Snow Angel

by Jamie Carie

  The man cleared his throat, ran his fingers through his sun-streaked hair and tried again. “I’m real sorry, miss. I only meant that you had a close call out there in that storm. You will probably need some time to regain your strength.”

  Looking pointedly at her feet he added, “And you should stay off your feet.”

  Her feet were hurting, they felt numb and fiery at the same time, and the rest of her body ached all over, like she’d wrestled with a bear in the storm instead of ice and snow. But she felt too trapped to admit it.

  He leaned a little toward her and asked, “How do you feel?”

  She shifted on the sofa, clutching the blanket to her neck. “Fine,” she said concededly, “except my feet hurt.”

  “Good … I mean, that’s a good sign. If they hurt, they’ll get better, which means they weren’t frozen. They’ll likely hurt for a day or two.”

  He turned and stretched, flexing broad shoulders and a wide upper back and then walked over to the low-burning fire to add some more wood. Elizabeth could still hear the storm raging outside, whistling through unseen cracks in the walls of this man’s cabin and howling, making the glass rattle in its panes.

  She wanted to ask where she was and who he was, but she didn’t want to be the one initiating questions. He seemed to know her thoughts as he said, coming back over to her and thrusting out a hand, “I’m Noah Wesley. I sure would like to hear how you made it halfway up the mountain to my cabin in a blizzard.” He paused and smiled, like he admired her. “And your name … I sure would like to know your name.”

  Noah. She had never met anyone with such a name. It sounded so … ancient. But he didn’t look ancient; he looked very much in his prime. She considered lying about her first name but thought better of it—too complicated.

  “Elizabeth,” she stated simply, refusing to offer more.

  He stood there, towering, so that she had to tilt her head back to see his face, and said, “I was going to make some breakfast. Could you eat a little?”

  Her mind raced back to her last meal. She had been searching for information in the saloons of Juneau, wandering really, having left the main group after they all heard that the freeze had settled into the tributaries of the Yukon River and they would have to wait until spring to finish the trek to Dawson City. She hadn’t known where to go or what to do next but had decided that she must find a party of prospectors to join. Her fellow passengers might have the resources to winter in Sitka or Juneau, but she didn’t. She needed to get to the gold.

  It couldn’t be too late. It just couldn’t. Not after everything she had been through to get here. There had to be someone in this town going to the Klondike where gold nuggets as big as her hand lay ready for the taking. One barkeep had seen the hollow of her cheeks, taken pity on her, and ordered a beefsteak fried up. Then hearing of her mission he’d smiled, not unkindly but with a definite hint of doubt. Taking her over to a window, he’d pointed toward a mountain, this mountain she’d somehow conquered. Halfway up was a supposed full-fledged mountain man, a guide. If anyone could make it to the interior this time of year, he could, she was told. That had been yesterday, noon. It seemed like a lifetime ago. Was she even the same person?

  “Yes, breakfast sounds good.” Her brain felt sluggish, still frozen.

  When she tried to get up, Noah shook his head. “Just sit tight. I’ll bring it to you. And I’ll need to take a look at those feet later, so you might want to start getting used to the idea.” He grinned at her.

  It was so unlike any grin she’d had directed at her. It was kind, like he understood her vulnerability and wanted to put her mind at rest. Like he could see her fears and her courage and her will to pull them together into a whole person … and he still liked her, admired her even. Yes, that was it—it was a kind, restful sort of grin and it made her want to cry. Cry that she was alive. Cry that she’d found this place and, yes, this man with his kind, blue eyes. But she wouldn’t cry. She would not cry.

  Feeling drained from the monumental effort of sitting up, flustered by the way he teased her, and a little breathless by that smile, she sat back but watched carefully as he moved about the kitchen. She couldn’t get the image of him lying beside her, pressed against her, out of her mind. She had never slept the night through with a man before. Had he really been so noble? She didn’t like it. And he looked entirely too comfortable standing in front of the stove, wielding his pots and pans, humming a song that sounded vaguely familiar.

