Abigail sighed as she gazed out of the window. Her flaming, red hair half covered her face and her almond-shaped brown eyes held a glazed look. She wasn’t actually looking, but was submerged in her own mind, flooded with thoughts.

Anxious, she once again thought about herself and her twin sisters, Chloe and Fiona, going back to the house they left three years ago and meeting their dad. The prospect seemed too good to be true. But wait …!

Her mother would not be there. She was gone, and Abigail knew she had to accept it. There was no coming back from the dead. But she couldn’t help the pangs of pain in her heart, every time she recalled her mother. Her sisters, who were 15 and identical, were deeply affected and their eyes would moisten whenever their mother was discussed, which was rare since they all tried to avoid getting into a gloomy mood from which it was difficult to come out.

Their aunt, Aunt Katherine, to whom the girls were sent to live with, was a kind woman, yet sometimes grim. She lived in a cottage in the countryside. Upon hearing the news of her sister’s death, she was grieved and took the girls under her care. Abigail and the twins helped her with chores and attended the town’s school.

Their father visited them twice a month, but, to the girls’ distress, he had changed drastically. His laugh was humourless and wrinkles had taken over his face. Sitting by the window, instinct implored Abigail to make up her mind and go back to her father, who might really need them.

“Abby, where are we going?” asked Chloe and Fiona, curiously when Abigail asked them to pack up all their belongings the next morning.

The sun shone bright and the sky was pale and clear, with a slight tinge of dark blue at the horizon.

Aunt Katherine bade them farewell and also gave them a basket full of edibles that they could eat during the journey. A carriage, arranged by their father, stood waiting outside.

“Oh, I’ll miss you and do take care of yourselves for me, won’t you dearies?” she called to the girls as they waved from the carriage that started moving slowly. Abigail waved till the standing figure of her aunt became a tiny speck and then disappeared. She then turned back to the front. They were off!

It was late afternoon and the twins were sleeping when the carriage stopped and the coachman declared their arrival. Abigail woke up Chloe and Fiona, while the coachman helped unload their bags.

Just as they stepped out of the carriage, she felt queer; as if there was a knot in her stomach and her legs were made of jelly. She closed her eyes and sniffed the familiar mellow air. Opening them, she drank in the view of her forlorn home.

The front, wooden door opened and her father emerged, looking happy to see them. He hugged the girls, “Come inside…,” he said and led the way.

Just then, Abigail couldn’t help hoping that her mother’s death was just a horrifying nightmare and that she would see her standing inside, welcoming with open arms. But the tiny flame of hope was stamped out the moment she went inside. The house they lived in, as children, now looked very different. In fact, that was an understatement.

It held a rueful air. Even though the curtains were pulled, revealing the dreamy sunset, the house looked as if all it was … dead, somehow.

Salty tears stung her eyes as she went further in, feeling the melancholy enveloping her in. The two maids, who were there since her mother’s time, welcomed the girls in the living room. They had kept the house in perfect order, but it didn’t help in its despondency. It was missing its life and soul, their mother.

Her legs carried her into the courtyard and she drank in the sweet, redolent lavender scent that issued from the flowers. Her heart ached as bittersweet memories invaded her mind — her mother laughing as she pushed a toddler Abigail on the swing in the same courtyard where she now stood. And another — it was the twins’ birthday; they were cutting the cake.

Abigail’s father took a slice and fed it to Abigail and her mother (the twins tried to copy him, but smudged the cream frosting on their faces). One by one, Abigail saw all the memories, and after each new one, a knife pierced her already cracked heart.

She came back to reality and found her father hugging her, “You know, it’s been really hard … without her,” he said, in a constricted sort of way. He stood for a moment and then went to check on the twins.

Moments later, a realisation hit her. She couldn’t live like this, neither her sisters, nor her poor father. She realised that grief and tragedy were a stage of life that everyone experienced at some time or the other. She had to set an example for her sisters and do her best to bring a lively atmosphere in her house.

She realised that they needed to spent time together as much as possible, enjoy life so that they would not regret it later. And that, she had to be grateful for the time they had spent with their mother, making unforgettable memories.

It was as if a new person had awakened inside her. She looked hopefully at the setting sun casting glorious pale colours, before it sunk completely.

Published in Dawn, Young World, August 7th, 2021