Letters to Lincoln

by Tracie Podger

  You’ll get there; don’t put a time limit on it. There are no rules, Dani.

  Lincoln.

  I hadn’t realised I’d been crying until a tear dripped onto his letter. Perhaps I’d already hit that numbness stage, maybe my sore cheeks had desensitised to the wetness. One thing happened in that moment. I felt. I felt his pain course through me, pushing mine to one side for a moment.

  I cried for him and not for myself.

  Chapter Five

  Lincoln and I wrote to each other, maybe twice a week, for another month before I felt able to visit Trey and Hannah. Over that month, he told me about his wife and I told him about times with Trey. We shared memories. Some of those memories hadn’t been shared with anyone other than our dead partners. We shared secrets, fears, and we cried. He’d told me of his tears when he read my letters, and I told him of mine. Maybe it was the anonymity, but opening up through words on paper made the confusion start to dispel.

  Not once in that time did Dad ask about the letters. He’d pick them up from the mat inside the door and leave them in the kitchen if I hadn’t gotten to them first.

  It had been ten months since Trey and Hannah died and for the first time I felt able to make a decision. First I needed to do something.

  I’m going to the cemetery, I wrote, pushing the pad towards Dad.

  “Do you want me to come with you?” he asked.

  I thought for a moment. I think I need to do this alone, but I’m scared to walk there myself, I wrote.

  “How about I drive you? I’ll sit in the car until you’re ready to come home.”

  The cemetery was within easy walking distance and I wasn’t sure the last time Dad had used his car. I nodded though.

  Dad rifled through a drawer for his keys. He held out a hand to me. It took longer to get the car from the workshop than it did to actually drive to the cemetery. As promised, Dad parked in the car park and let me walk to their grave alone. They had a headstone; I didn’t know where that had come from. I sat on the grass and ran my fingers over the marble. Engraved in silver were their names and dates.

  I didn’t cry that day, which surprised me. I expected to fall apart. I expected to feel that pain which had been a constant companion. In my head, I talked to them. I told them about the letters and how talking to Lincoln had become some form of therapy for me. I told Trey about the decisions I was about to announce to Dad. I told Hannah I was sorry for not holding her. I told them both that I loved them, that I missed them.

  “Okay?” Dad said when I opened the car door. I nodded.

  He took hold of my hands between his and rubbed some warmth back into them. “Let’s get you home, shall we?”

  Dad pulled the car in front of his old workshop. It had been a barn used by the farm for many years before he’d bought it. It sat on the boundary of his garden. I climbed from the car and looked at the black, wooden clad building. I took hold of Dad’s hand and encouraged him to walk with me. We circled the barn, stopping behind it to look out over the sea.

  I hadn’t brought my pad and I was desperate to ask him something. I opened and closed my mouth.

  “What are you saying, Dani?” he asked.

  I looked around. I bent down and pulled a piece of grass, I held it out to him then pointed to the ground. I walked away from the barn to a hedge, pointed to the ground again and then Dad.

  He frowned and gently shook his head. I sighed in frustration.

  “Wait! The land…” he said, I nodded enthusiastically.

  “Is this land mine? Is that what you’re asking?” I nodded again.

  For some reason it seemed that it should have been something I would have known. Dad had owned the barn for years, but I’d never really taken notice of how much land surrounded it.

  Dad took my hand and led me back to the entrance. He walked a square pacing out the boundary. There was plenty enough space to create a driveway and a small garden.

  I pulled my hand from his and placed my palms together, I laid those palms against the side of my head, leaning in to them slightly. I then pointed to the barn.

  “You want to sleep in there?” he asked. I nodded.

  “It’s an old workshop, I haven’t been in there for years…Wait, you want to live there?” I nodded again, and a genuine smile formed on my lips.

  “Well, I guess it could be converted. It would be a lot of work, Dani, and I imagine we’d need to get architects, the council, probably the bloody parish bigwigs involved. But you know what…” It was his turn to nod gently and then smile at me. “What a project that would be for us, huh?”

  I took his hand again and walked back into the house. We went straight to the kitchen, and while he put the kettle on, I grabbed my pad.

  I want Christian to put my house up for sale. I know he said to wait but it’s time. I’m never going back, Dad. We can use that money to convert the barn; I can live there, next door to you.

  I paused. I’d have hated for him to think I was desperate to leave him.

  I don’t want you to think I don’t like being here, but I have to move on at some point. I don’t want to leave you and this could be a perfect solution.

  I slid the pad towards him when he sat.

  “Don’t you worry about leaving, or living with, me.” He chuckled. “Dani, for the first time in months there’s colour in your cheeks. We could burn the thing down afterwards, I wouldn’t care, as long as it keeps that colour and maybe adds a little sparkle to your eyes as well. Let’s do it.”

  I pulled the pad back towards me.

  Will you ring Chris, ask him to deal with the house for me?

  I knew Chris phoned every couple of days. Dad kept him informed of what was happening to me, he never told me what was happening to them. I guess they’d thought news of their baby wouldn’t be welcome. I racked my brain to remember Helen’s due date.

  When is the baby due?

