To Save Her Granddaughter
For three nights straight, Eleanor had dreamt the same unsettling vision, and each time it ended with a dreadful clarity that chilled her to the bone whenever she recalled it.
Shed wake in the dead of night, move dazedly about her cottage, and instinctively begin her morning routines hours early. Yet without fail, the hazy images from her dreams would creep back, and Eleanor, her hands braced against the breakfast table, would bow her head, struggling in vain not to think of them.
It was always about her daughteras if she were still a young child, and drowning in a river. Hands outstretched, pleading, Help me, help me! And Eleanor herself was there too, but under the water, heavy flows and layers holding her back, unable to reach the child. She couldnt breathe, surfaced gasping.
Above, the river was calm and deep, inky black, weeping willows lining the banks. On a distant jetty stood her son-in-law Frederick. She shouted, but he didnt hear, only faded away into the mist.
Further off, atop a grassy mound, stood a church: three bright spires gleamed in the sun, and on its strange shore lay wide, flat stones coloured pale as chalk, with green moss in the gaps.
That was the moment she realised no help would come, and so shed sink again, drifting through the depths, searching for her child… but her daughter was nowhere to be found, and still Eleanor searched and searched…
Shed wake drenched in sweat, heart pounding with dread, crossing herself and muttering prayers.
On the third night, after the dream faded, her heart gave a sharp, sudden joltso fierce she felt as though it wedged itself sideways in her chest.
Uneasy, she scanned her bedroom, gathering herself quickly. She had to call on the neighbours, leave them instructions for the house and garden, and prepare to travel.
Her daughter lived with her family and in-laws about three hours away by coach. That meant making arrangements and setting aside a couple of days at least for the visit.
**
Frederick Edwards was a man of action. Though years weighed on him, he was still hearty, energetic, and very much alive.
He had a fondness for a tipple in the eveningsjust to ensure a sound sleep and a cheerful spirit, he claimed. Each morning, long before the sun rose, hed be up and busy. And so it was, on that particular day, he set out fishing, accompaniedyet againby his eight-year-old granddaughter, Alice.
It was September, the air gentle and warm, though the pair set out early and dressed accordingly. In a little inflatable dinghy, they rowed across the Thames at dawn, making for the small island that was Fredericks favourite spot.
Few of his old friends could manage the trip these days, but Frederick had never let the river beat him.
He doted on Alice, a quiet, thoughtful sort of girl, shy with too many people but warm with those she loved. Most called her Allie, though Frederick stoutly insisted on her proper name. She loved these outings; fishing with Granddad was her happiest place. She had friends at school, drawn to her gentle nature and her knack for drawingher notebooks and those of her mates were filled with her delightful sketches.
Water lapped gently against the boat, morning mist still resting over the river as a soft pink glow crept above the horizon. Alice fixed her gaze thereshe would remember to draw it tomorrow.
Granddad rowed longer today, breathing with more effort, while Allie listened to the fresh sounds of the waking river, the autumn rustle of willows, and Granddads indistinct muttering.
On the island was a shelter theyd built in the summer, boards carried over specially by Frederick. Allie darted in, but it was still damp with dew. She began helping set the rods instead. Frederick, waders pulled up to his hips, stepped into the shallows to cast the lines.
Alice handed him this and that, weaving up and down the pebbly edge like a dragonfly.
She wore an old jacket of her grandmothers, rubber boots, and a scarf Eleanor had insisted uponwhich was soon abandoned to her neck in the warmth.
Frederick, attention sharp despite his years, would cast the line, prop up the rods. They caught a few decent fish; Allie was thrilled, watching their silvery forms twist in the nets. When the sun climbed higher and jackets came off, Allie waded along the crisp waters edge in her boots. When Granddad declared it time for tea, they settled to their meal.
They shared tea poured from a thermos, fresh bread with dripping, and ginger biscuits Eleanor had baked. Frederick mused about fish, recalled the river in his youth, sighed and rubbed his chest.
Allie felt utterly safe. Drowsy from the sun and the gentle song of birds, she dozed off atop the thick blue picnic blanket.
How long she slept, she never knew. She woke with sunlight hot on her cheek, shifted, and decided to crawl into the shelter to escape the glare.
