Nightfall

It’s always this way around sunset. I used to pretend it wasn’t real, and now I just wait for it. Somehow, whether I believe it or not, knowing it will happen is sort of a comfort, although I doubt many would share my perception. Mrs. Gallway was here one night as it transpired, and she won’t be coming back again.

She’d come by to ask for donations to the charity bazaar, and I knew she was overstaying her welcome with her idle gossip. I knew she’d see it too, and part of me wanted to keep it all for myself, but part of me so wanted someone else to see it, to confirm what I knew. Here in the North Country, it snows frequently, and we rarely have a mild winter. The winters are the best times for seeing it, although it happens every Friday at sunset, rain or shine.

Mrs. Gallway was rambling on about Major Timmons and his new, much younger bride (simply scandalous) and I had deliberately turned her chair so that it faced west, toward the French doors leading to the path that continued west toward the Abbey and its attendant churchyard, as well as veering off south toward the gardens. I’d made tea and we sat facing the snowy evening, my attention barely caught by what she was saying.

“Well naturally he had the women in town all abuzz with gossip about this mere slip of a girl, at least fifteen years his junior, mind you, and I never hesitated to tell anyone what I thought about that.”

“No, I’m sure you didn’t,” I responded, my teacup covering the smile trying to erupt from my lips. Suddenly the snowy sky gave way to an orange semi-circle of the setting sun, just as it always does, and the dark figure rose against it, climbing the hillside. Human-sized, and moving straight toward the house, it came as it always does. I stiffened, and I doubt Mrs. Gallway saw that, so immersed was she in the iniquity of Major Timmons.

Nevertheless, she eventually saw it for herself. “Odd, Mr. Walcott, you seem to have a visitor approaching. What an awful night for it. My sleigh and driver will get me home just fine, but this person seems to be headed straight here, and is walking it in this deep, cold snow. Why, now that it gets closer, it looks to be a woman! The poor thing will catch her death out there.”

“Doubtless she will, Mrs. Gallway. Can you see her clearly? My eyes aren’t what they were for distances,” I lied.

The widow focused a moment longer and then her lips drew taut and her face gradually began to lose color.

“She doesn’t seem to be wading through the snow, as one would on a night like this. She seems to be what you’d say moving over the top of it. That’s the strangest thing I’ve ever seen….” Her voice trailed off as she stared.
The sun continued to sink, and the figure drew closer. “You should go to her, Mr. Wolcott! Take a rug and meet her before she freezes to death. She’s come a long way already.”

“It won’t help, Mrs. Gallway,” I replied quietly. “I’ve done that, you see, and she never waits for me, she flees. When I wait for her I see her come to my door, and it often blows open, but by then the sun is full gone from the sky, and a blast of cold wind is my only reward.”

“What are you saying, Mr. Wolcott?” Mrs. Gallway was becoming indignant, and rose from her chair holding her teacup. “You make the poor creature sound like a...a…” But anything else she was to say was gone as the face at the door became visible. Mrs. Gallway dropped her teacup, her hands flew to her mouth and she uttered a scream I’d not think possible for such a large woman. It sounded like that of a frightened child, or a small trapped animal. I beckoned to the figure out the door, and the French doors flew open, a cold wind blew in, the sun vanished completely, and the figure in the doorway dissolved in a swirl of snow. Before I could turn, Mrs. Gallway was fleeing from the house, her high scream following in her wake.

That was a week ago, and Mrs. Gallway has been in a state of nervous collapse to this day. That’s a pity, but it confirmed what I knew. Tonight is Christmas eve, and I stand before the doors in my light clothing, watching as the dark figure approaches. Tonight I follow her, as I’ve done once before, and I know I will end up again at Kate’s grave, five years to the day since her death. This time I’ll stay, and lie with her, as I was always meant to do. I’ll do it gladly, for I’ve never stopped loving her, and though the frozen ground separates us for now, the plot at her side is ready for me, and I’m sure our hands will find each other beneath the cold but forgiving earth.