The Crumbling Farmhouse

(TW: story deals with mental health and aftermath of abuse)

Penelope broke her unfocused gaze and looked up from the littered earthen floor of her small farmhouse, her eyes flitting past the hearth in the corner. She didn’t need to look at it to feel it there. Or, rather, not feel it there. Warmth, gone. Cold ash in its place. 

It bore marks from countless fires that had kept her family safe and sound even on the coldest nights. She shifted her focus from the crumbling bricks around the small window in her dilapidated home to their modest orchard. A few scraggly pomegranate bushes held strong, their dark crimson orbs floating amidst an otherwise dreary landscape. The sickly-sweet scent of rotting figs, once plump and bountiful, now drifted in on the breeze. Weeds crept into the orchard, threatening to take over, and fallen fruit lay scattered amongst them, a feast for birds and night creatures.

Ancient silver-leafed olive trees, the only trees present when they found this abandoned farm so long ago, stood as sentinels. A gust of wind off the Aegean Sea rustled the orchard, and the trees whispered words of endurance and resilience in their swaying groans and creaks—echoes of a strength she feared she could not summon. But still, she had to try.

Sat in the crook of the largest olive tree, high in the sky and bold as anything, her youngest son Hekateus now sketched with his charcoals and parchment. No idea in his bright mind how strange it would seem were he in Athens, for him to be so fascinated by the natural world. His subject was likely some ripe olives or a bird’s nest.

Out somewhere retrieving a lost lamb, her eldest son Xanthos was doing his best to fill a role that was never meant for him. They both needed her to try.

The time to begin harvesting had long since passed. She’d been a fool for waiting this long, hoping Demetrios would come back to help her. What a relief it would be for her and her boys, at least, to have apples to eat. They’d need to sell most of the harvest for staples and to repair the spinning wheel, but it might be just enough to make it through the winter until Persephone emerges once more from Hades.

She held her gaze on nothing in particular, losing all focus on the world around her as this feeling, this detached dread, began once again to gnaw at her bones.

She betrayed her stoicism with a shudder as she thought, ... harvesting this year’s yield, processing their barterable crops and goods, loading up the harvest and sheep’s wool, traveling to Athens, haggling, shopping, and then coming back home to this. This... empty shell. Demetrios carried in him so much kindness and love, and wildness and fun, but also knowledge of this life and the competence required to maintain it. Without him, she feared this crumbling house would never again feel like home.

The goddess Demeter had already parted with her dear Persephone for the year, doomed to the underworld until her return with spring. The north winds of Boreas brought gooseflesh to the back of her neck. Harvests would dwindle with each new moon. If they made it through the coming winter, what would next year be like—fertilizing, pruning, tending, watering, repairing the house and barn—and who would turn the soil for next year’s garden? It was all too much for her to handle without him.

Penelope stooped over, a tear rolling down her cheek and several more welling. Her eyes were hazel, but her Demetrios often mentioned their change of color when she allowed tears to flow. She was sure they’d be bright green right about now, in contrast to the red most certainly ringing her irises. A symptom of lack of sleep. Too much grief.

She reluctantly looked down at her swelling stomach, appearing almost distended and unnatural against her gaunt frame. She knew she needed to be joyful for her baby, to provide a warm and comforting home where it can grow strong, but she could feel herself slipping into a spiral of horrors in her mindscape. The worst possible scenarios played out behind her eyes.

There was almost nothing left from trading their cow’s last calf, and their old dairy cow was now drying up in earnest. With very little knowledge on handling these problems, her grief and fear seemed to take turns mocking her for her previous decisions and naivety. She wanted so badly to regret her decisions, to curse her beloved Demetrios for leaving her too soon, but she could not. He did not deserve that.

Penelope tried to get up, urged herself to move, but still she sat, unable to will herself to rise. A cold draft pervaded her body, sending a shiver up her spine. She felt like a hollow shell, devoid of warmth and life. Without Demetrios, she was just a shadow of her former self. She longed for the fire of love they tended together, but cold ashes sat in her chest where their love once roared.

He was gone, and she knelt there alone. And she hated herself for becoming so dependent on her eldest. She raised her boys to have their own desires, live their own life as they saw fit. It felt wrong impressing so much expectation onto him. That only ever felt suffocating for her. A sore subject between her and Demetrios. 

His great passion was for nature, for the fields and valleys, and the various flora and fauna therein. She often wondered about him, always off the beaten path in his thinking, his perspective on the world around him. It was refreshing, and perfect for shepherding our flock and tending our crops. Xan was, well, he was far less interested in the natural world. I know Xan isn't built to live the life of a shepherd. This isn't sustainable. But I am so proud of him for tending the flock all the same. We are all doing our best to carry on. Will that be enough?

