FOOTPRINTS IN THE SNOW
by Nancybe

CHRISTMAS ~1973

               The glow of the Christmas tree lights cast shadows of green, red and gold across the papers spread out on the desk.  Julia’s trim fingers flew over each Christmas card as she took the opportunity to catch up with old friends.  It was a special pleasure to send cards at the holidays now – now that she did not have to sign just a lonely Julia to the bottom of each one.  She finished the one she was writing and wrote at the bottom with a flourish: Barnabas and Julia Collins.  Her face was wreathed in a contented smile as she sealed the red foil envelope and set it in the growing pile of cards ready to be sent.

               Julia turned slightly in her chair so that she could look at the enormous fir tree that now dominated the drawing room of the Old House.  The scent of the cinnamon ornaments and gingerbread men that she had made herself and hung on the tree blended together into their own special Christmas aroma.  If ever there was a joyful scent, Julia thought, this had to be it.  She gently jostled one of the branches and was rewarded with the tinkling sound of the tiny silver bells that adorned the tree.  She loved the sights, the sounds and the smells of Christmas, especially since she was able to celebrate now in her own home, in the home that she shared with the most special man she had ever known.

               Julia Collins turned back to her Christmas cards, running her pen down to the next name on her list.  Her holiday mood crumbled when she read the name.  No, she thought as her heart suddenly felt heavy and bruised.  I don’t want to think about this right now.  But she had been avoiding facing this reality for weeks now.  She had refused to think about what this Christmas was going to be like, how different it was really going to be.  She had been denying it without letting herself think about it, and the truth finally had to be faced.  She couldn’t fight it anymore, and she buried her head in her arms as it came crashing down upon her.

               Barnabas Collins descended the stairs of his house in search of his wife.  He entered the drawing room with her name upon his lips.  “Jul-” he began but did not finish as he saw her bent over the desk.  He stopped to watch her; he was quite sure he knew what was upsetting her. He had wondered when it was going to finally catch up with her.

               “Julia?” he asked as he tenderly placed his hands on her shoulders.  “Julia, is it Mary?”

               His wife slowly raised her head to look into his kind face.  Her eyes were dry – Julia was not given to crying – but he could see the great pain that lived behind them.  She bit her lip and took a deep breath before attempting to answer him.

               “Yes, Barnabas.  I just came across her name on my Christmas card list.  This is last year’s list that I am working from, I never updated it.  I never-”  She choked on the words that she couldn’t bring herself to say:  I never crossed off her name.

               Barnabas knelt in front of her and took both of her chilled hands in his.  “I can understand that, Julia.  That would have made it too real somehow, wouldn’t it?  Too final?”

               She nodded her head, grateful that he understood what she was trying to say.  “I know it’s foolish, Barnabas.  She’s been dead for almost a year, but this is the first Christmas without her.  The first Christmas without her in thirty five years….”  Her hand flew to her mouth as if to stop the words of truth that she was speaking.   She thought of herself as a logical, rational person, someone who accepted what life offered without self-pity, meeting its challenges head-on.  But this was one of the most painful facts that she had ever had to accept.  Her oldest and dearest friend was gone, claimed by cancer after a long and bitter fight, and she was never going to share another Christmas with her.

               Sensing her restlessness, Barnabas rose to allow Julia to get up from her chair.  She touched his arm lightly and walked over to the mantel with her back to him.  She seemed ready to talk about this, and her husband was relieved.  He knew it would be painful for her, but he also knew that she needed to voice her feelings.  Unknown to her, he had been watching her carefully the past few weeks and had noticed how she kept trying to put Mary from her mind.  He had seen her pause as she put together trays of freshly baked Christmas cookies as if she were fighting a memory that had suddenly confronted her.  He had watched her avoid certain ornaments that lay in the box of her own special Christmas treasures, not placing them on the tree until all of the other trinkets had been hung.  But now she had come face to face with Mary’s name on her Christmas card list, and she could no longer avoid the feelings that she had so far managed to successfully deny.

