The Knock

                                               The Knock

The steady, endless snow softened the lane as it covered the once green landscape. Anna’s parents were spending winter together, leaving her alone for the first time since graduating from university. She drew her cloak tighter, its hood shadowing her face and protecting it from the cold. The deep blue wool initially belonged to her grandmother and was passed down to Anna on her 18th birthday.

The stillness in the air pressed close. The silence was unnerving. Even her own breath seemed too loud, clouding the air before her. She let a flake melt on her tongue and walked on. The snow fell with purpose now, covering her tracks as quickly as she made them.

By the time she reached the trees, the footprints behind her had mostly vanished. She thought of these fields in summer, of the long days of stifling heat that was almost guaranteed at that time of year. She loved walking this path on the long days when she could see for miles across the valley. In this harshest of winters, the silence felt both a relief and a rebuke. The weather was usually mild at this time of year.

The trees stood lifeless, their bare branches reaching through the white veil. Anna pulled the cloak closer, feeling the weight of its history. Her grandmother wore it throughout the war. Now Anna bore it to keep her memory alive.

Arriving at the pond, she paused. Ice glazed its surface in a dull sheet. Snow settled like feathers on the frozen water. For a moment she thought she saw someone standing on the far side. A tall, indistinct figure, half-shrouded in white, looking away from her. Her heart stumbled momentarily. As she blinked the figure was gone. Was anyone there at all? The snow played tricks, making phantoms of fence posts and shadows.

And yet she wasn’t afraid, as if somewhere in the recesses of her mind she knew the figure meant her no harm. She scanned the far bank for movement. Nothing seemed to break the endless sea of white. She noticed a trail of darker impressions in the snow along the far edge of the pond, most of which were already softening.

Anne moved slowly forward to where the person once stood. Someone had been there. She looked around and scanned the ground for a trail to follow. As she turned, the temperature began to drop. A harsh wind started up from the south. She decided to head home and back to the warmth, allowing enough time to pass for the figure to move on.  The hush grew heavy. Anne headed back; retracing steps already blurred into nothing.

Weeks earlier a letter had arrived at the cottage, posted years prior but delayed by human error. Her grandmother’s words written in her final days, outlining the truth about decisions made long, long ago. The letter was waiting for her back at the cottage.

The snow started to fall at a harder pace, erasing the world in real time. Anna stumbled once, her foot finding a hidden root. For a moment she was lost entirely in the whiteness. The cloak billowed around her like wings. She steadied and forced herself onward.

After half an hour the cottage roof came into view. The lane looked untouched, the blanket of snow making it look as pristine as a blank page waiting for its next story. She shuffled forwards, creating zigzag patterns in the snow right up to the front door before letting herself in.   

Once inside, she lit the fire, letting it crackle until the world outside faded from her mind. The flames danced against the walls, throwing familiar shadows. She shook the snow from her cloak and hung it by the hearth, listening to the comforting noise of its dripping melt.

Outside, the storm eased. Anna took her usual seat by the fire, reading her grandmother's letters by lamplight, piecing together a wartime love story, tinged with betrayal and exile. The ink was faded to brown in places, the paper soft with age.

‘My darling’, Marta had written, ‘if you are reading this, I have run out of time to say it myself’. She wrote of Harry, his laugh, the way he'd whistle while he worked. She wrote of the morning she'd told him about the pregnancy, how he'd taken both her hands and said nothing for a long time, before declaring his love. A love that kept her warm for over sixty years. A love cruelly curtailed by war.

Nana’s heartfelt letters explained the full story of why her true love hadn’t returned from the war. Her pregnancy, out of wedlock, split the family in half. The shame of birth before marriage, twinned with the indignity of choosing someone of lower stature, further besmirching the good family name.

Marta’s parents wanted her to marry the dull but powerful heir to a sizable family fortune. She was only 17 but a tedious life had already been mapped out for her. Nobody suspected she’d find her soulmate elsewhere. After 12 weeks of pregnancy, she could hide it no more.

Her angry parents hastened the wedding plans as Harry and Marta continued meeting in secret. Eventually they both accepted their fate. Harry answered the Nation’s call, spending the War and most of the rest of his life in Europe. Their child was brought up in a wealthy family, although Marta’s marriage only lasted a decade. Enough time for her family to forget about Harry, but not Marta.

