A Week in the Snow

by Gwen Masters

  Comfortable in her decision, she carefully pulled back on to the road. At first she kept her speed at a crawl, but as she grew more confident in her abilities to drive on the snow-covered road, she pressed harder on the gas pedal.

  The tyres lost their grip and the car began to skid.

  Rebecca tried to remember what she had learned about snow, and whether she should turn into the skid, or away. Before she could decide, there was a dull thud, and the rear of her car bounced. Another thud, and the car slid into the ditch with an air of finality. The engine stalled, sputtered and died.

  Rebecca sat behind the wheel, her knuckles white, staring out of the windshield. She took a deep breath. She closed her eyes as the shakes set in.

  It had all happened so fast.

  Her hands still shaking, Rebecca reached again for her cell phone. She pressed the button and the blue light of the tiny phone filled the car.

  No service.

  “Damn it, not now!” Rebecca punched buttons on the phone, as if that would make a difference. She threw it on the dash, grabbed the keys, turned the ignition and heard the satisfying roar of the engine. She cranked up the heat, held her hands in front of the vent for a moment, then put the car into gear. Gingerly she pressed on the gas pedal and felt the tyres catch. They gained traction for a moment but almost immediately slipped again, dumping the car back into the ditch. Rebecca put it in reverse and tried the same thing. No luck.

  “Damnation!” she hollered.

  She shoved open the car door and climbed out. The ditch was deeper than she had thought and the car was on an angle, so getting to the road was a bit of a struggle. When she turned to look back at the car, she realised it would never come out of there without the help of a tow truck.

  The snow was coming down, obscuring everything. It was frigidly cold, like standing in a refrigerator. She got back into the car and slammed the door shut behind her. At least the engine was still running—she held her hands in front of the heater vents, trying to stay warm while she took stock of the situation.

  Her phone didn’t work. Her car was definitely stuck. It was still snowing, and now the world was so white she couldn’t see the yellow lines of the road, though she knew they were only a few feet away. There hadn’t been a porch light for miles. She knew which road she was on, but that was all she had in the way of direction.

  She was already getting warmer, though. The car’s heater was a dragon of a thing, and would probably keep her toasty warm until the gas ran out.

  The gas.

  She stared at the gauge. It was sitting at just below a quarter of a tank, which was enough to last for a while, but not nearly enough to last through the night. If she were really as stuck as she seemed to be, that gas wouldn’t hold out long enough.

  “Think,” she whispered, fighting against panic. “Think.”

  She could walk as soon as the snow let up, and try to find the nearest house. She was wearing tennis shoes, two shirts and jeans—not heavy enough to fight the cold of the snow. She had other clothes in her trunk, including a coat. She could layer all of them if she had to.

  But first she would wait for the snow storm to let up, so she could see where she was walking when she did venture out of the car.

  Rebecca laid her head back against the seat. The engine was still humming along and the heater was blowing full blast. She was warm in her little cocoon of a car, and for a while she simply watched the snow fall outside the window. She even admired how pretty it was, even though she was scared to death of what might happen if it didn’t let up soon.

  When she looked back at the windshield, it was covered. Panic sliced through her, clean and sharp as a razor blade. She sat up to stare at the white. How much snow was out there? She opened the door a bit and watched as it cut a path through the white drifts, proof that the snow was at least a foot deep, maybe more.

  Deep enough to cover the tailpipe?

  The sobering thought sent her out into the snow in a hurry. Rebecca pushed the door open all the way, climbed out into snow that now came up well past her ankles, and struggled to the back of the car. The tailpipe wasn’t blocked, but it was close. She knelt in the snow, cursed as it soaked through her jeans, and pushed handfuls of it away with her hands. It was still coming down, hard enough to make her efforts seem lost in the blizzard.

  “That’s what this is,” she murmured to herself, her teeth already chattering. “This is a blizzard.”

  She cleaned around the tailpipe as well as she could, then trudged back to the car, where she leaned towards the heater vents. Her hands were already numb. The cold had seeped through her jeans and now seemed to cool her whole body, making her tremble from head to toe. The heater warmed her quickly, but she knew any chance of finding a house with a glowing porch light was quickly disappearing under the threat of that heavy, wet snow.

  She gripped the wheel, leant back against the seat and hollered her frustration at the top of her lungs. The sound filled the little car, but did absolutely nothing to make her feel better. She slammed her fist down on the dashboard, and that immediately made her feel guilty. The car was doing a good job of keeping her warm, after all. She laid her head on the steering wheel and squeezed her eyes shut.

  “I will not cry,” she chanted. “Will not, will not, will not.”

  Outside the snow kept falling, turning the landscape into an endless world of white.

  Chapter Two

  Richard Paris strapped on his helmet and eyed the snow. The forecast hadn’t anticipated this much, but he wasn’t surprised—when Iowa decided on snow, nobody knew when it would end, not even the meteorologists. Tomorrow morning there would be abashed apologies about the forecast on the morning news, but nobody really minded. There was nothing more unpredictable than Mother Nature, especially in October.

