The Lost
by Shalin Kennedy
Esyllt Docherty was no more an adult than any other eighteen-year-old girl in Edinburgh. She sat on her bed with a magazine in hand and dreamed of how she would stun her friends with the latest gossip and her new, nearly scandalous dress, would mesmerize the young boys in her high school. She hoped that it just might, perhaps, make her girl friends a tad jealous of her developing body and newly constructed charm. Her long dark brown hair, naturally curly, but now meticulously straightened, hung listlessly about her shoulders. Her dark green eyes scanned the magazine for more inspiration.
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Her mother barged into her room to disturb her once again. She urged her to return to the front door and wait for the family members to arrive so that she could tell them the room arrangements and help bring baggage in, if needed. Her mother, who had Esyllt at the ripened age of thirty-three, seemed out of touch and overbearingly traditional. She had three children—Finn, Gwyneth, and Esyllt—and played her role well as a mother, wife, and caretaker of the estate. She rushed back down the stairs, through the hall and foyer, and into the living room on the upper east corner of the first floor to direct her husband, Lennox, on where to hang garlands and instructed endlessly on how she wanted the furniture arranged. He, a reserved man of fifty-five, struggled to keep his temper and silently cursed her under his breath. Soon, he thought to himself, the guests would be here and her attention would divert to them instead of playing the role of the browbeating, naggy wife.
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“Mairwen, my hen, I believe the furniture is quite fine where it is now to accommodate our family in this already large enough living room. I’m loused and in dire need of a bez.”
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Esyllt, deciding that she did not want to be the object of her mother’s attention when she realized that her father was quite done with moving the furniture after seven rearrangements, rushed off to the foyer. She stepped out of the front door to wait in the motor court. She waited impatiently for her elder sister and brother to arrive. She thought grimly of how her aunt would pull at her cheeks and pinch her on the side.
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“That dafty woman,” she muttered to herself. “It would be my luck that she would show up first.”
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She watched as a sleek grey Austin 1300 GT made its way through the portcullis and into the graveled motor court. It turned swiftly and parked in the open garage to the left. A woman in a pastel green dress suit stepped out of the car, purse in hand, and strode up to Esyllt. Her hair, naturally a rich espresso brown, was now bleached a platinum blonde and curled in toward her face. Her lips curled into a hot pink smile. She took Esyllt by the shoulders and squeezed tightly.
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“Ahh, my wee bairn! It’s been too long since I last saw you!” She pinched Esyllt’s left cheek on cue. “You’ve grown up so much and you’re developing so nicely. No, it won’t be too long til we find you a husband.” She winked and Esyllt held herself back from throwing up her half-digested breakfast.
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“Good morn, Aunt Searan.”
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With this, she huffed with agitation and waited as her older cousin, Seren, quickly crossed the threshold to come inside. Esyllt instructed her aunt that she and Seren would be staying in the fourth bedroom of the estate in the west wing, which was on the second floor in between Esyltt’s and Gwyneth’s room. They nodded, laughed a little, and opened the door to go search out her mother. Esyllt listened closely to the hubbub of them talking.
First it was pleasantries, but it soon devolved into asking questions about her elder brother, followed by gossipy comments about his new bride, Alise. Personally, she liked Alise—found her to be quite sound, though her nervous introversion could make conversations awkward. It had been two months since Finn and Alise were wed and flew to Florence for their honeymoon. Esyllt was lost in the adults’ conversation until she heard the words “marital duties” murmured from her aunt’s lips. She rolled her eyes and closed the door, no longer interested in hearing whatever rubbish came next in their conversation.
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She sat down on the stoop, leaning into the sleek elderwood door. She pondered for a moment about what her family’s conversations always boil down to, the words that slid off the snake’s tongue in the dining room. Marital duties: she was at the age where her mother made her very familiar with the concept.
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“Your role, dear, is to be the perfect wife. Any good wife has plenty of children for her husband and takes care of the home. He may make the house, but you will make the home. I’m sure your father and I will find a nice lad to set you up with. It’s expected,” her mother told her at every given opportunity.