               Julia absently fingered the boughs that she had laid across the mantel as she began to speak; their fragrant aroma reminded her of Christmases past. “She’s been an important part of my life for as long as I can remember, Barnabas,” she said softly, not knowing that she was echoing words that he had spoken about her years before when she had been missing due to the influence of Tom Jennings.  “And we almost always managed to see each other at Christmas time.  Sometimes we would exchange little gifts, and she always had a plate of baked goods or homemade bread for me.”  She touched her forehead as if to rub away the difficult memories. 

               “We certainly took different paths, Mary and I.  She married right after college and had a family right away while I chose to concentrate on medicine.”  She turned to look at him with a small, sad smile.  “I was her maid of honor.  I’m so glad that she lived long enough to be mine as well, Barnabas.”

               Barnabas went to her and pulled her into his embrace.  “I’m glad too, my darling,” he murmured against her ear, remembering how lovely Julia’s friend had looked at his wedding to Julia over 2 years ago.

               She allowed him to hold her for a moment longer and then pulled away again, needing to continue her reminiscing.  “We were very different as children too, did I ever tell you that, Barnabas?  I was really very shy, if you can believe that,” she said, managing a slight grin.  “She was always outgoing.   She taught me a lot about getting along in the world.  I don’t think she was afraid of anything.  I think she was the bravest person I have ever known.”

               “Oh, I don’t know, my dear.  I know a lady psychiatrist who is incredibly brave,” he said sincerely.

               “Thank you, Barnabas,” she said looking up into his dark eyes.  “I know you mean that.  It’s just that Mary was unique in the way she lived life, in the way that she approached it.  She faced challenges from the time she lost her father as a little girl, and she always faced them with courage and grace.  I learned so much from her.  It’s just so hard to believe I’ll never share another Christmas with her, that I’ll never hear her voice again.  It’s just that I always thought that…” she stopped as her voice broke.  “That we would be friends forever,” she forced herself to finish.

               Barnabas encircled her in his tight embrace once again.  “She’s still with you, Julia.  She always will be as long as you remember her,” he whispered tenderly.

               She nodded against his chest and pressed her head closer to his heart.  She took comfort from its strong steady beat and let it sooth her as her own racing heartbeat finally slowed to match his calming rhythm.  She seemed to inhabit another world when she was in his arms, a world that was safe and warm, one that the outside world could not penetrate.

               Julia sighed and forced herself to separate from Barnabas.  As much as she enjoyed the haven of his embrace, she knew that she needed time to face the feelings that she had finally allowed to rise to the surface.

               “Thank you, Barnabas, for understanding what I am feeling and for encouraging me to talk about this.  You have helped me more than you know.  But I still have some things to work out.  I hope you don’t mind if I go for a walk – alone?”

               “Of course not, Julia.  I certainly can appreciate the loss that you must feel for your friend.”  At that moment, his face bore the grief for all of the loss in his own life, the loss of his family and friends, his lifestyle, his century.  Julia’s heart broke as she thought of all of the tragedy that he had faced over the past two hundred years.  “But please do not stay out too long.  That wind makes the temperature feel even more frigid than it already is.  And be careful walking on the path; all this snowfall is bound to have made it slick.”

               She gave him a wan smile and a quick kiss while assuring him that she would indeed be careful.  He watched her with concern as she slipped out the door into the frozen wonderland that the recent snowfall had sculpted of the Great Estate.

               Julia neither felt the cold nor noticed the beauty of the winter pageant that was displayed before her.  Her eyes did not see the trees frosted with frozen icing nor the crystalline blue of the December sky.  Her mind was instead engrossed by a production of memories that was being staged in her head, memories of childhood, of life and death, of happiness and tears.  There were so many memories, more good ones than bad, but they were all overshadowed by a layer of deep sadness because she knew how the play would end no matter how many wonderful times she recalled. 

