Once

They gathered in little groups and spoke in hushed tones, discreetly covering over their mouths as they whispered quietly back and forth to each other. There was no comfortable place to be found here. The air was pulsing with nervous energy. People wandered about the room trying to distract themselves from the burden of waiting. Ladies smoothed out their clothing. Children forced to sit quietly, kicked their legs back and forth. Most of the men chose to pace, occasionally nodding grimly when someone met their gaze. Each found little solace in what small diversions they could invent as they waited in these predawn hours.

A door scraped open and at last, there was a collective sigh of relief as she emerged finally, from her confinement. They wished that today she would bring an end to their unease.

She was Imperious. Unbroken, yet fragile. She moved through the chamber like a storm cloud. The people stirred from their seats. They pulled in from all corners of the room to greet her. Her calmness was unsettling. She was not herself. She looked past them all, through them almost. One, single, terrible purpose in her eyes. For on this, the third day, she barely acknowledged their presence. Kindness rebuffed, the people moved aside respectfully allowing her to navigate her way through the sympathetic throng. Desperately, they looked for him. He needed to be there,

They knew she would be walking to the frozen bank. Her jaw set in determination, sorrow etched across her brow. She was returning in vain to where she had gone each day since the… since.

Dignitaries, friends, and family stood mutely aside clutching sundry offerings of flowers and gifts in their trembling hands. The onlookers too, the curious strangers, they trailed along safely behind her. They shifted about to make way for her, nervously adjusting their clothing and bracing excitedly for the drama that was to come. What would she do this time? What spectacle would she make? The sun was just peeking out over the horizon.

A new day was dawning. A new reason to hope. Now, even in grief, she exuded that quiet, enviable grace they had come to expect from her. She was controlling it. Holding it at bay. She looked neither right nor left, cutting through them while focused only on getting to that dreadful water’s edge.

One seriously foolish man stepped out in front of her to block her way. She rewarded him with such a withering look that it caused his knees to buckle. Prudently, he yielded and moved contritely aside to let her pass. Everyone’s gaze was fixed upon her. They followed as she moved like an ominous storm cloud through the pale light of dawn.

A wraith moving through the woods clutching a tiny blanket in her arms Though they cowered before the fierce look in her eyes, they could but marvel at the strength she summoned up, the power she commanded still was undeniable.

A predator had beset this beloved lady and its only aim was to ravage her heart and to turn her towards the darkness. Could she win this battle? The answer would impact all of their lives. They must find a way to bring in the light. Oh, where was he?

No one was anxious to meet her gaze for fear of what it might trigger in her. Each gave an awkward bow of deference as she passed. A little girl, however, a child, with ruddy cheeks and tousled hair, she was not afraid. She ran to the woman with open arms and wrapped her arms around her legs. It was too late to stop her. Everyone tensed, bracing for a reaction. Someone, the mother probably, tried to pull the child away, but before she could, the girl offered her ragdoll to the lady. The woman stared uncomprehending for a moment at the child’s outstretched arms. She was disarmed by the impulsive gesture. For a brief moment, the cloud that hung over her lifted to briefly reveal the lady as she was before. She took up the doll and gave the child a sad smile before her countenance became enigmatic once again. Though her demeanor had warmed momentarily, she was yet undeterred. As if on a mission, she pressed forward through the throng. Moving forward intentionally down to the pond that was nestled in the bordering woods.

She ignored the frosty snow and mud that clung to the hem of her beautiful cloak as it dragged along behind her. Thus far, she had managed to maintain her composure. She did not want to alarm her people, but today was the day. Today was the last day. She would either call him forth from his icy repose or …or he would be lost to her forever. She was holding desperately to this one last magical thought. This one hope remained.

Reverently, she stood at the water’s edge looking out across the pond, searching for something, for someone. She stood motionless, peering defiantly at the now frozen pond suppressing the hot, blinding rage she felt. Resolute, she walked on to the ice. She threw off her cape, set the blanket and the doll down gently upon it. Then, she began. She focused all of her prayers, all of her power upon this, her one desperate desire. She looked toward the rise where the people stood watching. There was no comfort for her there. She turned her gaze away from them and looked up accusingly at the complacent sky. A sky that had watched everything happen and did not intervene. Enraged, she shook her fist at the cowardly sky. Imploring the gods to make this right, to compensate her by granting her this one request. She began to speak the words. She chanted through angry tears that refused to freeze. She persisted.

They came. The curious, the concerned. They stood nearby and watched. It seemed that she was coming apart at last. They watched as she bent to pick up the doll. She swaddle it, then brought it up to her cheek. This was so sad. And terrifying. They feared what would happen. She held the swaddled doll aloft as evidence of the crime. She demanded retribution.

