And how long we’d have to wait after it ended before we’d be rescued. No thought of driving any more, the snow was already too deep for my car. And there was no way to call for help, something he didn’t know but should be told. I took a deep breath. “There’s no cell service here.” My words came from nowhere. I couldn’t stop them.
A long pause. Then, “Does anyone know you’re here?” His gaze flicked to the window and beyond, to where the useless car was buried beneath a mound of white.
“My parents left a couple days ago. They knew I stayed on, but I told them I’d probably leave Sunday.”
“They’ll figure things out when you don’t get home.”
“I have my own apartment.” I faced him and looked straight into his eyes. “We communicate often but sometimes time gets away from us all and we go weeks without calling.”
His breath was deep and slow, a deliberate thing on his part so he’d appear normal but his eyes were wide and kept expressionless with effort. “I live alone, too. No one knows where I am and I can’t think of anyone with a reason to check.”
He went to the window and stared into the white world. “What about the road? How long after the storm ends until it’s plowed?”
I waited until he turned back before answering. “The cabin is usually empty in the winter and we’re the last place on a road that’s barely used. This visit was a fluke, an impromptu vacation because the snow wasn’t deep so we knew the road would be drivable. It usually isn’t in the winter.”
“So no snowplow until spring?”
“That’s right.”
His held breath finally came out long and slow as he fought to keep concern from what I’d already figured was a normally sunny expression. His effort failed completely.
CHAPTER 5
The cozy atmosphere of the morning evaporated. Jase found another book but I suspected he had no idea what he was reading and his body language was now all wrong for the portrait unless I wanted to turn it into something tense and uncomfortable and I didn’t. I wanted to capture the subtle, warm essence that had filled the cabin before we looked out the window. So I shoved the half-finished sketch aside and looked around.
I had to do something or go crazy thinking about supplies and time and whether or not we’d be rescued but even with all that on my mind, or perhaps because of all that, my fingers still itched to sketch the forest in the winter. I had few pictures of winter because the weather seldom cooperated enough for me to come north at that time of year.
I decided that I would not just sit and worry. Would not! I went to the window and looked outside and mentally measured the snow to see if it was too deep for me to get through. The Cardinal wouldn’t be held back by snow on the forest floor, it could fly freely because the trees broke the wind and its only concern would be flakes falling, and that red bird flying through white flakes would be gorgeous if only I could find it again.
As I considered the outside world, I realized that that snow wasn’t coming down quite as thickly as earlier. A temporary break in the blizzard? Perhaps. It happens, sometimes.
So I quietly gathered my sketch pad and pencils and dressed in all the warm things I’d brought with me and slipped outside so silently that Jase, who now must be involved in the story of a rogue shark even though he couldn’t have been earlier in spite of what it looked like because he knew I was sketching him, didn’t look up as I left.
The snow was light and blew up in puffs as I walked, which was good because it was a lot deeper than when I’d made the same trek a day earlier. I knew the forest intimately and wouldn’t get lost, not even with everything changed and different beneath a fluffy dress of white.
That dress was trimmed in more white and still more white stuff hung dangerously low from branches and twigs, waiting for a stiff breeze to send it exploding onto the frozen world. I wished I could stay and watch and possibly get that explosion on paper but I was on a mission to find the Cardinal of the day before. No more boredom for me.
It wasn’t especially cold and I soon found myself overheating, so I opened my parka and stuffed my mittens in pockets as I headed for the spot where I’d last seen the bright, red bird. And there he was, with his more soberly colored wife beside him, both perched on a branch not too high above me.
I hardly dared breathe and pulled my sketch pad out slowly so as not to spook them. Then just as slowly I dropped into the snow and folded my legs, the sound thankfully muffled by its insulating quality, and then I riffled through the book to the last page, the one that had been waiting for this special picture though, when I’d left it blank I hadn’t known what would eventually fill it. Just that something would because something always did. The forest never disappointed me and the Cardinal that had appeared so unexpectedly the previous day was perfect.
I bent my head and began sketching, wondering what would happen if I deliberately made a sound and sent the Cardinal pair into the air. Would I see how they flew and get their movements on paper? Or would they simply fly away and leave me with nothing?
As I wondered I heard a slight sound, muffled by the snow but definitely coming my way. Uneasily I wished I’d brought something to use as a weapon though I couldn’t imagine what that would be. A broom, maybe? The poker I used to stir the fire? But I had nothing and turned slowly and quietly towards the direction of the soft sound to confront whatever was headed towards me.
And saw Jase, aware that I was sketching the Cardinals and moving as quietly as possible so as not to disturb them, but definitely joining me. The thick fur around the hood of his parka made it impossible to see his face so I had no idea why he was there. Was the cabin on fire? Did he want to know what was for dinner? Or something else?