  The snowmobile had been sitting idle all year, just waiting for a night like this. The highway patrol had closed down the roads, which was a moot point, because the roads were impassable by now anyway. Only snowmobiles could make their way through until morning, when the road-clearing equipment would come out with a vengeance, ready to do battle against all the white stuff. From the looks of things already, the roads would be impassable tomorrow, too.

  Richard climbed on to the big machine with a grin of anticipation. He remembered this feeling from being a kid, when the snow would come down and school would be cancelled. His mother would make him bundle up in layers and layers of clothing, so much fabric he could hardly walk, and he would waddle down to the garage and find the sled. Long, sleek, long ago painted yellow but now a mellow gold colour, it would beckon him from the corner. After moving away a year’s worth of stuff—in his father’s garage, there was always a mountain of odds and ends—he would set the sled on the snow. He remembered how it would slide out of his hands almost immediately, ready to run on the ice.

  Though it had been years and years, he’d never forgotten what it was like.

  Richard turned the key in the ignition and the snowmobile gave a mighty roar. It choked out a bit of smoke before it ran clean and easy, a finely-tuned machine ready to have some fun. Thirty years fell away as Richard leaned over the handlebars, released the brake and cranked up the gas.

  “Yeah, baby, run!”

  The snowmobile shot out of the driveway like a machine possessed. The blades slipped across the snow and the engine hummed as Richard turned into the road, fishtailed a little, then straightened up and gave it more power. The snowmobile gained in speed and Richard put his head closer to the machine, peering through the windshield as he left tracks on the pristine snow.

  He was flying, his speedometer hovering at just under ninety miles an hour, when he saw a flash of red in his headlights. It was so quick that if he hadn’t been looking at the right side of the road he would have missed it. He kept on going but the flash of colour stuck with him, and a few miles later he slowed down. The machine whined in protest as he turned around and found his tracks, following them the way h
e had come, much slower now that he had something to look for. It might have been nothing, maybe just a kid’s bike left on the side of the road, or maybe a mailbox he hadn’t noticed before. But in weather like this, it might have been something else, and he had to go back and make sure.

  He slowed to a crawl when he got closer to where he had seen the flash of red. The snowmobile idled, just sliding along on the ice, when he saw it again. It was definitely red, and it was definitely not a bike. It was far too big to be a bike. A few feet closer and Richard saw more red, this time peeking from the top of a snowdrift.

  “A car,” he said to himself, and pulled up alongside it.

  The drifts already covered the body and almost obscured the top. Richard geared down the snowmobile and climbed off, trying to peer into windows that had too much snow over them. He walked closer to the car, searching for a door. The car was completely encased in snow and probably no one was in it, but he had to check. With one gloved hand he brushed snow away from the window and tried his best to peer inside.

  The interior light snapped on.

  The sudden burst of light damn near scared Richard to death. He actually stumbled backwards, cursed himself for being a sissy, then started to dig around the door. Someone was obviously in the car, and they might be toasty warm in there, but they were probably close to running out of oxygen.

  “Help me!” The voice belonged to a woman. Richard dug harder, finally clearing the window. There was no way he could reach the door to open it—that would take an hour of digging.

  “Can you roll down the window?” he yelled.

  “It’s electric!”

  “Okay. Will the engine turn over?”

  “No.”

  That answer was not what he wanted to hear. He stared at the snow and tried to calculate the hours it would take to dig that car out. Whoever was in there would need their freedom long before then.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes,” she said, though he could hear the sobs in her voice, the crying barely held in check. “But I’m scared and cold and hungry, and I really want out of here!”

  He brushed more snow away from the window, and now he could see her. She was small, with brunette hair and large, frightened eyes. She was wrapped up in clothes and a coat and she looked warm enough, but Richard knew very well how fear could make all that warmth disappear.

  “I’m going to get you out,” he said. “You hang on for just a minute more.”

  He went back to the snowmobile. The snow was still falling, but now it was a gentle rain of it, a break in the blizzard that had turned his corner of Iowa into a barren world. He opened up the pack on the back of the snowmobile and pulled out the wrench. It was good to have when the snowmobile needed adjustments, and it was especially good now, when it needed to break a sheet of glass.

  “Get over on the other side of the car,” he said to the woman behind the window. “I’m going to have to break this glass to get you out.”

  She nodded and climbed over the gearshift. He waited until she was huddled against the door, her face turned away in anticipation. With a deep breath and a mighty heave, he slammed the wrench down hard against the window. He was gratified by the sound of crashing glass.

  “Good thing that wasn’t safety glass,” he said with a smile, peering into the car. “If it had been, it would have been a real bit of work to get you out.”

  The woman inside suddenly burst into tears. “I was so scared…”

  Richard grabbed the small shards of glass that were left around the doorframe. His gloves were thick, and the pieces didn’t penetrate. He threw the sharp bits away from the car and reached in a hand, offering her help in climbing out.

  “Let’s get you warm.”