  The pan soon made a sizzling steam, and the smell of fried meat drifted to her nose. She closed her eyes in exhaustion, the peace of this place beckoning to some hidden part of her. Unbidden, a feeling of yearning washed over her and a hazy memory of being rocked and sung to gnawed at the corners of her mind. No one had ever sung such a song to her, she chided herself … and yet it was achingly familiar. She thought back to the “mothers” in her life. Margaret had certainly never rocked her. Besides being much too old for such things by the time she was adopted, Margaret hadn’t a maternal bone in her body. And the orphanage … it was possible she had heard the song there, but somehow she didn’t think so. Her memories were so gray, shrouded like a death march toward an accidental birth, that she had neither the strength nor the will to resurrect them. But the need to know what the song was grew until, before she knew what she was doing, she blurted out, “What is that song?”

  The man swung his head toward her. “Song?”

  “Never mind,” she said quietly, embarrassed.

  “The song I was humming? Just an old hymn, I think. Do you know it?”

  Elizabeth slowly shook her head. “I don’t know. I thought maybe I had heard it before, but I’m not sure where …” She let her voice trail off, mortified that she’d let her thoughts out into the open air where they could be questioned … examined.

  Noah gave her a half-smile and a look of understanding, then he turned back to his cooking, as if it was nothing special, that look, and stirred something around in the black iron pan. “If my singing bothers you, I’ll stop.”

  Elizabeth could only shake her head and sink back down into the cushions. She wanted to hide, bury herself in the covers and block out this man who could give her his heat and then revive such a memory. Was he real?

  He was soon finished and brought her a heaping plate of meat and two huge sourdough biscuits, with thick brown gravy poured over the whole contents of the plate.

  Elizabeth could only blink at the giant pile of food, feeling a little queasy. There was enough food on the plate to feed her for a couple of days. Looking up at his immense size, she couldn’t help but smile and ask, “I’m certainly hungry, Mr. Wesley, but do you think I could lift that plate?”

  He stood there speechless, looking at the plate and then back down at her. As he looked at the plate again, he burst out laughing. He was the kind of man who laughed at himself, she realized, surprised again. “You’re right, of course. What was I thinking? Guess I’m used to cooking for men. We don’t get many young ladies visiting in this part of the country.”

  A fine, upstanding young lady. Of course, that is what he would expect. She scrambled mentally for the role.

  Carrying the plate back to the table, Noah moved half the contents onto another plate. Returning it to her, he held it out and said with a grin, “This better?”

  She nodded. “Thank you.”

  Noah settled into the chair with his own food and said between bites, “If you’re up to it, I’d like to ask you a few questions and maybe I could answer a few for you, too.”

  Elizabeth paused, her fork midway to her mouth. Stiffening inside, but rising to the challenge, she took a deep breath and nodded. He wouldn’t find out. There was no way he could know that she was running from a detective, Ross Brandon, who had turned out to have tormenting plans for her. No way he could possibly discover that her adoptive parents were searching for her, possibly to pin a claim-jumping murder on her. What other reason could they have for actually paying R
oss to find her? She was an adult now; they had no parental rule left over her. The thought of going back to them or seeing that evil detective again made her stomach twist in fear. No, this Noah would learn nothing to give him reason to throw her back into the blizzard.

  The man had begun speaking again, so she concentrated on paying attention.

  “I’ve lived up here for seven years now, and you are the first visitor I’ve had show up in the middle of a blizzard. I sure would like to hear how you found me in this storm.”

  Elizabeth shifted with the shadows of truth and deceit, all the while shivering with the memory of the cold. “I can’t really remember very much. I think it was your light.” She pointed to the window. “From that window, I saw a light through the snow, and I followed it here.”

  The man named Noah shook his head. “It’s a miracle you could see anything in such conditions. Experienced men with the strength of ten of you have been found frozen solid, cowering under moldy hay bales in the aftermath of such blizzards. Do you have any idea how lucky you are?”