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Was she expected to perform, to roll over and take it with gratitude on her wedding night? The thought made her cringe. She picked up a handful of gravel and threw it in agitation. No, she would not have children. She was satisfied with the thought that her quiver would be empty, desolate, and she took pride in the thought of her secret rebellion. Tradition be damned.
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She raised up her fist and pumped it into the air, but her quiet celebration was interrupted by a sharp 1974 Ford Capri RS 3100. She waved and ran towards the car as it pulled in. The first person out was Finn. He was an attractive lad, tall for their family with blue eyes and curly brown hair. He walked briskly around to the passenger side and opened the door before his wife could. It was a game they played, the two of them. She would joke about how she was independent, didn’t need a man to help her. So he would race to open the door to prove that he would assist her regardless of what she needed. Another win for Finn. Alise smiled and giggled a bit about how she would surely triumph the next time. She stepped out into the cool air and breathed deeply, suddenly troubled. Finn, however, didn’t notice her unease. He moved to unpack the trunk before being tackled by his youngest sister. He greeted her cheerfully as Gwyneth emerged from the backseat of the car. The four of them, after gathering luggage, went inside the estate to begin the festivities.
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Upon entering, his mother and aunt raced to be the first for a hug and urged him to put the baggage down. He reluctantly agreed and hugged them both in turn. They bombarded him with questions, paying no mind to Alise. After almost thirty questions, they turned and addressed her.
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“Look at you, lassie. All primmed up like a tea rose on a summer morn. You were meant to be a Docherty and not a Graves. Your yellae dress surely compliments your red hair today, by the way.” His mother eyed her up and down, seemingly searching for something. When she didn’t spot what she was looking for she glanced at Searan and took Alise by the wrist.
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“Mairwen...it’s a pleasure to see you again. I’m sorry if Finn is a little teasy today. We didn’t get much sleep trying to catch our flight.”
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“Finn, lad, why don’t you go find yer da? We’ll take yer wifey and do some proper bonding,” said his aunt quickly.
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Finn nodded and headed down through his father’s office, the library, and finally stopping in the pub, his father’s usual relaxation place. His father was a quiet, yet amusing man. He was the captain of a ship in his earlier years and now took his retirement in the form of another distinguished yet similar field of work. He became a merchant of a sort, funding fishing crews and getting a share of the profits. He had a keen eye for what to invest in. He played it like it was a game and almost always won in his risk-taking. He was sitting on a bar stool enjoying a strong beer. He looked up, smiled, and called his boy over, slapping him on the shoulder as he sat down. They talked about Italy and the architecture there, the sights and food, the music and the villa they stayed at.
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“Why’d ya stay so long, lad? You were gone for two months. I understand wanting time to settle in with yer new wife.” He paused, elbowed him a little and winked. “But ya could’ve at least checked in and let us hear from ya.”
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Finn smiled, made a passing answer, and went to the billiard table to coax his father into a game of pool. His father smirked, taking the cue stick and crossing his arms over his broad chest. Finn lined the balls up and positioned them in their proper place.
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“I think we’ve found a promising lad for Esyllt. Yer mother hopes to set ‘em up and have ‘em dating for a few years. She’s been talking to his parents about them possibly marrying in about three years. They want grandchildren soon.”
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“How does Esyllt feel about all this? I think what she wants is most important here.” Finn looked up, snapping his head up to look at his father as if he was a young child again and in trouble.
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Without looking up, Lennox answered, “To be honest, I’m not sure. That girl is in her own world. In a few years when she’s raising little ones of her own, she’ll thank our efforts.”
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Lennox made his first hit and knocked in a solid ball, the seven. He made his next move and knocked in the five. He missed on the third shot. He furrowed his brow and pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers.
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“And what if she doesn’t want to get married? She’s certainly not a fan of young children. Why are you both so adamant in her having them, especially at such a young age? She should get to live a little before settling down when she chooses and find her own way.”
Finn stood at the opposite end of the table from Lennox with his cue stick held limply in his hand.
