This day, Emily would never forget. She had never felt such shame and bitterness. The lecherous stranger had already left her, disappearing into the dense thickets of sumac, and she couldn’t pull herself together. She lay awkwardly in the tall grass, her dress hiked up and torn in places. She couldn’t feel her arms or legs, her head felt like cotton, her cheeks burned with fire, and her lips were bitten to blood. The world around her seemed to lose its colors, simply fading away.
How long Emily lay in the thick grass, she didn’t know. It was as if she snapped out of it, feeling a cool breeze from the creek and noticing dusk slowly settling over the small town. Only then did Emily finally sit up, groping through the grass for her headscarf.
She sat, leaning against a stump, her body barely obeying her. She began brushing debris and dry grass off her headscarf, slowly put it back on, and tucked in stray strands of hair. Standing up, swaying slightly, she trudged home.
On both sides of the clearing, fragrant patches of St. John’s wort, yarrow, marigolds, and daisies spread out. To the right of the wide clearing, a dense forest whispered its secrets with century-old pines and firs, while to the left stretched a broad meadow, beyond which lay their field. The family lived modestly.
Her mother and father had to work several acres of land each year to harvest enough to feed their four children. Besides Emily, Mary and John had three younger daughters. Her father desperately wanted a son, so with each new girl born, he grew angrier at his wife.
Sometimes, he’d even beat her when he came home drunk. Emily caught it, too. Her angry father could easily lash her with a wide belt and its iron buckle for even the smallest misstep.
Emily feared her father, so she tried to quietly and silently follow all his orders. On that fateful day, she went to the woods to gather mushrooms, as she often did. In a few hours, Emily filled her basket with chanterelles and morels.
She was about to head home, reaching the clearing. She couldn’t help but admire the wildflowers carpeting the ground beneath her feet. Suddenly, she heard a rustle and the crack of a branch.
Turning her head, she saw a tall, unfamiliar guy emerging from the woods, walking toward her. A bit scared, Emily quickened her pace, but the stranger followed her. He struck up a conversation and seemed friendly enough.
Emily stole glances at his handsome features, his warm brown eyes, and his bright white smile. Together, they walked to a small spring that led to the meadow.
The more the stranger talked, the more uneasy Emily felt. “Let me carry your basket; it must be heavy with all those mushrooms,” he said playfully.
“No, thanks, it’s not heavy at all. I’m used to carrying stuff,” Emily brushed him off.
“You’re stubborn. I like that,” the young man said with an unsettling smirk.
“Who are you, anyway? What’s your name?” Emily asked.
“Know too much, and you’ll age fast,” he laughed, flashing his white teeth again. “What’s your name, pretty girl?”
“Not telling,” Emily replied defiantly.
The stranger was clearly trying to charm the naive young girl, and they had already wandered far from the woods. He barely spoke about himself but bragged about the great haul of mushrooms he’d gathered this year. He also mentioned that hunting hadn’t gone well.
When Emily realized it, they were far from the field where her parents were working. “Who are you, really?” she asked again, wary. “Why are you following me? Go home and stop entertaining me with your jokes.”
“You think I’m just walking here for fun?” the stranger chuckled. “I want what’s mine, and I’m not leaving until I get it.”
Emily’s heart raced with fear. “What do you mean? Get away from me!” she stammered, backing away.
But it was no use. The guy lunged at her, roughly shoving her to the grass.
Their strengths were unequal. Emily screamed, but he slapped her hard several times and hissed, “Keep screaming, and it’ll be worse.”
His eyes were bloodshot, his cheeks flushed. He gripped the helpless girl tightly. When it was over, the stranger casually got dressed and walked away, leaving poor Emily lying in the grass.
Back home, Emily told no one what had happened. Her father was too cruel. He wouldn’t understand or pity her. He’d only beat her half to death, just as he beat her mother nearly every day. He spared neither his eldest daughter nor her younger sisters.
The whole way home, Emily wept bitterly over failing to preserve her honor. She entered the yard and immediately started chores, feeding the livestock and scattering feed for the chickens.
It was already dark outside. She went through her daily tasks as usual. Her youngest sister, Abigail, trailed after her, pestering her with questions about why she’d been in the woods so long.
“Where were you all this time?” ten-year-old Abby asked. “The pigs are squealing, the cows are going crazy with hunger. I had to watch Ellie, too, since Mom and Dad are still in the field.”
