“I hoped you would come,” she smiled.
“You must be freezing. How long have you been out here?”
“I do not know how long.”
There were no footprints anywhere around where she was standing. Again, how could she so suddenly appear like she did? Somehow, Anna Atwood had a way of traveling through all those years, even if she denied how her transits into the future were accomplished or even possible. Nevertheless, there she was once again, only this time standing calmly, seductively in a flurry of snowflakes.
With snow continuing to fall around them, the sky darkening in every direction, an eerie silence far off in the trees was creeping closer, stilling the wind, which earlier had scattered white mists in the air. Strangely, and much too regrettably, Anna seemed farther away from him than she really was—a shadow so ephemeral that it lacked strength enough to survive at all. Still, even with snow falling between them and the closing darkness leaving ghostly images to inhabit this somber winter landscape, Anna Atwood was as real as the stones that held the bridge together.
“I come with a warning, Mr. Manning.” Closing the parasol, and placing it on the bridge, “It is for your safety I speak.”
Her voice was flat without the slightest hint of emotion. He’d heard recorded messages with more emotion. A sudden blast of frigid air brought him to his senses. Whether deliberate or not, she was building a wall between them, using blocks of ice cut from the frozen stream beneath the bridge. She had traveled all those years into the future only to put a wall of ice between them.
“Warning! What warning could you possibly bring, especially from so many years ago? Please excuse me for asking so abruptly.”
Dismissing his ungracious and chiding tone, she answered resolutely without being disrespectful. “I implore you to return the brooch before it is too late.”
“Too late for what?” pressed Ben.
“For both of us, and others like us.” Turning slowly and pointing to the thing dug from the ground weeks ago, and covered now in a layer of snow, she said, “That is not what you think, Mr. Manning.”
“You know what it is?”
“There are mysteries of many years ago still buried in the dirt. Things you would not believe even if I revealed them. Incredible, even monstrous things that should never have happened.”
“If they are monstrous as you say then you must tell me what they are, Anna.”
“A monster stands there in the snow, a resurrected monster.”
He looked to where she was pointing and realized the thing dug out of the ground concerned her greatly. She seemed to fear it as a sinister presence. But even beyond her fear was a deeper emotion, and that emotion was anger.
“Why does it disturb you, Anna?” he asked deliberately.
Before speaking again, she looked away from it and glanced at Ben. “It is a thing that was forever dead and buried.”
Even after a pause that allowed enough time for thoughts, Anna hesitated to explain her remarks, which Ben found frustrating, considering that she knew what the structure had been or had represented. “I’m truly sorry if seeing this thing, whatever it is, distresses you, but it has interest to friends of mine who are scientists.”
“In the beginning it offered hope,” she finally disclosed. “It soon became a punishment cast upon us by a vindictive God.”
“I tell you that it remains a mystery to us.”
“A mystery is not always solved so easily in any time.”
“Yes, I know that.” After taking a step closer, he asked, “The markings, do you know what they mean?”
“I cannot explain them,” she answered. “My purpose was only to caution you, and to request that you return the brooch.”
He started to tell her that he’d used the brooch and knew of its uncanny powers, but quickly bit his tongue. More important than either the brooch or the villainous thing rising out of the snow, were emotions he could no longer suppress. “Surely you know how often you are in my thoughts.” Stepping nearer, until they were no more than inches apart, the impulse to touch her surged through him like volts of electric current. “As extraordinary as such words must seem to you, I profess my thoughts openly.”
She laid her hand gently against the sleeve of his coat before speaking. “We are as different as two stars in the heavens, and as far apart.”
“The human heart has no boundaries, Anna.”
He took both her hands in his and for the first time since that afternoon when they had stood this close in the foyer of Atwood House, he finally saw in her eyes what he had longed to find there. Was she at last beginning to feel that such an extraordinary relationship as theirs was possible, even if her words continued to contradict what she felt? Or, in those deeper, more constrained recesses of her mind, were thoughts there incapable of moving the spirit, existing only as indelible imprints on the brain, leaving impressions that had absolutely nothing to do with love? If only what he saw in her eyes was a glimmer of hope.
“And can the heart alter time’s immovable boundaries?”
“You stand here before me now, not a shadow, not a memory, but as beautiful Anna Atwood. Your hands are in mine. I can see myself in your eyes.”
“Please, Mr. Manning,” she protested, withdrawing her hands from his.
“I’ve stopped considering the improbability of such a wonderful thing as this and find myself hoping with each day that passes that your presence here will never come to pass.”
“So nice those words, which are spoken at a time when I am most vulnerable.”
“I say what my heart encourages me to say.”
As snow fell silently, he reached out once more for her hands, only to be disappointed when she turned away. “Anna, please believe me when I tell you how very sorry I am for what has happened in your life . . . for what has saddened you so deeply.”
“You do not know, sir the severity of such pain.”