               Looking up, she was surprised to find that she had arrived at the gazebo.  The delicate structure was blanketed with a glistening layer of snow that made it appear look like a sugar confection that belonged on the top of a wedding cake.  She carefully negotiated the steps and walked over to the little bench which was miraculously free of snow and ice.  She suddenly felt incredibly tired and wondered just how long she had been wandering preoccupied by her memories.  She should be heading home; Barnabas would be getting worried about her.  But she glanced down at the bench, and its invitation to rest was too tempting to resist.  She decided to sit for just a moment before returning to the holiday preparations that awaited her.  She sighed deeply as she thought of all she must do in the days to come; her holiday mood had deserted her, and she now dreaded the remaining shopping, wrapping and cards that she needed to complete. Especially the cards….

               The wrought iron bench was surprisingly comfortable and warm, not at all like it should be, and she felt like she could relax in this spot for hours.  Julia was just settling in when a faint sound made her sit up and strain to hear what the source might be.  She was puzzled when she realized that she was hearing laughter, children’s laughter.  David was off on a holiday trip to New York City, and besides, what she was hearing was the sweet laughter of female voices.  She was surprised when she saw two little girls appear from out of the woods.  One had a head full of blonde curls and the other was a skinny redhead.  They paid her no mind and continued to laugh as they pelted each other with big, sloppy snowballs.  Then they fell into the snow to vigorously create a host of snow angels. Julia wondered who they could be and considered calling to them when the blonde looked up and caught Julia’s eye.  She smiled an engaging smile and waved, her clear blue-gray eyes wide and friendly.  Julia slowly raised a hand and waved back before she was seized with recognition. Her hand clutched the collar of her wool coat as a gasp escaped her lips forming a tiny puff of smoke in the icy air.

               “Mary?  Mary, is it really you?”  Julia tried to shout, but the words came out in a mere whisper. 

               The little girl heard her nevertheless and gave her a wink and another wave.  Julia tried to stand, but her legs would not hold her.  She watched in astonishment as the girls continued their games and wondered how this could be happening.  How could she be seeing Mary as a child?  And…and the other little girl – Why, it has to be me! Julia thought with surprise.  I remember that coat – and that hat, the one with the purple pom pom.  I loved that hat; I wonder what ever happened to it?  How can I be seeing this?  Am I dreaming?

               Before Julia could consider answering her own question, the scene before her dissolved into the vision of a summer’s day.  She could hear the throaty croaking of fat bullfrogs as she watched the girls wading into a small pond clutching glass jars in their small hands.

               Look Julia, I got one! she heard Mary cry triumphantly as she raised the jar to show off her small green squirming prize.

               That’s great, Mare!  she heard herself reply.  But you know my grandmother is just going to make us bring it back!

               Julia realized that she was watching a day from one of their summer trips to her grandmother’s house in the Adirondacks.  Every summer, she and Mary would spend a week or two in the country, catching frogs, swimming in the ice cold but crystal clear Sugar River, exploring the back roads of the tiny village. 

               Julia noticed that she was smiling at the memory when the scene shifted again, this time to a day in June over twenty years ago.  She saw herself dressed in peach chiffon standing next to Mary as a radiant bride.  How proud she had been that day to stand up for her friend, to bear witness at her wedding.  She had been so happy for Mary even if she herself did not understand her friend’s desire to marry and have a family so young.  Julia Hoffman had plans, and marriage did not fit in with them at the moment.  She was going to devote herself to medicine and to her research and to making a difference.   Marriage was not for her…

               And then she saw herself at the altar with Mary by her side as she ecstatically exchanged vows with her beloved Barnabas.  Mary had been beside herself with joy that Julia had finally found the one man who made her feel like Julia instead of just Dr. Hoffman.  Hadn’t it been Mary who had listened to Julia for four years, urging Julia to seize the day, to tell Barnabas how she really felt?  Mary had told her friend to stop watching life pass her by, to start living it, to stop being so damn afraid, to stop taking herself so seriously.  Julia had finally listened to the wise counsel and had admitted to Barnabas how she felt.  And to her surprise and delight, she had discovered that he felt the same, and they had been married shortly afterward.