“And Maggie spilled the milk. Now the floor needs cleaning, and I don’t even know how to do it right.”
“Leave me alone, I’m busy!” Emily snapped, tossing slop to the pigs.
“I’m tired from dealing with Ellie and Maggie all day, and you were gone forever!” Abigail went on.
“I said, go away!” Emily shouted. Abby froze, stunned, since Emily was usually calm and quietly listened to her complaints.
After feeding the animals, Emily went inside. Sighing, she wet a rag and scrubbed the floor, cleaning up the dried milk.
Then she picked up her youngest sister, Elizabeth, fed her, and set a basin of water on the stove. She heated it, bathed her sister, and washed herself. Her parents were still working in the field.
On such days, they had to harvest quickly before the crops fell, so her mother and father stayed out until morning. After putting her sisters to bed, Emily entered her tiny room. There was an iron bed with springs, a small table wedged beside it, and a little nightstand where she kept her simple belongings: two summer dresses, one warm one, some tights, and her favorite headscarves—that was all she owned.
Only here, with the door tightly shut, did Emily let her tears flow. She buried her face in her pillow and sobbed silently, her shoulders shaking. She felt bitter and ashamed, unable to tell anyone in the world about her grief and disgrace.
Her mother was always busy and wouldn’t have helped. She didn’t have close friends either, since their family was poor. When the fieldwork season ended, things got easier.
The first two months of fall were wedding season in the towns. Now, everyone was preparing for Anna’s wedding, a neighbor girl whose father had arranged a profitable match with the son of a local farm owner. Preparations began a week in advance.
Housewives cooked, fried, and roasted, slaughtering pigs and poultry, as the tables had to overflow with dishes to make guests envious of such bounty. But Emily couldn’t help. Whenever she approached the sizzling pork rolls or the fragrant river fish frying in pans, she felt nauseous.
When her mother poured gelatin for aspic into large plates, Emily’s stomach churned. She bolted outside, hiding behind tall cornstalks. Thankfully, she didn’t ruin the aspic, or she might have vomited right into it.
“Emily, what’s with you, running around like that? You’re pale, and your hands are shaking,” her mother said, surprised. “You’re usually so strong and healthy. What’s wrong?”
“I’m a bit sick,” Emily said, avoiding her mother’s eyes, trying to sound convincing. “Must’ve drunk spoiled milk in the heat. It’s making me queasy.”
“You watch yourself,” her mother warned, wagging a finger. “Anna’s wedding is tomorrow, and we need working hands. And here you are, getting sick. Go to the barn, the cow still needs milking. I don’t have time.”
“And feed the pigs while you’re at it. Go on, for heaven’s sake.” Sighing heavily, Emily went to do her mother’s bidding.
The next day, she could barely drag herself out of bed. By five in the morning, she was up, doing chores as usual, but she felt awful.
Nausea and dizziness plagued her constantly. “What’s wrong with me?” Emily thought, alarmed. Only by evening did she realize with horror that exactly two months had passed since that terrible summer day.
And for two months, her cycle had stopped. Her blood ran cold. Terrified, Emily frantically tried to figure out what to do.
She couldn’t confess to her parents—it would be like signing her death warrant. Her father would beat her so badly there’d be nothing left of her.
He’d surely kick her out of the house. John was ruthless with his wife and children. The girls had seen him, drunk, beat their mother senseless time and again.
Because he felt like it. He’d hit her stomach, her head, drag her by the hair, and spare no part of her face. A true monster.
Emily and her sisters were terrified of John, especially when he drank with the men after work. Even the youngest daughter was scared to death of him.
When he picked her up, she’d scream hysterically and choke on tears. In those moments, John would only grimace in disgust.
He’d toss the little girl onto the bed, shouting, “Ugh, useless thing! Nothing but worthless offspring.”
“All girls in this house. Damn you all to hell!” Such words from her father were a daily occurrence. He was a true tyrant in his family. In the town, this was accepted; no one complained, just endured silently.
Mary endured, too, and from a young age, she taught her daughters to do the same. The man of the house was in charge, even if he was a cruel tyrant.
What to do now, how to escape this trouble? Emily couldn’t even imagine. She felt changes in herself that frightened her. While another mother expecting a child might rejoice at its arrival, Emily only wept in secret, desperately wishing the pregnancy would end on its own.
Mornings, she stood naked before the dim mirror in her room, scrutinizing her changing body. Her broad figure and full hips helped her hide her growing belly for now. She felt the baby move, but it brought her nothing but revulsion.
