"My Grandparents moved from Sweden to this country years ago. We lived in the South and had quite a lovely farm there. But after a rift with my uncle, papa wanted to come up here and start again."
"Oh, I see."
As if sensing the question floating in Esther's mind, Lova added, "I met Johnny on a fishing trip. Papa and he got along very well, and I liked how quiet he was. I started going fishing on my own to see him. And that was all..." Lova's plump cheek gained a soft flush of color that made Esther smile despite herself.
"That sounds just right."
While Lova looked after the cows feeding off the tufts of grass that would soon freeze, Esther found herself wandering towards the edge of the woods. Spangles of sunshine broke through the clouds but the woods remained shadowed. As they grew deep, the darkness turned thick and bluish. The air was untouched and cold enough to send a chill down her spine. And yet, she did not turn back. She put her palm on the rough bark of a trunk and felt something akin to familiarity.
These were the woods of her childhood where she'd colored her lips with berries, crowned her hair with flowers, picked wriggling worms out of rich, dark earth and held them up in sunshine to admire the glisten of their dainty skins. She had kissed a boy here. She had gotten lost and found herself here. She was conceived here.
Esther stepped further inside. Her presence did little to break the silence that seemed ancient and sacred. Now and then, a twig cracked beneath her boots. Dry branches of trees brushed against each other and rustled quietly. She recalled the lake that was supposed to be a little distance away, where swans floated, undisturbed. It would soon freeze and turn into a mirror, reflecting the gray, dull skies.
When a gust passed through the boughs, letting sunshine seep in for one moment, Esther's gaze drew to a flicker of a shadow up ahead. It passed by in a grayish white blur which she could not make out. Then the sunshine was gone and the blue gloom closed up the space again. Esther stared, her eyes re-adjusting to the darkness slowly.
It was Lova's voice that made her turn back from the woods.
Lova stood with her hands fisted into the pockets of her white apron. Her head was tilted high and she was singing, or rather, calling out. Esther could not make out the words but the voice that rose from Lova's throat was at once high pitched, loud and hauntingly beautiful. A song perfected by centuries of women- sad, cheerful, lonely, in love- herding their cattle up on the misty hills where grass grew lush and wildflowers bloomed. A sound that tugged at the loneliness in her.
The cows dotted the landscape, chewing languidly. Their eyes empty and long lashed, now grew alert.With their bells tinkling, the cows responded by slowly drawing closer. They gathered around Lova, their ears flicking, the tails swaying. When all had arrived, Lova patted the head of a calf and then, as if remembering, she looked around. Her gaze came to rest on Esther who was standing still, watching her.
Lova waved.
Esther waved back and blinked away the tear that had risen in her eyes.
When Esther returned home, she saw Bethany sitting in a chair, holding a swaddled baby in her arms. Two women, one young, with a scarf wrapped around her head and another, elderly, in a flower printed dress, sat on the sofa. There were gifts laid out on the coffee table. A box of chocolates wrapped in a shimmering gift paper. A basket full of oranges and pears. The scent of milk, baby powder and burnt wood hung in the air.
"Oh, Esther you're back,"Bethany said, gesturing her to come closer. "I delivered this little one last night. Gave quite some trouble to her mother. Isn't she a pretty one?"
Esther glanced at the faces that had turned to look at her, waiting for her reaction. The new mother was beaming, something happy and glowing right beneath her skin. It seeped out into the air, golden and joyful, and stabbed Esther in her gut.
"I don't like children,"she said, turning her gaze away sharply.
A silence fell. Stony and heavy.
The two women looked away uneasily, while Bethany ignored the words altogether and kept playing with the baby, holding her small fingers in her wrinkled ones.
"You don't appreciate the miracle of birth,"Bethany said. "Or you wouldn't have chosen to go off to that city in the first place. You would've been the one to bring this girl into the world."
"I made my choices."
"Yes, I see that. But you don't look too happy with those."
"What are you implying, Grandma?"
Esther and Bethany stared at each other, the gray eyes matching in color as well stubbornness.
Bethany stood up and carefully deposited the baby in her mother's arms. The two women rose and left, casting askance looks towards Esther.
"Don't you know how you must behave in this house?" Bethany glared at her, her thin hands clutched by her side, the jaw set hard and unyielding. "All you had to do was come and hold that child."
"I don't want to hold anyone's child."
"Why not? What on earth is the matter with you?"
"Nothing."
"Is this why you still don't have a child? No wonder Peter fights with you." Bethany rubbed her forehead with exasperation. "You're just like your mother."
"How would I know? She was dead before I learnt what 'Mother' meant."
"Your mother-- my daughter died giving birth to you, do you understand?"
"It was my fault, yes."
Esther turned and hurried up the staircase, closing the door once she got into her room. Inside, she slumped on the bed. Anger burnt in her eyes, in the back of her throat. Old and acrid. Sharp. Unpleasant. Slowly though, it seeped away, leaving the familiar void. She turned on her back and pressed her palm to her soft, empty belly.
Somewhere in the city graveyard, Dorothy was sleeping in the dark, cold soil. A small bluish baby that fit the cup of her hands. She was born still, with a pinched face, wisps of red hair and a mongolian mark on her shoulder. The mark resembled a butterfly.
Esther didn't get to hold her. She was never going to.
That night, clouds gathered over the sky, taking away the last traces of warmth. It snowed gently. Esther stepped outside with a lantern in her hand. The flame inside shivered. She watched the flakes that swirled and eddied in the glow of the lantern, then started walking down the gravel path. At the gate though, her feet froze.
There was a thick rope clutched in her other hand and sleeping pills ready in her pocket. She had come this far, to finish where she had started. And yet, she could not. It was hard to live, it was harder to die.
"I'm so scared,"she said to the silence of the world. As if in response, a howl broke through the quiet. Her nape prickled with goosebumps. Stretched and broken, the howl was as haunting as Lova's song, and her own cries.
The flame disappeared.
Blinded to the night, Esther stepped back and hurried inside, her heart beating uneasily.
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