  Dad didn’t answer immediately. “The baby was born a few months ago, Dani. A little boy. They named him Alistair, after me, of course.”

  I covered my mouth with my hands, which was a ridiculous thing to do since they’d never shield the sound that wouldn’t leave my lips.

  “We all thought it might be a little too soon for you.”

  I shook my head. But you missed out on the birth.

  “No, I’ve met Alistair, several times. Did we do wrong?”

  I thought for a moment, and then gently shook my head.

  I’m sorry.

  “Don’t be, Dani. We’d love nothing more than for you to meet Alistair, but we didn’t want to upset you.”

  I understand. I’d like to meet him, though.

  Dad smiled, I wasn’t sure it was the breakthrough he imagined it was. Part of me asking was so Dad wouldn’t feel that he’d have to sneak around to see his grandson. And my being at the cottage meant Christian and Helen felt they couldn’t bring Alistair to him, I guessed.

  “I’ll call Chris now,” he said. I gave him a nod.

  I had no idea how long it would take to sell my house. I knew Chris had said I should have rented it out, but I hadn’t been able to bring myself to do that. I knew I’d never return, and the compensation payout I was scheduled to receive, meant I didn’t need to sell the house to convert the barn, but it made sense. I didn’t want the pressure of being a landlady.

  I could hear Dad in the hallway on the phone. While he chatted, I made more tea. I opened and closed cupboard doors; I made a shopping list while I did. I wasn’t up to visiting a supermarket. To stand in a queue, or be in a crowded place filled me with dread, but I could start to do something instead of being waited on hand and foot.

  “Alistair has a cold or the croup, or something. But Chris wants to visit tomorrow. Are you up for that?” Dad said when he walked into the kitchen.

  I nodded and wondered if I was being lied to. Maybe Helen didn’t want me to meet Alistair yet. I didn’t think it would be for any malicious reason; rather, she was concerned I wasn’t ready.
I’d never be ready to hold another child. I’d never be ready to share utter joy at the birth, or the milestones, because I’d always wonder what we’d be doing with Hannah on her first birthday, her first Christmas. But I knew I had to.

  Lincoln,

  I made a decision today. I’m going to meet my nephew. He was born months ago and I didn’t know. I guess everyone thought they were helping me, they would have been right. I’m not sure how I’ll feel, to be honest. I’m scared to hold him, to breathe in his scent.

  You told me a secret in one of your previous letters, can I tell you one now?

  I don’t want to put pressure on you but writing to you, hearing back from you, has really helped. Perhaps it’s because, although I know your name, your story, you’re still anonymous. I can pour the words on paper and not worry because you understand.

  Dad wants me to see a specialist, to see if they can work with me on talking. I haven’t agreed yet. I’m still not convinced that I won’t open my mouth and nothing but screams will emerge. I’m scared that my vocal cords won’t actually work. So, for now, I’ll just continue the way I am.

  I’ve visited Trey and Hannah a couple of times now. It doesn’t get any easier, and with Christmas looming, I’m sure things will get worse. Dad asked if I’d go to Midnight Mass with him; I can’t do that. It would be hypocritical of me to sit in a church and pray to a God I don’t believe in. I can’t even do it just because it’s the Christmas thing to do.

  It seems that every time I write to you, I tell you only about myself. And I feel terrible about that. So, how are you? Tell me about your day.

  Dani.

  I folded the paper and placed it back in the original envelope. Why we’d stuck to that one envelope, I didn’t know. It was grubby, frayed at the edges, and the only way to secure it shut was to place a small amount of tape on the flap. I waited until late afternoon before I walked up the lane and deposited it in the honesty box.

  “There’s an architect coming this afternoon, and Chris said he’s contacted some estate agents who seem very keen to sign up your house,” Dad said, when I walked back into the house.

  I nodded but a pang of anxiety hit me. I’d have to try to communicate with the architect and that embarrassment I felt started to build.

  “I thought what might be good is if you wrote a list of the rooms you wanted, that way we can give him that and let him come up with the best design.” Dad had obviously pre-empted my anxiety.

  I grabbed the pad and tapped the pen against the table as I thought. I wanted the barn to be an all open-plan, with floor-to-ceiling glass walls on one end. I wanted to be able to sit and watch the ocean. I wrote a list, a kitchen at one end that flowed through to a living room. I could put a dining table between the areas to break it up. A downstairs cloakroom would be handy, maybe doubling up as a utility room. Upstairs I just needed the one bedroom with perhaps an en suite.

  “How about a guest room, if you have friends over?” Dad said, reading over my shoulder.

  I paused. I’d received the usual, ‘if you need anything, just call,’ messages when the accident had first happened. I’d had the, ‘you take all the time you need, your job will be here when you’re ready to return,’ statement from work. I didn’t see or hear from anyone and my company quickly found a way to make me redundant. I wasn’t sure I needed a guest bedroom but added it to the list, just in case.

  For the first time, in a while, the constant nausea subsided. I couldn’t say I was excited about the project but it gave me something other than my loss to focus on.

  More importantly, for the first time in months, I saw a twinkle in my dad’s eyes.