She hated the child growing inside her and felt no maternal instinct. The 16-year-old girl woke each morning hoping it was just a nightmare that would soon end. After the Christmas holidays, her belly grew rapidly, and Emily feared her parents or sisters would notice the changes.
Besides these outward signs, constant malaise tormented her. She could no longer handle heavy chores as before. Carrying a bucket of water from the well made her lower abdomen ache.
After tending to the livestock and hauling heavy loads, her head spun. Her mother noticed the changes in her daughter. “Emily, are you sick or something? Why haven’t you milked the cow yet?” she snapped.
“I’ll do it now,” Emily replied quietly. Hiding her growing belly under a loose, warm dress was easy enough. It helped that she was gaining weight evenly, not just in her stomach.
Spring arrived, and Emily struggled to keep up with chores. Her father began noticing her physical changes, too. “Well, look at you, Emily, getting all round this winter! Fattened up on your mama’s cooking.”
He studied his daughter’s figure as if seeing her for the first time. Emily was terrified. She sucked in her stomach as hard as she could, but it barely worked.
“Well, well, sweetheart!” her father whistled. “The girl’s grown up and filled out. Mary, start getting her things ready. Time to find a suitor. Our daughter’s ready to be a bride.”
Emily exhaled softly with relief. “Thank God, they didn’t notice.” Some time passed. Her belly grew steadily.
Emily feared her condition would become obvious, so she tightly bound her stomach with cloth. In response, the baby kicked fiercely. Emily grew angry, resentful, and hated what was growing inside her.
“Damn spawn, I wish you’d disappear!” she whispered. “Once you’re born, I’ll get rid of you. I won’t know you or remember you.”
By the seventh month of pregnancy, Emily prayed only that no one would notice, that no one would even suspect, or she’d be in deep trouble. A month later, while cleaning the barn, she suddenly felt ill after lifting a heavy bucket of manure. Her lower back and abdomen throbbed intensely.
Emily fought not to scream, not wanting to reveal her pain. Barely finishing the task, she dragged herself to her room. Trying not to make a sound, she lay on her bed. Contractions began.
Waiting until night when everyone was asleep, she grabbed an old blanket and some rags and quietly slipped outside. It was early spring, but snow still lingered. The cold pierced her to the bone.
Somehow, Emily reached the barn and shut the door tightly. In a dark corner, she spread the blanket, piling some hay on top to keep from freezing. To stifle her cries and moans, she bit her lips hard and clenched her fist, biting into it.
The cows woke and began to moo. Emily panicked, fearing her parents would hear and wake up, leading to disaster. She couldn’t bear to think what would happen then.
Writhing in pain until dawn, Emily finally gave birth. The newborn girl showed no signs of life, and at first, the new mother was frightened, then oddly relieved that it turned out this way. But then, looking at the tiny, defenseless face, she broke into tears.
Her maternal instinct must have awakened despite everything. She took the premature baby in her arms, shook her gently, and patted her bottom. The girl took a breath, letting out a faint, pitiful cry.
Emily sighed with relief, wiping sweat from her brow. Tears streamed down her cheeks, but she knew she had no other choice. She took a rag and cut the umbilical cord.
She’d seen village women do this after childbirth many times. Tying off the cord, she looked at her tiny daughter one last time. The baby had a unique birthmark on her neck, shaped like a heart.
The girl whimpered, searching for her mother’s breast, hungry. But Emily forced herself to ignore the urge to feed her daughter. She tightly wrapped the crying baby in the old blanket, then lay on the hay, placing the child beside her.
Resting for a couple of hours, she glanced out the window and saw dawn breaking. She had to hurry before anyone saw her. The baby was asleep.
She was so weak she couldn’t even cry loudly. Fearing her family or neighbors would wake, Emily carefully slipped out of the barn with the bundled child. She hid the rags and afterbirth in a pile of manure.
Swaying slightly, Emily trudged to the spot where the forest met the clearing. The wet, snow-soaked hem of her dress clung to her frozen legs. It was cold, and her teeth chattered.
The forest was waking, with the first cries of disturbed birds. She kept walking, deeper into the woods. Tears streamed down her face.
She knew this was the last time she’d see her daughter, but she had no choice. Her father would kill her if he learned of this shame. The forest path ended, and Emily veered into thick brush.