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“It sounds like you’re projecting on her. I’ve heard the rumors that you don’t want to have children. Yer mother was in a rage about it not long after you left for Florence with Alise. Son, you will not regret having children. To see that wee child when it is born and know that you made it, that you created a life. And think about yer wife. Women all have the instinct in life to be mothers. It drives them. It becomes their biggest purpose. And then...think about what yer mother would think. Gwyneth has been married—what?—five years. She still has yet to produce a single grandchild for us, and we aren’t going to last much longer, son. Think about it.”
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They played their game in silence after that. It was deafening enough for all of Edinburgh to hear.
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…
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After dinner that night, the family sat down in the living room and enjoyed the warm fire. Mairwen braided Alise’s hair, though she was reluctant to. Esyllt talked with Alise and Gwyneth about fashion sense and asked for their opinions about the outfits on the girls in her latest favorite magazine. Finn enjoyed a glass of scotch with his father on the couch. He watched his wife intently. She was a radiant woman. She had a quiet, dark innocence about her. It drew him in more than anyone at their college ever had. He was lost in thought until she said something in her Cornish dialect and his mother began to laugh.
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“Finn, you’ll have to move her here so she’ll lose that Cornish tongue of hers. It’s a sin. She sounds more like a teuchter than those farmers up in the Highlands.” His mother laughed.
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His mother and aunt poked at Alise until she was visibly uncomfortable. His family had always had an issue with people outside of Scotland and the sassenach.
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“Maw, I find the way she speaks endearing and lovely. And I couldn’t quit my position in Manchester, now could I?” He smiled apologetically to Alise.
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Mairwen continued to grumble under her breath, but decided she had a better topic, one more imperative to her heart.
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“Are you not going to move back to the estate during the pregnancy and perhaps a small while after so Alise will be taken care of?” A small smile played on her lips.
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Alise nearly choked as she sipped on her Earl Grey tea. Finn nearly spewed scotch across the room. They both coughed and sputtered for a moment before answering.
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“Maw, you know that we are not having children right now. Maybe not ever. How many times do I have to tell you that? We are not moving into the estate. I love ya, Maw. But I want to have a life apart from ya.”
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Hurt and outraged, Mairwen stood up, threw her towel down and lashed out.
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“Why can’t you just have one child, Finn? Och awa' an' dinna talk pish. Bloody hell, ya owe me that much for yer raisin’. She’s barren innit she? Gone for two months and she’s not pregnant yet. She must be barren, can’t produce nothin. She’s pooched. Either that or you’re some kind of jobby jabber. Yeez better not be nae jobby jabber, lad. Or I’ll send ya out right now. I knew I should’ve never gave my blessing for you to marry some Cornish wench!”
Alise, unable to contain herself, stood up quickly. Tears threatened to escape her and her throat constricted. Almost choked off, she said, “Excuse me. I’m going to bed.”
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She turned and headed towards the stairs to their room in the upper left corner of the west wing. Finn was more than upset. He knew his mother was a harsh and strict woman, but he never expected this from her. He got up and set down his glass. He sighed heavily, defeated. Maybe it would be easier to give in to what his mother wanted, but now their relationship in a single moment had changed.
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“Maw, you’re out of line. You and I will have a private conversation about this in the morn. I am going to go calm her. You need to think over your actions tonight. Depending on how things go, we may well take our leave tomorrow. You need to think about how you treat her ’cause I’m not leaving her any time soon.”
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He headed down through the foyer at a brisk pace, but stopped for a moment to think of what he’d say. How would he be able to smooth that over? Would Alise want to leave him after tonight? He stood, determined. He had to try. He headed upstairs, ready to make his stand.
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In the living room, the family was left in silence for a few moments. Esyllt stood, shook her head at her mother in disappointment, and followed her brother up the stairs to go to her own room. Searan and Seren chuckled among themselves in the corner. Finally, Lennox spoke to Mairwen.
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“Was that really necessary? What if he takes off tomorrow with her and never comes back? Are you proud of yerself?”
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She smirked, conniving. “Yes. Yes I am.”
