My Life
Self-Narrated
by Helen
Elizabeth Ramsay
(a fictional Memoir by Francesca Nesbitt)
“What is it?” asked Michael MacGregor, my father. When I was born he
was 45, but looked as though he
was at least 60. Practicing medicine for many years had made him a hard man,
with a constant grim expression on his face, but that day he had the slightest
look of hope in his eyes. He was the father of six girls, and he hoped, actually
prayed, that this one would finally be Junior. “What is it?” he repeated,
even more anxious. Lily, the m
Before I continue, let me tell you more about myself. My name is Helen
Elizabeth Ramsey, and I am now coming near the end of my life. Physically, there
appears to be nothing wrong with me, but I know that my time is almost done. I
am now a mother too, and a wife and I intend to spend my nights writing my tale,
so that one day my youngest son James can read it. I want him to know why I was
the way I was as he grew up, and through this revelation, maybe I can find peace
within myself so that I can leave this world without a grudge in my heart.
That night, my father did not come home, so my mother named me herself.
She decided to name me Helen Elizabeth, after my father’s mother, hoping that
it would help a connection to form. She was happy to have me, but could not
speak against her husband, because she had to remain passive, in fear of my
father’s temper. That night he came back smelling of whiskey and cheap
perfume. He was wrinkled and had a wild look in his piercing green eyes. My
mother held me tightly against her breast and pretended to be sleeping in the
rocking chair of the nursery. As she held me, she prayed that he would just go
up to bed, but he did not. He paced outside the nursery, waiting for her to get
up; he knew that she was pretending. Reluctantly, she rose to receive her
punishment, but she did not flinch once. He hollered at her for hours, and my
oldest sister, Mary, came and held me in her arms as all my sisters huddled
together in the bedroom. He told her all sorts of awful things, including that
he was going to find a son elsewhere, and he eventually did. It was more than
the issue of not having a son; it was just his personality. If mother so much as
blinked in an unpleasing matter, he would hurt her. She had scars, that Susan
told me about later, that ran up and down her back. She would sometimes sob for
hours and hours, not moving from her bed, and this was what made Mary grow up
quickly. She did all the things that a mother was to do during the day, so that
when father came home at night he could not possibly find anything to get upset
about-nothing at all. By the time I
was two, my father’s mistress Ester, bore him a son. The scandal that arose
broke my mother’s heart and she died in her sleep. It was the only time my
sisters had seen her smile. After that, my father married this woman and brought
her son into our home.
I used to play with him, because I did not know any better, being only
three at the time. I had no idea about how much pain him and his mother had
brought to our home. I also did not realize how much she hated us, but she cared
for us when father was around. He loved me a little more by then, now that he
had his son. In fact, he was a changed man. Mary, Susan, Julia, Beth, Elsie, and
Catherine had not forgotten his cruelty towards mother, but they tried not to
ruin it for me. I barely remembered our mother, and Ester seemed pleasant. In
fact, she told me to call her mother, but Mary taught me not to. She told me
that I had a mother and I would see her again someday. I longed for that day.
Mary left us when I was five; she became a nanny for a wealthy family in
London. I remember staring out the bay windows of my house as the carriage came
to take her away. The pain that filled my heart was beyond the comprehension of
my young mind, but I now know that I lost a part of my soul that June morning,
one that would never return. Mary died that same day when the horse went wild
and the carriage collapsed. I cried for what seemed like years, I did not
understand why I would never see her again. I now knew how Mary had felt when
mother died.
The sisters and I sang a special song for Mary at the mass, one of her
favorite church songs; Ester and Junior did not come, and they felt no grief. In
fact that morning Ester wore red. I can still see that vibrant red in my dreams.
Mary was the lucky one; she was with mother and did not have to go through the
horrors that were yet to come.
Father died three years
later of a heart attack. I did not know how to feel about that. When Mary died,
the grief overtook my body, but I had recently begun to resent father because
Susan told me about all the horrible things he had done to our mother.
Father’s funeral was quite the opposite of Mary’s. No one sang for him, and
none of us shed tears-except for Ester. What a scene she put on! To this day I
still have not seen any person cry so much. I almost felt sympathy for her;
thank goodness I did not allow it…
Soon after father died, Susan left. She was to become the schoolmaster at
a quaint school for girls in Stratford. The night before she left, we lay awake
and by candlelight she told me the story of my birth and everything up to what I
could remember myself. Oh what anguish filled my heart! I decided that night
that I never wanted to marry and I would never be passive to a man, whether he
treated me well or not. I would not end up like my mother.
By the time I was 11, all that was left to my family was Junior, and
Ester. After father died, Ester had sold the house and gotten a considerable
profit for it. This seemed to heal her suffering a lot. Junior was no longer my
playmate as he has been when we were our children. He was a spoiled,
inconsiderable brat, if I have ever seen one. He got everything and I got
nothing. Ester made me her maid. I was forced to clean and cook while she went
out and spent all the money that father had worked so hard to earn. The cleaning
and cooking were not so bad, that I could take, but she used to hurt me as well.
If something was not done right she would hurt me so badly that I was left for
dead at times. I closed my eyes and tried not to cry, like mother had done, but
all I could see were flashes of red. The scars that Susan had described as
mother’s soon became mine. Junior would sit by and laugh at me, taunting Ester
to hurt me more. I would pray for it to stop, but it would keep coming.