She approached a sprawling pine tree and gently placed the bundle with the baby beneath it. The newborn didn’t stir. Emily shivered, her teeth chattering, and forced herself to turn and slowly walk away.
Her legs felt like cotton, her soul torn apart. This was her daughter, her sweet, defenseless baby.
Was it her fault she was born? Did she ask to be brought into the world only to die in the forest from cold and hunger? These thoughts overwhelmed Emily, and she couldn’t bear it. She turned back, running as fast as she could to the pine where she’d left her daughter. She didn’t think of her tyrannical father, her submissive mother, or the town’s gossip.
One thought pounded in her head: just make it in time, just save her. She reached the forest, racing to the pine where she’d left her child. She looked, but the bundle was gone.
She searched the thick grass, but the baby was nowhere, as if she’d never been there moments ago. She checked under every tree, groping through dense wild grass. Her fresh footprints were in the snow.
They were there! But the bundle with her baby was not. With horror, she noticed tracks leading from the pine into the forest, resembling coyote prints. Her heart froze.
What now? Who could help? There was no answer. She wandered around, searching.
But found nothing. She even shouted, “Give me back my baby! Give me my child! Who took her? Do you hear? Give a mother back her child!” Only the echo of her cries rang through the forest. No one answered.
Her plea echoed through the woods, but again, no one replied. Emily stepped onto the snow-covered meadow, with patches of grass showing through, and glanced fearfully at the forest one last time, crossing herself three times. “Goodbye, my daughter. It wasn’t meant for me to be a mother.
Forgive me for everything!” she sobbed and slowly trudged home. Time marched on mercilessly. Emily threw herself into work to avoid thinking, remembering, or wailing at night over the sin she’d taken on.
Many local boys asked for her hand, but she refused them all. Her father was furious, even whipping her a few times with his belt for her defiance. But she didn’t care.
“No, and that’s final!” Only five years later, when a wealthy widower from a nearby town proposed, her father declared firmly, “Refuse him, and you’re no daughter of mine! I’ll kick you out, and you can go wherever you want!” Emily was indifferent. She had to submit to her father.
After the wedding, she moved to her husband’s large, spacious house. On their first night, to his horror and shame, her new husband discovered his bride was far from a virgin. His face twisted with contempt and hatred.
He struck her hard across the face. “You’re tainted!” his words rang like a verdict. “You filthy thing! You’ve been with who knows who, and now you’re trying to pin your shame on me? Speak, you wretched thing, who were you with? Or I’ll kill you right here!”
Emily shielded her face, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her husband dragged her by the hair, yelling, “Confess, you wretch, who were you with?” She had to admit a stranger had taken her by force in the meadow but said nothing of her newborn daughter. She lived with her tyrannical husband for five years.
He beat her for the slightest mistake. Sometimes, coming home drunk, he’d hit her or pull her hair for no reason. How she endured, Emily herself didn’t know.
Twice she conceived a child, but both times lost them early due to the constant beatings. For the last two years, she couldn’t conceive at all.
“This must be my fate,” she thought. “This is my punishment for the sin I committed. A ruined child’s life now echoes in my ruined life.”
She often thought of her secretly born baby, imagining what she might be like now. Guilt gnawed at her soul more and more.
Her child had left this world in agony. After another beating, Emily realized she couldn’t take it anymore. No matter how many wounds she got, they always healed.
But the emotional scars remained. It was time to end it once and for all. In broad daylight, she headed to the forest where she’d left her child.
She knew beyond the forest, where the road to the next town began, was a deep lake. There, she decided to drown herself. Our souls will unite with my daughter’s in this forest.
The dense trees will hide us. Maybe she’s there, my little one, waiting for me all these years. She thought, step by step, nearing the water.
When Emily reached the shore of Black Lake, she sat on the grass to savor the birdsong and the gentle summer breeze one last time. Strangely, she felt only relief that her suffering would soon end.
She took off her worn-out shoes and stepped into the water. Her feet sank into thick mud. Further, further, she needed to go further.
Up to her waist, up to her neck, just a bit more, and it would be over. “Hey, lady, you can’t swim here; the bottom pulls you down fast,” a strange voice called.
Emily turned and, through tears, saw a man running toward her, a little girl behind him. “It pulls you to the bottom. Get out now.”
“That’s where I need to go,” Emily whispered. And she dove in. She came to on the shore, soaking wet and shivering.
