“I never knew what an effect plates and cups could have on a man,” he replied. He was about to say more, but a sudden pounding on the door interrupted him.
Callie’s hands flew to her hair, and she tried to smooth it down. “You look beautiful,” he whispered in her ear before turning to answer the insistent summons.
Mr. Whittaker stood on the other side, snow sticking to his beard. “Our roof just caved in,” he said. “I’ve got the wife and children snug in the barn, but the roof is pushing outward on the walls of the house, and I’m afraid the whole thing is going to crumble.”
Peter nodded. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
“Thank you, Commander. Some of my neighbors are going to help as well.”
“As many hands as we can get.”
The man nodded and headed back out into the storm.
Peter turned and looked at Callie. Her hair was still mussed, despite her efforts to fix it, and the light caught each strand and turned it into gold. “I need to leave,” he said, his voice hoarse.
“I know.” She handed him a bundle. “I wrapped this up while you were talking. Bread for their family.”
“You’re giving away my bread?”
“I’ll make more while you’re gone.”
The look in her eyes reminded him of their kiss, and he caught her up in his arms again. This time, though, it was a goodbye kiss, not a kiss of discovering new emotions. He didn’t know how long he’d be gone. He couldn’t make her any promises. All he could do was assure her that wherever he was, he’d be thinking about her, and that while their feelings might be new, they meant everything to him. He let her go, although he wanted desperately to stay, bundled up as warmly as he could, and headed out into the storm, clutching his tool bag. He couldn’t let a family lose their home, as much as it hurt to leave his.
***
It was all Peter could do to see his way to the Whittaker farm. He’d thought about taking the other Mounties, but if Mr. Whittaker’s neighbors were coming too, they should have enough help, and he hated to pull his men away from their new wives. He shook his head. He was too nice to them sometimes, dang it.
When he reached the farm, he located the barn and gave Mrs. Whittaker the gift of bread, then went back out into the stinging wind and snow and fought his way to the house.
“We need to work quickly before nightfall,” he yelled over the howling. “Otherwise, we’ll never get it done.”
Mr. Whittaker and his two friends nodded, and they fell to work moving the roofing material and creating new supports. It didn’t look to Peter as though the house had been constructed all that well to begin with, which frustrated him. If a man is going to build a house in an area known for blizzard and snowfall, shouldn’t he prepare for that from day one? Peter shook his head to chase away the critical thought. His judgment wasn’t going to help Mr. Whittaker now. Instead, he put his energy into pounding in pegs and lifting boards into place. He had to brace himself against the wind when he climbed the ladder so he wouldn’t get blown off into the snow, and a few times, he had to cling to the roof’s edge extra tight against a sharp gale.
It was almost impossible to see. The wind kept shoving snow into his eyes, and his breath was freezing onto his face. He loved Canada, but he was starting to question the advisability of living there any longer. He’d done some reading about Mexico or places with warmer climates. Did they have Mounties in Mexico? He wasn’t sure, but he was certainly tempted to find out.
At last, the roof had been repaired. The men climbed down from their precarious perches and went inside to see what damage had been done to the kitchen, using brooms and shovels to move the snow that had piled up on the kitchen floor. It appeared that the house was once again safe.
“I’ll come back after the blizzard and we’ll make those repairs even more sound,” Peter promised, and Mr. Whittaker shook his hand.
“I sure appreciate your help, Commander.”
“I was glad to do it. You’ll want to go around the entire perimeter of your roof come spring and reinforce it—you don’t want this happening again.”
The man nodded, the lesson hitting its mark.
Peter stayed long enough to see the family back into their home, then he headed back out into the storm. He’d been invited to spend the night, but he didn’t want to leave Callie alone. She’d demonstrated a certain fear of the dark and of loud noises. He certainly didn’t mind holding her tight while the wind blew, and getting back to her side was now his top priority.
***
Callie listened to the wind, but then decided she’d better not listen to the wind. Instead, she’d keep herself busy. She started a new batch of bread, then decided to make a hearty soup. There were potatoes down in the cellar, and there was some chicken left over in the icebox. Chicken chowder would hit the spot on a miserable day like this, and she wanted something hot and filling for Peter when he came home.
She lit a lantern and climbed down into the cellar, deciding that she’d bring up enough for a couple of days so she wouldn’t have to make this descent again the next day. Some jams and jellies were along the north wall, and they’d be delicious on Peter’s bread. She chose out the potatoes she wanted and turned to go back up, but just then, the door slammed shut.
She bit back a gasp. She’d forgotten to wedge it open—she’d been thinking too much about what she planned to make. Great.
She climbed up and pushed against the door. It was stuck somehow, and she took a deep breath to gather her strength. Then she tried again. Nothing.
She sent a panicked look at the lantern. She knew it needed to be refilled, but she hadn’t done it because she’d only planned to be down here for a few minutes, and she didn’t want the extra weight of the oil to carry when she’d be carrying food as well.
She braced herself against the door again and pushed. It was a trap door directly over her head, so it was at the most awkward angle possible, and she wasn’t a very big person to begin with. Physical strength wasn’t an attribute she naturally had.
