Sleigh Bells at the Gate

For always afterwards, the sound of sleigh bells on snow reminded her of her year there.

She arrived at the end of winter, the bells on the carriage horses ringing with glee. The snow lie still unmelted on the walls, icing on a brown carrot cake. The gate was open – she always remembered that. Later, she learned that he had left it open and swept the path clear of snow for nearly a fortnight, not knowing precisely when she would arrive, but wanting to make a welcoming impression when she did. As he had. She arrived full of nerves, but his hopeful, equally-nervous smile steadied her even before their vows were read.

All spring, as the snow melted and the buds bloomed in the orchard, love sprouted as well. Theirs was a formal affair – they had only met once before that snowy day’s wedding – and if it was not the true love of fairy tales, it was love enough. He was safe and warm, and if he sometimes struggled to express it, she still knew he cared. She was more than satisfied. Her mother had been right: the match was good.

All summer, she tended the orchards alongside him, listening to him speak to the leaves and enjoin the fruit to ripen. He taught her how to care for a horse, took her on lovely rides through the country-side on their Sunday holidays. She taught him the harpsichord, sang counterpoint to his rough country voice on quiet nights.

All fall, they prayed together, hoping that a baby would take hold in her womb, trying with gentle roughness to make it happen. She loved him all the more for not wanting to force the gift God had not yet sent. As the air grew cooler, they went for walks through the woods, bundled up tightly, her hands in his warm grasp.

Then winter arrived, bringing that beautiful snow to frost the villa walls again. But beneath the layer of vanilla-cream icing, the cake was sour. Sickness came and tore at them. In her own weakness, she hardly knew he was ill until it was too late. She buried him with a kiss and a sob, out in the orchard he had loved.

She left for her parents’, bundled up in a quilted coach against the cold breeze. As she rode between the old walls with their garment of frost, the gate swung sadly shut behind her. The bells on the horses sang a quiet dirge for her love.

She married again later, and was content. But for always afterwards, the sound of sleigh bells on snow reminded her of her year there.