Mary Ollen's Diary

Mary Ollen's diary

When we were little, we always were together – we were neighbours, you see. I wanted to weave a happy ending through the entries in my diary. We laughed together, played together, studied together and married each other. It was all going well when he had a stroke in his youth – my dear poor Mike – and following that he lost his ability to walk. So it fell upon me to raise our two kids and earn bread for our family. We had come to Russia a while back. We had to go far off from the place where we grew up, to avoid those snakes who showed one thing and carried another thing in their hearts for us.

He was a kind person. I learnt to love myself through his eyes, as he saw me. He was my home. The fact that at the end of the day I was returning to him gave me all the energy I needed to go out and work.

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Winters in Russia were cold and barren. As far as eyes could see, white snow capped the roads, the trees, the houses. Where they lived, the area was not known for its prosperity. They were not destitute, but neither were they well-to-do. They sold logs of wood for whatever food and oil they could get. They had to walk far and wide to where people in the cities dwelled.

Maria and Clara were sisters. They were 13 years and 10 years old respectively. Both were given the task of fetching water from the outskirts of the barren land. Maria was plain looking but she could make anyone laugh with her wit. Clara was beautiful and shy.

They each took a bucket in their hands and started to walk towards the city.

“Good morning, Mr. Tuckhirst!” Maria said politely.

Mr. Tuckhirst was a noble man. People called him the Ebenezer Scrooge of modern times. His only weakness was that he had loved his wife. If only she wasn’t as conscientious as Buddha. Dratted taxes. Dratted beggars. Dratted leaky faucet. Even if business ran dry, he had to loosen his purse-strings. But ever since his wife’s death, he had become a noble man.

He bought logs from their family and other families living close to them. He would meet them halfway into the barren lands.

“Good morning, girls!” he piped. “Maria, Clara, don’t you look beautiful today!”

Maria thanked him and Clara blushed.

It was Clara who had asked Maria to dress up today, so she wouldn’t be alone in doing so.

When Mr. Tuckhirst was gone, Maria said pointedly, “As if I don’t know why you wanted to get all dressed up today!”

“Why?” Clara asked.

“Because you are going to see Johnny today!” Maria teased.

Johnny Tuckhirst was Mr. Tuckhirst’s son.

He was 12 years old and a little taken by the younger daughter of the Ollen family.

Johnny was extremely happy.

“Ahoy, Maria! Ahoy, Clara!” he said and waved his hands as he ran to them.

“Why so happy, Johnny?” Maria teased.

“Why, I have a date with Miss Clara!” he said, not hiding his secret.

“No, you don’t. I only said I would go out with you!” Clara pouted, but she was thoroughly pleased internally.

Johnny proffered his arm to her and she gladly took it.

They roamed the city, hand in hand. Clara had a mild blush all throughout, which had little to do with the excursion they were having.

Johnny gazed at the flowers being sold on the streets and bought a red rose.

“A rose for the fair lady,” he said.

Clara took it and gently kissed his cheek.

“Thank you, Johnny,” she said.

“Now, now,” Maria said, “we don’t want to be late,” she warned.

“Yes, we have to get the water in these buckets,” Clara sighed and huffed.

“I’ll miss you, Miss,” Johnny said.

“I’ll miss you,” Clara said gently.

“See you tomorrow?”

“Yes, I think so,” Clara sighed.

They took bucketfuls of water and arrived home.

Outside their home, they saw their mother appearing motionless and thunderstruck.

On seeing the girls, Mary Ollen ran to them and hugged them as they put down the buckets.

“Don’t go inside!” she started crying.

“Ma, what’s wrong?”

Clara pushed her aside and entered the home where she saw their father sprawled beside the bed – evidently he had fallen, squirming, while having a stroke and died. His lips and fingertips were blue.

Maria ran beside him, and whispered, “Is father gone?”

Clara nodded and started crying. They shared a mournful moment as their mother also sat beside her dead husband and tilted her face down and choked, “I don’t know how to say goodbye.”

That was the last thing she said.

For 7 days straight, Mary Ollen had not spoken a word.

The funeral was planned and finished by the Ollen girls, who were growing up.

Johnny came to the funeral and held Clara’s hand and said, “You’ve lost your father, but my father and me – we’re always there to help you.”

She nodded.

The Ollen sisters were afraid how their Mother would take it, but it turned out they didn’t have to worry so much.

After those 7 days, Mary woke up in the morning, just like any other day. She hugged her two children and went out to cut the trees and sell them in the city.

Maria went to get water while Clara went with her mother.

For some reason, Mr. Tuckhirst was not welcoming like the olden days. Johnny was not to be seen by his side either.

Clara put the two and two together and realised that maybe Mr. Tuckhirst did not want to see them together.

Her theory was confirmed when Mr. Tuckhirst coldly said to her, “I hope Miss Clara will concentrate on her studies.”

Nevertheless, while coming back with her mother, she saw Johnny on a cart.

He ran to her and said, “Sorry, I couldn’t come before this.”

Clara was shocked.

His right eye was bruised, his jaw swollen.

“What happened?” she said, gently touching one side of his face.

“I asked father to help you. I told him you were always in my heart, when he punched me,” Johnny said darkly.

“This happened because of me,” Clara trembled.

“I won’t mention this to anyone again, I just hope I can keep seeing you,” Johnny said.

“JOHNNY!” Mr. Tuckhirst called.

“Drat. I need to go!” Johnny said and ran.

Clara went back to where her mother was standing.

“Do you love him, Clara?” she asked.

“I love Johnny, yes mama!” Clara said, teary eyed.

“Then grow up to be strong. Study and learn all you can, because only then will you be accepted by most, if not all.”

The next day, she learnt that Johnny had been shipped off to London to receive education.

Clara stared, her eyes downcast. There was no way to know if he would come back.

………………………………..

8 years later

Mr Tuckhirst was dead.

He was a good man, and so quite a lot of people came at his funeral.

Clara was a grown woman now. Quite pretty and intelligent, she had secured the affections of many a guy. But her heart only longed for one.

So when she spotted a bearded and moustached face in the crowd, she could barely breathe.

Because beneath that hairy face, was a face that she wished to kiss all over.

She followed him into an open space.

He said, “Yes, miss?”

She choked, “I am sorry about your father.”

Confusion covered his features but in the next moment he

whispered, “Clara?”

“Oh, Clara!” he groaned and embraced her.

“Does your heart belong to another?” she asked. “Because,” she gushed, “you must understand – I have and will always belong to you!”

Johnny’s face glowed.

He took out a letter from his pocket.

“Look,” he said.

“When you were little, I made a mistake. I have seen the young lady grow up into a fine woman. I believe I did the right thing to send you abroad to study but I should not have separated you two, linked as your hearts were. She is ever polite to me, sometimes I see her looking at our home to see if the light in your room has been lit – to see if you might have returned. If you still have feelings for her, you have my blessing.”

…………………………….

2 Years later

The music “First summer’s breeze” played on the violin. Clara’s mother walked down the aisle with Clara on her arm while Johnny waited at the altar.

They both took vows to always stand with each other no matter what, and as a married couple, shared their first kiss. Later, in the years, Clara would birth two kids.

………………………………

Who says in today’s day there is no happy ending?

I learnt to love myself through his eyes.

And I loved my children and guided them as he would have wanted me to.

Here ends Mary Ollen’s diary.

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