Mist rose from the white froth of the river as it rushed under the footbridge. To the right of the bridge was the weir – large iron gates shoulder to shoulder as the river poured over. To the left of the footbridge, black angry whirlpools that were whisked downstream by the current. The spray from the water that crashed into the weir landed on the wooden footbridge in droplets and froze almost as quickly as it kissed the wood forming an icy sheath along the handrails and planks.
This was no place to be so early on a bitter December morning.
The footbridge was long. One of the longest in the kingdom. Crossing the river, even over the footbridge at this time of year was, needless to say, perilous. One slip, one rotten piece of wood and between the freezing river and the current, it would take a miracle to survive.
I tied the black woollen scarf more tightly around my neck and cursed myself for rushing, leaving my hat and gloves behind when I grabbed the oversized duffle coat. Numbness crept around my ears and I began to regret my half-hearted attempt at deception and wished I had not cropped my hair into such a short bob before setting out, but everyone knew my long, curly black hair. It was wild and even under a hat the curls would force their way loose. I would be seen. But what’s done, is done and my curls lay tied in an amputated ponytail under the floorboard in my bedroom. I needed to cross the bridge before the sun rose. I rubbed my bare hands together and prepared to traverse the icy planks to the field on the other side of the river where he would be waiting.
‘You have nine lives.’ I said out loud. ‘Remember Forest, you have nine lives.’
And as if walking a tightrope, I lifted my arms out from my sides and placed my foot on the first board, and the next and the next. Between the gaps in the planks, the river rushed dizzyingly underneath. The footbridge swayed with the white water to the right, the whirlpools to the left and the driving current below. I lost my balance and I wasn’t even halfway across. The icy air constricted my lungs arresting my breath and my vision clouded.
I reached out to the handrail and flinched as the icy surface burned my palm and retracted my hand. I closed my eyes and pushed my hands into my pockets to warm them. I felt the leather pouch of money. It weighed heavily in my coat and I remembered my purpose on this early December morning. I clutched the purse, opened my eyes and stared into the distance, along the footbridge to the other side. I ignored the weir, the whirlpools and the current beneath the footbridge and stepped solidly from one frozen board to the next. I breathed in through my nose and out through my mouth. Slowly. Deliberately. Evenly.
It was said that within my eyes, the whole of the kingdom could be seen. Even in one so young as myself. But what they did not know was that through my eyes, I could see the whole of the kingdom. Some secrets had to be kept.
I reached the bend in the footbridge and refocused my eyes towards the end – the lock. Hennery, the lock keeper, would not be up yet. He walked the streets of the town in the dead of night, ghostlike. Some say he was simply so old that he no longer slept at night. Others say he was cursed with an earthly purgatory of sleeplessness. I know he seeks what he has lost and can only hope to find under the cover of darkness.
As I neared the lock, I dared to look to my right, I had passed the weir and the white water had calmed to strong black current; I was able to keep my balance while glancing to either side of the footbridge. It was still early enough that not a soul stirred, not even a mallard. I continued to tread lightly, my shoes barely touching the footbridge. The last section I ran across on tiptoes until I reached the frozen earth of the bank. As expected, Hennery was nowhere to be seen.
I blew into my hands and rubbed them together as I peered both ways along the footpath. The sun was high enough to form long golden beams that accentuated the ethereal mist that rose from the river and rolled over the bank and settled in frozen fractal patterns on the saltmarsh-grasses, reeds and bulrushes. Before long, lovers would be out for early morning walks and Hennery would be summoned by boats needing passage through the lock.
How long was I to wait?
I moved off of the footpath into the cover of the horse chestnut trees of the bankside. I removed the purse and weighed it in my right hand. I scanned the bank, the river and the footbridge behind me. The scene was as empty as the soulless eyes of a dead man. My kingdom slept.
The grasses rustled and a frozen branch cracked. He was here. I laid the purse between two roots of the tree and stepped towards the footpath. Aiding and abetting a known fugitive. That is the crime I would be convicted of – penalty of death in my kingdom under the stars. My breathing became uneven again, the river scene swirled. The words aiding and abetting rebounded from one side of my mind to the other.
I caught sight of the horse chestnut tree. The pouch was gone. I had aided and abetted my father, a fugitive, for the last time. I ran back across the footbridge ignoring the ice, the weir and whirlpools. I ran along the empty Riverside Street. I ran up the hill to our house and stopped short of the path that led to the front door. The light was on in Mother’s room. The house was waking up. I untied my scarf and pulled it over my head, retied it under my chin and pulled the collar of the coat up to cover my neck.
I had lost one of my nine lives on the footbridge. I felt it drown in the river. But I would always land on my feet, Father had said, so I had to keep going. I turned away from the only home I had known and headed on the road out of town.
All pictures and writing are my own unless otherwise credited. Permission must be obtained before any image reproduction and credit must be issued in any image reproduction or quotations.
The Gold Shoe Writer 