Long ago, in a modest hamlet in the English countryside, a family took in an old woman who was scarcely more than a distant relativealmost a stranger, blind and of waning mind. It was a deed most would have called reckless, yet they welcomed her nonetheless.
The household was poor, living in a thatched cottage on the edge of the village. The parents had three children, and one of their sons already had two grandchildren, so the family was bustling despite its meagre means. They were plainspoken, rough around the edges, not much given to learning, but they possessed a solid sense of duty. Rather than consign the old lady to a workhouse or leave her alone each night, they brought her to their home, for she could no longer tend to herself.
They fetched her threadbare blankets, dressed her in a clean smock, tied a fresh kerchief around her head as proper, fed her a spoonful of broth, and settled her on a low bed. On the wall they hung a simple rug of woven deer, though she could not see it. Life went on with cabbage soup, porridge, cheap Chinese noodles, tea with a spoonful of sugar, and the constant task of escorting her to the privy and changing her garments when needed. In the evenings she muttered in a thin, trembling voice, spouting nonsense as only one halflost in mind could.
One dawn, the old womanEleanor Mayfielduttered a garbled warning: Theres a thief in the shed! The family hurried to the outbuilding and found their drunken neighbour rummaging through their potatoes and cabbages. The coincidence seemed strange, yet it was true.
Weeks later the frail voice warned again: Rinny shouldnt go to the town. The carriage will smash. Trusting the odd prophecy, they stopped their son Rinny and his friend from travelling to the market town. The friends motorbike careened off the road and was wrecked, and Rinny might well have been killed had he been in the passenger seat.
Eleanor continued to speak riddles she could not understand, could not remember, could not see, and could scarcely bring a spoon to her mouth. Eventually she began to babble about wanting a lottery ticket. She sat by the fire, pleading for one.
Her father, Thomas, rode his bicycle to the nearest large village and bought a ticket. In the weeks that followed they were told they had won a sizeable sumthree to five hundred pounds, the exact figure slipping through their lips as a good haul. Simple folk spoke of the money in vague terms, simply saying, a fortune. With the winnings they bought Eleanor a fresh coat, jars of ginger biscuits, and a beautiful coverlet for her bed. Though her eyes could see little, the world around her was dressed in bright colours, and everyone treated her with gentle affection.
Eleanor still drifted in and out of sense, forgot things often, could not feed herself or reach the lavatory unaided. Yet she smiled a kind smile, sitting on the pretty coverlet in her clean coat and flowered kerchief, like a little doll. She ran a rosary through her fingers, whispered soft, benevolent words, and nodded her head in quiet contentment.