Peering from its shadow towards the river, she found Granddad gone. She lay there, blinking, waiting for him to come back into viewbut he didnt.
Worried, she crept outside, made her way to the bank, and there spotted hima tumbled shape, lying awkwardly on his side, one arm flung out, legs tangled in the reeds and water.
Alice shook him, called his name, pulled at his hands. But Granddad smelled neither of tobacco nor the smoky tang of fires as usual. He smelled of nothing at all, cold and strange.
Understanding dawned, and Allie leaped back.
Granddad! Could he be dead?
She tried again to wake him, pried open his eyelids, but nothing worked. Panic rose, the tears came fast, her small voice carrying down the river.
When the crying slowed, sniffling, Alice dragged the boat towards the water.
She ran again to her grandfather. For a second, she imagined shed seen him stir, but fear and the uncomfortable scent of death forced her to push off. Stepping into the dinghy, legs soaked, she clambered aboard.
Surely shed reach the main bank soon, she told herself. But the oars churned the water thickly, her arms not up to the task, and with sun overhead and despair clutching tight, Allie soon surrendered to the pull of the river.
The force of the Thames was as formidable as ever, drawing the boat into a strong side current that headed for the sea. The little boat left the inlet, swung swiftly into the main flow.
Alice paddled, aching palms sore, but when she grew weary, she set the oars to one side and gazed at the thick woods and rocks along the banksno houses, no people anywhere.
Still the river bore her further and further from home.
***
Eleanor arrived at her daughters house well after tea. Only her in-law, Olive, and little grandson Sam were therethough it was a Saturday. Olive bustled about, keen to feed her guest. Sam dragged Eleanor to his room to show his toy soldiers.
But Eleanor felt uneasyfear a weight in her chest. The pots of geraniums on Olives windowsill gave off a sharp, sugary scent, two deep rows catching the low afternoon light and glowing red.
When will they be home, then? she asked.
The younger couple had gone into town, Olive explained, Theyre always out on a Saturday, spending a bit here and there. No harm in it, if theyve the means. As for Frederick and Allie, theyll be back by supper.
What? Eleanors heart skipped. She had thought Alice was with her parents. You dont mean Allie didnt go with them?
No, Olive replied, wiping her hands on her faded apron, Last Saturday she went. Bought lovely new shoes for school and a few other bits
Olive, are they fishing far? The terror clamped Eleanors heart tighter.
They row to an island for their fishing. I scold, I dosay its no place for a girl, but can you change Fredericks mind? Or Allies, come to that.
Eleanor barely listened. The dread mounted, an ache pressing at her ribs.
You alright, love?
Imperhaps just tired from travelling.
Here, my dear, take thesemeant for the heart, Olive added, offering medicine drops.
Sam climbed on her lap while the drops did their work, and Olive fussed about. They wandered the garden and waited until Catherine and Boris, Eleanors daughter and son-in-law, returned.
Mum! What brings you here? Catherine was surprised.
I missed you, and thought to bring you some preserves, Eleanor replied.
And the house?
Left in Annies hands. Ill be with you tonight.
Even as she said it, Eleanor knewshe wouldnt be leaving so soon. She could all but hear Annies grumbling at her absence.
An odd feelingEleanor had always had this sense, as if she could weave the past, present, and future together, sometimes feeling perfectly sure of things before they happened.
Her late husband, Victor, knew of this odd gift. At first hed been sceptical, then he just accepted it.
Knew itI married a witch, hed say.
Hed laugh about it, but came to trust her. Like the time she insisted he shouldnt cut the hay, declaring there would be rain. He went anywaygrumbling about her stubbornnesscame back drenched from an unlikely downpour. She said nothing, made him tea.
How did you know? hed mutter.
It smelled like rain, shed reply. He couldnt smell it, nor could anyone else. Only she ever could.
Her son Colin had his share of frustrations too; every so often shed refuse him this or that, only to be proven right when a mishap occurred. And when he came home from the conscription office, boasting an offer to go to London to the Royal School, Victor had laughedThey daft? Thats for the sons of generals. Youll see, his mother wont let him go.
But Eleanor kept calm. Hell need a new suit.
Youll let him? Victor stared, astonished, Hell never get inits London! The Royal! What are you thinking?
Hell get in, she said, staring levelly at Victor. And Colin did, one of only two from their district.
