Not Meant to Be
the train has been moving for the second day now. Everyone is already well-acquainted, several pots of tea have vanished, and half a dozen crosswords have been conquered. Soon, the conversations turn deeper, with stories of life being shared, the sort of confessions you only ever hear in a train carriage with strangers.
Im sitting on the aisle seat, while in the next compartment, three elderly women are swapping recipes for shortbread and different knitting patterns for socks. The train glides onto a viaduct, revealing a charming scene: clear blue sky, sunlight streaming down, a broad river with gentle ripples. On the far bank, draped in lush grass, stands a white-stone church with a golden spire gleaming in the distance.
The women go quiet. One makes the sign of the cross.
Oh, I must tell you a story, one of them says, her voice low. Believe it or not, but its true.
It happened several years ago in spring. I live alone, no children, and my husbands goneburied him years ago. Our village is small but straddles both sides of the river. To get to the shop or the post office, you have to nip over a narrow bridge. That morning, Id just had an early phone call from my brother. He said hed be passing through on a work trip and was making a detour just to see me. We havent seen each other in five yearshe lives miles away.
I was over the moon! I thought, best pop down to the shop for some groceries, flour and sugar. I wanted to bake something nice for my dear brother. I threw on my coat, didnt even bother with the buttons, just wrapped it around me. I hopped straight into my wellies and dashed out.
I got to the river and hesitated: Its a trek to the bridge. Maybe I could nip across the ice? The days were warm already, but at night it still froze. There were fishermen out by the bridge, their presence was reassuring. I thought, if those big chaps with their tackle are all right, surely I’d be finesmall and nimble as I am.
I made my way gently down to the bank. A step, then another. The ice seemed steady, no cracks. Its not far here, I told myself. The river curves, but it’s narrow at this spot.
And you know, I didnt even realise right away when I fell through. It felt like being scaldeda quick gaspIm under. I tried clawing my way up but my coat dragged me down. Thank heavens I hadnt buttoned it! I managed to shed it in the water, which made floating up easier. Its terrifying, clinging to the edge of the ice as it crunches and snaps under your fingers, and you’re back under. I wanted to call for help, but my voice wouldnt come out.
I saw my neighbour standing on the bank, just staring at me. I waved an arm in the hope shed call the fishermen over. But she just slowly backed away and disappeared! I thought, well, this is itmy final moment. Ill drown, brother wont find me, and thatll be that.
With a last burst, I tried again but the ice broke once more. Suddenly, theres a man running towards me. Moments ago, there was no one, so where did he come from? How did he see me?
He dropped to his stomach, reached out, and shouted, Come on, you can do it! Take my hand!
Where the strength came from, Ill never know. Just then, the ice under him started to crack too. He dashed to the bank, in one motion yanked up a young birch sapling, and came right back. He lay down on the ice, pushed the birch towards me. I tried grabbing the branches, but my hands just slipped offthe water froze the bark to glassy ice.
The man pulled the tree closer, spun it around, and shouted again, Grab the trunk! The trunk!
I wrapped my arm around the base, and he just hauled me outlike pulling a turnip! I lay there, sobbing from relief. The man leaned over me.
All right, love? Still in one piece? he asked.
I noddedI couldnt speak.
Thank goodness, he said. Go on, get home, dont worryyou wont fall ill.
I wiped my tears, got up, turned aroundand he was gone. Where could he vanish to? The rivers wide open, you can see for miles. I saw the fishermen running my way.
One of them walked me home. I changed, had a hot cup of tea. Nothing for it, I still needed the groceries.
I crossed the bridge this time, made it to the shop. There, on the step, stood my neighbour, eyeing me like shed seen a ghost, saying a quiet prayer.
You didnt drown?
Why didnt you call for help? I asked.
Well, I thought if I came near, the both of us would fall in, and Id never reach the fishermen in time. If you drowned, it mustve been your fate. But look, you didnt! All turned out all right.
My brother only stayed a dayI never mentioned the incident. Once he left, I went round the village to ask if anyone had visitors the day before. He wasnt local, for sure, and he dressed differently, almost like a cloak or a hooded cape.
Weve not many houses here, and even those who get visitors from neighbouring townswe know them all. That man Id seen somewhere, I was sure, but couldnt place him. No one else saw him or had guests.
A little while after, I travelled to the next village, to church, to light a candle in thanksgiving for my lucky escape. As I entered, I froze at the icon. From the painting, my rescuers face looked right back at meSaint Nicholas himself. I sank down to my knees. Later, I spoke to the vicar for a good while.
These things do happen, I finished my tale. And truly, I never caught a sniffle, not so much as a sneeze from that day. Believe it or notits up to you.The carriage was silent for a few heartbeats, each of us caught somewhere between her world and our own. Outside, the white-stone church drifted out of sight, the glint of its spire wavering in memory and sunlight. The wheels hummed beneath us, steady and inevitable.
Someone finally exhaleda thin, fragrant wisp of tea steam curled upward. The knitter closest to me dabbed her eyes, her half-knitted sock paused mid-row. No one laughed, no one doubted.
Then the youngest woman, perhaps newly retired, broke the hush with a shy smile. So maybe were meant for more than we believe. Maybe theres a hand outstretched just when you need it, if only you dare the crossing.
We all nodded; it was somehow understood that, from that moment, nothing about the journey felt quite ordinary. Stories passed between us in soft voices, knit into the rhythm of clacking wheels, as the train carried us forwardtoward our next destination, toward home, toward the unseen hands that sometimes catch us, just in time.
And as river and church faded far behind, I saw in every face the gentle glimmer of hopea belief that, if ever the ice broke beneath us, perhaps we too might be lifted, unseen but not unloved, safely to the other side.