When he came beside me, he simply sank downward into the snow until we were at eye level and then he peered at the sketch I was working on. He flipped his hood back to show keen interest in my work and I saw a spark that showed the primal need of human beings for companionship. He’d come into the forest simply because that was where another person – me --could be found and he wanted to be there too.
He stretched out those long legs slowly, inch by inch, so as not to send the Cardinals flying away and indicated by a slight nod of his head and the gleam in his eyes that I was to continue and that he’d like to watch if it was okay with me.
Was it? Of course it was, so I turned back to my half-finished sketch and we sat that way for the better part of an hour, Jase watching and me sketching and the Cardinals on their tree branch doing whatever Cardinals do. Until they suddenly, unexpectedly, both at the same moment though I’d have sworn there’d been no communication between them, rose into the air and after circling beneath the tree branches a couple times they were gone.
“Beautiful.” The first words Jase said out loud, looking at the sketch and seemingly also at me and, more slowly, the surrounding forest. “Absolutely beautiful.”
I felt that look clear through me, all the way to my toes, and there was no reason to feel it so powerfully but I did and I knew as surely as the sun comes up in the morning that I’d do no more sketching that day because, somehow, with Jase’s arrival wearing a smile that could have melted the snow, that the artist in me was suddenly on vacation, replaced by a more sociable person, one that seldom came to the fore of my consciousness because I’m pretty much a loner. But I didn’t want to be one now. Because of that smile.
I smiled back and his smile grew broader and then dimmed somewhat. “I hope I didn’t scare them off.”
“I’m sure you didn’t. Where’d you learn to move so quietly?”
“It comes in handy when I take guests at the Center for nature walks. If I scare all the wildlife away, they won’t see anything and then they won’t come back.” He considered the almost finished sketch. “Will this go on someone’s wall?”
“This is a sketch, like the one of you in the cabin. The finished picture will be much larger and in color and I hope someone buys it.”
He pointed
to the black and white pencil lines. “I’m glad because Cardinals are normally red.” He thought over his words. “Except for the females, of course, but they are lovely too in their own way.”
Again, I felt that odd sensation shoot through me and wondered why I was reacting so strongly to such a mundane statement. I told myself I’d better get a grip on myself because we’d be spending some time together and it wouldn’t do to go into a tailspin whenever he said something. Anything. Or smiled as he was smiling now.
What on earth was wrong with me? I decided that I’d been alone for way too long. Way, way too long! In the future, I’d be smart to be more social. But as I considered my reaction to Jase I told myself that he was somewhat of an unusual person. Charismatic.
I looked towards where the sky was hiding behind the gray of the day and the white of the falling snow. “I don’t know exactly what time it is but I suspect we’d better get back to the cabin before the storm decides to kick in again and what feeble light there is disappears.” I tipped my head a bit and studied the forest. “These are the short days of the year, you know. Dusk comes in the middle of the afternoon.”
He nodded and rose in one smooth motion, then held out a hand and pulled me up beside him. I was stiff from sitting cross legged for so long and would have toppled over if not for his grip on my hand and he grinned at my fumbling and had to stop himself from laughing.
I dropped his hand quickly as stability returned and then I cocked my head as I examined him head to toe and tipped my nose up a bit but wasn’t able to hold my imperious pose and, unbidden, I let out the laughter that was bubbling up from somewhere in me that had been triggered by what I’d already figured was charisma and that unfailingly wonderful smile.
When he saw me laughing he stopped trying to control himself and laughed too, a deep, pleasant baritone that would have echoed through the forest in the summer but was muffled by the snow that fell gently all around us, enclosing us in a world that was small and private both as to sight and sound.
Then he took my sketchbook and turned on his heel to head back to the cabin, saying something about carrying it because he didn’t want to chance me falling and losing all those beautiful pictures and I heard the choked sound of laughter as he went fast enough to dodge any snowballs I might send in his direction. And I was suddenly very glad that this stranger had gone snowmobiling and ended up in my family’s cabin in a blizzard. Because he was – nice. And now I didn’t have to experience a blizzard in the forest all alone and that was an odd thought for a would-be hermit like me.
CHAPTER 6
That fizzy sensation in my innards continued after we were safely and warmly in the cabin and hanging up our outer wear, all of it, which took a while. Then we simply continued on, as comfortable with each other as if we’d been living together forever, odd as that sounds.
Was it because I almost fell and we laughed about it? Or were we comfortable with each other because we were stranded in a blizzard without hope of rescue so we’d have to depend on each other and difficult situations always go best when people get along? I didn’t know why I felt so comfortable with him and, after a moment of reflection, decided that the ‘why’ didn’t matter. It was enough to enjoy the inner tingle that added to the heat of the wood stove and the gas one we cooked dinner on.
We were very careful not to overdo in the food department and didn’t mention the alarming way our supplies were disappearing because what good would it do? We smiled instead at each tiny clumsiness that happened as we prepared a simple meal that we ate at the wobbly wood table that made the soup slosh each time we took another spoonful. Soup that we made without any discussion as to what the menu would be because we both knew that food goes farther in soup than any other dish.
