There was something serene about being inside the church, not that I was religious. It was the calmness of an ancient building, the history that whispered around me that seemed to have soothed my mind. I took a seat in the front pew.
“May I join you?” I heard. The voice startled me and I spun in my seat. A vicar stood beside me.
I opened my mouth, but of course, no words emerged. He held up his hand and smiled. He had a kind smile.
“Dani, isn’t it?” he asked. I nodded my head and then shuffled up when he indicated with his hand towards the pew.
“We don’t get too many visitors nowadays; it’s such a shame,” he said as he sat.
I patted my jacket for my pad and pencil.
I’m sorry, I can’t talk, I wrote.
“I know. But you can, inside I bet,” he replied.
I wasn’t sure how to reply so simply nodded.
“I saw you at your husband and child’s grave. I imagine that must be extremely painful for you.”
All I could do was nod again.
“You know something? We don’t need to verbalise to communicate, it helps, but it’s not necessary. It’s our actions that count.”
I held my breath waiting for the ‘God Talk.’ He chuckled. “Sounds so bloody easy, doesn’t it?” His expletive, although mild, surprised me. I smiled at him.
He turned slightly in his seat to face me and held out a hand. “Daniel, at your service. Should you ever need my services, of course.”
I took his hand in mine and shook it.
I thought I might find some answers, but I don’t know where to look, I wrote.
“Answers to what? Life and the universe? I’m pretty sure that might bore you to screaming point.” He laughed out loud and I warmed to him.
Do you know someone named Lincoln? I think he might be the husband of Anna; she’s buried outside. I turned the pad so he could read.
He gently shook his head. “The name doesn’t ring a bell. Would you like to show me where Anna is?”
I smiled and started to rise. He stood and stepped from the pew, holding out his arm so I could lead the way. Daniel followed me to Anna’s grave.
“Sadly, Anna was laid to rest before I came here, but there would be records. I could check for you, they are available for public scrutiny.”
I tried to write while balancing the pad on my thigh.
I would appreciate that, I wrote.
“How about you give me a couple of days and let me see what I come up with?”
I nodded and smiled my thanks.
“I’ll let you get on. I’m sorry I disturbed your peace, but please, feel free to just come and sit anytime you’d like.”
I watched him walk back to the church. He hadn’t been the vicar that presided over Trey and Hannah’s funeral; I guessed that meant he was relatively new. He was young, and I wondered how he’d fare with the older, more traditionalists, that lived in the village. Not that any of that mattered, if he was able to find some information on Anna, I might get a little closer to understanding who Lincoln was.
I pulled Miller’s jacket tight across my chest as I walked back. The wind had picked up and it was biting. Dark storm clouds rolled in so quickly it took me by surprise. My hair swirled around my face, and the wind caused my eyes to water, blurring my vision. I could see someone standing on the edge of the cliff, at the bottom of what would ultimately be my garden. I lowered my head and walked a little faster. A clap of thunder startled me, and I began to run. Being caught in the wind and rain at the edge of a cliff top wasn’t where I wanted to be.
“Quick,” I heard. I looked up to see Miller holding the barn door open.
As he spoke, so the heavens opened. The rain fell in sheets so dense, for a moment, it was difficult to see where to go. I faltered, already soaked through. I felt a hand grab my arm and I was pulled along to the open door of the barn.
“Are you okay?” he asked, standing in front of me.
I pushed my sodden hair from my forehead and shivered with the cold. I nodded.
“It’s a bit treacherous to walk that path in this weather.”
I pulled the damp pad from the pocket.
It was nice when I went out, I wrote.
“Bad weather rolls in so quick here. You should be careful.”
I stared at him. I know. I was born here, lived here for many years. I scribbled, annoyed at being chastised.
He chuckled. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend. Did you know your handwriting changes when you’re annoyed? So does your face, of course.”
I sighed and shook my head, then smiled at him. He was just being kind, I thought.
“Ready to run for the house? Doesn’t look like this is letting up any time soon, and I’m sure you’d like to dry off.”
I placed the pad back in the pocket and headed for the door. I guessed that was all the answer Miller needed. He followed me as I ran, after he locked up the barn door. I stood by the back door and watched as he started to walk towards his truck. I waved, gaining his attention and beckoned him over. He jogged to the door and I gave him a T sign with my hands.
“Thought you’d never ask,” he said with a laugh.
“Dani, look at you,” Dad said, as we piled into the kitchen.
I shrugged my shoulders and removed Miller’s jacket. I held it out to him.
“Keep it, it suits you more than it does me,” he replied.
The leather jacket was dripping so I hung it on a peg next to the back door, the rain could drip onto the tiled floor while it dried out.
“I bet you two could do with a nice hot cup of tea,” Dad asked.
“Definitely, thanks, Alistair,” Miller replied.
I watched Miller take a seat, as if already invited, at the kitchen table. If it had been anyone else, I think it would have annoyed me. He seemed very much at home. Even Lucy rose and placed her head on his thigh for a petting.
