(no subject)
This was written for a UniSFA short story competition. I think it got an honorable mention.
Stuck in a Moment
For the first time in her life, Marian was discovering that trying to navigate a soggy field in the middle of the night during a thunderstorm was much worse than merely standing in one.
When the double doors finally stood in front of them, her husband hammered on them impatiently. "HELLO?" he hollered. "Is there anybody home?"
For a long moment there were no sounds but that of the thunder, rain and her husband's intermittent thumping on the door.
When the doors finally opened, creaking ominously, she half-expected their host to be a dark-haired, black-eyed creature of the night. She was therefore surprised to see an ordinary young man gazing at them in a slightly bemused manner.
"Can I help you?" he asked, softly.
Her husband looked like he was about to get into a rant, so she elbowed him in the side. "Our car got bogged in the road. We were hoping you’d be able to help us."
The man stared at them for a moment, then stepped away from the door. "You may as well come in," he said. "You'll get nowhere in this storm."
"Thank you," said her husband, somewhat ungraciously.
They stood in the front hall, dripping.
"I'll... go get you something else to wear?" the man offered, as if he wasn't entirely certain what he was supposed to be doing.
"That would be wonderful, if you could," she gushed, although at that moment she was just so pleased to be out of the rain she didn't care that her clothes were sticking to her.
The man returned before too long, and handed a pile of clothing to her husband. "The bathroom is up the hall, if you'd like to clean up a little," he said, hesitantly.
Her husband took the clothes and stomped up the hall without a word.
She found herself blushing. "I'm sorry about him," she said, anxious to make a better impression on their host. "He hates it when things don't go according to plan."
The man shrugged. "People are people," he said distantly, as if that made sense. He looked at her. "I couldn't find anything suitable for you except this," he continued, somewhat shyly. He handed her a bundle of cloth that turned out to be a somewhat old-fashioned dress.
"It's beautiful," she said, shaking it and holding it out in order to keep it from getting too damp. "But..." She trailed off, not certain what she was going to ask.
"It was my wife's," he said, quietly.
"Oh," she said, a little ashamed. Past tense meant his wife was dead, didn't it? "I'm sorry." Why his wife would have had such a dress she did not know, but his sorrow was obvious.
"Her name was Eileen," he told her. Then he smiled slightly, and added, "My name is Alex."
She felt her cheeks heat. "I'm Marian. My husband's name is Paul."
"To tell the truth, Marian" said Alex, in a somewhat embarrassed tone, "this was not her favourite dress. She had red hair, and she felt the colour was not very complimentary."
Paul's return held off any reply she could make, and she made her way to the bathroom to get changed.
The dress fit well enough, she supposed. She wasn't entirely certain the cut suit her, but the colour was nice.
Her husband gave their host a disapproving look as she rejoined them in the living room. Alex ignored him. "Would you like some tea?" he asked, graciously.
She accepted the offer, laying her clothes out in front of the roaring fire while he poured the tea.
"I'm sure somebody in the village will be able to help you with your car," Alex reassured them, after an uncomfortable silence had reigned for some time.
Marian got the impression he wasn't used to having guests.
"Thank you," Paul said gruffly.
When the grandfather clock in the hall struck eleven, their host decided that sleep was in order and showed them to a guest room. The nightdress he found her was as old-fashioned as the dress.
Although the bed was comfortable enough and the heavy curtains muffled most of the storm continuing to crash outside, Marian could not sleep. Paul had long since descended into soft snores - she knew from experience that it would take an explosion to wake him now - so she quietly slipped out of bed and into the dimly lit hall.
There was still a light on in the room with the fireplace, although it was empty.
Her mother had always told her curiosity would get her into trouble one day, but Marian didn’t think her host would mind too much if she poked around a little.
There were several paintings on the wall of a beautiful, red-haired lady in similar dresses to the one Marian had worn earlier that night.
“Eileen?” she asked, softly.
On the mantelpiece, she found wedding photos in modest frames. The groom was a handsome young man she recognised as Alex, their host, and the young bride was obviously the lady in the paintings.
"Could you not sleep?" came a quiet voice that was becoming rather familiar.
Marian jumped. "You startled me!" she exclaimed.
Alex smiled indulgently. "I apologise," he said.
She indicated the photos. "These are lovely," she said. "It's a wonderful antique effect. Where did you get them done?"
He frowned in thought. "A friend of mine did them, but… antique effect?”
"You know," she said. "They look like they were done in the 1920s or something."
It felt like the temperature in the room had suddenly dropped. Alex stared at her for a long time. "What year... do you make it?" he asked, finally, in a very small voice.
