Hannah

Her velvety brown eyes stared at the words scribbled on the single old sheet of stationary, ink splotches spattered across the fragile yellow paper. In spite of having found the letter only hours before, she had read the note a thousand times if she’d read it once, but having it memorized didn’t keep her from reading it again.

She raised her eyes, her gaze moving slowly up the imposing stone façade of the house she stood before, and as she took her first step forward a bolt of lightening suddenly flashed a warning at her from the rapidly gathering clouds. She hesitated for only a heartbeat.

The old boards creaked under her feet as she ascended the stairs and slowly moved across the wide porch toward the large double front doors. Pulling a heavy ring from her purse she selected one of the old iron keys and inserted it into the lock, having to use both hands and a good deal of force to get the mechanisms to move through the built up rust.
With grinding protests the lock gave way and with a trembling hand she turned the knob and pushed, the hinges groaning like weary old men as the door swung inward.

The air was thick with dust. Tiny specks danced through the sunlight that was intermittently blocked out by heavy clouds in an ever changing ocular staccato, flitting in the eddies of air as she moved from room to room. Furniture was draped in sheets that were once white, the passing of time having turned them the same aged yellow as the paper clutched in her hand.

Cobwebs large enough for her to use as hammocks filled corners and doorways, dainty webs laced balusters together and thick mats of silk threads cocooned the chandeliers. Rugs were rolled and stacked like cord wood in each room, the dust so thick on the hardwood floor that she left footprints as she walked, the boards creaking under the forgotten feel of a human’s weight.

She walked through the kitchen, her gaze glancing over the wood burning stove, the pot rack laden with cast iron skillets and the butcher block topped table like a stone skimming across the surface of a still lake. She made a direct line toward the back door, reaching for the ornate knob and letting out a surprised scream when she was pushed from behind, cold hands slamming her against the still closed door.

Spinning and pressing her back to the wall her eyes scanned the room, looking for her assailant even while knowing she wouldn’t find them. Her mind went back to the letter, written over a hundred years before from a despondent husband to his dead wife:

My dearest Hannah,

This morning finds me wracked by the fiery pangs of your absence. Remembering the softness of your skin, the mirth in your eyes and the gentleness of your touch leaves me lost and longing. Nothing and no one will ever fill the vacancy left in my soul. The day I shrug off this mortal coil can come none too soon if the hereafter finds me lying by your side. Wait for me, love.

Forever yours,

Roger

Roger had been her Great Grandfather, and he had died when she was only 10. She fondly remembered sitting on his knee and listening with a young girl’s romantic heart as he spoke of his Hannah, her namesake. Despite the years that had passed, his love for his lost wife was an ever present light in his dimming eyes, and the mere mention of her name seemed to bring out of him the young man he once was.

He had moved out of the house he and Hannah had shared, refusing to create any memories there that didn’t include her, and lived out his life by raising their one young son. As he lay in his bed dying, Hannah’s small hands tucking the quilts her mother had made around his frail body, she wept silently both in anguish and in joy. Anguish that she was losing him and joy that he was going to be with his wife again.

The dreams started only days after he died. Hannah would wake up dripping with sweat, her heart pounding and feeling an overwhelming sense of panic, as though she had lost something and couldn’t find it anywhere. Her parents would soothe her, calm her, rock her, but she couldn’t get anyone to believe that something had gone wrong with Great grandpa’s soul.

These dreams plagued Hannah almost nightly all the way through college, and it was while home for the holidays that she found Roger’s letter to Hannah and the pieces fell into place. She had been awakened by the same sense of panic she had felt for as long as she could remember, getting up and heading outside to get some air, the cool autumn air chilling the sweat on her skin.

Hannah sat curled up in one of the worn rocking chairs on the wide porch, her brown eyes staring unfocused across the front yard until a milky shadow moved near the garden shed. Unfolding herself she stood up and moved toward it, not feeling afraid but rather a sense of excited anticipation came over her. She felt pushed and guided and directed. She pulled the door open and walked directly to a stack of old boxes, her hands moving the unimportant ones aside and, as if controlled by someone else, she reached into the dusty contents of a non-descript shoebox and extracted one specific letter and a ring of old keys.

It only took one reading of the letter for her to understand what she needed to do. She packed a small bag, left a note for her parents and climbed behind the wheel of her mom’s SUV. Four hours later she found herself being attacked by her Great Grandmother.

“Wait!” she shouted, holding her arms up to shield her head from invisible fists. “Grandma, stop! He’s here! I’ve brought him to you!” Hannah’s voice carried through the house, echoing off the high ceiling. The room was suddenly still, holding its breath and watching her with what felt like skepticism. Reaching into the small bag slung over her shoulder, Hannah extracted a polished silver urn, Roger’s name engraved across the front and she held it out as proof.

Slowly she reached for the doorknob again, letting out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding until she stepped through the doorway without incident. She felt something move past her, like the brush of heavy skirts scented with lavender, and she followed the scent to the family graveyard. A low iron gate hung oddly from one rusted hinge, the sagging corner stuck in the dirt. Two dozen headstones poked up through the thick carpet of weeds, ivy and decomposing leaves, the stone covered in moss and the chiseled words faded.

Hannah moved slowly, still following the scent of lavender, to the far corner of the graveyard, stopping to stare at the bare earth of her Great Grandmother’s grave. Nothing grew there. The air didn’t stir. The temperature dropped. She felt something pacing, circling her like an impatient lion and with slow, deliberate movements she removed the lid from the urn and sprinkled the remains of her Great Grandfather’s body onto the bare dirt at the base of the half finished dual headstone.

It felt like the universe held its breath and for several minutes nothing moved, nothing made a noise. With a sudden burst of air, thick green grass and brilliantly colored wildflowers erupted from the naked ground. The branches of the trees that hung bare over the ground exploded with emerald leaves, birds circled overhead and the dark clouds that had felt so ominous split and showered a warm rain down onto Hannah’s uplifted face.

In the sporadic sunlight that reflected through the fat drops, out of the corner of her eye, Hannah watched her Great Grandparents reunion and in that moment she knew what pure joy looked like.