Vanishing Snow

The day of Christmas Eve I had planned on sleeping in. Stella was spending the morning at her grandparents’ house so I could get a brief rest before cooking Christmas dinner for the family, and so I had nothing keeping me busy until noon. At least, that’s what I expected. 

At precisely seven o’clock, when my alarm would usually have gone off, the doorbell rang. I groaned and muttered into my pillow. Probably it was just a last-minute gift being delivered, but at seven? I pulled on my robe and shuffled to the door. 

It was a smiling young man. He was wearing peculiarly clothes- a brown and beige old-fashioned suit, a 1920s style hat, and even a watch on a chain hung from his pocket. He grinned and took off his hat to me. “Merry Christmas, madam! May I come in?” 

Blinking, I waited for my just-woken-up brain to catch up to my eyes and ears. Who was this man, and why did he want to come in? 

For some reason I held the door open wider. He breezed right in and hung his snow-sprinkled jacket on the coat rack. He looked around the place, smiled, and said to my bemusement, “Well! The old place certainly hasn’t changed much!” 

To context, my house was built in the early twentieth century. I’ve seen many people come to my house for a look around, some of them former residents before my in-laws purchased it twenty years ago, some simply intrigued by the elegant antique of a home. I figured this man must have lived in the house before, likely when he was a child judging by his age. I couldn’t be annoyed then, especially the way he was so excited now about being back to his childhood home. It was Christmas Eve after all. Then I realized I was still in my pajamas and blushed. Embarrassed, I rushed to the kitchen, thinking I’d bring him some refreshments. Before I could even part my lips, he followed me into the next room. “I remember this kitchen! Did you repaint it?” 

“My in-laws did, for my husband and I,” I mumbled. “Would you like something to drink?” 

“Oh, thank you. Yes. Who are your in-laws?” 

“Um…” Without answering I just handed him a glass of water. “Did you used to live here when you were a kid?” 

“Certainly! But I was actually in my twenties when I left.” The man continued to happily chatter about the kitchen while I stared at him, trying to trample over my confusion and attempt to suss out his age. In his twenties more than 20 years ago? He could have been twenty now. 

I studied him with narrowed eyes. Who on earth was this man?

“If you don’t mind me asking,” I said, “what is your name?” 

“Samuel Dartmouth,” he said with a laugh, “like the college.”

The name sounded somewhat familiar. I rolled it around my head a few times to no avail. Maybe I’d look him up later, after he’d gone. Till then, just to be polite, I’d give him a tour. He was delighted as I escorted him through the house. He pointed out where his old furniture had been, how different the bathroom used to be, what kind of bricks the remodeled fireplace once was made of. I showed him my daughter’s nursery. 

“Who is that?” he asked, pointing to a picture on her dresser. 

“That’s my husband, Jack.” I turned to leave the room. 

“What kind of uniform is that?” 

“Army.”

 Samuel was quiet for a moment. Then, “Is he still here?” My face felt hot. 

“No. He died last summer.” 

“I’m sorry for your loss.” 

I nodded and left the room, not even checking to see if he was following me or not. When I realized he wasn’t I turned to see where he was. Not in the hallway. He must still be in Stella’s nursery, I thought. But he wasn’t. The picture of Jack lay on the dresser, his eyes watching me as I searched the room for the stranger. I closed the door as I speed walked out. 

Samuel Dartmouth, the mystery who’d walked in my door, was missing. All my windows were locked and there were no footprints in the snow. I ransacked every inch of the house. He was nowhere. Even his jacket had disappeared.

At noon, the doorbell rang again. Panting from my frenzied quest, I threw open the door. It was my in-laws, Laura and Robert. Laura held my six-month-old in her arms. George was beside her, and both nearly took a step back at my appearance. “Jenna? You okay?”

I was still in my robe and nightgown, exerted and sweating, my house a mess behind me. My hair was plastered to my forehead. My side heaved as I caught my frantic breath. 

“Jenna?” Laura said softly. I cried, and she handed the baby to her husband and took me in her arms. She gently guided me to the couch and sat me down. George asked me what was wrong and I couldn’t answer. They helped me clean up the house and left after assisting me in making Christmas dinner. 

Hours later, I lay in my bed, stroking my baby’s wispy hair. I slept fitfully, my dreams shadowing my husband and Samuel, who both seemed to have vanished into the snow; no more than melted snowflakes. Eventually I gave up on sleep and curled up on the sofa. The hours slipped by unnoticed by me, still lost in thought. My eyes fell on a drawer below the TV. That was where Jack kept all the photo albums his parents had given him. On a whim I opened the drawer and sifted through the half-dozen selections. One had pages and photos yellowed with age. I gingerly flipped it open. Years and years went by in the album, from the 20s to the 80s. One picture, however, caught my eye. A tall young man in a suit, grinning at the camera, in a grainy photo labeled SAMMY,SUMMER 1932. 

I spent the early morning watching the snow twinkle down through the clouds. Soon, my in-laws would arrive with presents wrapped in festive paper. They’d hug me and ask how my night was, and I’d tell them fine. Because I met my husband’s great-great-grandfather, who never got the chance to see his great-great-grandson. Now he has. Now I can enjoy Christmas morning with my daughter, knowing that I have helped a wandering soul complete his journey. I will never meet Samuel Dartmouth again in this world, just as I’ll never see my husband until I join him in death. For now, though, I’m content to wait for my family to come home, with my baby on my lap, both of us gazing at the snowfall.