A number of things began to make sense. "It's the 16th of May, 2003..." she said. "Well. The 17th now." In the hall, the clock was striking 12, slowly and sorrowfully.
"2003..." he said. "I knew, of course, that time was passing, but..."
"When did...?" Marian trailed off.
"We were married on the 18th of June, 1926. She died four years later."
She spun around to stare at him. "You're serious?"
He nodded. "I knew... that something was wrong," he mused, softly. "I never saw the servants, but every morning the larder was full. I was never out of anything for more than a day." Alex frowned. "I wonder when the servants left?"
"You've lived here ever since?"
Another nod. He continued to mutter to himself, while looking at the photos on the mantelpiece with a wistful expression. She couldn't help but feel that he was taking this a little too calmly.
"You must have loved her very much," she said, finally.
He glanced at her. "Oh, yes. She was my life."
"And you haven't left the house since she died, have you?"
"Not... since after her funeral," he admitted.
She regarded him speculatively. “I think…” she began, but stopped. She couldn’t think of any way to phrase what she wanted to say.
Marian felt herself break out into a huge yawn as her day caught up with her. “I think,” she covered, amused, “that it’s time I took my leave.”
He nodded, but didn’t take his eyes off the painting of Eileen even as Marian left the room.
In the morning light, the conversation of the previous night began to seem surreal. She wondered if it had simply been a dream.
After breakfast Paul pulled out his mobile phone and began making calls, to Alex's obvious fascination. After some discussion, her husband announced that a truck would be coming out in half an hour.
When the time came to leave, Alex refused to follow them out to the door. Paul barely noticed, but Marian did.
She hung back a bit as her husband went to meet the tow truck. "Alex," she said. "Listen to me."
He turned to face her. "Yes?"
"Alex... Eighty years is a long time to grieve."
He looked at the door for a second, then back at her. "As long as I remember her... she won't be truly dead. Isn't that right?"
"Yes, but... It's okay to love her without grieving."
Alex looked at her doubtfully.
"She was very lucky," said Marian wistfully, "having somebody like you." She glanced at the door, where her husband was arguing with the tow truck driver.
"I have to go," she continued, hearing Paul yell angrily after her. "But... just think about it, okay?"
He nodded. She felt his eyes follow her as she left the house, although he didn't leave the hall.
Marian stepped out into the bright sunshine of a cheerful Spring day. The tow truck by their stricken car spoke of a new century.
She wondered which century Alex would step out into.
END
Stuck in a Moment
For the first time in her life, Marian was discovering that trying to navigate a soggy field in the middle of the night during a thunderstorm was much worse than merely standing in one.
When the double doors finally stood in front of them, her husband hammered on them impatiently. "HELLO?" he hollered. "Is there anybody home?"
For a long moment there were no sounds but that of the thunder, rain and her husband's intermittent thumping on the door.
When the doors finally opened, creaking ominously, she half-expected their host to be a dark-haired, black-eyed creature of the night. She was therefore surprised to see an ordinary young man gazing at them in a slightly bemused manner.
"Can I help you?" he asked, softly.
Her husband looked like he was about to get into a rant, so she elbowed him in the side. "Our car got bogged in the road. We were hoping you’d be able to help us."
The man stared at them for a moment, then stepped away from the door. "You may as well come in," he said. "You'll get nowhere in this storm."
"Thank you," said her husband, somewhat ungraciously.
They stood in the front hall, dripping.
"I'll... go get you something else to wear?" the man offered, as if he wasn't entirely certain what he was supposed to be doing.
"That would be wonderful, if you could," she gushed, although at that moment she was just so pleased to be out of the rain she didn't care that her clothes were sticking to her.
The man returned before too long, and handed a pile of clothing to her husband. "The bathroom is up the hall, if you'd like to clean up a little," he said, hesitantly.
Her husband took the clothes and stomped up the hall without a word.
She found herself blushing. "I'm sorry about him," she said, anxious to make a better impression on their host. "He hates it when things don't go according to plan."
The man shrugged. "People are people," he said distantly, as if that made sense. He looked at her. "I couldn't find anything suitable for you except this," he continued, somewhat shyly. He handed her a bundle of cloth that turned out to be a somewhat old-fashioned dress.
"It's beautiful," she said, shaking it and holding it out in order to keep it from getting too damp. "But..." She trailed off, not certain what she was going to ask.
"It was my wife's," he said, quietly.
"Oh," she said, a little ashamed. Past tense meant his wife was dead, didn't it? "I'm sorry." Why his wife would have had such a dress she did not know, but his sorrow was obvious.
"Her name was Eileen," he told her. Then he smiled slightly, and added, "My name is Alex."
She felt her cheeks heat. "I'm Marian. My husband's name is Paul."
