He should get up. We should get going. I slid down my ladder a second time and climbed up his as noisily as possible so if he wasn’t quite awake that would do the job. At the top, I peered into the loft my parents used when they were at the cabin. And saw an empty bed, blankets removed. I looked down and saw Jase’s pack with the blankets tied securely to it.
So where was he? I climbed down slowly, thinking, and, as I stared at the two considerable packs, I knew where he’d gone. To the shed. To get the sled. The one that could tow everything and save us the extra weight. The one that could be reached only by climbing a ladder that could fall apart any moment.
I felt a cold settle in my middle at the thought of that rickety ladder and said a brief prayer that the ladder had held but my stomach kept plummeting downwards.
I climbed quickly into my outerwear and followed his tracks to the shed. And found him on the floor with the sled beside him and the ladder – now broken completely – a few feet away. He was staring at one leg, not moving. He was swearing quietly but steadily.
He heard me and looked up, anguish in his expression. “The ladder broke. I fell.” He felt his leg carefully and winced. “I did something to my leg.” He shook his head in total frustration and anger. “I’m so sorry. I don’t think I can walk.” And, with an indrawn breath, “I ruined everything.”
I dropped to his side and felt the leg he was holding. “I had a class in first aid.” His snow pants were thick but I could feel the bones of his leg through them. “I didn’t learn much but I’m fairly sure that it’s not broken and that’s something. That’s good.”
“It’s not good if I can’t walk. And I can’t.” His tone had a finality to it that couldn’t be argued with. “I tried but, as you can see, I’m still on the floor.”
“Let’s get you inside.” I grabbed the sled and put it alongside him. “Then we’ll see what’s what and figure out what to do.”
“I’m so sorry.” He repeated the phrase several times as I rolled him onto the sled and pulled it to the porch, after which, with both of us doing our best, I helped him upright, then up the stairs and across the porch, and then inside where I carefully removed his outer clothing and examined the leg in more detail. The whole operation, from looking for him when I realized he wasn’t in his loft to bringing him inside took more than an hour. No more early start for us.
“Not broken,” I repeated. “That’s good but your whole leg is swollen.”
“I twisted as I fell. Who knows what I tore, ripped, strained, sprained or whatever?” He looked at his leg as if he wished it would disappear. “You go without me. Get to the Center. When you get there, call for help.” He swallowed. “I’ll be fine.”
I looked around the cabin. “No you won’t so that’s not an option. No food, not enough wood and how would you get it and put it into the stove if there was more?” I swallowed hard as the only way out of our situation started growing in my mind.
“Besides, how would emergency people get here? They’d have to plow the road and then the driveway and who knows how long that would take?” I shook my head. “You’re not staying here. You can’t.”
“I can’t walk.” He pointed to his leg.
“We have a sled. I’ll pull you. And the provisions.”
“All the way to the Center?” He shook his head. “Not possible.”
I took a deep breath because I knew what I was saying and how difficult it would be, but I also knew with a certainty that couldn’t be challenged that my plan was the only option available. “I can do it.” And I made myself stare at him and forced a calm, unconcerned expression onto my face so he’d believe me though inside I was trembling.
Could I do it? I wasn’t sure. I only knew that I had to try and that, with God’s help because He was the only one who knew where we were and what was happening, we’d make it to the Center. If not? I refused to think about it.
Jase said nothing, just stared at me until he accepted that I was going to do this no matter how much he argued. Until he simply said, “When do we start?”
I checked the time. Hours had passed, the sun was bright on the snow. “Not today. Today we rest and get your leg wrapped as securely as I can manage so it’ll be stable during the trip. You won’t be able to bend it. That’ll be good. We leave early in the morning. Four at the latest. Maybe before then.” Because it was going to be slow going, we’d need every hour and would probably still get there after dark.
If we got there at all.
I looked around the cabin. “I’ll throw down the mattress so you can sleep on it tonight. And we eat the last of the food for dinner.”
“We had it packed in case we need it while walking.”
“Can’t be helped. We eat it tonight. All of it. It’s a good, hearty soup and we’ll eat every bit.”
“Coffee on the trail, then?”
“Lots of coffee. Every thermos filled.” Coffee instead of the hot soup that would have been in them if we’d gone today.
He grinned weakly. “I love coffee.” And again he apologized for hurting himself, but I ignored his words as easily as each time earlier when he’d said how sorry he was to have hurt himself in the process of trying to help.
We spent the day in front of the stove with its door open the better to watch the flames dance and flicker. I’d thrown the mattress down and it was on the floor a few feet away from the stove so we both sat on it and leaned against the pillows that were propped against the couch because the floor was easier for Jase and easier than me trying to raise him onto the couch.
I thought ahead to the morning and brought the sled inside where it would be available to simply roll him from the mattress onto it and then slide it carefully down the porch stairs and into the white, cold world that would surround us until we reached the Center.
