An Innocence Lost

It was a pleasant morning. The dew still hung on the grass and the sun shone warmly. I had finished my morning chores and was walking towards the path to the river. The tall grass had soaked through the hem of my dress, but I didn’t care. I was still at that age of innocence and wonder of the world around me- each day was fresh and perfect and true evil did not exist. I skipped down the forest path, pausing to admire every little flower and gaze up at the sunlight filtering through the leaves. I twirled a small violet in my fingers as I walked. I had no idea that that morning would change me forever, that I would come face to face with such violence, that I would lose my precious innocence forever.

As I neared the river, I could hear deep voices laughing loudly. Curious and cautious, I tiptoed around the last bend. What I saw there made me freeze.  Not 30 feet away lay my good friend Laura, surrounded by three rough men, her dress torn and streaked with blood, being forced upon in unspeakable ways. I caught her eyes and the pain and despair displayed there, caused to me to cry out. It was a terrible mistake, for it alerted the men to my presence, and two of them began to rush towards me. I turned to run, but my foot caught in a root and I fell hard. My little violet fell from my hand in front of me. It lay half-wilted and alone.

As the men grabbed me, I did not know whether it was to silence me or to abuse me, but it soon became apparent that they preferred the latter. They began to rip my dress and slap my face, pinning me to the ground. Laura had barely moved during this exchange and I soon understood why. The men were strong, and heavy, and dirty.  I was in pain, terror, and shock and I could not comprehend the reason for this treatment. I had never known unrestrained violence.  But soon, I no longer knew what went on around me.

I have no idea how long the men took themselves upon us, but when my senses returned, the sun hung low in the sky and the forest was dim. I remembered Laura and turned my head to look for her. Her blue eyes were open and staring at me, or rather in my direction, for they were quite lifeless. Her hand stretched out towards me and I reached to grasp it. She was so cold. I curled up, having little strength or will to live.

I have no recollection of being found or being brought back to my house. Apparently, after I failed to return by dark, my brothers went to look for me at Laura’s house. When they discovered we were both gone, they began to search for us, and found our battered remains around midnight.

My bodily recovery was slow and painful, but sure. My mind however, had seemed to lose its grip. What little sleep I got was tormented with nightmares, filled with violence and pain and laughter. I dreaded to close my eyes, and so I just sat and stared into the distance. I heard whispers of sending me to an asylum, but it was of little consequence to me, I cared not where I was. In truth, my recovery was from more than just bodily harm, but from betrayal. The betrayal of life.

Before that day, life had been good to me and I believed in beauty and goodness and fairness. But the acts of those men had stripped me of my beliefs so suddenly and savagely, that I had nowhere to turn, nothing to believe in. And so I just drifted through each day.

I remember little of that fall and winter, it is mostly a fog. But I do remember, early in the spring, my father lashing out from the stress of the long winter and having a ghost of what used to be a daughter, and ordering my mother to have me go out and do some chores. He hated to see me just sitting and staring. 

And so I was led outside and began to do small chores alongside my much younger siblings- picking eggs and carrying water. But as I began to exert myself again and get into the fresh air, I slept a little better, had fewer nightmares, and stared a little less. By summer, I realized that I enjoyed strenuous labor, it distracted my mind. I still spoke very little, but I woke up early and milked cows, carried water, and worked in the fields.

One afternoon, as I hung wash on the line, one of my younger sisters ran up and tugged on my skirt. She shyly handed me a flower and turned to run off again, giggling. I managed a small smile at her antics then looked down at what she’d given me. It was a small, perfect violet. A vision of a violet laying on the ground flashed before my eyes and I began to shake. Soon, the whole sequence flashed before me and I crumpled to the ground from the pain of reliving it. 

I began to cry, the first time since the ordeal, grieving in loud sobs for my dear friend who had died and for the loss of my innocence and belief in life. I am sure my family thought me quite mad, and they brought me into the house. When I had exhausted myself, I was carried into bed and fell into a deep sleep. For the first time I had no nightmares. Little by little, the dreams faded and I found that I was able to look at the world a little differently and even enjoy myself occasionally.

Almost two years had now passed, and I felt nearly whole again- though I had not yet been back to the river- but I now felt a great uncertainty about my future. I was of the age that many girls married, but even the thought of it made me shake, and no one suggested it. But it was during that September, that an old friend of my mother’s dropped by with a suggestion. She had had a letter from her niece who had taken over as matron of a home for foundlings and orphans, and wondered, if I had no interest or prospects in marriage, perhaps I might consider helping out in the home for a small wage. 

I was a little affronted by her bold assumption that I would not or could not marry, but the truth was I did dread it and though the home was a fair distance away, maybe it was the answer to my future. Within a month, I sent a letter to the matron, informing her of my intent to come.

As I stepped up the front door of the home, I felt a flutter of fear, wondering whether I could find my place here, if they would accept me, after knowing my shame. I knocked, and a bright faced middle-aged woman opened the door. She was the matron and soon enveloped me in a big hug. Such was the welcome that I never dreamed possible.

I quickly grew accustomed to the routine of the house and held a true affection for the matron and the children. After my experience, I found I had a strong desire to never see anyone else suffer. These little children had gone through so much already in their young lives, and I made it my mission to give them as much love and security as I could. To preserve as much as of their innocence as I could.

It is amazing to think that I have now been at this home for 40 years, the last 20 as matron, but I would not have traded it for anything. I was able to love and train hundreds of children and they, in turn, gave me so much more- a reason to live. Along the years, I did indeed receive a few marriage proposals, but because of my fears, and devotion to the home, I could not accept; so I shall never know if I could have enjoyed the love of a man. But I have a home here with the children and their love; I have never been in need. In time, I even came to appreciate the road that led me here.