"To tell the truth, Marian" said Alex, in a somewhat embarrassed tone, "this was not her favourite dress. She had red hair, and she felt the colour was not very complimentary."
Paul's return held off any reply she could make, and she made her way to the bathroom to get changed.
The dress fit well enough, she supposed. She wasn't entirely certain the cut suit her, but the colour was nice.
Her husband gave their host a disapproving look as she rejoined them in the living room. Alex ignored him. "Would you like some tea?" he asked, graciously.
She accepted the offer, laying her clothes out in front of the roaring fire while he poured the tea.
"I'm sure somebody in the village will be able to help you with your car," Alex reassured them, after an uncomfortable silence had reigned for some time.
Marian got the impression he wasn't used to having guests.
"Thank you," Paul said gruffly.
When the grandfather clock in the hall struck eleven, their host decided that sleep was in order and showed them to a guest room. The nightdress he found her was as old-fashioned as the dress.
Although the bed was comfortable enough and the heavy curtains muffled most of the storm continuing to crash outside, Marian could not sleep. Paul had long since descended into soft snores - she knew from experience that it would take an explosion to wake him now - so she quietly slipped out of bed and into the dimly lit hall.
There was still a light on in the room with the fireplace, although it was empty.
Her mother had always told her curiosity would get her into trouble one day, but Marian didn’t think her host would mind too much if she poked around a little.
There were several paintings on the wall of a beautiful, red-haired lady in similar dresses to the one Marian had worn earlier that night.
“Eileen?” she asked, softly.
On the mantelpiece, she found wedding photos in modest frames. The groom was a handsome young man she recognised as Alex, their host, and the young bride was obviously the lady in the paintings.
"Could you not sleep?" came a quiet voice that was becoming rather familiar.
Marian jumped. "You startled me!" she exclaimed.
Alex smiled indulgently. "I apologise," he said.
She indicated the photos. "These are lovely," she said. "It's a wonderful antique effect. Where did you get them done?"
He frowned in thought. "A friend of mine did them, but… antique effect?”
"You know," she said. "They look like they were done in the 1920s or something."
It felt like the temperature in the room had suddenly dropped. Alex stared at her for a long time. "What year... do you make it?" he asked, finally, in a very small voice.
A number of things began to make sense. "It's the 16th of May, 2003..." she said. "Well. The 17th now." In the hall, the clock was striking 12, slowly and sorrowfully.
"2003..." he said. "I knew, of course, that time was passing, but..."
"When did...?" Marian trailed off.
"We were married on the 18th of June, 1926. She died four years later."
She spun around to stare at him. "You're serious?"
He nodded. "I knew... that something was wrong," he mused, softly. "I never saw the servants, but every morning the larder was full. I was never out of anything for more than a day." Alex frowned. "I wonder when the servants left?"
"You've lived here ever since?"
Another nod. He continued to mutter to himself, while looking at the photos on the mantelpiece with a wistful expression. She couldn't help but feel that he was taking this a little too calmly.
"You must have loved her very much," she said, finally.
He glanced at her. "Oh, yes. She was my life."
"And you haven't left the house since she died, have you?"
"Not... since after her funeral," he admitted.
She regarded him speculatively. “I think…” she began, but stopped. She couldn’t think of any way to phrase what she wanted to say.
Marian felt herself break out into a huge yawn as her day caught up with her. “I think,” she covered, amused, “that it’s time I took my leave.”
He nodded, but didn’t take his eyes off the painting of Eileen even as Marian left the room.
In the morning light, the conversation of the previous night began to seem surreal. She wondered if it had simply been a dream.
After breakfast Paul pulled out his mobile phone and began making calls, to Alex's obvious fascination. After some discussion, her husband announced that a truck would be coming out in half an hour.
When the time came to leave, Alex refused to follow them out to the door. Paul barely noticed, but Marian did.
She hung back a bit as her husband went to meet the tow truck. "Alex," she said. "Listen to me."
He turned to face her. "Yes?"
"Alex... Eighty years is a long time to grieve."
He looked at the door for a second, then back at her. "As long as I remember her... she won't be truly dead. Isn't that right?"
"Yes, but... It's okay to love her without grieving."
Alex looked at her doubtfully.
"She was very lucky," said Marian wistfully, "having somebody like you." She glanced at the door, where her husband was arguing with the tow truck driver.
"I have to go," she continued, hearing Paul yell angrily after her. "But... just think about it, okay?"
He nodded. She felt his eyes follow her as she left the house, although he didn't leave the hall.
Marian stepped out into the bright sunshine of a cheerful Spring day. The tow truck by their stricken car spoke of a new century.
She wondered which century Alex would step out into.
END