  One of the problems I’d had, for most of my life, was suffering guilt when my actions caused someone else pain. My guilt levels were off the scale.

  The fact that I couldn’t speak turned out not to be a problem when the architect arrived. He spent an hour ignoring me and speaking only to my father. Dad tried to include me in the discussion, he’d look at me for an answer when a question was raised but the architect, Andrew The Asshole I called him, was only interested in what Dad had to say. That was until he found out I’d be paying his fees.

  However, at the end of an hour consultation, he had a brief idea of what I wanted and seemed to think the council wouldn’t object. There had been a lot of agricultural property converted to domestic dwellings in the area. A precedent had been set.

  We were told that he’d have a provisional plan for us within a couple of weeks. His time frame suggested he wasn’t overly busy, and I guessed his attitude might have had something to do with that.

  I sat with Dad in his office and watched in astonishment as he worked his way through the local council website on his laptop. My dad, to me, was the last person I thought of a silver surfer.

  “I know how to use a computer, I took some classes,” he said, as if reading my thoughts.

  His fingers paused over the keyboard; he quickly turned his head towards me.

  “You chuckled!”

  I stared back, frowning.

  “You chuckled, Dani. You made a sound.”

  I shook my head and shrugged my shoulders. I heard every word I wanted to say, every sound I wanted to produce, in my head, but I hadn’t been able to force those words out.

  Are you sure? I wrote.

  “Yes, try again, baby.”

  I opened my mouth. Nothing.

  “You made a sound, when you didn’t realise. Maybe you shouldn’t try. But that’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

  I was unsure. I mean, of course it was a good thing, or was it? Slowly I found myself nodding. Of course it was a good thing.

  Was it a proper laugh?

  “No, but it was a sound, as if you wanted to laugh.”

  Dad’s smile grew wider and wider and I found myself smiling along with him. He reached out and ruffled my hair.

  “You’ll get there, baby. In time, you’ll get there.”

  Chapter Six

  Dani,

  Today has been a busy day, thank you for asking. Busy days are often the best because we don't think too much! A fisherman took me out in his boat, to the spot I let go of Anna’s ashes; it felt good. Although, I wouldn’t say I was ready to completely let go of her then. We don’t ever forget them but, like it has been for you, writing our letters has been a comfort, and I now feel I can start to live life again.

  I moved out of our house shortly after she died. I rented for a while, but this weekend I’m going to move back in. The place needs a cleanup, of course, maybe a fresh coat of paint, but it will give me a project to concentrate on. I suspect I’ll shed some tears, but they’ll be accompanied with a smile and maybe laughter for all the memories we shared.

  I’m glad you’re going to meet your nephew; life has to carry on. I hope when you hold him, you’ll be reminded of Hannah but you’ll also smile at the wonder of a new life. All those ‘firsts’ will be tinged with sadness, but it gets easier.

  As for Christmas? Do what you want on that day, remember them, cry for them. Your family will understand.

  Lincoln

  I’d picked up that letter late in the afternoon. For a while, I’d tried to time when I thought he’d post it through the door. There was a part of me that wanted to know the man behind the words, there was another part that didn’t. What we had was a wonderful thing; we were able to confess, to bare our souls, without physically meeting. I was getting to know Lincoln through his letters and he was getting to know me. If we met, would either of us be disillusioned? I continued to wonder about his age, what he looked like, and where he lived. It was obviously close enough for him to leave a letter through the front door; I’d lived there for many years as a child, and didn’t know of a Lincoln.

  Maybe Lincoln wasn’t his name. I couldn’t imagine a reason why he’d use a false name, unless he wanted to stay anonymous. I wasn’t entirely sure how I felt about that, however, asking him whether that was his real name or not wasn’t something I w
as prepared to do. For now, the letters were a comfort to us both, no matter what name was written on the bottom.

  The weather forecast for the next few days was rain and winds. I loved being by the sea in the winter, more so than in the summer. I loved to see Mother Nature at her angriest, the waves crashing against the shore, the rocks, and the cliffs. We’d get tourists all throughout the year, less in the winter, of course. I loved to walk the beach wrapped up against the elements and return home cold but refreshed.

  I left Dad a note to say I’d taken a walk.

  The good thing about walking the beach in the weather we were experiencing, was that it was empty. When I’d gotten to the end I looked up the cliff. I could see the spire of the church and knew the cemetery was just a little way back from it. I took the walk up the cliff path and then along.

  The cemetery was an addition to the overflowing one at the church. I pushed through rusty iron gates centred in a low stone wall. While I crouched down by Trey and Hannah’s grave, I heard the squeak of the gate opening again. I peered around the headstone to see an elderly gentleman using a cane and wrapped up against the wind with a cream mac and matching scarf walk through. He headed in the opposite direction.

  The wind was blowing my way and carried his gentle sobs with them. I didn’t go to him, it would have been intrusive, and I sure wouldn’t want anyone interrupting my grief. I heard him tell whoever lay beneath his feet about his week. I also heard him say goodbye, apologising for not being able to visit as often, since he was moving away. I watched as he raised a hand and wiped away a tear before he shuffled back the way he’d came.