In Full Bloom: Sequel to 'The Crying Rose': The Trilogy of the Rose (Volume 2)

by Beers, B. A.

  Mark’s mind quieted as he reviewed his beginnings. He owed a great deal to Jon for setting him on this current path. Jon had brought order into his life and full understanding of free will.

  ***

  “Mark,” Grandma Jo called behind him. Mark glanced back over his shoulder at the door of the cabin. “You will freeze,” she remarked, handing him a large, down coat. “I found this hanging behind the door. Please put it on if you are planning on staying glued there on the porch.”

  Mark smiled at her, seeing her dressed in her tattered, blue coat. “I am fine,” he lied. “I barely feel the cold.”

  “Right,” she continued, looking at him and walking out of the porch. “Your cheeks are already bright pink from the cold.” Passing him the coat, she shivered. “Just do me a favor and put it on so I my go back inside and not worry about having to care for two people for the remainder of the week,” she said.

  Mark took the heavy coat and angrily stuck his arms in the sleeves. Buttoning and zipping anything he could find that needed securing, he pulled the attached hood over his head and yanked the draw strings tight. During his forced compliance to her request, his movements were brusque, but he realized that the added protection was comforting. He suddenly felt foolish at his visible annoyance at being ordered to wear the coat. He slowly looked up to view Grandma Jo’s face through the oval, fur frame of the coat.

  Her crinkled-up nose told him volumes; she was not happy. He was tempted to say ‘Satisfied?’, but held back at her look. “Thanks,” he muttered, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of the coat, but his action was halted by something inside the pockets. Withdrawing the objects, he found fur-lined gloves. Diligently sliding them on his hands, he could just imagine the sight he presented and laughed lightly. He felt he could brave the Arctic Circle, if needed. As if the wind could hear his thoughts, it swirled around them in a forceful blast, leaving them dotted with snowflakes.

  Grandma Jo yelped at the impact and made an abrupt u-turn and darted to the door of the cabin. “Don’t stay out here for long,” she called, stepping through the door and closing it soundly.

  Mark chuckled and with his gloved hands dusted off the snow from his body. His task complete, he stood upright just as the wind did an encore performance. This time, however, it packed more of a punch. The aftermath left him wondering if he had worn pants; his legs were freezing. Looking down to verify that he did indeed have on his jeans, he discovered that they had taken the brunt of the snowy winds. Stomping his feet to remove the snow, he believed Bill was right. This storm was going to be nasty. He had to call David and warn him. He knew David wasn’t expected until the following day, but travel to the cabin would be made on snow-packed roads. He had no doubt that his truck could handle it; after all, it was a 4 X 4, equipped with the off-road package. It was David for whom he was concerned. Did David know how to drive in these conditions? He hoped so. He needed David here to help with Mrs. Carter’s treatment.

  Reaching under the coat, Mark searched for his cell phone, and realized that he didn’t have it. Where was it, he thought. Recalling that he had used it to call the Clark’s earlier, he tried to picture where he might have left it. He just couldn’t remember. Where had he placed it?

  Knowing he had to go into the cabin to search for it, he held back, not wanting to face whatever was happening inside. Spotting the log chair where he had seen Sami head for the day before, he moved over to it. Curiosity consumed him as he recalled her locating the key to the cabin in the chair. Walking behind the chair, he noticed a notched-out area within the upper rail’s log. Clever, but dangerous, he thought as his gloved thumb played with the notch. “There are a lot of personal items within the cabin that could have been taken,” he said absently. “Why leave the key so accessible?” Mark lifted his eyes and scanned the snowy clearing. It was isolated to be sure, he considered, seeing the forest rim the clearing.

  Recalling the break in the trees to enter the path to the house, he knew he would have missed it if Sami had not pointed it out to him. They were not in a development. They were in the forest. He wondered how Sami’s family had procured this private land. Mark looked at the cabin construction. It was old, but well maintained. Turning his eyes to the planks in the porch flooring, he was surprised to see what appeared to be new boards intermixed with the old. Confused, he inspected the front, wood siding of the cabin. Here, too, he spotted patchwork in the framing. Mark’s mind raced. By all accounts, Sami had not been here in the past four years. How could there be new woodwork?