Ben Manning drew back, wishing now that the coldness would turn every word he’d spoken to her into ice. Turning back into the snow, leaving her words frozen in the cold space between them was all he could do. Once he got back to Atwood House, he’d make a fire, hot enough to melt the heaviness now in his chest. Mrs. Anna Atwood could pack away her sorrows and return them to where they belonged, away from where he lived. His thoughts of such a place were like the icicles hanging from the railings of the stone bridge—long empty years filled with pitiless despair.
A few feet from where she stood was a snowman, wearing a black hat and scarf. It was Anna’s husband frozen on the landscape of one of the blackest days Ben could remember. Before lifting his boots out of the snow, he shot a look of absolute disdain in the direction of the snowman. Though he realized it would survive in the bitter cold that had swept across the area, there would come a day when one of God’s brightest suns would destroy it.
“Please do not turn away from me, Mr. Manning. What I have said has offended you and for that I am deeply sorry, but . . . ”
“You come with this sadness of so many years, and it’s a sadness I do not want in my life,” Ben said seriously.
Her words came behind small puffs of white air, which stuck much too long to this miserably cold day. His boots were filling with snow, a heavy snow ready to cover first his footprints and then him. If he waited longer, he would become a reluctant winter friend for the snowman Anna had made. Jenna would find him a frozen statue staring into the black icy sky that was suspended low above the Ohio River.
But, like far-off echoes, there were tender words waiting, and they had the strength to slowly melt this offending cold. He could hear ice cracking, breaking into pieces, melting warm in silver puddles that trapped her reflection. He could not turn away from lips so perfect, eyes so deep. But on one of winter’s coldest days, Ben Manning was agonizingly conscious of all those summer suns between them.
&nbs
p; Anna regarded him closely as she spoke, “I will not deny that I wanted to see you, and there are feelings I cannot disown—feelings I want to confide.”
The air was warming again. Where had winter gone? Snowflakes melted before they hit the ground. On the distant horizon, a glimpse of sunlight, which looked artificial. The snowman leaned a little to one side in this space that was no longer winter. Ben wanted it to melt and run off into the creek, wanted it to flow beneath the bridge and into the trees where Shanklin’s pond would swallow whatever was left of it. The sunken eyes made from two dried leaves the color of coal and bent at the tops to look like eyebrows, regarded him suspiciously, he thought. The nose, two broken and twisted twigs, was elevated just enough to give the face a haughty countenance. Two crooked arms, branches from a patch of rhododendron growing near the bridge, flailed out in Ben’s direction as though they were reaching for him.
“Yet, there is a deep fear that causes me to hesitate,” she admitted.
“Then you must listen to your heart, Anna and speak those words you know are there.”
“Although the loneliness in my life is harsh, you have been undeniably in my thoughts.”
“Every minute of every day I think of you, Anna. There, I’ve said it. But you and I are too much apart, like you have said, and I know there is nothing I can do to change that.”
“It does not have to be that way,” replied Anna.
“But it is. You draw back when I reach out to touch you.”
“Only because I do not know what is happening to me.”
“You are as ephemeral as the snowflakes in your hair. Nothing I can do or say will change that.”
“I wish I were not so alone. Surely you understand what it means to lose someone,” she told him.
“Yes, I know that sadness. But you are so many years away from where I’m living . . . so very far away, that I cannot comfort you.”
“You are a sensitive man, Ben Manning. It is in your eyes, and your words are kind and honest. I am at ease with you and must find a way to show you my feelings.”
“How can such a thing as this be possible? As often as you are in my thoughts, there remains a darker foreboding reality I can’t ignore,” he said.
“Ben.”
Someone was calling him, a voice that sounded far away, muffled by the snow, which was once more falling harder across the bleak and dismal landscape.
Turning away from Anna, he saw a figure trudging through deep snow, calling out his name and waving with each step. A red scarf became bolder as the attenuated shape came nearer.
“Ben,” she called again, one arm raised above her head to get his attention.
But behind him, someone else called his name—faint, distant, a faltering whisper lost in a piercing wind.
“Anna,” he yelled. “For God’s sake, speak to me, sweet Anna.” But his voice was unheard—empty in so much snow.
“Ben,” shouted Jenna again from one edge of the bridge.
With his head down, he turned away from the snowman Anna had made, turned his back on Anna, who was nothing more than a fading shadow against a frozen background of dead words and cold desperate shadows.
Chapter 34
Christmas Eve, and Ben Manning sat in front of a roaring fireplace, enjoying music of the season. In the soft light of a tall Christmas tree that he and Jenna had decorated, and as the fire snapped across new logs, Ben felt his body unwind. Atwood House was silent. Nothing stirred in any of the many rooms. With Jenna spending Christmas at home, Ben soon realized that alone at Christmas was too much aloneness.
A couple hours earlier in the evening, he thought about catching a flight to Florida, to spend a few days with his mother and father. But they had their own lives now, so he would just be in the way. His mother wouldn’t be cooking a big meal, and his dad wouldn’t be basting a turkey, and Christmas Day wouldn’t be the kind of day he would remember. It was okay though. They were happy and that’s what really mattered. Besides, he hated to fly in bad weather.
