Dear Diary,
Today I found myself recalling the relentless words of Grandmother Eleanor, who used to sit by the kitchen fire in our old cottage near York and chide me with the same old warning: Listen, love, if you drag a lad into the doorway, youll be tossed out faster than a cat on a hot tin roof. Weve already had enough shame to fill the parish registers. I never expected such severity from her, yet it has haunted me since I was a child, especially when I heard the rumors that Mum had been a bit of a wanderer in her own day.
Grandma would tell me, Five years you lived with Michael, no children, and then you went off to the seaside resort and brought back a boy. Shed say this without a hint of delicacy, as if the very idea of a woman traveling alone was scandalous. Even when I tried to point out that Mum had taken those trips three years before I was born, and that she was never alone but accompanied by her sisters daughter, Aunt Nadine, Grandmother would simply repeat that I was a troubled one.
Father, John, stared at Mother like a wolf, as if the only thing left for him was to keep hearing that his wife was the bad seed raising a child he never chose. The house was big, though, and when John married, he never left his mothers side; he felt obliged to look after his parents. The old woman never liked my stepmother, and she would tell my brother, Keep her out of the house. I cant stand the way she sits or walks. Shes not suitable for you. Yet he would stubbornly reply, Shes my sister, I love her, and thats that.
Our little niece, Lily, the one Grandma adored, was everything a proper English girl should be: clever, pretty, sweet as honey. By contrast, I felt like a wild hare, spitting venom and making everyones hearts race. When Lily would dart into the garden, calling me old gran, Grandmother would glance at me with a sour look, as if I were foreign blood. She didnt know where to seat Lily or what to feed her.
Darling, have some cucumbers, shed say.
I dont want them, theyre bitter, Id reply.
Exactly, Grandmother would agree, bitter like you, you lazy curse. Shed mutter something about feeding a starving child. Here, have some scones with jam, shed offer. Hard ones, Id complain.
Hard, yes, shed snap, as hard as stones.
Grandmother could never stop staring at her beloved greatgranddaughter, shooing away any girl who dared to get too close. There will be a house for Lily, my only grandchild, she promised, but I wont leave you to fend for yourself, dear. She warned me that if I didnt find a place, Id be left out in the cold.
So I decided to go to the city, to apply for a scholarship, and Grandmother gave me that same stern advice. I studied hard, with a spark in my eye, and I loved everything about town life: the ladies in fine dresses, the gentlemen in tweed, the bustling markets, and the promise of a brighter future. I wanted to show Mother the worlds beauty, but how could I take her there? Grandmother and Father would never let me, their old snakes clutching at my throat, sucking the very breath from my lungs. I could only come back to the village because of Mothers hold over me.
In the hall of the university dorm I befriended the matron, Mrs. Anna Anderson. She had a grown son living up north with two grandchildren. Shed call her daughterinlaw, my dear, and I thought she was a harmless old soul. Mrs. Anderson pretended that they were called to a parentteacher meeting, though I knew better. She said, Its been a year since you started, yet no one has visited your parents. Lets bring your mother to the city. Thats what we did. Father growled, Grandmother sneered, accusing me of flirting with boys instead of studying. Mother feared criticism, but the teachers praised her daughter, and she swelled with pride.
One evening, after a long tea with Mrs. Anderson and the other women, they all turned to me. Dont be shy, Emily, they urged. Were all here for you. I poured out my story: Ive always been top of my class, dreaming of city life, libraries, and a chance to escape the endless fields of my hometown. They laughed, recalling their own days of servitude, I spent my whole life as a maid, never having children beyond my own, and it didnt hurt me.
When I asked what I could do, Mrs. Anderson simply said, Move, Emily. Just go. I replied, Anna, Id love to study, but I need to support my family. Their whispers continued, filling the night with murmurs.
Back home, Mothers motherinlaw, a sharptongued woman, kept watching me like a hawk. My husband, Michael, a rough man, often stared at me with a wolfish grin. Hed drink whiskey, stumble home, and berate me. One night, after a bitter argument, he smashed a bottle against the wall, and I feared for my life. The police were called, and I finally gathered the courage to leave. I wrote a terse resignation, packed a few belongings, and walked out of that house that had never truly been mine, even after twentyfive years.
I remember the moment I stood on the threshold, my heart pounding: Mum, is that you? I whispered, halfhoping. Its me, love, my mother replied, tears in her eyes, Anna will help you. She begged, Will you ever come back? I shook my head, No, for your sake, you must have a better life.
I found work at a textile mill in Leeds, taking a position as an accountant, and was given a small room in a workers hostel. Life began to bloom anew. In the evenings, Lily and I would stroll along the river, laughing, while the townsfolk whispered about Michaels misdeeds. One day, a neighbour swore that Michael had tried to cheat a young girl, Kat, who now ruled the household with an iron fist.
The gossip spread: Mollys a witch, a snake in the grass, all because of that wretched Kat. They said I was the cause of all the trouble, and that my own niece Lily, the sweet little thing, was unlucky to be caught up in it. Yet Lily, bright as ever, never missed a chance to bring a smile to my face.
Now, as I sit here with pen in hand, I realize how far Ive comefrom the cold warnings of Grandmother Eleanor to the bustling streets of Leeds, from a girl shackled by family expectations to a woman who chose her own path. I still feel the ache of the old cottage, the smell of bitter cucumbers, and the echo of youll be tossed out. But I also feel the warmth of new friendships, the promise of a future unburdened by the past.
I hope tomorrow brings another step forward, and that Lily, wherever she is, knows she has always been my guiding star.
Emily ThompsonI will carry her memory like a lantern, lighting the path for the generations that follow.
