November 21
Katrina,
Sometimes, when The Oak is closed, a stranded motorist unfamiliar with the area or a local resident just checking to see if we’re open will find their way to The Oak. Betsy’s granddaughter, Lisa, will usually show them about the house, pointing out certain antiques or locations of interest, telling them of the history of the house, telling them about us. But, about this time, about fifteen years ago, someone found their way to The Oak for a different reason.
I could get around better then and, even this time of year, could venture out on to the porch for a breath of fresh air or take a brief walk about the property near the house. One afternoon, when one could comfortably remain outside for a bit of time if they remained in the light of the sun, a young woman of about twenty years was noticed by one of the farm workers as she walked up the drive, walking without intention, walking without concern. The worker, who had been tending to the cows and horses, noticed the young woman and went to her, and he noticed that her clothes were torn and her soul shattered. He brought her to me, up on the porch, holding her by her waist to help her stand.
She was unable to remember from where she had come but only that she felt as though she had been walking forever. She knew of no front gate to The Oak, no guards, and how she passed over the boundaries of The Oak we never knew. Unable she was, at first, to look me in the eye, and when she finally raised her head to me bruises were seen upon her face, her eyes and cheeks. Chills came across my heart, chills disconnected to the weather, when I saw the bruises, the cuts, the empty eyes of a lifeless soul sitting before me. She didn’t have to tell me what had happened to her, but she would do so in her own time. And, there on the front porch, she told me that her name was Hope.
Her body weakening, the farm worker carried her inside and placed her on the couch. Lisa gathered some blankets while I sat there beside Hope. The house staff brought to her foods that were soft to chew and liquids that would warm her and help Hope to regain her strength. I stayed there with Hope as the walls seemed to hover over her protectively, leaning inward and checking on her as a mother would a child.
After she ate and rested, she began to tell me of what had happened, of her traveling to a visit with a friend--hitchhiking it was called--of the car stalling in the snow, of the man she was traveling with taking advantage. When he had taken from her all he could, he threw her out of the car like discarded garbage and he sped away, and she ran until she could no longer run, and then she walked until she found herself at The Oak. She had never heard of The Oak, but patiently listened as she ate as I told her some of our stories about how Father built this house for Mother and how we grew up here. Lisa and I encouraged Hope to allow herself to be taken to the doctor, to the local office of police, but she refused. She was embarrassed, she was hurt, and she was frightened of possible retaliation. Much of the day had passed when her tears finally gave way, beginning to cascade down like a shower of confusion and betrayal. Finally, she was persuaded to go into town, and Lisa and I went with her to the local emergency room.
Lisa and I stayed with Hope, holding her hand and comforting her as much as possible as doctors and nurses spoke to her, performed tests, and poked and prodded in manners difficult even under the best of circumstances. A police officer came and talked to her there, asking questions of a personal nature and speaking with the doctors. But, although everyone wished her well, made referrals to counselors, and promised to try to find the one who had perpetrated this act, they seemed to treat her as if she had a common cold or something similar, lacking in the compassion that Hope so desperately needed.
When the hospital staff asked where Hope would be staying, I explained to them that she would remain at The Oak. At The Oak, we would be able to keep her safe and help her to heal. Hope was not certain at first, the prospect of staying with strangers was obviously frightening, but we convinced her that it would be the safest place for her. From The Oak, her family could be contacted and the difficult situation explained with patience. At The Oak, gates could be guarded so that danger would not be allowed inside. At The Oak, the walls Father built with hope could rejuvenate her spirit.
So, to The Oak Hope returned, and began the process of healing. And, during the weeks it required for her family to work through the snowstorms and travel to reclaim her, she helped me to heal somewhat too. How true it is that those as young as Hope can teach to those of us who are old lessons we never learned.
As she began to disclose more of the brutal experience that brought her to The Oak and more about her home life (her home life, thankfully, was a positive experience), I saw within her a forward looking soul that I had once been long ago, and I felt comfortable enough to tell her of pieces of my life, save important secrets. Hope was strong and brave, and kept repeating to herself that everything would be okay. Yes, everything would be okay. And, in those weeks of watching Hope struggle, survive, and grow stronger, of listening to her talk and reason, I began to feel more at peace with my similar experience, and all of the years that I had spent wondering if I had deserved such brutality were exchanged for knowledge that no one ever deserves as such.
Hope’s parents were still alive and doing well, and Hope had a sister as well. She spoke fondly of her family and seemed greatly confused that I could turn my back on my only sibling, a sister with whom I shared so much, and that I could turn away from the world until I was barely part of it. And, though she was broken and healing at the time, it was Hope who encouraged me to make peace with the past and move on. Though Hope had been brutally wounded, she still held tight to faith and looked up to God and looked toward the future with a positive heart.
It was about five years after Hope returned to her family that she returned to The Oak to visit with Lisa and myself. She thanked us for our help the day that she arrived and for our help throughout the weeks of her stay, and as she spoke she had a smile upon her face that lit up the room and a newborn child in her arms that lit up her heart. The man who had harmed her was captured and, after a difficult trial that brutalized her again, he was punished, punished for harming Hope. And, unlike myself, Hope pursued the future, beginning a family and working to help those who had suffered the same brutality as she by speaking up and speaking out, leaving the past behind her where it belonged.
And, that, my dear Sister, is the real secret of life--learning from the past, but leaving the past behind and moving forward. Hope knows that. Hope knows that dwelling in the past, in the wrongs that have been committed, presents us with nothing but roadblocks and dead ends. Yet, learning from the past will prevent mistakes from being recommitted and moving on will lead us to a better place.
Another opportunity had presented itself to me, showing me of the mistakes I had made, offering me a chance to try to make amends with different parts of my past, and I turned away. Do you think, Sister, that life ever tires of presenting us with opportunities, tires of our rejections and simply slips away?
I’m sorry, Sister, I’m sorry.
Forever,
Christina
This work is fictional. Any resemblance to actual situations or persons, living or dead, is coincidental and unintentional.
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