But there were ways to minimize aloneness on Christmas Eve. There was always television and if he looked long enough he’d find something he liked. But television didn’t feel right on this sacrosanct night. Church did. Newburgh Presbyterian Church was holding candlelight services at seven o’clock. Since he had nothing to do, he’d pull himself away from the cozy fire to spend an hour sitting among people whose faith was more devout than his.
The church, only a ten-minute drive from Atwood House, was the oldest church in Newburgh. As he climbed the stone steps, he was surprised to see Millie Stewart talking with two other ladies in huge hats. She had a large smile and her eyes were sparkling with the magic of Christmas. Under a sky full of stars, a few men stood to one side of the steps talking in whispers. Each time the doors opened, organ music spilled out into the night. Though he was known by many in Newburgh, he knew very few people, and when someone called his name, he hoped it was one of the few he did know.
It was Bob Bergman coming up the steps behind him. Ben turned to see both Bob and his lovely wife, Julia, and waited on the top step long enough to say hello. Bob, wearing a striking camelhair overcoat was holding his wife’s hand, and both smiled as they ascended the steps toward him. He’d met Julie Bergman a few times and thought her a bit standoffish.
“Merry Christmas,” he said cordially, shaking both their hands.
“Merry Christmas, Ben.”
“Season’s Greetings, Mr. Manning,” smiled Julia Bergman as she passed into the sanctuary.
Though Manning was not a member of Newburgh Presbyterian Church, he did occasionally attend Sunday morning services there. Jenna had managed to convince him that he needed a stronger spiritual self, that he would be right with God if he attended church. Jenna and her family were in the congregation at the United Methodist Church on the other side of town. The Newlands were a close family, and though they would certainly not have objected to having him attend church with Jenna, Ben felt this was one of those nights when families worshiped together.
Ben strongly believed in a Savior who died for the sins of mankind. He also believed it was man’s inherent nature to sin. There was no perfection attached to mankind, or to “humankind” as the politically correct preferred. God dealt constantly with the imperfect. Many of the righteous imperfect attended church regularly and prayed fervently for God’s forgiveness, even blaming a benevolent God when they realized the tenaciousness of sin. Absolution remained deep in the shadows of human frailty. The imperfect did the best they could, but inevitably offloaded their sins on the doorstep of a God who was their only hope for redemption.
No matter how often Ben attended church, no matter how many times he listened to learned men preach the Word of God, and no matter how often he prayed, usually for the healing of the sick, the protection of children, and for a peaceful existence in a world that was, as Manning saw it, spinning off its axis with hate, no matter how many prayers, Ben Manning remained convinced that he didn’t need an ordained minister to intercede for him. As a boy, he was heavily churched at Zion Evangelical, a small white church in the woods filled with small-town people, most of whom were farmers. Sitting in the back of this small church with his friends, he heard repeatedly that there was no forgiveness unless it was through Jesus Christ. Jesus was an intermediary and through Jesus, God lived in each of those who strongly believed that praying to Jesus guaranteed an audience with the King.
The historical figure of Jesus Christ, who died that horrific death on the cross so that the sins of mankind would be forgiven, had long been a source of agitation for Manning. If Jesus had been God’s only son and not an ordinary man, a prophet with a fiery temperament, then the miracle of His resurrection did happen as the Gospels proclaimed. But among churchgoers there were doubters, many of them believing that Jesus Christ had been a religious man who accepted and portrayed Himself as the anointed Son of
God. Without doubt, Manning so often thought that religions had the power to brainwash, and accepting verbatim religious dictates, too frequently stifled critical thinking.
Jenna had told him several times that faith had no conditions. It was commitment, unbridled love that filled the heart with hope. Christians, filled with the spirit of Jesus Christ, seldom questioned their faith. They prayed to Jesus Christ of Nazareth who took their prayers to God. Manning remained skeptical of Christ’s intercession with God, too often thinking that he could find salvation through God without asking Jesus to do it for him. Though he wanted deeply to believe in the Savior, Jesus Christ, he hesitated. Jenna had been right when she said he needed a stronger spiritual self, and he would continue to ask for God’s guidance. Ben was a man afraid of what came after these few earth years that for him were a lifetime.
“Merry Christmas, Mr. Manning.”
It was Millie Stewart, coming down the aisle with two ladies in big hats. She stopped long enough to shake his hand. In her eyes was the spirit of the Lord, and it showed brighter than the candles burning on the oak chancel table.
Manning’s smile was genuine, as he held her hand a few seconds longer than was necessary. “How very nice to see you again, Miss. Millie. Merry Christmas.”
“These are my sisters from Tell City.”
“Welcome ladies. I hope each of you has a very, very merry Christmas.”
The ladies giggled and pushed off toward a pew at the front of the church.
Christmas Eve services were always special. Coming in out of the snow to find a warm sanctuary filled with candlelight engendered memories of better times, and allowed time to reflect, and recall the trials and tribulations of a man who either assumed the role of Savior or was without denial God in human form. The improbability of Jesus Christ’s birth on the 25th of December no longer mattered to Manning. This was a night to proclaim that birth, and for an hour on this holy night that was all that mattered.
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