Now, as Eleanor watched her lively daughter unpack shopping, and bustling Boris, she felt it keenly: something heavy gathered in the corners of this bright home, and soon, only sorrow would remain.
She lay down, playing with Sam beside her.
Mum, you look sad. Are you unwell? Catherine asked, worried.
No, just the journey. Couldnt sleep a wink. Catherine, what time will Father and Allie be home, do you reckon?
By nightfall, usually. Why?
Oh, just missing them, Eleanor made herself smile.
But Catherine sensed her mothers worry. She brushed it off, busying herself, but as twilight approached, anxiety crept into the household.
Catherine and Boris went to the riverbank, peering in vain at the distant islands. No boat in sight, and darkness was close. Boris ran to local farmer Michael to borrow a motorcar and get help from the river rescue.
The village snapped to action.
Frederick was found first, still on the island. One moment hale and hearty, the nexthis heart stopped, gone in an instant.
Boris scoured the island for Alice, though it was clearno dinghy meant Alice must have tried to row home alone. But could an eight-year-old possibly cross that river?
They placed Fredericks body in the rescue boat, talking of wind and the shifting sand, speculating where the river might have swept the boat and child. Boris sat over his fathers body, paralysed by fear: his Allie, just eight, was somewhere adrift, unable even to swim, while the river raged.
He hated the Thames thenhated it for taking his father, for stealing his child.
He could barely process it, nodding absently while the men made plans, gave reassurances.
***
The river slipped past, shadow-green and sluggish beneath the evening sky. Allie tried to steer the dinghy for the bank, but the westerly breeze always forced her adrift. An adult, perhaps, would have realisedanywhere ashore was safer than staying out, but Allie was still just a child.
She wept for her mum, called for her granddad, thought about her dad and her grandmothers, wishing desperately someone would suddenly appear and scoop her up.
The dying sun flared across the water, making her eyes water as the boat carried her by reed-thick woods and steep, stony banks, past distant cottages and open fields.
She hadnt put her jacket back onshed thought shed only be away from Granddad a minute, just long enough to fetch help. The dinghy had two wooden benches, Granddads fishing bag, and the oars.
As evening came, clouds massed, and light rain began, roughening the surface and pitching the dinghy violently. Allie was terrified, tried to row, but her tired hands let one oar fall away, bobbing swiftly out of reach. Exhausted and frozen, Allie simply watched it float off.
As the night darkened, she curled up under the bench, teeth chattering against the wet, bitter-cold floor of the boat. It never occurred to her she might not surviveshe only thought of her mother, of home, sure they must be searching already, and that soonvery soontheyd find her.
When she could bear it no longer, she got up, rubbed herself warm and, desperate, peeked at the bank with a chill of terror at the blackness of nighton that side, the land looked like some wicked kingdom from a story, full of lurking shadows and unseen dangers. The riverbank melted into darkness, but the rain faded, and a silver path from the rising moon danced across the water.
Allie watched it, longing to run down that shining path straight home, straight into her mothers arms. Crying softly, she began to sing the lullaby her mother loved:
Across the blue waves to the green distant land,
I sail on my ship as fast as I can.
On my ship as fast as I can.
On my ship as fast as I can.
Im not afraid of the wind or the night,
Im coming, my darling, to hold you tight.
Im coming through wind and night,
To my mother whos waiting for me.
The song gave her courage. Surely, she thought, its just a matter of patience, just a little longer.
She grabbed the fishing bag, hugged it close, pillowed her head on it. She drifted between sleep and shivering wakefulness. If only shed watched the bank more keenly, she might have seen the river shift, steered herself with the remaining oar into a quiet willow-lined inleteasier to land, to reach the shore.
But Allie missed the chanceand the Thames swept her on into the broad, wild flow.
At dawn she woke, shivering like a leaf, using the rucksack as a shield against the biting wind. Suddenly inspired, she rummaged in the bag for anything to helpout tumbled fishing hooks, bait, a folding penknife. She hesitated to cut Granddads rucksackhe would be cross, surely, but perhaps he was beyond caring now. She tore it open, made herself a makeshift cloak. Slightly warmer, she kept paddling and using her feet to push the boat closer to the bank, the sun higher now, swallows weaving above, reeds hissing on the shore.