She needed to think her way through this.
Peter had gone out in the blizzard and could be gone for quite a while. She knew that when he came home and found her missing, he’d look for her, but she couldn’t count on that being any time soon. Plus, he might not think to look for her in the cellar, and if she called out, he might not be able to hear her over the storm.
That meant she needed to save herself.
She looked around the cellar again. Bushel baskets filled with potatoes, a fishing rod, something that looked like a tarp. Onions. She wasn’t aware of any magical cellar-opening properties possessed by onions.
The lantern light flickered, reminding her she was running out of time. She’d once pushed open a wedged door with her feet, but that wasn’t possible here—she’d have to stand on the ladder on her hands. It would make for an amusing trick if she were some sort of acrobat. What could she do . . . what could she do . . .
The light went out, and she was plunged into darkness so absolute, it was as though she’d been buried alive. And she could still hear the wind howling outside, although it was muted.
This would be how she died.
She climbed down the ladder and sat at the base of it, bringing her knees to her chest. Peter would come home. Peter would find her. Peter would save her. This would all be over soon. She rocked back and forth, chanting encouraging words, singing hymns, trying to remember any Bible verses . . . her mother had always wanted her to memorize Bible verses, but she’d refused. Now she wished she’d listened.
For an hour she sat this way, and for an hour, absolutely nothing changed. The wind didn’t let up, Peter didn’t come home, and she didn’t feel any less afraid. All she knew was that she was cold, growing colder, and she already knew what she had to do—she had to save herself. No one else was going to do it. If they could, they would have done it already.
She clenched her hands into fists and relaxed them a few times, try
ing to get feeling back into her chilly fingers. Who goes down into a cellar during a blizzard? People who want to freeze to death, that’s who. She stood up and stamped her feet, hanging on to the ladder with one hand so she wouldn’t become disoriented. If she did, it would be a simple matter to figure out where she was because the room wasn’t huge, but she didn’t want to feel lost even for a second. She was already uncomfortable enough as it was.
All right, time to think. She closed her eyes tight, although in the darkness, it made no difference, and she visualized the cellar again. Potatoes. Onions. Fishing pole.
Fishing pole.
She pulled in a ragged breath. She had to try.
Taking a few steps to the right, she reached out, hoping her fingers would brush against the pole. She met with nothing but air. She took another few steps. She had to let go of the ladder, and she did, trusting that she’d find it again quickly.
There. There was the fishing pole.
She grabbed it, then moved back to the left, searching for the ladder. After making a few wide sweeps with her arm, she found it, and she clung to it for a moment, willing her breathing to even out.
Now to see if her crazy idea would work.
She climbed the ladder, fishing pole in one hand. Then she turned it sideways and clenched it between her teeth so her hands would be free. She didn’t want to think about how many fish-covered hands had held that pole—she’d rather not think about anything but her task. She climbed another rung, and her head was bent at an awkward angle. She could bear the discomfort if it gave her better leverage.
Then she pushed against the door, and it opened just the slightest bit. Saying a silent prayer and willing her strength to hold, she pushed the narrow end of the pole into the gap she’d just created. Her strength gave out just as she got the pole into place, and she sagged against the ladder, trying not to slip off.
She’d done it. She’d done what she hadn’t thought possible.
She rested for several minutes, then began to push the pole through the crack. As the pole grew thicker, the crack got taller, and soon, she could see light from the lantern that was on the kitchen table. She nearly wept when she saw it.
Now the door was propped open about two inches, and she was at the end of the pole. She couldn’t push it any further or she would have pushed the whole thing into the kitchen and she’d be even more trapped than before. This was the real moment of truth, the moment when she’d have to prove to herself that she was more than she believed she was. She refused to freeze to death in a cellar, not while she had wits in her head and any courage in her heart.
She climbed another rung of the ladder and bent over so that her shoulders were pressed on the underneath of the trap door. Then she pulled in another deep breath, braced herself, and threw the door off her back as fast and as hard as she could. It flung all the way open, hitting the kitchen floor with a thud, and she tumbled onto the floor as well, panting and sobbing. She had done it. She’d actually done it.
A moment later, the front door opened and Peter stumbled in, absolutely covered in snow and ice. She wanted to call out to him, but found that she didn’t have the strength. Instead, she watched him as he pulled off all his outer clothing and left it by the front door. Then he turned, saw her, and stumbled toward her.
“Callie! Callie, are you all right?” He gathered her up into his arms. He was wet clean through, shivering, but she clung to him anyway. She didn’t care if her dress got wet. All she cared about was him. He was home. They were both safe. They would be all right.
“You’re shaking,” he said, looking down into her eyes. “What happened?”
“I’ll tell you later,” she managed to say. “Let’s both get warm first.”
He helped her over to the fireplace, then pulled their blankets in and made a pallet on the floor. Then he threw more wood on the fire and held her as the warmth in the room increased. After a time, they both stopped shivering, and she recovered enough breath to tell him what had happened.