  Remembering his observations of the interior of the cabin, he recalled noticing dust and cobwebs, but it did not have an abandoned look about it. “There has to be a caretaker,” Mark announced. He had to remember to ask Sami about it. A caretaker might have additional insights about her or her family. The key’s accessibility made sense to him now.

  Sitting in the chair, he envisioned Sami and her father in this spot while sharing a lazy afternoon together. . . just watching the grass grow. In his mind, the clearing was not snow-covered and the lake was not frozen, but rather he beheld a lush and full-of-life environment. He felt envious, as he had no such memory with his own father.

  Sighing deeply, he knew his respite had to end. Pushing himself up from the low-seated chair, he walked across the porch to the door. “Onward and upward,” he said quietly to himself as he turned the knob.

  ***

  TWO

  “Need more firewood,” Sami called as Mark opened the door.

  “Okay,” Mark responded, without removing his coat and walking to the kitchen door. Seeing Sami retrieving oil lamps from the bookcase near the fireplace, he stopped.

  “Take Molly with you,” she called, not turning to him.

  “Why the lamps?” he asked.

  “The storm will take out the power,” she answered. “It happens all the time.”

  “Oh, this will be fun,” he groaned, continuing to walk to the door. “Come, girl.” At the kitchen door, Mark glanced at Molly. “Let’s make this quick,” he directed. Opening the door, he observed that the small, covered porch was quickly accumulating snow. Both Molly and he hesitated at the sight. “Maybe, we should go out the front,” he said to her. Seeing the woodpile just beyond the door, Mark reconsidered. “Too far to tread from the front door in this weather,” he said, punching through the blanket of snow with his tennis shoes. He instantly realized his mistake as the wet snow clung to his shoes.

  Eyeing the twenty or so paces to the woodpile, he frowned. He had little options. They needed the logs, especially with the threat of the potential power outage. Trudging through the snow, he heard Molly’s tags tinkling behind him. “Do your thing, girl, and get back into the cabin,” he ordered, not turning.

  Lifting the tarp covering on the woodpile, he calculated there was maybe a cord of wood. They had plenty of wood to keep burning. Draping the tarp to the side, he reached out for the logs and heard a low, deep, growl emitting from Molly. The sound caused the fine hairs on the back of his neck to tingle. “What is it?” he whispered as he rotated to see her.

  He spotted her about a yard to his left. Her stance was rigid and her ears were alert; her eyes were focused in the direction of the lake. The fur down the center of her back to the nub of her tail was standing up. She growled a second time and Mark scanned the area directly in front of her. Seeing nothing out of place to explain Molly’s defensive stance, he relaxed. “It’s only snow, ‘sun dog’,” he said lightly. “It will not hurt you.” Returning to gathering the logs, he balanced them in his arms and spun around, noticing Molly’s still fully-alerted position. “Let’s go,” he directed.

  His words propelled Molly into action. Her alarmed barking echoed in the heavy snow-laden air as she shot across the snow in the direction of the lake. “No,” Mark called after her, “wrong direction.”

  His call went unheeded. Molly sped away from him on the blanket of snow. “Molly, stop,” he yelled. He knew Springer Spaniels were hunti
ng dogs. She’s picked up a scent, he reasoned. Knowing that he was not going to get her attention until she had her prey, he walked over to the back porch and calmly placed the gathered logs in his arms on the step. Looking back at the flying dog, he shook his head. “Might as well get more logs while I wait,” he said to himself, turning back to the woodpile. Reaching the pile, he picked up more logs as he listened to Molly’s far-away barking. She is enjoying herself, he thought, securing the tarp and moving back to the door.

  “Is that Molly?” Sami called to him.

  Looking up, Mark saw Sami on the covered stoop, dressed only in her purple sweats with socks covering her feet, supporting her casted left arm with her right arm. “Yes. She caught wind of something,” he answered. “Go back in before you freeze.”

  “Where is she?’ Sami asked, scanning the clearing and trying to locate her dog.

  Mark reached the steps and replied as he passed her. “She went in the direction of the lake.”

  “I don’t see her,” Sami stated.

  “Relax, she’ll be back,” Mark said, entering the cabin.

  Mark moved further into the cabin and deposited logs into the wood box near the fireplace. “What is going on?” Grandma Jo asked, looking up from her knitting.

