No Luck
…The train had been rolling along for the second day now. By this time, everyone had got to know each other, drunk copious amounts of tea, and completed at least a dozen crosswords. Thats when people start chatting about life. Theres something about being fellow travellers on a trainpeople share stories youd never hear anywhere else.
I was sitting on a side seat, while in the compartment next to mine, three elderly ladies were exchanging recipes for pastry and discussing the best way to knit socks. The train crossed a bridge, granting us a stunning view: the sky all clear and blue on a lovely, sunlit day, with a broad river below, its waters rippling gently. Up on a high bank, thick with soft, silky grass, there stood a chalk-white church with golden spires catching the light.
The women fell silent. One of them made the sign of the cross.
Oh, let me tell you a story, said her travel companion. Believe it or not as you wish.
It happened a few years back, in the spring, she began. I live on my own, no children, buried my husband long ago. Though our village is small, it sprawls across both banks of a river. If you want to get to the shop or the post office, you have to cross a little bridge to the other side. That morning, my brother rang me early. He was heading off on a work trip, but said hed take a detour to see me. We hadnt seen each other in five yearshe lives far away.
I was over the moon! Thought Id dash over to the shops, pick up some groceriesflour and sugar, perhaps bake a pie for my dear guest. I threw on my coat, didnt even bother fastening it, just pulled it close, pulled on my wellies, and hurried out the door.
When I reached the river, I stopped and thought, Its out of my way to walk to the bridge. What if I just nip across the ice? Nights were still cold, though days had grown warmer. I saw some fishermen, big chaps with their rods and all sorts of gear, sitting not far off, almost under the bridge. I thought, If theyre alright, Ill be finelittle and quick as I am, I should manage.
I gingerly scrambled down to the river. One step, then anothernothing cracked. All seems well, I thought, Ill get across easily. The river bends here, and it narrows, so it should be quick.
What happened next, believe it or not, the woman continued, I didnt even realise at first Id gone through the ice. All I felt was a sharp shock, the air whooshed out of me with a gaspthat was it. I struggled upwards, but my coat pulled me down. Thank goodness I hadnt buttoned it! I managed to shrug it off, which made coming up to the surface easier. Its a terrifying feeling, clutching at the edge of the ice as it splinters and cracks, sending you back under the freezing water. I couldnt shout, my voice had gone.
I caught sight of my neighbour standing on the bank, staring straight at me. I waved my arm high, hoping shed call the fishermen. But she backed away and disappeared! Well, I remember thinking, this is the end. Shame, my brother will come and wont find me.
I tried one last time to clamber outthe ice gave way again. Then suddenly I saw a man running towards me. Thered been no one nearby just moments before; where had he come from, and how did he spot me?
He lay down on the ice, reaching out his hand and shouting, Come on! You can do it!
I dont know where the strength came from. Just then, the ice under him started to crack, too. He scrambled over to the bank, yanked up a young birch tree with astonishing ease, and hurried back. He lay flat on the ice, held the tree out toward me. I tried to cling to the branches, but my hands kept slippingtheyd gone numb, and the frost had coated everything with ice.
The man pulled the tree closer, turned it round, and thrust it towards me again. Grab the trunk! The trunk! he shouted.
I clung to the thickest bit, and like pulling a turnip from the ground, he hauled me out. I lay there on the ice, my tears freezing on my cheeks. The man leaned over me.
Alive, are you, madam? he asked.
I nodded, couldnt say a word.
Thank heavens, he replied. Go home, love, youll be none the worse for it.
I wiped my eyes, struggled to my feet, and when I looked round, he was gone. How he could have vanished, I still dont know. You can see for miles along the river in every directiontheres nowhere to hide before the bend, and Id already seen the fishermen running over to help me.
One of them helped me the rest of the way home. I changed, had a mug of hot tea. Still, sitting around wouldnt put food on the tableI needed to get to the shop.
So off I went again, this time across the bridge. As I neared the shop, who should I see but that very neighbour, standing on the steps, eyeing me as if shed seen a ghost and crossing herself.
Didnt you drown, then? she said.
And why didnt you call for help? I shot back.
Well, I thought, if I got near, Id go in with you, and Id never reach those fishermen in time anyway. If you drowned, it must be your fate. But look at thatyou didnt drown after all. Thank goodness youre safe.
My brother only stayed a dayI never told him what had happened. After he left, I went round the village, asking whose guest that man had been. I was sure he was a stranger; he wasnt dressed like any of us, in some sort of cloak, perhaps, with a hood.
We havent many homes in our village. Even if someones relations came from afar, everyone knows everyone. Id seen that man somewhere before, I was sure, but I couldnt place him. Nobody else had seen a stranger that day, and no visitor was mentioned by any neighbour.
I went to the next village, to the church, to light a candle and give thanks for such a miraculous rescue. The moment I entered, I frozethere, looking down from an icon, was my rescuer, the very man himself, Saint Nicholas the Miracle-worker. I sank to my knees right there. Afterwards, I had a long chat with the vicar.
So there it is. And you know, I honestly didnt fall ill, not even the sniffles, not so much as a sneeze since that day, the woman finished. Believe it or not, its up to you.The compartment was silent but for the rhythmic clattering of the tracks. The light pooled softly through the window, catching the silver in the womans hair and the curve of her gentle smile.
One of the other ladies, who’d been clutching her knitting a bit tighter, let out a long, shaky breath. That was some story, she said, her voice hushed, as if she feared it might drift out the train and vanish on the wind. Gives me chills, but also hope, you know?
The storyteller just winked. Well, theres luck, and then theres grace. Sometimes they look the same, and sometimes you only know which it is long after the fact.
We all sat thinking about itthe river, the breaking ice, the mysterious hand in the hour of need. I looked again at the church spires glinting in the distance, feeling suddenly as if the world held countless quiet miracles, invisible unless you looked close, or listened well.
Moments later, the train whistled as it neared a small station. Passengers gathered their bags and said their goodbyes, some exchanging addresses, some simply nodding with the contentment of travellers whod shared the road, if only for a while.
I caught the storytellers eye as she stood to leave, steadying herself with her umbrella. No luck at all, she whispered with a secret smile. Just someone watching out. Remember that, dear.
And as the train rolled away once more, rattling toward the horizon, a sense of quiet wonder lingeredlike the taste of strong tea, or a story youll remember for the rest of your days.