“You were trapped down there in the dark?” He stroked the side of her face. “I’m so sorry, Callie. I had no idea the door could close like that.”
“It’s the stupidest thing—the very first time I went down there, I thought I’d better be careful, but this time, I didn’t think about it. It was my fault.”
“It was an accident,” he said firmly. “An accident we’re going to keep from happening again. I’m going to come up with some sort of way to open the door from the inside.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe how brave you were.”
“Not brave … stubborn. I kept thinking about what a horrible thing it would be to die in a cellar. How embarrassing, really.”
“You’ve prefer to die in some romantic, adventurous way?” he asked, grinning.
“Of course. But you’re not allowed to die at all.” She met his gaze and looked into his eyes intently. “Do you hear me, Peter? You’re not allowed to die at all.”
He lowered his head and kissed her, taking away whatever she was about to say next. She couldn’t even remember what it was. It likely wasn’t important.
“So,” he said after a long moment, “did you want my help putting the dishes back on the shelves?”
“No,” she replied. “I’d like your help rearranging the bedroom.”
Chapter Nine
“The curtains look great,” Peter said, stepping back after fitting the last rod over the last nail. The blizzard had continued on through Friday, making it, in Callie’s estimation, a perfect time to sew the curtains. Apparently, blizzards were the perfect time to do all sorts of household tasks, and she’d roped him into helping with every one of them. He wasn’t complaining, though. He loved spending time with her, seeing her eyes light up when she got a new idea, watching her mind work. It would be hard to go back to regular shifts and leave her at home—she was too entertaining.
“Thank you,” she replied. “I couldn’t have done it without your help. And now you’ll be glad to know that my entire to-do list is complete.”
“It is?”
“Well, for now. When spring really gets here and doesn’t just tease about it, I’ll want you to dig me up an herb garden. And I was thinking that I’d like chickens, but I wasn’t sure if that was such a good idea, with all the wild animals about.”
“I’ll gladly dig you an herb garden, but we’d better discuss the chickens.” He caught her up in his arms and gave her a solid kiss. He’d love buying her chickens. He’d just have to build one sturdy coop first.
A pounding at the door interrupted them, and he let her go with a growl. “Again?” he said as he stomped over and threw it wide. Colleen stood there, her face flushed with excitement.
“Bert’s home,” she said. “I just saw him go inside his cabin.”
Peter exchanged glances with Callie. “Go,” she said. “You need to make sure he’s all right.”
He didn’t have to be told twice. He grabbed his hat and coat, nodded to Colleen, and left.
“He’s been worried sick,” Callie explained. “He doesn’t show things like that very often, but he was worried that something bad happened to Bert.” She was about to add, “Especially with the train robbery situation,” but she hadn’t been given leave to bring that up, and she wouldn’t break her promise. “Can I get you some tea?”
“I’d love some.” Colleen looked around appreciatively. “The curtains look great.”
“Thank you. I hope they turn out to be bison-proof—that’s why I made them.”
Colleen laughed as she sat down at the kitchen table and took the cup of tea from Callie’s hands. “I don’t blame you one bit, that wretched animal.”
“At least that’s one good thing that came out of the blizzard,” Callie said. “He went and hid somewhere and wasn’t wandering around, peeking in our windows.”
“Well, other good things might have come about because of the blizzard too,” Colleen said, her cheeks turning pink.
“It was
an eventful storm,” Callie replied, and both brides laughed.
***
Peter stamped his feet several times before he entered the house. Colleen had left before he came home, and while she was always welcome to drop by, he was glad she was gone because he needed a few minutes to talk with Callie, and some conversations were best had alone.
“Bert’s all right,” he said as he pulled off his boots inside the front door. “He holed up in a farmhouse and was toasty warm the entire time.”
“Oh, what a relief,” Callie replied. “I can’t even imagine if Millie and Mary had lost both parents.”
“Madelyn would do a fine job raising them, but they’re too young to understand,” Peter agreed. “Bert reports seeing a lot of snow damage as he rode in. I imagine that several homes need roof repairs, just like the Whittakers’. We’ll need to ride out and see how everyone is faring.”
“When will you go?” she asked.
“Monday morning. The sun’s coming out and starting to warm things up, and if that continues through tomorrow, Monday should bring us some passable roads.”
“I’m glad we’ll get another peaceful Sunday together first. I imagine Bert will need to rest up after his adventure.”
“I’m sure he will too.” Peter held out his hand, and Callie willingly came into his arms. “The whole time I was talking to him, I kept thinking about you.”
“Oh? Why is that?”
He stroked her back as he held her close. “He and Sally were very much in love, and then one day, she was gone. It was sudden, with no warning, and his entire life was changed in an instant. And I thought, what if Callie had frozen to death in that cellar, and I’d never told her?”
“Told me what?”
He leaned back and looked into her eyes. “How much I love you.”
“You love me?” She sounded incredulous.
“I love you. Crazy amounts. Completely insane amounts.”
She grinned. “Is there a sane amount we should be shooting for, just to be on the safe side?”
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