  Rebecca took his hand and climbed out of the car. When she finally stood on top of the snow, she was surprised to see that her tennis shoes barely made a dent in the surface. She lifted her face to the sky and felt the cold flakes, still coming down. The deep breaths of cold air burned all the way down, but she found herself grateful for the sliver of pain in her lungs, quite happy to be out of the car and with someone who could help her.

  She took one step and sank to her knees. She yelped in surprise, and the man grabbed her, hauled her up, and helped her walk to the hulking machine that sat idling in the middle of what used to be a two-lane road. She climbed on the back of the snowmobile, glad to be on something solid. She pulled her coat tight around her.

  “I’m Richard,” the man said, and she looked up at him. His face was mostly obscured by a toboggan and scarf, and his body was covered in layers and layers of clothing. But she could see his smile, broad and happy, and she couldn’t help but smile back.

  “I’m Rebecca,” she said. “I’m from Miami.”

  Richard’s smile faltered a bit. “Miami? What are you doing here?”

  “I was coming to visit someone. I had no idea the snow would be like this.”

  “Apparently, neither did the forecasters on the local news.” Richard was peering back into the car. “You’re the only one?”

  “Just me.”

  “Anything you need from in here?”

  Rebecca nodded. “My purse is in the front seat. And there is a small blue bag. It’s in the backseat. You can reach it through the window, I think.”

  Richard found it and pulled it through. He then grabbed the purse and stepped back to watch as the snow settled on the console of the car. The interior would be ruined by morning if he didn’t do something. He reached in again and turned off the interior light, hoping to save the battery, at least.

  Richard carefully tossed the bags to Rebecca and dug into his pack, searching for the emergency blanket he kept there. He unrolled the thin blanket and stuck it over the window as best he could, weighing the edges down with wet snow. Finally satisfied that he had done what he could for the car, he turned back to the woman on the snowmobile. She was shivering with the cold, her arms wrapped around herself.

  “Scoot back a bit more and let me on. We’ll be at my place in a minute.”

  Rebecca held on to his waist as the snowmobile roared to life. She watched as her little red car disappeared in the distance, then buried her face against the back of the man who had just saved her. The wind whipped over them, cutting like a thousand tiny knives. Rebecca could hardly breathe for the cold.

  As they finally approached the cheery light of a farmhouse, Rebecca fought back tears of relief. The man stopped in front of the house and motioned towards the door.

  “Get in and get warm,” he said, and she climbed off of the snowmobile. The snow here wasn’t as deep, but she still sank to her ankles. The golden glow of light from the windows fell over the yard and the snow was a dusting on the covered porch. It looked like the front of a picture-perfect postcard.

  “Thank you,” she said, her teeth chattering.

  “You’re welcome. Now get inside. Door’s unlocked.”

  He watched until she was safely inside the door. Sighing, he looked back at the snow. The moon had come out, glossing the world with a brilliant shine.

  “This is just what I need,” he muttered.

  Rebecca stepped in the front door and looked around. “Hello?” she called, and got no answer. She closed the door behind her and took a deep breath, the warm air already soothing her cheeks and making her hands tingle. The roaring light of a fireplace beckoned her, and she rushed towards it like a moth to flame. She put her hands close, almost too close, and watched as the flames licked at the wood.

  She really did start to cry then, long and racking sobs that frightened her. She had been out there in the car all evening, afraid to look at her watch, unable to dig out from the snow that had got too deep, too fast. The gas had run out with a final sputter of the engine, and that was when the panic had set in. She remembered fighting to open the door, pushing helplessly against the impossible weight of the snow, crying and sometimes screaming. Now she was crying again, and she was starting to wonder just how m
any tears the human body could have inside it. She was surely reaching her limit.

  That was how Richard found her—standing in front of his fireplace, warming her hands over the flames, tears dripping from her cheeks. He watched her for a moment, giving her time to get herself under control. He didn’t blame her for crying, and he didn’t want to embarrass her. He gently laid her blue bag and purse on the couch, then stepped to the kitchen and started a pot of decaf, listening for any sound from the living room. He made quite a lot of noise himself, so as not to startle her with his presence.

  When he finally did come back into the front room, she turned to face him, her back to the fire. She had slipped off her coat and now stood a few feet away from the fire, her shivering gone in the heat of the flames. She gave him one of the most brilliant smiles he had ever seen, even though there were still tears on her cheeks. She made no attempt to hide them.

  “Thank you,” she said, and somehow that opened the floodgates again. She buried her face in her hands and this time Richard didn’t have the heart to leave her alone. He crossed the floor in three long strides and wrapped his arms around her.

  Rebecca buried her face in his shoulder until her tears tapered off again. When she looked back up at him, her nose was red and her lips were swollen. She moved away slowly, carefully, as though he were her centre of equilibrium.

  He found a box of tissues on an end table. She gave him a grateful smile when he handed them to her and tactfully turned away, giving her a bit of privacy.

  “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced,” he said, holding his hands out to the fire. “My name is Richard Paris. Welcome to Crispin, Iowa.”

  She laughed—the sound was light and airy, the kind of laugh he hadn’t heard in a long time. “My name is Rebecca Connors,” she said, “and I’m not sure Crispin and I get along.”