  “Molly’s on the hunt,” Mark laughed.

  “Hunt?” Grandma Jo asked.

  “She picked up a scent and is tracking it. She will be back as soon as she is cold,” Mark answered, moving back to the kitchen. Crossing to the door, Mark sped his steps when he saw the empty stoop outside the door. “Sami?” he called. Receiving no answer, Mark knew she was off after Molly. “Damn, woman. Where are you?” he asked.

  Scanning in the direction to the lake, he saw her fighting the snow blanket in her stocking feet. “Sami,” he called. “Get back here.” Seeing her refusal to acknowledge him, he stepped down on the first, icy tread. The rubber soles of his tennis shoes provided no traction, causing him to pitch forward into the snow bank at the bottom of the steps. Pushing himself out of the snow, Mark cried out in anger, “Great!” Quickly assessing his body for damages, he discovered nothing was harmed, except his ego. Back on his feet, he looked at his shoes — worthless for these conditions. Not having the time to correct the situation, he knew his course to retrieve the two wayward females would not be easy. Dusting himself off, he cautiously accelerated after them.

  “Sami, stop,” he yelled, closing the distance between them.

  “I must find her,” Sami yelled back.

  “I’ll do it,” Mark stated.

  “I don’t hear her bark anymore,” Sami cried. “Molly?”

  Mark turned his attention to the sounds around him. He could hear his own labored panting and the sound of the wind, but no barking. “Molly!” he yelled.

  No bark, no whimper, no clinking of her tags, could be heard. Suddenly concerned, Mark neared Sami and reached for her. “Return to the house,” he ordered as he grabbed her. “I will find her.”

  Witnessing the fear plainly written on her bright-pink face and the faint tinge of blue circling her lips, he swore to himself. “You will catch your death out here,” he said, releasing her and starting to remove his coat.

  “No. Must find Molly,” she said, pushing him away from her and running to the lake.

  Mark looked at the sprinting woman and then to open door to the cabin. He needed help. Using all his strength, he screamed, “Grandma Jo!” Precious moments ticked as he waited for her to emerge from the cabin. Glancing back in the direction of the lake, he could see Sami struggling in the snow, yet increasing her distance away from him.

  “Mark?” Grandma Jo called.

  “Get blankets and follow us,” he ordered, not waiting for a response.

  Closing the distance between them due to his longer legs, Mark quickly caught up to Sami again. “You will stop,” he instructed her, wrapping her in his embrace.

  “Let me go,” she ordered.

  “No. I cannot find Molly if I have to concentrate on you,” he answered.

  His words quieted her. “Molly?” she questioned.

  “Yes, Molly,” he responded, knowing that using the dog as a focus point would assure her cooperation. “The best way to ensure her safety is to let me handle it.”

  Looking back over his shoulder, he spotted Grandma Jo making her way slowly to them with an arm load of blankets. Rotating his body, Mark directed as he released Sami, “Go to Grandma Jo. Let me find Molly.”

  Sami turned her snowflake-dotted face to Mark. Her eyes were as round as saucers. “Please find her. Please promise me,” she pleaded.

  Mark’s insides melted at her softly spoken request. “I promise,” he whispered. He hoped he would be able to keep the promise. “Now, go.”

  Seeing her move to Grandma Jo, Mark turned and hurried away. “Molly,” he called, following the paw tracks in the snow and noticing they were quickly filling with the falling precipitation. His path took him to the edge of the snow-covered lake. Here, Molly’s tracks darted right into the grove of trees. Following the tracks until they disappeared in the umbrella of trees, he called, “Molly. Come, girl.”

  Stopping to listen, he kicked the snow off his useless shoes. Hearing nothing, he pushed on. “Where are you girl?” he called. Scanning the pine needles’ bed under the trees, he spotted her path. “What are you chasing?” he asked. Mark followed the tracks; seeing the snow depth increase, he knew he was exiting the grove. Lifting his eyes to scan ahead, he saw the tracks headed left. “The lake,” he moaned as he heard the faint sound of splashing.