She told her son Alan, Anna’s father, the truth on his tenth birthday. He was sworn to secrecy until Marta’s parents passed away a few years later. Harry met his son for the first time at the turn of the century. Anna was deemed too young to cope with such a bombshell at the time. She eventually found out through reading the contents of a letter she discovered by accident, originally intended as a gift for her sixteenth birthday.

Three weeks before turning sixteen, Anna found a letter neatly folded inside one of her father’s old photo albums. She was snooping for pictures of her dad at the same age, not expecting to discover anything other than an embarrassing photo they could both chuckle over on her actual birthday. With a smidgen of guilt, but not enough to curb her youthful curiosity, she carefully opened the envelope and read its contents. She would end up reading it three more times before putting it back where she found it.

She sat in silence in the kitchen until nearly two in the morning, looking into empty space while taking it all in. Everything she thought she knew about her family had changed overnight. She wasn't angry or even upset. For a few hours, she felt as though the ground had quietly shifted several inches. It was her father's face, when she'd finally called him, that undid her: his relief at no longer carrying it alone overwhelmed them both as they shared a sweet embrace.

Shortly afterwards, Anna learned of her long-lost grandpa still being alive. After weeks of contemplation, and a heartfelt conversation with her father, she reached out. Despite his advancing years, Harry agreed to make the trip as Anna and her father couldn’t afford to fund a trip to Europe themselves. A sudden realisation hit her like a stone as she remembered the figure by the pond. Grandpa was supposed to arrive in three days’ time, but with the drastic change in the weather forecast over last week she wondered if perhaps he took an earlier flight. Anna sat alone with her thoughts, hoping her grandpa would make it unscathed.

The knock on the cottage door came at noon, three soft raps heard over the storm, startling Anna into action. Her hands trembled as she reached for the handle.

She had imagined this moment in many variations. Often, she was composed, gracious, and knew exactly what to say. Other times she burst into unstoppable tears at the sight of her grandfather, or was merely stood there staring, at a loss for words. As she reached for the door a stream of almost endless thoughts caused her to hesitate. What would he look like? Would they even get along?

Outside the window the snow had thickened to a white wall. The lane was invisible as the fire popped behind her. She turned to look at her grandmother's cloak which was hanging by the hearth, trying to imagine the two of them together all those years ago.

Through the frosted glass, she could make out the tall figure from the pond. A sense of calm overwhelmed her. She stood for a moment with her hand on the door handle, allowing herself a last few seconds of normality before everything in her world would change forever.

She opened the door. There in front of her was her grandfather, decades after his supposed death. His hair as white as the snow drifts around him, his face braving a smile despite the extreme cold. His eyes were the same pale blue from her letters. Eyes that grandma had fallen in love with. He wore a thick coat of military grey, and boots that could warm even the coldest of souls. In his weathered hands he held a cloak identical to the one hanging by the fire.

Anna couldn't speak as she ushered the old man inside. The sensible, welcoming words she had prepared falling from her mind as she took in the situation before her. She was vaguely aware of searching his face for similarities to her parents. His jawline and eyes looked just like her mother’s. She sighed a happy sigh of relief.

Anna's eyes moved from his face to the deep blue woollen cloak and back again. "She sent it to me," he said quietly, following her gaze. "She wanted me to have something to come home to." His voice caught on the last word.  Anna glanced at the cloak by the fire. It had survived three generations of women and after eighty years had finally restored a family connection interrupted by the war.

"Anna," he said, his voice calm and measured. "I see you have on of Marta’s cloaks too. She did love making them. May I sit down. It has been a long journey?". Without hesitation, Anna welcomed her grandfather in and offered him a seat by the fire”. She found it much easier to talk to him on the phone.

It was clear he had been walking for some time. Snow had settled in the folds of his coat, in his boots and along his shoulders. Despite his advancing years, he carried himself with the steadiness of a man who would not allow himself to be defeated by the cold.  Anna made them both some tea and finally plucked up the courage to speak.

“Tell me all about yourself grandpa. We have a lot to talk about”. Anna couldn’t hide her grin as she watched her grandfather patiently relay his life story. Outside the snow eased up as the silence was ended by questions wating decades to be asked.