And there it was. An answer. She heard it. They were speaking to her. In her mind, she heard drums, drumming. She let it move through her. She gave herself over to its hypnotic beat., The watchers stood in silence, mesmerized by what they were seeing. They watched the spectacle unfold. Bizarre and sensual at first.

Then unexpectedly, to everyone’s distress, this grieving took a dangerous turn. She drew a dagger from her robes. The shocked spectators panicked. They watched as she brought the knife down hard, thrusting it into the heart of the offender. She began to carve out a wide circle in the snow. Growing desperately wilder, she stepped to its center still in a thrall, twisting and twirling. Then, bending low, she began to carve mysterious symbols into the snowy ice, which to the horror of the onlookers, she proceeded to stain with her own blood.

She’d gone mad, they concluded. She called out to the sky, to the wind. They answered her. Nature pulsed with her swaying. She stopped. It stopped. The dawn went eerily calm. Silence. Then she cried out, “Give. Him. Back. to me!” shouting across the icy pond. The sky darkened, and the wind whipped up, as she lashed out.

The mourners asked themselves, ”What on earth were they witnessing now ?” They were hapless spectators to the final breaking, this transformation. Fixed and trembling. They were afraid for themselves . The winds were drawing fury from her. Liberating her. They couldn’t bring her out of the storm now. They called out to her. They loved her, but they were afraid of what she was doing, of what she might still do. A few brave men began to move towards the icy pond, but the wind knocked them back.

There were forces at work here. Forces they couldn’t understand. Forces they shouldn’t interfere with. Whether or not you believed this was happening was immaterial. What was happening, was happening. The winds left her and turned on the spectators. They whipped up the snow and hurled icy shards at them. An assault. They were being forced back as the shards hit them and stung their skin . They moved back. Some ran away, squealing. Ran for shelter. The sky was darkening. What had she done? Had she called forth the storm? Was that even possible? They huddled together for protection. Those remaining stood in the storm amazed and battered by what her anguish seemed to have unleashed.

Undeterred, she carried on. She spoke in defiance against the storm. Shaming the sky with her tears. Her neatly pinned hair had come loose. The wind caught it up giving her the appearance of holy vengeance itself as she railed against the heartless thief. She defied it to release her treasure, ”Return what you have taken from me!”

Eventually exhausted, she collapsed. Defeated, a supplicant at last. Her indignant rage no match for nature’s icy heart. With one last, terrible, vanquished cry, she yielded up her hope.

That cry. The embodiment of grief. Shattering. Pure, gut-wrenching grief. Those who heard it, felt it. As long as they lived, they would never forget that sound. It broke the knees and the heart. But, it was over. They had weathered the storm. They were all deeply shaken.

They watched her stretch out upon the ice and lay her head down close to the swaddled ragdoll. Softly, there in the fallen snow she wept. She had no power. There was no reprieve. Her prayers would go unanswered. Prostrate and penitent in the snow, she offered up her tears, her blood, and her heart. Surrendering them all to the covetous thief. She let her heart sink to the depth of the cold, heartless pond. Embracing the icy monster. The spell broke at last. The warmth of her husband’s hand gently pressed her shoulder.

“We have to go now,” he said calmly as he bent over her. “ The cars are here.” “God, what have you done to yourself ?” he asked seeing the blood.

“I must have cut myself on the ice,” she offered apologetically, knowing how this must look. A heavy silence fell between them, “I can’t do this. “ She said flatly.

“He’s gone. You can’t bring him back. Our boy is gone.”

He helped her to her feet. The storm had calmed. The skies cleared. Her family and the mourners all watching from the house with strained looks of concern on their faces.

“I know it’s crazy, but I had to try.” She told her husband. “I had to try.”

He nodded.

His own eyes red and swollen. “ I know.” He gently rubbed her arm as he supported her.

He took her bloodied hand and wrapped it in his handkerchief, holding it firmly between his own.

“They can’t have him, it’s not him. It’s not.” She said with desperation as she leaned against her husband for support.

“We’ll go, and we’ll see,” he whispered to her quietly, ”Let’s go. We will get through this.”

She looked up into his soulful eyes, up at this wonderful, kind and gentle man,

“Ok, but it’s not.“

“Shhh shhh,” he nuzzled her reassuringly, “he’ll always be ours. They can’t take that from us.”

And together they made their way back up the hill, away from the aweful place. The horrible place. They trudged back towards the cars, the house, and their waiting friends. Then, up from behind them, as they moved against the howling winds; they heard it. Faintly, quietly, “Momma?” the two looked incredulously at each other and then it came again, “Momma?”