Not Meant to Be
The train had been winding its way through the English countryside for a second day. Passengers had already become acquainted, sipped countless mugs of tea, and completed dozens of crossword puzzles together. The conversations had turned to musings about lifejust as they so often do on long train journeys. Theres something about the shared space of a carriage that invites confidences youd rarely hear elsewhere.
I was sitting on one of the side benches, and in the next compartment, three elderly ladies were swapping recipes for scones and tips for knitting woollen socks. The train crossed a bridge, and out the window stretched a breathtaking view: a clear blue sky, sunlight glinting on a broad river, its surface ruffled with gentle waves. Atop a grassy hill stood an ancient stone church, its weathered spire shining in the mellow light.
The women fell quiet for a moment, before one crossed herself gently.
Ill tell you a story, if youd like, she said to her companions. Believe it or not, it happened some years ago, in the spring. Ive lived on my own for yearsmy husbands long gone, and I never had children. Our village may be small, but its strung out along both banks of the river. To get to the post office or the shop, you have to cross the footbridge to the other side.
One morning, my brother rang, saying hed be passing by on his way to a job up north and wanted to pop in. We hadnt seen each other for five years at least; he lives ages away. I was delighted! So I quickly decided to nip to the corner shop to fetch flour, sugar, whatever treats I could find for his visit. Without much fuss, I threw on my old coatdidn’t even bother to fasten itjumped into my wellies, and hurried out the door.
I reached the river and paused. The bridge is a detour, isnt it? Why not cut across the ice? It had been warm, but the nights were still chilly. I glanced down the bank and saw a few fishermen out on the ice near the bridge, which gave me more confidence. If hardy blokes with all their gear can sit out there, surely Ill manage. Im only littleIll be quick.
I made my way down and stepped onto the ice. One foot, then anotherit all seemed solid, no cracking or creaking. Ill be fine, I told myself, its not a wide spotIll be across in no time.
Well, believe it or not, I didnt even realise at first that Id fallen through. The freezing water stole the breath right out of me. My coat dragged me down, but thank heavens I hadnt buttoned itI whipped it off underwater and found it easier to rise. Its terrifying, gripping the edge of the ice as it splinters beneath you and youre plunged straight back under, unable to utter a sound.
I spotted my neighbour standing on the bank, watching me. I raised my hand, hoping shed rush to fetch the fishermen. But she just edged backwards and wandered off! Well, thats it, I thought, my numbers up. My brother will arrive, and Ill be gone.
Desperate, I tried once more, and the ice broke again. Then, out of nowhere, a man appearedjust as suddenly as if the mist had conjured him. Come here! You can do it! he called, sprawling himself on his belly and reaching towards me.
I have no idea where my strength came from, but as he drew nearer, the ice beneath him began to crack too. He scrambled up the bank, snapped off a young birch sapling in one clean motion, and skidded back, shoving the tree out to me. I tried to grab the branches, but they were slick with ice, too slippery to hold.
He twisted the tree and pushed the root end towards me, shouting, Hold onto the trunk! The trunk! I latched on with both hands, and he pulledlike yanking up a stubborn turnip! There I was, sprawled on the ice, crying with relief.
He knelt beside me. Youll live, my dear? he asked.
I noddedcouldnt say a word.
All right thenhome you go. Dont worry, you wont be ill.
I wiped my tears, stood up, and looked around, but hed vanished. Its just open land for miles; I could see all ways to the river bend, yet he was simply gone. The fishermen were running over by then. One kindly fellow walked me home, and I changed out of my dripping clothes and made a strong cup of tea to warm up. But I still needed to do the shopping, so out I went, this time across the bridge.
At the shop door stood my neighbour, crossing herself and staring as if shed seen a ghost.
Youre not drowned then?
And why didnt you fetch help? I shot back.
Well, if Id come closer, the ice mightve given way for both of usand by then Id never have reached the others. If you were meant to go, perhaps it was just your fate. But you pulled throughsuppose thats better for everyone.
My brother visited for only a day, and I decided not to upset him with tales of the river. After he left, I went round the village asking if anyone had seen this man. He was certainly no local, and his clothes were oddalmost like a cloak and hood, from another time. But no one had had a visitor that day, and no one else had seen him.
In the end, I took myself to the old parish church in the next village, thinking to light a candle to give thanks for such a blessing. And there, as I entered, I stopped dead. The face looking down at me from one of the stained glass windows was that of my saviourthe very same man. It was St. Nicholas. I nearly fainted in the aisle, and afterwards had a long chat with the vicar.
Well, there you are. And you know, I havent had so much as a sneeze since that daythough perhaps youll say thats just luck. Believe it or not, sometimes we meet help in the places we least expect. And perhaps, when your luck turns, its meant to remind us that hope and kindness are never as far off as they may seem.
