Through the window, I saw the end had robbed the season of its new beginning. Peeling my saturated eyes open wider, the brightness assaulted the dark oblivion that had been my cocoon for three days. My gaze swiveled to find the source of the offense. I glimpsed pristine white branches where trees showing the promise of spring budded the day before. Winter, it would seem, snuck into the new season with the stealth of a thief and the obstinance of a child not willing to relinquish that which wasn’t theirs. Such unexpected spring storms were not unheard of, but they were rare.

I tossed the covers back, not minding the chill that solicited a gruff response from my flesh. Outside temperature was nothing compared to the frigidness of my heart. With my puffy eyes squeezed shut, I could feel the biting cold seeping into my exposed limbs, bordering on physical pain. I let it in willingly. Physical pain didn’t frighten me as much as the emotional anguish seizing my heart.

With my feet pressed to the floor, I tried to force myself to stand. My legs would not comply with the order issued from my mind. An involuntary shiver mocked me with a warning about pushing pain to its limits by remaining exposed and vulnerable.

I flopped back on the bed, retreating beneath the blankets in the hope of finding that void of oblivion I could sink into. But after three days, the path to that place became far too obscure. Closing my eyes could not prevent the images from flashing in my mind, both real and imagined. Like obstacles hindering my retreat to sleep, those images solicited tears from a soul reservoir I thought had run dry.

My beloved fiancé promised me it would be his last trip. How ardently I wished he had rephrased that promise. I could still see his handsome face and feel his rough hand on my cheek as he consoled me with a chaste kiss on the forehead. The poignant memory of his voice stirred me with effervescent recollection. How long before it faded?

Fearing the answer to that question, I let the memory take me…

“I made a commitment to my father, Eileen. Mr. Franklin is the Vice President of the White Star Line. My presence is a show of support. You know what this means if we can secure them as a client.” He had lifted my hand to his lips and kissed each finger. “Our wedding will take place when I return in a month. We are close to completing the construction of our new house. I have made a place ready for you. Do you truly believe I will not come to take you as my bride?”

He was always so persuasive in his arguments. That made him New York’s best lawyer.

“While I am in New York, I will check on the progress of our new estate.” His eyes twinkled. “Then I will come back for you, make you my wife, and take you to America.”

“I don’t want you to go, Charles.” Even though I was a sophisticated twenty-year-old English woman about to wed a respected lawyer, my voice betrayed a childlike innocence, cursed by a premonition brought on waves of unfettered emotion.

“The ship presents a unique opportunity for me to make crucial contacts, as my father has repeatedly pointed out. You must trust me, my beautiful bride. I want to ensure our future stability.” He leaned toward me, tucking hair behind my ear.

“You are all the assurance I need, Charles. I am not marrying you for your money.”

He arched a playful brow. “Oh? Then why would a lovely specimen like you leave her homeland to build a future with a man like me? My charm and good looks make for a poor foundation.”

No mood for teasing, I boldly touched my lips to his with feather-soft pressure that lasted a mere heartbeat. His eyes widened with a pleasant response that coaxed warmth from that place inside me only he could access.

“Love,” I said. “The foundation of our future is love.”

My little breach of propriety had rendered him speechless, a characteristic Charles did not typically possess. Stepping back, he put the proper distance between us.

The next morning, I found myself standing on the pier with thousands of other enthusiasts eager to see the mighty ship off on its maiden voyage. The joyous pulse of the crowd annoyed me. Historic or not, this ship was taking my beloved away. I would not be eager to see it depart, only to witness its return.

Charles had kissed me politely on the cheek, but the fire in his eyes suggested he recalled the brief taste of intimacy from the day before. We looked at one another with the tether of promise holding us together even as we parted.

“Do not be so morose, Eileen. You know what they say about her.” Charles glanced over his shoulder at the mighty vessel with a fondness that sparked jealousy in my heart. “She is unsinkable.”

I scoffed. Unsinkable or not, I viewed the ship the way a wife would view a mistress.

Regardless, I waved goodbye as expected when Charles emerged on deck, lifting his arms while in the embrace of the Ship of Dreams.

I clenched my fists and pressed them over my eyes as the memory ebbed away like a retreating tide. I read the headline three days ago. The Titanic Hit an Iceberg. Lives Lost. The ship went down in waters too cold for survivors. That cold gripped my core and turned my future into ice – breakable rigid ice.

Indeed, it had been my beloved’s last trip.

Frustrated that my mind resisted sleep, I punched the pillow and kicked the blankets off my bed. I grabbed my robe, wrapping it around my torso before moving toward the window.

The unstained blanket of winter white possessed a tender beauty even while lacking the promise of life. Cold represented death. I feared my soul’s winter would never end.

Through the window, I saw something inexplicable. An apparition of the heart, perhaps? A tease from my soul?

Squinting, I could barely make out a lone figure in the distance. A dark silhouette hovering in the snow the way the shadows adhered to walls when the light went out. My weary mind tempted me with thoughts of Charles. It couldn’t be. That future was gone for me. To believe he would return was to risk my heart breaking again. Yet, if believing risked my heart, unbelief risked my soul.

Pressing my hand against the chilled pane that felt like ice beneath my touch, the remnant of warmth in my body overcame the cold. I needed evidence. Why wasn’t the figure moving? I couldn’t trust my exhausted mind. I knew better.

If the mirage retreated from my view, I would assume it was nothing more than a ghostly goodbye. A spirited reminder that it was time to move on. Or it could be….

I blinked, searching my heart for the belief that would thaw grief. The figure moved. Not away from me as in death, but toward me as in life. The apparition became solid as it limped through the snow.

Through the window, I saw the return of my beloved. With each step he took in my direction, hope thawed my iced heart. Love blossomed like springtime in my soul. Death had not claimed my future. I dashed to the door, no longer content to view the resurrection of my love through the window.