  Elizabeth did know, and as she looked at the handsomely disheveled man in front of her she felt a flush of gratitude. “I believe so. Thank you for having your lights burning in the window.” She smiled at him. “And for building your cabin here.”

  He looked shocked for a second, and then his laughter rang out in the room and wrapped around her like a warm, comforting blanket. She looked for malice behind the laugh, some sign of sarcasm, the bite of accusation, but it wasn’t there. She couldn’t find anything amiss in those deep blue eyes.

  He was still smiling but with concern as he asked, “You were alone? Where is your family?”

  Elizabeth poked at the food on her plate, sighing inwardly. It was a question as old as she was. He would want to know that she came from a wonderfully fine family, so of course he must not be disappointed. She slipped into the role of solemn orphan, as easily as a woman slips her hand into a well-worn glove. “I was alone. I don’t have any family living.”

  He searched her face. “How did you come to be in this part of the country?”

  “My last home was in Seattle. I heard that gold had been found here and decided to join everybody else going to Dawson City.”

  Noah leaned forward in his chair, “Alone? Don’t you know what could happen to a lone girl in a mining town?” He paused … then his brows rose. “You’re not a prostitute, are you?”

  Elizabeth raised her chin. “Certainly not! I grew up in the gold fields, sir. From Utah to California, I’ve followed rush after rush. I can take care of myself and not by earning my living on my back.” That much was true. She had been gold mining with Margaret and Henry since they adopted her years ago.

  Noah settled himself back in his chair. “I’m sorry. Please, go on.”

  She took a determined breath. “When I arrived in Sitka, I found out, as all of us aboard the ship did, that we were too late to go on to Dawson City. The Yukon River apparently freezes in October. We had no choice but to wait until spring.” This news had been frustrating to most, but it was terrifying to Elizabeth. Most couldn’t feel the hot breath of vengeance breathing down their neck.

  Noah nodded. “More often it freezes in September, in some places anyway. I saw a group heading out in August. Those steamers are probably locked in the ice right now. It’s a cold way to spend the winter. Good thing you waited. So you left Sitka?”

  Elizabeth clasped her hand into a fist. “Yes, but I was still determined to find an expedition to join. Still am determined. When I arrived in Juneau I asked around and was told that a man lives up here who might be able to help me. Unless there is another cabin on this side of the mountain, I believe they were talking about you.”

  “Me? I have no intention of going to the Klondike. Most people who know me know what I think of panning for gold.”

  Elizabeth felt the final threads of her hope snap. Why did nothing ever work out the easy way? “But a barkeep in Juneau said the man who lives on this mountain might take me, or know of a Tlingit guide who would.”

  “I have several friends among the Indians, and yes, a guide might be bought. But I would not be a part of sending a woman into the treachery of the Alaskan interior during the winter. I don’t think you understand this land, miss. In my opinion, those trails are no place for a woman, and that’s during the good months.”

  “Mr. Wesley, you have no idea how determined I am.”

  Noah gave her that disarming half-smile. “If your trek up to my cabin in the middle of a blizzard is any indication, I’d say I have an idea, Elizabeth.”

  Despite her anger, she felt a sudden and unexpected melting inside at the way his deep voice spoke her name. Her next words came out softer than she intended. “When I started out, there wasn’t a cloud in sight. I may be a woman, sir, but I’m no fool.”

  “Glad to hear that.” Noah frowned. “But refusing to wait for spring thaw would be a dangerous mistake, fatal even. Everyone else is stuck down here, what’s your hurry?”

  A hundred answers rose to her lips, but she swallowed them all … except, “I want my share of that gold.”