  Crap, he thought. Molly has found the lake. Then, he spotted her. Her hindquarters were submerged in the icy water while her forelegs were perched on the edge of ice. He knew she was in dire need. Quickly taking stock of the scene, he saw she had traveled roughly twenty feet onto the icy surface of the lake before breaking through. Her hindquarters were desperately searching for traction on the ice layer’s edge. Her wide eyes were searching the grove of trees further down from his location. Instinctively, Mark knew his presence would only tempt her. Quickly formulating a plan, he knew he was going to be submerged into the icy water. Needing to remove the heavy coat and gloves, he did so as quietly as possible to keep her from hearing him and placed them on the ground. He walked to the edge of the lake. Molly caught his scent and whimpered as she tried to get to him. Keeping himself steady, outwardly showing no anxiety, he spoke calmly to her. “Told you not to go off. Look what a mess you are in.”

  His calming voice settled her frantic actions. Smiling, Mark settled onto his hands and knees in the deep snow at what he hoped was the edge of the lake. Keeping his eyes on Molly, he continued to talk to her softly as he crawled out onto the snowy-covered, iced surface of the lake, not knowing when his body weight would cause the ice to give beneath him. “If you wanted a bath, I could have done it in the warm tub,” he said. “A nice hot bath sounds good after this little swim.” Ten feet from her, he heard the initial crack of the breaking ice. “How cold is it?” he asked just before he experienced the icy water himself.

  Surfacing the icy water, Mark felt Molly’s claws cut into his sweatshirt-covered back. His plunge into the lake had broken the ice chunk between them. Turning to grab the frightened dog before she could do more bodily harm to him, he secured her under his left arm and reached for the ice edge with his right. The shallow water allowed him to plant his tennis shoes in the muddy bed of the lake and anchor himself. Now able to stand, the upper part of his body was above the water level. Releasing the edge of the ice, he positioned his hands under Molly’s belly and lifted her up on the surface of the ice.

  Freed from the water, Molly shook herself, covering Mark with icy water. “Thanks a lot. Go to the coat,” he directed, pointing to the grove of trees. Molly looked to where he had pointed and barked. “Go,” he said firmly. Molly cocked her head and stared at him, not moving. Mark laughed even though he was not amused. “Fine,” he said. “Stay if you want.”

  Mar
k tested his footing to ensure that his feet were not stuck in the mud and gently pushed Molly back from the edge of the ice. Eyeing the thin edge, he wondered if it would support his body. He had made it this far on his hands and knees, but that was before the ice broke. Unsure, he decided to not tempt fate by placing his entire body weight on the surface, so he lowered his upper body to rest flat on the snowy-covered ice. The ice groaned at the weight, but held. “It’s going to break again,’ he said to Molly. Her extra weight and his were going to be too much for the thin ice. “Molly, back up or we are going back into the water.”

  Molly’s response was to lick his face. “No, Molly,” he moaned. “Move.” The ice gave off another groan. “Think, Mark,” he said. Sami’s face appeared before him in his mind. “That’s it. Molly, get Sami,” he cried.

  The mention of her mistress did the trick. Molly spun and was off the ice. Sighing deeply, Mark felt better. Confident now that Molly’s weight was off the ice, he lifted his right leg just as the ice below him gave. Finding himself submerged again, he surfaced quickly. “Easy, Mark,” he moaned. Using his numb hands, he brushed off the snow on the surface of the ice before him. Gauging the thickness of the ice, he felt better about the probable outcome of his next attempt. He was only six or seven feet from the water’s edge. The water was now only thigh high. Flattening himself on the ice, he pulled with his arms instead of pressing his weight on his hips to lift his leg. This worked; his legs were safely out of the water. Pushing up with his arms, he brought himself up on his hands and knees. The ice emitted no sound. He was out of the icy water.

  On his feet at the lake’s edge, Mark shook hard to rid his body of as much water he could. He knew that his body was succumbing to the thermal complications from the icy plunge, and he needed to act fast. Moving over to his discarded coat, he removed his wet sweatshirt. The exposure of his wet, bare chest to the swirling snow-laden wind was potentially deadly. Dropping the sweatshirt, he reached for the coat and gloves and covered his wet body with the still body-warmed coat; the warmth felt like a touch of heaven. Submerging his numb hands into the fur-lined gloves, he sighed deeply. Reaching up for the hood, he covered his wet head and savored the warming effects for a few moments. “Thank you, Grandma Jo, for forcing me to put this on earlier,” he said softly.