The message that arrived too late

The following original scene imagines two young people separated by a flood. It is not from Shakespeare’s play. Mara folded the letter again, though its creases were already soft. At the top, Eli had written: “Meet me at the old footbridge at six. If the river is safe, we can leave together.” All afternoon, rain had battered the town. Mara’s aunt had locked the garden gate, insisting that nobody should go near the river. “Some things are beyond us,” she said, watching water stream down the glass. “You cannot bargain with a storm.” At ten to six, Mara heard three knocks at the front door. A soaked post rider handed her a second note. The bridge is closed, it said. Eli has gone to the station. Take the seven o’clock train if you still mean it. Mara ran upstairs for her coat. On the landing, her aunt called, “Wait until the rain stops!” For a moment Mara froze. She could obey, or risk missing the train. Then the lights flickered out. In the sudden darkness, she heard the clock strike six. Across town, Eli stood beneath the station clock. He had reached the platform early, but the flood had stopped the trains. At six, he saw the signal change from green to red. He could wait, or walk the long road to Mara’s house. He chose the road. Neither knew what the other had decided. Mara reached the empty platform as Eli turned towards her street. The storm had made their meeting impossible—but only because each believed the other was somewhere else. The next morning, a neighbour carried Eli’s damp letter to Mara. On its back, in hurried ink, he had added: “I came back. I thought you’d gone.”