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…
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Finn opened the door and scanned his room for her. The room used to be decorated with his childhood interests. Now it was decorated not unlike a fancy villa where they might have stayed in Italy. The bedroom was joined with a walk-in closet, a bathroom, and a sitting room with a wood burning fireplace. Near the windows stood Alise, her red hair glistening in the moonlight. She was enchanting to him and his heart skipped for a moment. She was like a hurricane. She was unpredictable—her emotions, turbulent like an angry ocean wave. She could make his words gutter like bowling balls and his blood curdle with a single look, but it was a destruction that he couldn’t pull himself away from.
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He stepped slowly, unsteadily. He wrapped his arms around her waist and buried his face in her neck. He took comfort in her warmth.
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“I want to go home.”
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She spoke quietly, almost quiet enough that he didn’t hear her. He thought for a moment, overtaken with emotion. He wanted to take the sting of his mother’s words away from her mind. This desire swelled like a wave towards the shore. He wanted to be with her more than he had during their two months in Italy.
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“Love, you are home. I’m right here.”
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He caressed her sides and moved, planting kisses from her shoulder blade up to her jaw. She pushed away from his embrace, violently.
“It’s just that all of this talking has made me think that maybe it would be a good idea to have kids now. You’d be a wonderful mother, Alise. Can’t you just imagine it? Wouldn’t that make you happy to have a miniature of us running around our flat?”
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Alise walked to the fireplace in the sitting room, distraught, and sat on the edge of the love seat. She stared at the fire, unwilling to look at her husband. Her tears ebbed at her waterline, threatening to burst over the edge. Her vision began to blur and her throat threatened to close in on itself. She held back her tears, held back her troubled mind. It was hers to have, her baggage to carry. Finn was confused. He walked to the loveseat and sat down.
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“I’m sorry for my mother’s words. She was just angry. She’ll settle down. She can get happy in the same skirt she got angry in, dear. There is no need to trouble yourself so much over it.”
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She looked at him finally. Her eyes were clouded, lost in a time long buried in her mind. She parted her lips, found her voice choked off, and closed her mouth. Finn took her hands in his, rubbing his thumbs over them.
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“Why are you so troubled?” he pleaded.
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She looked away. It was the only way the words would come out. She couldn’t look at him, scared he would see how fragile she was—how broken and incomplete she was.
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“It happened during my first year in college. I met someone and fell for him. He lived in Wales near the college. His name was Deryn Price.”
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“How old were you when you met?”
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“I was twenty then. He was in the army, same age as I was. He had just registered. It was a little after when The Troubles began. We dated for a year. I thought he was the one I might marry. He was sent to Northern Ireland for Operation Banner. Very shortly after he left...maybe a week later... I found out I was pregnant. I wrote to him often. I stopped getting letters back; he was shot in the streets of Newry during a riot, died instantly.”
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“What happened to the baby? Did your family know?”
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“No, they didn’t know about the pregnancy. They’re so old-fashioned. I would’ve been disowned right then and there for not waiting until marriage. No, we kept it from them. It was easy to hide since I was in college. No one knew. I made it four months...I miscarried...right there in the dorms. I buried her in the woods nearby, wee thing.” She paused for a moment, wept. “I can’t be a mother, Finn. I can’t bear to lose another. I can’t do it. I lost her. She didn’t even get a chance. I died with her.”
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Finn took her in his arms, held her small frame closely to him as she wept. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t offer any words to ease her suffering. What could he possibly say? He couldn’t believe the weight she’d carried, for five years no less. He thought about the literature he’d read for the course he was charged to teach. The Yellow Wallpaper, The Lost Daughter.
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Finn wondered, if a woman gave a part of herself to her child, if a child absorbed all that she was in the womb, would that part of her leave and become a part of this world? Would it walk, personified, to interact with its original creator? But if that child would not live to interact with its source, would the mother lose all that she was with the child? Would she die as well? He wondered if he could help her be a new being, one who could start a new source of life for a future child or whether she would continue to walk, a living dead, feeling incomplete and shattered until she could join her child in the afterlife. He stared into the embers of the fire. It swelled at moments, angry, as if it would come out of the fireplace and swallow them both.