The banks here were steep, wooded, with burial mounds rising here and there.
Mum! she shrieked in a burst of despair, chin trembling, choking out the sound.
But her voice vanished in the murmuring water, dragonflies buzzing, and birdsong.
How could a little girl outcry the mighty river?
***
Back at the rescue station on the shore, Catherine, Eleanor, neighbours and friends gathered, all except Olive, who stayed home with Sam and her grief.
Men came and went, refuelling boats. The emergency motorcar waited since morning, not leaving the station. In the rescue rooms, Catherine lay on a couch, overcome by worry and shock.
Eleanor, surprisingly composed, felt a calmness settle in from the beginning. Somehow, she was certain her granddaughter would be found.
Mum, is that why you came? Catherine asked, once they were alone, Dad said…
Oh, nonsense, Catherine. Just chance, nothing else. Now come on, hold yourself togethershes alive, well find her.
But Mum, what if…? Catherine broke down again.
Catherines friend Harriet stayed close. The men searched the banks by boat, a young medical orderly sat quietly on a riverside bench. The ambulance driver, an older, limping gentleman, was helping with logistics.
Hearing a boat approach, people rushed forward, hope in their eyes, but there was always the same discouraging news.
Eleanor beckoned Boris aside quietly, By the river, is there a place with flat, pale stones and a church with three spires?
Boris frowned, Churches aplenty, but that sort of bank… Not really.
People were exhausted after a sleepless night, and the search followed its own planthere was no time for hunches.
They smoked, shared sandwiches, refuelled, and set out once again.
The ambulance driver shuffled over, Did you ask about a flat, bright stony place and three spires? Theres such a spota monastery, but its up the Yewton, not the main Thames.
Could we drive there? Is it far? Eleanors eyes latched on to him.
Twenty minutes by carbut its likely a fools errand
But she was already at the car.
The medical orderly asked, Where are you off to?
Oh, just humour them, the driver called back, Better than sitting idle.
***
Meanwhile, Alices fight with the river alternated with spells of despair. She paddled, then wept, then paddled again, sunlight now fierce, and her makeshift cloak on her head.
At one point, frustrated, she tried standing to paddlebut the boat lurched, and her foot landed on Granddads scattered things. Not cut at first, but as water seeped in, she realised she must have pressed on the open penknife: the bottom was slashed.
She scooped water out with her hands, futilely covering the hole, but the boat began to flood: first ankle-deep, soon up to her knees. Clinging to the rubbery edge, shivering, the boat tipped further and further til finally she slipped into the river. The boat capsized, knocking her under.
Allie surfaced, panicking, clinging desperately to the upturned dinghy as the current swept them along.
Strangely, the shock easedit was not as cold in the river as shed imagined, and gripping the strap, she tried pulling the dinghy towards the shore, summoning the last reserves of her strength. She cried no more, only fought to survive.
Then all of a sudden, she felt something solid beneath her feeta rock, or cluster of stones. Far still from land, but when she tried to step away, her foot slipped down deep again. Still, she trusted the rock, and let the boat go, gripping that patch of ground for dear life.
Swallows spun above, she watched them, fixed her gaze on the rocky shore, knowing if she let go, shed sink. The rivers shifting water made her head spin, so she held to her spot, the childrens song echoing inside:
Soon to the land I so long to reach
Im here! Ill shout, as I run up the beach
Ill call for my mother, for me to beseech,
Ill call for my mother, and shell hear my speech
Out of the haze, she saw movement on the shorethough Allie was numb, this gave her hope, and she held on.
On the bank, Eleanor and Leonard, the driver, had just arrived. Leonard spotted a dark patch in the water, dismissed it as a stone, but Eleanor, ahead, stopped short and ran. He could hardly believe her speed.
Have you anything inflatable? Something that floats? Quicklyshes there! Bring it! she shouted.
He grabbed a small air-cushion bottle and a length of timber, running back to Eleanor, who was already in her slip and knickers, knee-deep, signalling madly.
He now saw the childher silhouette alone atop the water, an impossible sight.
He realized Eleanor was moving upstream to let the current carry her to Aliceand though she was no longer young, he did not argue.
Eleanor felt strangely calm, icy at first, but then sure and fierceshe would save her granddaughter, no matter her weakness. The plank was awkward, so she let it go, keeping only the inflated bottle for Allie.