The truth became evident to her:she was not prepared for the path ahead. Still, they must walk it. They’ve struggled since moving out here, but love was always present while Demetrios was with her. Now the real world loomed around her, and she feared it would soon come crashing down on them all.

She worried whether the approaching winter would be a harsh one. Remembering the chill of winter drained her. Cold crept up her legs and arms, threatening to send icy tendrils up into her core. She was suddenly unsure whether they would make it through these dark days ahead to see the blooms of Persephone’s return in the Spring.

She stared blankly down at her hands, tears slowly falling, and she noted the ever so slight tremble beneath her skin as her heart, broken though it may be, continued to pump blood through her feeble limbs and into the back of her hands, where she could just see her veins fill and contract, moving her life force out to her fingertips.

A sharp cry from outside brought her fully into present.

Penelope tended to the scuff on Hekateus’ knee with care. She’d only just made it outside to assess the damage, but already he was trying to get back up. He wanted to retrieve his precious journal and look for more hummingbird nests up the olive trees. Very little swayed him in his determination once his mind was set.

Oh, Kat. Always curious to learn about one thing or another. But his interests are in the natural world around him, like his father, not in the workings of people, she thought. He doesn’t seem to crave the company of others the way Xan does… Will Kat be prepared for what lies ahead? Should I prepare him or give him just a few more days to be himself?

She was unsure, but it broke her heart to think of warning him about the truth of what lies ahead. Sweet, naïve Kat. She thought back through the multitudes of her own naïve choices made on the journey to this spot, here and now. There had been so many opportunities before her in those days, but she’d been made to believe there were none where she would feel safe.

Perhaps that was true, but after leaving that life and living a completely different one, she was still left alone and feeling unsafe. She believed she would grow old with her dear Demetrios. “This isn’t right,” her quiet voice trembled. “It isn’t right at all.” A hoarse crack punctuated her sentence, and then she found herself again as Kat looked up at her and asked, “Are you okay, Mom?”

She smiled a sweet smile for her dear one, eased his concerns, and then she kissed her dear Hekateus next to the scrape on his freshly cleaned-up knee. She sat there, attempting to strengthen her resolve.

I imagined the two of us tending our orchard together and stoking our fire well into our old age… I secretly hoped we would die together, fast asleep in our bed after an evening of lovemaking, so we could meet back up with one another on the journey to Hades. We would face the endless fields of Asphodel and simply carry on, bravely facing whatever the next phase brought about, together… She thought, Or at least, I hoped I could arrive before him to avoid the burden of his loss... It is selfish, and cowardly, perhaps, but I never imagined I would have to go on like this without him…

Her thoughts trailed off, and she began to reflect on a time before she’d met her dear one, Demetrios. Her days of darkness.

Childhood was a challenge for Penelope. Her father, warrior and aristocrat he was, had a strong and cruel disposition. A demanding man. His view of women was only as a tool, a means to an end. Her mother, aloof, was more a mystery than anything. Penelope being the only daughter, and without anyone to confide in or ask for help, her childhood was very hard, despite their affluence. Perhaps, even, because of it.

Still, she found in herself a hopeless romantic, fated to find a star-crossed lover and be whisked away to a life she’d always dreamed of having. She longed for a life filled with love and happiness instead of dread and fear.

Most of her brothers, uncles, and the other men in her family along with their friends had also been cruel to her at one time or another, sometimes only once or for a brief period, but in the case of her elder brothers, she endured years of torture and abuse in a myriad of forms. No matter how they hurt her it didn’t seem to matter. Nobody ever answered her pleas for help. Her crying didn’t matter. Nobody ever stopped.

All those experiences bore a deep hole in her chest. An immense chasm was left where her insides should have been. All that was left for a long time was ash. Her heart could have flourished elsewhere, but instead it turned to cold ash. Her life dictated forever by the whims of men. 

Penelope felt as though she was groping blindly through the darkness, bumping into everything in a place that should be familiar, but where all the furniture was moved around. Everything was the same, and yet, nothing was. 

"I can’t bear it…"

Then she remembered her sons. Her anchors. For her sons. "I must bear it," she thought. "There is no other option. I must face my past if we’re to move forward without him…"

Her thoughts trailed off for a moment, images and memories of tender moments and laughter with her husband flashed across her thoughts before burning up and crumbling to dust in her mind’s eye, fear and loneliness all there was to replace them.