               She’d already been sick for two years when she served as my matron of honor, Julia thought to herself.  But you would never have known it.  She still saw the cup as half-full instead of half-empty.  She still smiled and laughed easily and counted her blessings.  Julia shook her head in amazement at her friend’s courage and perseverance during the most difficult of times.

               But then the bright vision of her spring wedding day vanished and was replaced by a dimmed room dominated by a hospital bed.  Julia peered into the darkened scene and saw what she knew she would, what she dreaded she would.  Her once vivacious friend was now an emaciated figure dwarfed by the bed and the many tubes that snaked their way around her.  Julia saw herself standing impotently by her friend’s side as the comatose woman occasionally moaned in pain from the deep reaches of her consciousness.  Julia watched herself ball her fists in anger that despite all her medical knowledge and experience, she could do nothing but stand vigil until Mary was finally released from her pain.  And what had made it worse was that she had no idea whether the dying woman even knew that she was there with her.

               “You can let go now, Mary,” she had whispered through her tears.  “You don’t have to fight anymore.”

               And then it had been over, and Julia saw herself dressed in black, standing on a pulpit delivering her best friend’s eulogy.  Looking down into the sea of faces of those who had come to honor and remember Mary, seeking out the faces of Mary’s husband and children, and worst of all, the face of Mary’s aging mother whom Julia had known since childhood.  Julia heard herself remind the mourners that they must learn from Mary’s example:

               “The challenge that she leaves us now is to remember how she lived her life - her courage, her appreciation for life, her joy – and to learn from her, and when we do that, we will honor her memory.”

               The words sounded as cold and empty now as the bare, frost-painted trees that surrounded the gazebo, and the vision faded until Julia found herself alone and shivering in the fading light.  She felt the sting of bitter tears pricking her eyes, and she rose shakily from the bench to begin the sad walk home. 

               “Words, just words, “ she muttered to herself with a trace of anger.  “So easy to say….”

               “But you were right, Julia,” she heard a young voice say.  She looked down in surprise and saw that the little blonde she had seen earlier was standing at the bottom of the steps.  Julia froze as she felt herself transported back in time to when she had played with this girl every day.  “You must remember what I tried to teach you.  I’m happy, Julia, do not mourn for me!  I am not suffering any more.  And I am still with you although you don’t know it.  You have a new life, Julia, with a husband who loves you – live it!  Appreciate it!  We’ll be together again, Julia.  But for now, live every day to the fullest.  Do it for me, Julia, and have a Merry Christmas!”  And with a laugh full of joy and sunshine, the young Mary turned and ran off into the woods and was gone.

               Julia stood silently in the gazebo staring at the spot where the girl had disappeared wondering whether she had dreamt or imagined the encounter she had just had.  She shook her head thoughtfully as she considered the other possibilities as well; had Mary been a ghost, an angel or just an hallucination?  And did it really matter at all, as long as she had delivered the special message that Julia had so needed to hear?

               She felt a smile begin to warm her chilled face as she started down the gazebo steps, but stopped in her tracks at the sight before her: footprints, small footprints in the snow that led to and from the tiny building.   And sitting on the bottom step was the hat with the purple pom pom, the hat that she had seen herself wearing in the vision.  Julia bent over and picked up the little hat, clutching it tightly in her gloved hands.  It was real; it had all been real.  The emotions were too overwhelming now, and she could no longer fight the crystal tears that spilled onto her reddened cheeks. 

               “Thank you, Mary,” she whispered in awe.  “I’ll remember.  Merry Christmas, my dear friend.”

               And Julia Collins, still holding a young girl’s hat with a purple pom pom, headed back to her loving home with the joy of Christmas restored to her heart.

THE END