The current tugged, she swam confidently, remembering old school lessons by the sea, barely thinking of Allie nowshe was the object, the target, the only point.
Eleanor aimed to arrive upstream, calculating the current, ignoring fatigue. She caught herself barely looking at Alliejust moving, nothing else.
Shed never rescued anyone before, but, perhaps by some intuition, she got most things right. She didnt shout, worried it might dislodge Allie from her perch.
Quietly, she reached the child from behind, wrapped an arm tight.
Allie flailed, eyes round with fear, but Eleanor hushed her, clutched the tiny cold body, alarmed at the blue lips but pushing fear away.
Not now. Theres time for that later.
She pressed the inflatable bottle into Allies hands, but itd gone softleaked perhaps, Hold thislike thisunderstood? she said, strict and clear.
Alice nodded, lips nearly purple.
Allieout loud.
She tried, the words barely a mumble.
Right. Off we go. Hold on, just like this
They started for the bank. Leonard stood waiting, the ambulance now much closer than before. Less concern about himher focus, all for Allie, preventing panic.
They waded out. Once the secure patch was lost, Alice panicked, gripping the bottle and then Eleanors neck.
Eleanor grabbed the bottle again. Steady! Ive got you!
She switched to swimming on her back, Alice clutching her tight. The cold made breathing hard, but the bank was finally close.
Eleanors strength nearly gone, she felt only the river, nothing elseno time, no pain. Herdaughter wept on the bank, her granddaughter shuddered in her arms, and she swam like a machinelove becoming muscle and bone, ignoring the ache, ignoring the drag.
Above, a hawk circled. Eleanor only allowed herself one glance to the shore, took a quick breath before churning the water yet again.
Alice saw the bank coming, her frozen eyes full of hope at last. She started to kick, and Eleanor felt new life surging through her granddaughter.
Suddenly Eleanor bumped something soft. Leonard was there, wading out, hauling Alice from the water to shore. Eleanor tried to follow, but her numb legs gave way, and she fell into the shallow, rising again to see Alice safe, wrapped in a blanket by the car.
Leonard had to help Eleanor herselfunsteady stillstrip out of her wet things, rub her limbs. A swig of whisky warmed her chest. She looked at Alice, curled up under a heavy coat, just her tufty hair showing. The child looked back.
Finally the tension ebbed. Had she truly conquered the river? Was Alice really here?
Eleanor collapsed, squeezed Alice tight, and at lastlet herself cry.
Dont cry, Grandma, said Alice, reaching out with a trembling little hand, stroking her grandmothers wet hair, No child can ever be truly lost in this worldcan they? she sang softly.
The ambulance rattled over the stony tracks, knees aching, but Eleanor barely noticed pain. There was no pain.
***
Mum, I believe what Dad said about you now. Only, he teased that you were a witch. You arentyoure a good fairy, Catherine said, laughing through tears.
Oh, hush now But perhaps I wouldnt mind.
They sat in the hospital garden. Catherine had spent a week with Alice there, returning home only for Fredericks funeraltoday was the ninth day since.
Their story rang round the county. Journalists came, officials asked questions. Eleanor blushed and brushed off praise. When they asked, How did you know where to look? she told the plain truth.
I dreamt it.
People seldom believed, but Catherine nodded, certain. Eleanor recovered quicklysore shoulders, aching knees mere trifles. Alice, with pneumonia and a full medical examination, recovered too, painting river scenesmoonlit water, wooded banks, the pink of dawn. The hospital psychologist said her use of colour was optimistic.
Today, Catherine was packing, ready to go home; it was time for Eleanor, too. The tumult of the funeral was past.
Annie will be cross Im late! Eleanor chuckled, slapping her knees.
Thatll pass, once she hears the tale, Catherine smiled. And the newspaper wrote about ithere, take a copy home.
You know, I dreamed it was you drowning, not Allie. Thats why I cameto save you, Eleanor said softly, half disbelieving shed been guided by a dream.
You did save me, Mum, Catherine replied. Wasnt it my tears that filled your dream, the river you saw? Perhaps I would have drowned in them, truly, if you hadnt come. Good fairy or not, you saved us both, she finished, resting her head on Eleanors shoulder.
