Song for a Winter’s Night

By Sarah MacLachlan

Winter’s First Snowfall

By Tasamin

The crisp leaves crunched beneath her feet as she trudged through the forest. Few birds were left, it was like she could smell the snow in the air. It was coming and he was not here. Trying to avoid that uncomfortable thought, she continued walking. The wind prickled her cheeks to a rosy color.

The end of the world she thought is where he brought her. A secluded cabin up in the Swiss Alps, she used to love the book of Heidi as a child now she was having serious doubts about it. It had been a month since she had seen him. Thirty days, six hours, 12 minutes and 42 seconds. Now she knew she was going insane. Rita was clearly unused to being by herself for such a long amount of time and this much solitude was finally getting to her. She walked inside the cabin and closed the door and sat by the window.

So, she began reviewing in her mind for the umpteenth time what had brought her there. Her husband Michael, she smiled, that thought still made her smile, had surprised her at a charity ball and whisked her away for her own good it seems. Life on the run was nothing like she had read in books and seen in movies. Well, almost nothing, she thought with a blush.

That life was taking a toll on her, as her mind recalled. They were in Salzburg, Austria. Pretending this time to be brother and sister no less. She found the concept laughable. No two people could look less alike. She had to memorize so many names and nationalities and family relationships; it was a constant test trying to keep it all straight in her mind. When she arose in the morning, she always took a minute to recall who she was masquerading as the day before.

She watched in amazement as Michael shed these personas with ease and no conflicts. To her though, it was exhausting constantly being on edge looking for the unknown hunters who were determined to find them. A hidden part of her kept whispering that she was useless and why would Michael even need her.

Yet what made her go on and continue were the moments that she had been spending with him. They actually finally had some quiet time together, something that had never really happened before, since he was always rushing off. It was a time of mutual discovery, she found out favorite foods, music, wines and desserts. They danced on the edge of the Danube to music only they could hear, kissed at the top of the Eiffel Tower, had a leisurely sail down the Thames and slow achingly sweet kisses exchanged under a full moon in Holland.

Finally, Michael looked at her as they were about to board another train to Chechnya and he halted in his tracks. Rita’s eyes filled with fear and tension as she pretended that nothing was amiss. She feared someone had finally found them.

His eyes pulled at hers in a way that never ceased to surprise her. She could drown in those eyes everyday of her life and most happily. It seemed he could see into her soul, touching something only he could reach. It was the time she was most safe, when she was looking into those verdant eyes, time seemed to slow and all she could hear was the beating of her heart.

"Rita, I think you need to rest," he said as he reached out to cup her cheek with his hand. He saw the shadows in her eyes and he knew she was not sleeping soundly through the night. This life was taking a toll on the carefree girl he knew. It was changing her in front of his eyes. The one thing he most wanted to avoid. The only option open to them was to separate. If he worried about her too much, it would make him careless and could cost them both their lives.

Rita, not understanding what he meant said, "I can sleep on the train. You know I do that so well," she said jokingly, in reference to when they had first met.

He smiled a bittersweet smile that had her perplexed. "Do you ever regret meeting me on that train?" For he knew she barely slept like an innocent like that anymore.

Rita’s eyes filled with fire. "Of course not! I voluntarily came with you. I married you till death do us part and I meant it." Her eyes filled with tears, tears she refused to let come down, as she said haltingly, "Do you?"

Michael never got to answer that question, he pushed her down to the ground as he pulled out his gun and shot. Rita turned her head to see the shooter go down and blood began to pour from his body.

"Get up," Michael said calmly. Rita jumped up. Michael was looking around and realized it was a trap. There were people that were not running due to the gunshots. "Run and do what I told you." They had seconds before their location was pinpointed and shots rained around them again.

Rita knew what he meant but did not move. If he were going to die she would rather die with him than wait alone. Michael grabbed her by both shoulders and moved them behind a pillar, his face inches away from hers, "Go now. I will be there in a month before the first snowfall. I promise." Michael willed her with his eyes and voice to do as he asked.

In that instant she believed him and ran as if the dogs of hell were on her tail. She merely blended into the crowd of screaming people. She tried seeing him again, but in vain, he was gone like smoke. Her mind screamed his name, praying that he was not lying in a pool of his own blood helpless.

She followed the plan and made her way on foot to the bus station. Finally, two days later the endless journey found her at a tiny hamlet, not to be found on any map with introduction letters in hand and the key to the cabin. Fredric escorted her to the cabin and warned her that if she were still here by the first snowfall she would be here all winter. He also told her the cabin on the mountain had been supplied with enough to last the winter for two people. Rita heard this all in daze, her brain barely processing it all. Overwhelmed and exhausted, she collapsed in the cozy cabin’s queen sized bed and slept.

