No One Falls Through the Ice

“Come on, Agnes!” Gilbert called, already making smooth loops around the frozen pond. “We’ve been waiting all year!”

Agnes finished buckling on her skates and stood, shaking out her woolen skirts even though no snow had stuck to her. Tentatively, she stepped onto the thick ice that lined the shore. It was safe along the edges, but she knew the ice near the center would be thin and weak, as it always was after the first hard freeze of the winter.

Gathering speed, Gilbert tried a few small jumps, one where he spun in the air before landing, gliding effortlessly over the center of the pond. Over the years, he had gotten quite good. Watching him shoot across that brittle ice gripped her chest in crushing, freezing water. Swallowing hard, she pressed her hands over her stomach, reminding herself that it was safe for them. She had nothing to fear, but she couldn’t get herself to move any further out onto the pond.

“What’s wrong, my love?” Gilbert slid to a stop in front of her, taking her clutched hands in his and gently stroking the backs of her hands with his thumbs.

“It’s like this every year,” she told him quietly.

“Aren’t you the one who always says no one falls through the ice,” he chided, smirking, pulling her gently forward.

Agnes pulled her hands free and swatted at him.

“I can’t help it,” she explained. “It’s difficult, the first time out. You know.”

Gilbert nodded thoughtfully and turned, taking her around the waist.

“Take us out when you’re ready,” he said softly.

Agnes nodded and stared out over the frozen pond. The moon was out tonight, full and bright, casting icy pale light over everything. Snow covered the trees and gently sloping banks, glittering like diamonds. Beyond the trees, rows of houses overlooked their pond. Agnes knew they weren’t often visible to the people who lived there, but once or twice someone had caught a glimpse.

The lights of the village were bright, as they always were these days. Although it was hardly what she would call a village anymore. Over the years, their small community had grown and grown, spilling out into the countryside and becoming what Agnes would call a large city, though no one who lived there seemed to think so. Thousands of people lived in the village now, building new homes and schools and shops, only the pond remained unchanged by all the newness that had sprung up around it. Often, the noise of the village filled the park—people and carriages and the general drone of a city. Tonight was quiet though, and the air was still and sharp. Agnes made a small motion forward and stopped, biting her lip. The edges of the pond—the strong, dependable ice—was frosty pale in the moonlight, but near the center, the ice was dark as the night sky.

“It’s beautiful,” Gilbert said softly.

“Hmmm,” Agnes hummed her agreement, turning herself into him and gazing upward. “I miss the stars though.”

“We still have stars.”

“Not like we used to,” she pointed out. “The village is so bright now, we’ve lost half of them.”

“I still see plenty,” Gilbert said, his voice low, his eyes locked on hers.

“You’re looking at me, not the sky.”

“I am,” he agreed, kissing her gently on the mouth, trailing his lips along the line of her jaw, and down the side of her neck.

“Gilbert!” Agnes giggled, pushing him away half-heartedly. He met her eyes, grinning.

“What?” he asked mischievously. “No one is going to see us.”

“We can’t be sure,” she chided.

“I’m very sure,” he asserted, leaning forward to peck her on the cheek. As he moved away again, she felt a small tug at the top of her head, and her bonnet came off in his hand.

“Gilbert!” Agnes exclaimed, but he chuckled and dashed away over the ice. “Give that back!” She took off after him, pushing off hard against the frozen pond and quickly gaining. Each time she got close, Gilbert dipped and spun away from her, laughing and waving the heavy bonnet around like a flag. They raced in swirls and circles over the fresh ice until, with a final lunge, she caught hold of her bonnet and skidded to a stop, right in the middle.

Glowering, Agnes tugged the bonnet back on and tied it snugly under her chin. Gilbert only grinned wider, moving towards her with his arms extended. She moved away from him, planting her hands on her hips.

“I thought you said you were going to let me take us out,” she scolded.

Gilbert’s expression shifted from amusement to concern. He looked down, picking at the ice with the point of his skates. It was quite thin, startling so, now that they were right over it.

“You were frozen, love,” he said softly. “Like me, last year.”

Agnes blinked, remembering Gilbert staring over the ice, ghost-pale and fearful. She had been the one to coax him out then, taking him by the hand and gently guiding him out under the moonlight. He had done much better this year. It must be her turn to feel the old dread.

“I didn’t realize,” she said quietly.

“How do you feel now?”

“Much better, thank you.” Agnes closed the space between them and lifted up on her toes to give him a light peck on the mouth. “I suppose I needed the nudge.”

“You could stand to lose the bonnet though. You’d be a vision with your hair down.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“I love you too,” he murmured, and Agnes kissed him again. Gilbert turned her soft kiss into a long one until they were quite rudely interrupted by voices cutting through the trees.

“Hurry up! If I’m not home by eleven my mom is going to flip out!”

“There’s always someone,” Gilbert lamented as a group of boys emerged from the path along the south side of the pond.

“Always,” Agnes sighed, shaking her head.

“Watch this!” one of the boys leapt out onto the ice, landing on his feet and sliding forward several paces before finally losing his balance. His friends laughed at him from the safety of the shore.

Agnes took Gilbert’s hand and they moved closer, but the boys didn’t see them. Few ever did.

Two more boys followed their friend out onto the ice while the others held up devices that shone lights on them. The first boy tried to stand, windmilling his arms before falling again. They seemed to find it all quite funny.

“Are they drunk, or just foolish?” Gilbert mused.

“They look awfully young to be drunk,” Agnes commented, “so I should hope it’s not that.”

Two of the boys had gotten to their feet, and were sliding further out onto the pond, looking back to make sure their friends were watching. They got close to where Agnes and Gilbert waited, and Gilbert released her hand to skate towards them, slowing to pass through them like smoke. The boys coughed and shuddered, one bending double with his hands on his knees.

“Shit,” he muttered. “I don’t feel so good.”

“Chicken,” the second boy teased, shaking off the strange sensation and continuing forward. Behind them, the boy who had fallen got to his feet at last and followed after them. Gilbert made another pass at them, but they only cursed and continued forward, goaded and cheered by the ones safe on solid ground. They would require more drastic measures.

Agnes clutched her chest and remembered the icy crush of the water, the wild clawing panic and piercing, shrieking pain. It wouldn’t work without something big behind it. Being heard by the living, touching the world, required anguish she could barely endure to recall.

Her strangled shriek ripped through the still, frozen air, the ice beneath her feet cracking with a sound like a gunshot, drawing a line across the width of the pond. The cry was sharp in her chest, ice in her lungs, but she pushed onwards, ceaseless, feeling no need to fill her empty lungs beyond the burning in her memory.

The boys fell over themselves to get away. Eyes wild with terror, they scrambled off the ice and onto the snowy shore, slipping and falling and shouting.

“What was that?”

“What the fuck was that?!”

“I don’t care, dude! Get out of my way!”

“Get out of here!”

“What the fuck?!”

Agnes straightened, taking a deep breath to settle herself, letting the old pain slip away. They wouldn’t be trying anything foolish on their pond, she was sure, for a while, at least.

Gilbert stopped at her side, taking her hand gently in his.

“No one falls through the ice,” Agnes said firmly, watching the boys scramble and shout their way back into the village. Gilbert raised her hand to his lips and kissed it.

“Not on our watch,” he agreed.

“Not ever again.”