Dad placed the tea on the table and I sat opposite Miller. Whether it was the fact he’d gotten soaked himself, or maybe, since I hadn’t been able to speak, I’d become more aware of facial expression, but sadness seemed to radiate from him. He smiled, he laughed at something Dad had said, but it felt forced to me. He wasn’t as natural as he normally was. His shoulders were a little slumped. I had to pull myself up, though. I’d only met him a handful of times. I didn’t feel I knew him well enough to ask if he was okay.
Thunder rumbled overhead and the rain lashed against the windows. Miller drank down his tea and stood.
“I really should get going,” he said, looking out the window at the deteriorating weather.
“Why not wait, have dinner with us? The rain might ease up by then,” Dad said.
“Thank you, but I really need to go. Another time, for sure.”
Miller smiled at me as he walked to the back door. I noticed the smile didn’t quite meet his eyes.
“He didn’t seem himself, did he?” Dad said, as he closed the door behind Miller.
I thought that, I wrote.
Dad gathered up the cups and walked to the sink. Although we had a dishwasher, he rarely used it.
“I like him, there’s something a little tragic about him. Heard he’d had some trouble a year or so ago,” Dad said.
I wrote, What kind of trouble?
I rose and stood beside Dad, showing him my pad.
“I don’t know what caused it, but he had a bit of drink problem, at one point. That was according to Mrs. Hampton. Mind you, she’s a terrible gossip. I didn’t ask why.”
I didn’t think any more on what Dad had said. I decided to take a shower; I was still sitting in wet jeans and socks.
The smell of roast chicken wafted up to my room. Dad had limited cooking skills, and I wondered if he made more of an effort to cook a proper meal because I was there. I was sure that, when he lived on his own, he’d snacked more than cooked a full meal. I dressed in my pyjamas and headed downstairs.
I laid the table while Dad dished up
our meal. A wave of guilt washed over me, I’d been waited on since I’d arrived and it wasn’t fair. Dad chatted throughout the meal, just village gossip, what the weather was going to be like for the next few days, and his worry about Lucy, the dog. It was nice to listen to him; it was awful not to be able to participate.
I think it’s time to see that specialist you talked about, I wrote, shoving the pad towards him.
The smile that he gave had me feeling terrible that I hadn’t agreed before then. He left his meal and walked to the hall. He returned with a handful of leaflets.
“I did some research, on the interweb. We have to start with the doctor making a referral, of course. If you’re sure, and I don’t want to pressure you, but I can ring the doctor in the morning.”
I chuckled at his term, ‘interweb.’ I nodded as he handed the leaflets over. It looked like he’d printed all sorts off the Internet. I placed them to one side and finished my meal. I’d take a read through after dinner.
It was as I was stacking the dishwasher that the lights started to flicker. Without worrying, I reached into a drawer and pulled out a pack of candles. It was quite usual for the power to be knocked out in a bad storm, and with the wind and rain causing havoc outside, it was going to be one of the worst we’d experienced in a while.
I lit the bottom of each candle melting a little wax before sticking them to some saucers I’d found. Although Dad had an array of ornaments around the house, candleholders weren’t among them.
“I lit the fire, just in case the heating goes off,” Dad said, taking a candle into the living room with him.
We sat in the living room, the TV was off and Dad, being the storm expert, powered down his computer. He told me about his theory on power surges destroying his information. I wondered what information he had stored on the computer.
“Sit with me, Dani. You’re not too old for a cuddle from your old dad, are you?”
I smiled as I curled up next to him; he placed his arm around my shoulders.
“How do you feel, darling? What don’t you tell me?”
His questions surprised me. I didn’t have a pad or pencil to hand. He tightened his grip on me.
“I think you blame yourself. When you were unconscious, you mumbled an apology over and over. I’m guessing that was to Trey. But you have nothing to apologise for. What happened wasn’t even a tragic accident, it was bloody…”
His body had tensed and I felt him take a deep breath in as if trying to calm himself. I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear the word I thought he was about to use. It was a word that had run through my mind over and over. I placed my hand on his chest and rested my head on his shoulder. He gripped my hand tightly.
“I didn’t know if I was going to lose you, as well. I’m not sure you agree with the decision I had to make but, for me, there wasn’t a choice. I couldn’t run the risk of you dying, Dani, can you understand that?”
I nodded my head against his shoulder.
“I thought you’d hate me. I agonised over that choice and what little time I had to come to it was brutal. Every night since then, I’ve dreamt of a different scenario. I can’t apologise for making the decision I did, maybe you would have chosen differently, but I needed my baby to survive. Does that make me terribly selfish?”
I raised my head so I could look into his eyes and I shook my head. I mouthed the word, ‘No.’ It was important to me that he knew I understood that he’d made the best decision he could, in the time he was given. Would I have done the same had I been him? Without a shadow of doubt.
The power went out, leaving us sitting in a room lit only by candles and the flames of a log fire.
“If it’s okay with you, I think I might head to bed. I feel quite tired today,” Dad said.
I raised my head from his shoulder and let him stand. He looked down at me, placing his palm on my cheek. He didn’t speak, but I saw his shoulders heave as if a great sigh was about to leave his lips. He smiled.
“Don’t stay up too late, you need your sleep, too,” he said.