When she awoke late the next afternoon she refused to open her eyes hoping against hope that he would be there. Yet her senses could not feel his presence in the room, his scent did not linger in the air and disappointment flooded her system as reality hit with a resounding thud. Tears escaped from the corners of her eyes.

Wiping them away angrily, thinking she had more faith in him than that. He would be there. Rita climbed out of the bed to investigate the cabin. A place that would be her home until Michael came.

She walked and saw there was a bathroom next to the bedroom. She opened the cabinet and saw it was well stocked with toiletries for both a man and a woman. Looking at the large bathtub as she pushed aside the curtain she noted with surprise her favorite shower gel was there waiting for her. Touched by the gesture she smiled. A shower would be a good idea.

Making her way to the closet she saw it was full of Michael’s clothes, green, blue, beige sweaters and several pairs of jeans. Some worn and others newer, a couple of work boots and hiking boots were at the bottom. She pushed the boots aside and felt the floor. There it was she lifted the lever and there was a ladder leading down. She was in the cellar of the cabin she pulled at the string and it became dimly lit. She looked around in surprise; there were armaments of all types. Michael had taught her how to shoot but she had never shot anyone. She grabbed a Glock and put it in the waistband of her pants and went back upstairs with a sigh.

The rest of the cabin she would have found charming if she had been in a better mood. As it was Michael had set up his cello in the corner of the living room and it taunted her. No sweet music came from it, simply a noiseless longing to hear it played. The days passed in a blur of worried confusion and much thought about what she would do when she saw him again.

And now it was the last day of the month and the first snowfall was here. She sat by the window watching the first fat, fluffy snowflakes slowly make their mark upon the earth. Each flake was a pinprick of pain in her heart. The candle she had in the window was growing lower and lower by the minute. Her hopes were slowly dying with each flicker.

Taking another sip of wine, she prayed yet again to see the man she loved walking to her. All the harsh moonlight revealed was the desolate plain of snowfields mocking her and all her dreams. She could almost embrace widowhood in the distance. An aching loneliness was creeping around her doing a macabre dance.

Considering what she would give to merely hold his hands and together watch the snowfall, she would give everything and even what she did not have. She closed her eyes in despair. Her fingers were rubbing her forehead, working away the worry lines that seemed to be imbedded there.

She could almost imagine hearing her name whispered upon the wind in a delectable French accent that could wake the dead. Her mind was finally playing tricks on her. Somehow, inevitably, she knew that the day she lost him she would go mad. He was the other half of her soul. A love that was born so suddenly and flourished brilliantly till the end, images flashed through her mind, waking up in his lap on the train, riding in a gondola in Venice, and their unspeakably beautiful wedding in Hawaii. It was this recognition of what was missing and what should be grasped quickly should it escape. The simple essence of knowing that when love makes an appearance, it should be held on to with both hands. She had been searching so long for someone like him and now… and now her mind could not say it or acknowledge it.

Staying up all night drinking his favorite wine was the plan for the evening. Hoping the alcohol would dull the pain. The hours passed slowly and painfully as the memories trickled through her mind like an hourglass. Reliving every moment precious or not as she watched the moon slowly disappear from view.

Finally, the dusky dawn had arrived, a time when it could be mistaken for twilight, the last few brief moments of the night taking their final bow. That was when the floodgates opened and tears began to fall from her face unheeded, for she saw her life stretching before her, a long solitary road tread upon alone. The long winter in the cabin would be a period of mourning. Finally, rising from the chair, her body complained from being kept in the same position all night. Slightly wobbling from a bit too much wine, she walked to the kitchen in search of a glass of water.

In the kitchen, she heard the door to the cabin swing open. Her mind cleared in an instant as she pulled out the gun. She walked calmly into the living room, not quite caring if she lived or died. The gun fell to the floor in a clatter that went unheeded.

He stood in the middle of the room, removing a snow covered black knit cap from his head. His hair fell almost to his shoulders. It had grown in the time they were apart. He stood drinking in the presence of her. He had been in a loveless desert without her. Michael knew now it was better that they stay together rather than apart.

Rita’s heart was going a mile a minute, no longer beating from the adrenaline of being attacked, but rather in joy. There were no words necessary when what they were feeling could clearly be seen on their faces. Even if she wanted to say something, her mind was too busy for words as she stood staring at him there, alive and back in her life.

Suddenly, she began to run towards him and his arms opened in welcome. He lifted her above the floor and they spun around the room in a dance of joy. She framed his face in her hands feeling the stubble that had grown there while they were apart. Tilting her head, she placed her lips upon his, gently at first and then with increased passion. His arms gripped her tightly almost expelling all the air out of her body. Gently, he allowed her body to slide down along his. Her feet touched the ground for the briefest of seconds as he swept her into his arms and took her into the bedroom.

The end

This story ©Tasamin, January 2001