  Noah looked into her eyes, and she knew he was searching for something deeper than her words. This man wanted the truth—all of it—and that was something she just couldn’t give him. Inwardly she felt the fire of a fight spark, and she knew it blazed from her deep brown eyes. Looking defiantly at him she made her challenge, but something strange happened. Instead of feeding her anger she noticed his eyes, noticed how blue they were … and clear of anything except concern and calm. A sudden feeling of connection with him startled her, causing her to rear back on the sofa and cross her arms over her chest. His voice was low and reassuring, and she felt it all the way to her toes as he spoke.

  “Gold will still be there in the spring. And then you’ll have no trouble finding a party to join up with. For now, though, you need to rest.”

  He rose, so tall she thought it a wonder his head didn’t brush the golden wood of the ceiling. Gently, he took her plate from her.

  “Go back to sleep, Elizabeth. You’re safe now. We’ll have plenty of time to talk later.”

  Stunned, she did as he asked.

  * * *

  September 17, 1881

  Dear Mrs. Rhodes,

  I have received your letter and may I congratulate you on your recent marriage. After many months of inquiries I had nearly given up hope, but I am thrilled to report that I have tracked down a housemaid named Mary who was recently let go from your father’s employ. Upon questioning the woman, who was quite afraid to speak to me, she admitted to hearing that Elizabeth was taken to an orphanage in the state of New York.

  I immediately began correspondence with the orphanages in our state and have recently received a reply from a teacher at the New York Orphan Asylum asking for more information. I promptly wrote her of our situation and am awaiting her reply. My instincts say we are very close, ma’am. I shall write immediately upon discovering any further leads and will travel to the orphanage if I receive word that your daughter may be there.

  You mentioned dark brown hair and eyes? Would you happen to have a photograph of her?

  Sincerely yours,

  Jeremiah Hoglesby

  Private Detective for Hire

  Three

  Alaskan blizzards were anything but predictable. Sudden starts appeared out of a clear, blue sky, catching off-guard folks going about their lives fishing or hunting or just walking across the street in town to catch the local gossip at the trading post. Other storms stole in, pretty like and soft with glittering flakes of a million shapes and sizes, only to turn nasty with deep cold and swirling winds that tore the roofs off houses and blew ice down chimneys. And then there were the times a storm started, sputtered and stopped, only to start again and blow for days, making the townspeople wonder if the wind knew its own mind. But always it seemed a living thing, alive and brutal and capable of most anything.

  Elizabeth had expe
rienced a few blizzards in her lifetime; she was not totally unprepared for Alaska. And yet, something was different here. Nature reigned in Alaska, winter its king, not satisfied to borrow a climate for a few weeks or months of the year. No, here it ruled with a wildness that existed only in the lands of the Arctic Circle, and this recent wildness seemed somehow directed at her. The storm outside haunted her, invading her dreams, dogging her with its desolate moans, making her curl in a tight ball at night and cling to the edge of the narrow sofa with her arms pressed hard up over her ears. Like a mother who knows the subtle variations of her infant’s cries, Elizabeth grew to know the wind. Sad and then angry, mournful and then vengeful—extremes of intensity, much like her emotions these past days, tripping between peaceful serenity and restless unease, being trapped in this cabin with this strange-wonderful man. It lingered, this storm, not caring that it confined her in this loving place that made her want to run, run with the power and speed and flight of such wind. Would it ever end?

  At dawn of the fifth morning the storm stopped just as suddenly as it had started, leaving behind more snow than Elizabeth had ever seen and a kind of quiet that left an odd roar in her ears, making her wonder if something was wrong with her hearing. The cabin had been nearly buried in drifts, keeping Noah, a man who seemed afraid of nothing, busy for days shoveling a path between them and the animals in the barn, taking care of all their needs.

  Elizabeth lay on the sofa, slowly surfacing from sleep, looking around the bright room, hearing faint sounds of water splashing. She felt anxious but didn’t know why, her mind scrambling for a foothold. Sitting up, she looked about the room. There he was, at the dressing table beside the bed, shaving, his movements sure and steady, his stance strong. As soon as she saw his lathered reflection in the small, round mirror hanging beside his bed, the fear dissipated, as if her equilibrium had been righted.