Sometimes, when I could escape her, I would run to the cemetery, where mother
and Mary’s graves were, and lay across them. I began to spend all the time
that I could there, longing to join them-there was never an answer though.
This went on for much of my adolescence, but I found ways to avoid it. I
would take my beat up copy of Grimm’s fairytales, the same one that Mary used
to read to me from as a child, and read my favorite story, “The Fisherman and
His Wife,” whenever I got the chance. Ester only became more and more of a
miserable person, but I had a little faith. I was becoming a young woman, and I
felt as though my day to leave was coming too. I was no longer the rambunctious
child I had once been, I was calmer and more ladylike, but still determined not
to marry.
One day, I received a letter from Susan, or rather, intercepted a letter
from her. As I read it, I realized that Ester had hidden them all from me, and I
began to see red. I had thought that Susan had forgotten about me, but she was
coming to get me, so that I could teach at her school with her. I was so
excited! Within the letter, there was a plan on how I was to escape. The
Christmas holiday was approaching, and I was to tell Ester that I was going to
town to get her and Junior a gift, something that surely she would not resist.
Susan would meet me in town, with the horse and carriage; I was to come with
nothing but the clothes on my back, Susan would provide for me. I burned the
letter at once and ran to the cemetery to say good-bye to mother and Mary. My
prayers were to be answered, or so I thought.
Somehow Ester found out about my plan, and was not pleased to say the
least. My hopes shattered like glass as I saw the expression on her face as she
waited for me at the bottom of the stairs. I did not even try to attempt to
leave, but, instead, turned around and went into my bedroom. I did not come out
for three days, and Ester surprisingly stayed away. For the first time in my
sixteen years of existence, I had peace.
About four months later, Ester told me to go into town to pick up a dress
that she had ordered from the dress shop. As much as I despised Ester, she did
have good taste, and we were about the same size. Just for fun, I tried on the
dress, I could not resist! It was made of the finest silk, and was the color of
the deepest Mediterranean Ocean. For the first time, I looked my age, and it
felt so good to get out of my tight rags. As a strolled around town in the
dress, I acquired many admirers, but one caught my eye. His name was Ramsey, or
at least that was what his friend called him. He made my heart flutter;
something that I had sworn time and time again that I would not allow to happen
to me. Our eyes locked, and I swear that I heard choirs of angels sing. I was so
frightened, and began to run, in the opposite direction, but he ran right after
me. He called me Helen, and I came to a dead stop. I asked him how he knew my
name, and he told me that he had been watching me from afar. I guess I had been
wrong about no one noticing me in my rags. He told me to come with him, and I
could not say no. Ester never got to see her beautiful dress, because it became
my wedding gown. Within a few short days, I was Mrs. Ramsey.
When we first got married, my husband for so happy and free, everything
that I wanted in a husband. He was a philosopher, but he shared his thoughts and
feelings with me. In our little apartment, we would stay up all night just
talking about everything and anything. Sometimes they were deep conversations
about things that many men would never dare to speak about with their wives, and
sometimes we would plan our family. Whatever the case was, he would always hold
me tight, and promise never to let go. I had never felt so loved, so safe, or so
protected in my life. My promise to never marry had reached the depths of my
unconscious mind.
Everything began to change once I had children. With each one, my
precious “Ramsey” became more and more distant. Our deep conversations
stopped, and he became the “man of the house,” and I became the “lady.”
This was the reason that I had never wanted to marry, but to this day I do not
regret it. My children are my greatest joy, and I have lived long enough to see
them grow up. I get through the days by thinking about the look in my
husband’s eyes when he was so young and free, because now he has grown into a
confused questioning mind that strives to be the best. I pity him in a way,
because he tries so hard, but sometimes comes up short. He does not know the
story of my past, nor have I ever felt the need to tell him. Perhaps when I am
gone, he will find this first, and understand me better, hopefully everyone
will. I am refined, because despite my happiness now, the pain that I endured as
a child and teenager has strained my heart. With each strike of Ester’s belt,
a little piece of my heart was chiseled off, and no amount of love can or ever
could heal it.
As for what happened to the MacGregor’s…Ester died a few years ago,
of a ripe old age; Junior is now a doctor somewhere in America. I do not intend
to ever see him again. Susan is still alive and well, but we have trouble
keeping contact, and she never married. My other sisters died of various
diseases, but I did not find out until years after their deaths. I have not been
to the site of mother’s and Mary’s graves since that day I thought I was
saying good-bye, but my time to be with them is drawing near. I can hear them
calling me in my sleep, and I am not afraid. I long to join them, because I know
that everything in this world will work out for my children, especially James.
He has the same look in his beautiful green eyes that my husband did when we
first married- I know that he will do wonderful things. I still believe that
there will be a better life for my children, and that a marriage in which a
woman does not have to be a perfect “lady” does exist. I feel as though, in
a small way, I did end up like my mother, but it could have been worse-I could
be like Ester. Well, James awaits, I hear him saying that he wishes to go to the
lighthouse tomorrow. The other children are so cruel to him. Perhaps I will tell
him that it will be a fine day tomorrow…