Again she heard a voice ring over the silence, only this time it was another voice, "Morticia," it called. It was unlike the adult members of the family to interrupt her solemn moments. She turned to face the house, knowing it must be an important matter. Yet through the thick whiteout of snow, which had suddenly increased around her, she saw a figure moving towards her. It was not the form of a child, not that of Grand-Mama, and not that of Lurch. As her eyes strained through the storm, another call rang out, this time the distinct voice of a man. Perhaps the whistling winds were distorting Uncle Fester's voice, the only one left who would have called out to her. She waited, unmoving, for another calling. She waited and waited but no one called. The storm was thickening, closing in around her. She could stand it no longer, frustrated she cried out, "I'm here!"
Panic began to rise within her as she was met with only the sound of the wind. Hurriedly, she moved forward, hoping to meet the him on the path. A few steps away from the gate, she could see a denseness before her. She stopped, when she did not recognize the form. It was not Uncle Fester, it was taller, more powerfully built. Morticia let a small, silent laugh escape her throat as the sudden idea came into her head. It was an impossible thought. Perhaps she was still laying by the grave, perhaps she had fallen asleep amongst the silent snow. She smiled slightly and reached out her hand toward the figure, closing her eyes. If this truly was reality, her hand would be met with a familiar touch. Her graceful fingers reach out into the storm, feeling only the frequent caress of snowfall.
Her breaths were deep and caught in her throat as she felt the overwhelming sense of reality colliding with her thoughts. She breathed in deeply through her nose, but stopped suddenly when her senses were filled with a familiar aroma. Before another thought entered her mind, something closed in around her hand. She smiled widely, tears gliding down her face. A hand brushed against her cheek, as she breathed in the smell around her. Morticia reached up and caressed the hand on her cheek. It was a warm, strong hand. Another hand slipped around her waist, and pulled her against a solid, muscular form. Morticia finally opened her eyes, but did so slowly in hopes that her daydream would not vanish. Expecting, still, to only see snow before her, Morticia was met with a piercing gaze. She moved her hand from his and reached up to touch his face. Her hand met with the soft, olive skin of his cheek, and then she traced her fingers over his lips. Fingers which had just recently been tracing the letters on his headstone. What once felt cold, stone beneath them, now felt alive, soft flesh. "Gomez," she whispered weakly, as the arms held her tightly. He leaned in toward her, bumping his nose to hers, gently touching his forehead with hers. Her hands traced over his neck and behind his head. "I'm here," he said.
Unable to control herself, Morticia cried out, leaning her head into his chest. His embrace tightened around her. Morticia threw her arms his neck, and gracefully jumped to reach her head above his shoulders to embrace him. Gomez caught Morticia around the waist and held her above the ground as she clung to his neck, soft cries escaping her chest. "Oh, my darling," she whispered. Gomez was silent, as his wife cried in his arms. He turned his head toward her and breathed in the beautiful perfume of her hair. Gomez collapsed to his knees, Morticia still clinging to him. He held her there in his lap, snow falling thickly around them.