She had been naïve to believe one could outrun fear. It is a universal feeling, just like grief, anger, lust, or any other emotion. "It’s time I accept that I’m not exempt. Though I still feel quite lost and alone, it is a comfort to consider that surely some other person out there is also feeling loss, and pain, and fear, and all the complicated emotions one feels when a loved one is gone. This, too, is but a part of life. Necessary." It pained her greatly that it had been her life that was now being uprooted, raw and aching at the edges, leaving a large chasm in its place. Inside her a deep hole of fear and pain had been rent anew, the vastness of which she had long since forgotten.

Penelope put aside her wallowing for the present moment and set about gathered items. She had very little left for her offerings, her hands trembling slightly as she arranged them in a basket. The sun just peeked out from behind the cloud cover, casting a golden light over the small farmhouse and the modest altar she had set up outside. The air was cool, carrying the scent of the sea up from the coast. She took a deep breath, steadying herself, and began her solemn walk to the edge of their orchard where she had prepared the sacred space.

Her husband’s altar to Demeter was simple, but she’d lovingly maintained it in his absence. It stood beneath a large olive tree, its gnarled branches offering shade and a sense of ancient wisdom. Penelope placed a woven basket at the base of the altar, filled with freshly baked bread, a small jar of precious olive oil, and a bowl containing some of the last of their store of honey – gifts of the earth to honor the goddess of the harvest, and hopefully meaningful sacrifices in light of their hardship.

She knelt before the altar, her hands clasped together. "Great Demeter, goddess of the harvest, I offer these humble gifts in gratitude for the bounty you provide. I pray for your blessings upon our land, that it may yield enough to sustain us through the coming winter, or else for your guidance to find a new place to sow seeds to reap new rewards in coming years." Her voice wavered, and she swallowed hard before continuing. "I also pray for the safe return of my husband, Demetrios. Though I fear hope is lost, I ask that you watch over him, wherever he may be."

Penelope then rose and moved to the smaller altar dedicated to Pan, nestled among a grove of fig trees. She placed a jar of milk and a small wooden flute, once played daily by her beloved, at its base, symbols of nature and music to honor the god of the wild.

"Great Pan, protector of shepherds, I offer you these gifts in the hope that you will guard our flock and ensure their safety. Please guide Demetrios back to us, if it is within your power. Let him find his way home through the fields and forests you both cherish. Please keep Xanthos safe in his absence."

After her prayers to Demeter and Pan, Penelope returned to the farmhouse and retrieved another basket. This one contained a cluster of grapes, a small amphora of wine, and a silver dagger. She approached the altar dedicated to Dionysus, set slightly apart from the others, beneath a trellis where grapevines twisted and turned.

"Great Dionysus, god of wine and revelry, I offer these gifts to you in the hope of your favor. Bring joy and laughter back into our home, and let the wine of our vineyard flow freely once more. Help me find the strength to endure these trials and keep my spirit alive in these dark

 times." She sat, then added, in a hushed voice, urgent and pleading, "If, in truth, I am of your blood, please, I beg of you, find it in your heart to help me. My path forward is obscured. Make clear my next step, or else do not shroud it from me, and I will be forever grateful."

Finally, Penelope made the short walk to the small shrine she had built for Hekate. There were no roads close to her home, but there were heavily utilized game trails, so she found a four-directional crossing of trails near their home, which had just so happened to face the directions perfectly. She’d taken that as a sign. It was adorned with black candles she’d made herself, and she placed a handful of garlic and an iron key at its base – symbols of protection and passage.

"Great Hekate, goddess of magic and the night, I seek your guidance and protection. Watch over my family and me, and light our path through this darkness. Help me navigate the uncertainties of our future and grant me the wisdom to make the right choices." She felt a cool breeze brush her cheek.

As she knelt there, a sense of calm washed over her. The act of giving offerings and voicing her prayers provided a small measure of comfort. Though the gods' responses were uncertain, Penelope felt a renewed sense of purpose and connection to the divine forces that shaped their world.

With her prayers completed, she rose and made her way back to the farmhouse. The clouds parted further, bathing the land in warm light. She looked around once more at the altars, each a testament to her devotion and hope, and whispered a final plea, "Please, guide us through these troubled times and bring Demetrios back to us."

Penelope idly watched her son run around the orchard, sunlight flickering briefly around her as a flock of storks flew overhead, their shadows darting across the ground. The reality of their situation was far from ideal, but steps had to be taken to ensure her children’s futures. They would leave to begin a new life as soon as possible.