Beside her sat the man, brushing off algae and duckweed. “So, a drowner, huh?” he said with a smirk. Emily coughed and glared at his shirt, shooting him a sidelong glance.
“What’s it to you? Did I ask you to save me?” Suddenly, she felt someone tugging at her hair. Turning, Emily saw a girl with blue eyes, smiling at her like an angel, a smile no one had ever given her. “Lady, you’ve got weeds in your hair; I’m pulling them out,” the girl said.
“Thank you so much,” Emily whispered gratefully, patting her hand, but then frowned. “You shouldn’t have saved me. I’ve got nothing to live for.”
“Why’s that?” the man asked, surprised. “I’ve got nothing. No home, no husband, no kids, and I’ll never have them,” she replied, avoiding his gaze.
“No home? Where do you live, then? Was there a fire or something?” he asked. “Yeah, a fire,” Emily lied, believing her own lie. In truth, she felt all bridges behind her had burned. She wouldn’t return to her husband, and her parents wouldn’t take her back.
And she didn’t need them. Her husband had burned with those bridges, and she had no children; God hadn’t given her any. The man called to the little girl, who had run off to chase colorful meadow butterflies.
“Annie, my sunshine, don’t go too far, or those butterflies might lead you into the woods. Try to catch one, but stay where I can see you.”
“Okay!” the girl called back cheerfully, then wrapped her small arms around Emily’s neck. “Don’t cry, lady, everything will be okay.”
The man looked at Emily thoughtfully, chewing on a blade of grass, and said, “Drowning’s not the answer. Life’s one way today, but tomorrow it can be completely different. You can always change something. But if you drown, you can’t change anything. And taking on that sin is terrifying.”
Emily clenched her fists and blurted out, “If you knew the sin I carry, one more or less wouldn’t matter to me.” Her voice trembled, and she buried her head in her wet knees.
The man nodded gently. “Then tell me, since you’re set on dying anyway.” Emily was silent for a long time, as if all her ruined dreams and hopes were slipping away like water in a fast stream.
Finally, she opened up to this stranger, telling him everything: about the incident in the meadow, the pregnancy, the early morning when she gave birth and left her daughter in the forest, and how she returned, but it was too late.
Coyotes had taken her daughter forever. “On my baby’s neck, you know, there was a birthmark. Shaped like a little heart. That’s all I remember about my daughter,” Emily said, fearfully raising her eyes to the man.
He was silent, his face furrowed. Then he called his daughter over and pulled back the collar of her shirt. Emily gasped at what she saw.
There, in that exact spot, was a heart-shaped birthmark. Her heart pounded wildly. She clutched her chest, as if afraid it might burst.
“Go play, but remember, don’t go into the woods,” the man told the girl, then turned back to Emily. “Seven years ago, early one morning, I had a strange dream, like someone was calling me. I had to be in the forest right then. I woke up in a cold sweat, unsure if it was a dream or real. Then my dog, Daisy, started barking like crazy.
“I went outside to calm her, not wanting to wake my wife. But Daisy wouldn’t listen, barking and whining even louder. She acted so strange.
“She’d run to me, grab my sleeve with her teeth, pull, then run off, barking and whimpering. It took me a while to realize she was calling me to the forest.
“I got ready and went, grumbling because it was cold and early. I took Daisy with me, of course. She led me to a newborn baby under a pine, with a small fir growing nearby.
“My wife and I couldn’t have children; God didn’t give us any. So we raised Annie, our ray of sunshine, our forest gift. My wife passed away a year ago, leaving just the two of us. And now you’re telling me this—God’s ways are mysterious.”
The man stood and extended a hand to Emily. “Come on, let’s go home. I’m Nathan, by the way.”
“Go where?” Emily stammered, disbelieving. “Home, to our town. You need to change. There are dresses from my wife. You’ll find something decent.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you. By the way, you should introduce yourself. I can’t keep calling you ‘drowner.’”
“What about Annie? Will she be okay with it?” Emily asked Nathan, then quickly added, “I’m Emily.”
“We’ll ask her now. Let’s go to her.” Nathan lifted his daughter from the tall grass, and she let go of a butterfly, which flew away.
He whispered something to the girl, pointing at Emily. The girl asked, “Will she promise to be good, like my mom?”
Emily took her hand, pressed her lips to the child’s skin, and exhaled, barely breathing, feeling the sweet scent unique to children. “I promise,” she answered her daughter’s question. “Now I’m not afraid of anything.”