Then it was evening. The time passed quickly and so did the night that followed that consisted of dark, windswept hours spent listening to the blizzard on the other side of the log walls. Morning was at first just a slightly lighter version of that dark because the sun, high and safe above the storm, might as well not have existed.
I was almost grateful for the whiteness of the snow because as the morning progressed and that unseen but brilliant sun high above the storm reached what must have been its zenith, the world turned lighter, almost as if there’d been nothing blocking those rays because the white snow make everything appear as if through a snow prism.
By then, of course, it being high noon, we were once more involved in ways to pass the time, Jase reading another novel and me putting finishing touches on the sketch of him beside the wood stove because today, as when I’d started my sketch, he was humming contentedly while moving one foot slightly up and down as he lost himself, this time in Treasure Island.
My parents had long ago made sure the cabin library was stocked with classical works because they were canny people who knew the value of decent reading material lying casually around when boredom set in. I consider myself something of an expert on the classics.
He sighed when he reached the end, shut Treasure Island, and returned it to the shelf laden with books. He then perused the rest but shook his head ever so slightly in a way that said he’d read enough for now and then continued on to other shelves that contained the board games that we played during the long evenings when no one was ready to sleep and the mosquitoes outside were too vicious to allow anyone outside who was averse to being eaten alive.
“Do you play Monopoly?” He reached for the game but hesitated as he waited for an answer.
“I’m not a champion, that’s reserved for my dad, but I can give it a half-hearted try.”
His shoulders shook with more of the silent laughter that I was learning was a part of him and then he turned towards me, grinning widely. I liked that grin and decided that it was one of the better parts of his nice-guy persona and I was glad I was stranded with a decent person.
“That’s good. I was afraid you were going to say you’re the world’s best player and then I’d have to pass because you’d whip me soundly.” He pulled the game out and headed for the table. “As it is, it sounds as if we’re at about the same level. So what about it? Want to play?”
By the time the outside world was completely dark once more, we’d learned that, as he’d surmised, we were about equal in the game playing department. Neither good enough to brag about our prowess but good enough to at least get through without too many gaffes.
As he put away the Monopoly board, we both found ourselves glancing outside. Jase frowned. “It doesn’t seem to be letting up.”
“It’s been – what? – two days now?”
“Few blizzards last longer than two days. Three at the most.”
“Tomorrow should be the end, then. If it snows at all tomorrow it’ll most likely be less intense. Less snow coming down. Not as dark.” Not as scary, though I didn’t say that out loud.
“We’ll be able to take stock and see what we have to contend with in order to get out of here.” He frowned again and finally, quietly, said what I was sure he hoped would make me feel better. “And we will get out of here. We’ll do something. Figure some way.” And, yes, it did settle some of that queasiness that had found its way to my stomach.
“Of course we will.” The words were pure bravado on my part. “We’ll be fine.” But my glance swerved away from the window because I didn’t want to see snow any longer. I’d seen enough. It just kept falling and falling and piling up everywhere and setting my teeth on edge.
I’d look again only when it was done falling and when I saw the pristine white level in some places and piled in others and all of it clean but most of all, not falling from the sky. No more coming down. None. Then and only then, I’d smile.
We had more of the soup for dinner and I found some stale crackers I hadn’t known existed and we pretended we’d had a great meal. Which we had in a way, finishing up the left-overs of the left-overs had made an unexpectedly good soup. But with each bowl, we knew we were getting closer to the end of the food sup
ply.
Which would happen all too soon and when we reached the absolute end, then what?
One thing we had in abundance was coffee, probably enough to keep an army or two marching non-stop for a week. So that night, long after midnight, when the wind beyond the log walls was still blowing as hard as ever and I couldn’t sleep no matter how I tried because I was listening for it to start slowing down and thinking with a sinking heart that it might not, ever, I climbed down from my loft, found the coffee pot, and made myself a full pot.
When it was ready, I poured a cup and slid down to a comfortable spot on the fuzzy rug on the floor before the wood stove, shoved another stick of wood on top of the ones that were slowly dying and watched as it caught, flared, and settled down to a steady burn. Then I leaned against the couch to enjoy a drink.
“Mind if I join you?” Jase peered at me from his greater height, hands on knees as he bent closer and spoke. “Nothing can match the aroma of fresh coffee as far as I’m concerned and it’s pretty strong and woke me up and drew me right here.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“I love coffee.”
I pointed to the coffee pot and indicated the space beside me and soon he was there, sighing in contentment as he took his first sip and leaned back against the couch and crossed those long legs of his beside mine. “Pure heaven and very good coffee. Someone knows how to choose the perfect blend”
I swirled my coffee and stared into it as if doing so would give me some special insights as to our plight. Then I sighed mightily and said what we’d carefully not said up to that point. “We have to talk.”
The Snow Queen Page 3