With that, he left the room. I curled into the edge of the sofa; comforted by the warmth he’d left behind. My dad had aged considerably. Trey and Hannah’s deaths weighed heavily on his shoulders; I could see that. It must have been awful for him. He, and possibly Christian, would have been the only ones at the hospital until Patricia arrived. What an awful sight for them to have to face.
I sat for a while, just watching the flames flicker in the fireplace. Their dance was mesmerising, the logs crackled as if playing a tune. The flames created shadows across the inside of the chimney and the rug in front of the hearth. I loved the sound and smell of a real fire. I made a mental note to add at least a log burner on the list of things I wanted in the barn.
The thought of converting the barn excited me and I wasn’t sure I should feel excited. A tear ran down my cheek when I thought of how Trey would have loved to do what I was doing. He would have taken over and I inwardly chuckled at the rows we would have had. It had been a nightmare when we'd bought the house in London. Our tastes were so different; the only compromise was to have a room each to design. He hated my stainless steel and high-tech kitchen; I loathed his wood panelled, ruby red-walled den. We were so different that we worked. It hadn’t always been easy, yet we’d had some amazing times together. A pang of loss hit me between the chest and I sucked in a deep breath.
I grabbed a pad and pen and wrote. It seemed to be that whenever the loss and grief started to overwhelm, my coping mechanism was to write to Lincoln.
Lincoln,
The power is out here so I’m sitting by an open fire, writing with just candles for light. It’s nice and peaceful, that is until I start to think, to remember. I’m worried about the strain I’m putting my dad under, and although he hides it well; I can see the constant sadness in his eyes. I’ve decided to speak to a therapist and see if I can sort out my speech issue. I know it’s psychological, and for a while I was pleased. I didn’t want to talk to anyone. Not being able to was a convenient way to avoid that awkwardness. But something has changed now, maybe I’m on that upward path you spoke about, but I want to talk out loud to someone.
I visited the church today, the vicar; I forget his name, sat with me. He was kind to me, and although I’m not remotely religious, I enjoyed his company. Isn’t that a strange thing for me to write? I’m not sure why not being religious and enjoying his company should be connected. Anyway, it was nice to ‘chat’ to him and it made me realise, I actually miss conversation. I’m ready now.
I guess it will also be handy to be able to converse with Miller. I’m expecting the plans soon and there is a bubble of excitement inside me. My instinct is to suppress that excitement; it feels terribly wrong. But I can’t. I want something positive to look forward to now. I’d do anything to have Trey and Hannah on this journey with me, but I’m also proud that I’m doing this myself. Not strictly by myself because I have my dad to advise, but you know what I mean. Should I feel guilty about that? Is it selfish of me?
Selfish is a new emotion for me. I’ve given all of myself to everyone who needed me for so long. I don’t really know how to deal with this. I know you’ll say it’s another stage to conquer and I know that I will. There’s a part of me that wants to see that light at the end of the proverbial tunnel, but there’s a part of me comfortable in the darkness.
I feel like all I do is talk about myself in these letters, but it’s what I needed for a while, so I thank you, Lincoln, for allowing me to do that. I’m not sure I can express how therapeutic it is.
Dani.
I folded the page and rose from the sofa. The fire was dying down and I used the poker to spread the logs a little. It used to cause me anxiety to head to bed leaving the fire alight. I remembered, as a teenager, I’d poured water over it. The smoke caused all the alarms to go off and Dad had come running down the stairs, tripping on his pyjama bottoms. I placed a guard in front of the opening and blew out all but one candle. I pi
cked that up and then headed to bed.
The bedroom had chilled considerably; I wrapped myself in my duvet and blew out the candle, plunging the room into darkness. The clouds had obscured any light the moon would have given. Although the thunder had moved on, the rain hadn’t lessened, and I listened to the patter of drops against the windowpanes. The noise was soothing and I soon fell into sleep.
I woke to the sound of a radio; I guessed the power had come back on at some point overnight. I could hear Dad singing along downstairs. His terrible voice, completely out of tune, made me smile and reminded me of when Trey and I married. Dad’s voice drowned out the choir we’d paid for when it came time to sing a hymn. I found myself surprised that the memory hadn’t provoked sadness, instead fondness washed over me. Another thought hit me, was I wallowing in my misery a little too much? I lay thinking; how long was too long to continue to cry? I guessed I would always grieve, but as the days wore on, I didn’t cry as much. That confused me. I remembered a woman near where I’d lived; she’d worn black for a whole year when she’d lost her husband. I wasn’t sure Trey would appreciate that. In fact, I remembered a conversation we’d had many years ago. He’d specifically said he didn’t want black at his funeral. For the life of me, I couldn’t remember what I’d worn. The day had been too traumatic and I was grateful for the loss of memory.
I rose and headed for the bathroom. I winced at the cold water that fell from the showerhead and opted for a quick wash instead. The cold water on my face revived me a little. I stared at myself in the mirror. The sadness was still etched in my skin, lines on my forehead had deepened, and my eyes were ringed with dark circles. I dragged a brush through my hair and tied it in a ponytail, not really caring what it looked like.
Letters to Lincoln Page 7