If we reached it.
“Want to play Monopoly?” He didn’t sound too enthusiastic and I knew he was merely trying to take my mind off of what lay ahead so I shook my head and lay back further into the pillows and gazed even harder into the fire so as to remember the warmth and friendliness of it during the coming day when such a memory might be all I’d have to keep me going.
Dinner was easy because the soup was already made and still warm in the thermoses but I poured it into a pan and heated it until it was near boiling and we ate it all and when we were finished the pan was as clean as if I’d washed it.
And that was the end of our food.
With the sled in the cabin, I packed it carefully, leaving space for Jase and the blankets that we’d need the last night before leaving. Then I banked the fire, closed the door to the stove, made sure Jase was comfortable and plied with aspirin, which was all we had for pain meds, and climbed to my own loft to sleep.
I didn’t sleep well. I rested and slept in fits and starts between bouts of worry about the coming day during which I mentally tried every way I could think of to pull the sled in order to not wear myself out any more than necessary. Because the success of our journey, not to mention our very lives, could depend on me being able to get us to the Center.
Eventually, sleep came and when the alarm went off at three o’clock, I felt rested and ready for the coming ordeal, though where that feeling came from, I couldn’t know. I do know that I prayed and prayed hard before throwing my blankets over the rail and climbing down the ladder in the dark of that very early morning, and I’m not normally a praying person outside of church.
CHAPTER 9
As I reached the main floor, I saw that Jase was awake and trying to bundle his blankets into a semblance of order and that he’d grabbed mine, too, as they’d fallen close to him. We didn’t speak as we rolled them tight and tied them onto the sled. Then I made hot coffee and poured it into every thermos I could find, and we had a lot of them for fishing and forest trips, and made sure the lids were tight. And we dressed warmly and I pulled Jase onto the sled and headed for the door.
“Three o-clock and all’s well,” he said in a f
eeble attempt at a joke but it fell flat as I opened the door and cold air surrounded us. I’d already put out the fire so there was nothing to fight the drop in temperature. I looked around one last time, flicked on the flashlight that would be our only light until the sun came up, and then pulled the sled onto the porch.
I shut the door behind me and secured the latch so no animals would get inside while it was empty. We did that every time we left the cabin and I was determined that this time would be no different. A normal thing to do, as if this was a normal departure.
I got the sled with Jase on it down the stairs without mishap by staying on the porch and playing out the rope slowly. Jase slid nicely to the bottom unharmed and gave me a thumbs up and I slowly descended the stairs and took my first step of what would be a long and arduous journey. I hesitated because I knew what lay ahead. But after that first step, I looped the sled’s rope around my waist as if I was a sled dog and set off.
I kept a slow but steady pace and discovered that it wasn’t so bad. I told myself that I could do this and that was the first time I realized I hadn’t been sure it was possible. But as we reached the edge of the clearing around the cabin and entered the deep forest itself, I found myself taking a deep breath.
I wanted to turn around and give the cabin one last farewell but I didn’t. Instead I walked straight into the depths of the forest, following an unseen but known trail beneath the snow, kicking up clouds of white stuff with every step.
“Are you okay?” I stopped and checked on Jase. “My steps are sending snow right into your face. You must be miserable.”
He shook his head. “Not at all.” He held up the blanket that he was using as a shield against the snow. “It’s a snow umbrella.” His head tilted slightly and I felt more than saw a smile on that granite face. “Sort of.” Then, in a different tone of voice, “How are you doing? Think you can make it? You’re the one doing all the work.” His voice was anxious. “We just started, we can still turn back.”
I moved out a little faster. “No!” The word came out like an explosion. “We are not turning back! We are going to sleep at the Center tonight!”
I kept moving.
The snow had changed everything, the whole world, and the darkness changed it even more from the forest I was used to during my walks through the woods. It was now almost unknown. I constantly flicked the flashlight this way and that just to make sure I was where I should be but, as I walked and the dark became less complete and slowly turned, instead, into a faint gray, I realized something.
I did know the forest after all. I did know where I was. I hadn’t been a liar when I’d said it was my friend. I was familiar with these places and even the snow and the last vestiges of night couldn’t confuse me.
With that knowledge, a strange confidence pervaded my body, sending shoots of warmth through me. The forest I’d known and loved ever since childhood was still the same. The trees hadn’t turned into monsters out to snag and pull us to our doom. The huge boulders that had always been landmarks that were now buried beneath snow were still recognizable, albeit found only with the flashlight and moments spent remembering just where they were and how they were configured.
So I moved on and, after a while, I even picked up the pace a bit and just that slight increase in exertion sent additional warmth through my body, which was good because until then I’d wondered in some corner of my mind whether the warm feeling was an actual sensation or whether hypothermia was setting in and, in my semi-conscious state, I didn’t know the difference between real and imaginary. But now I knew that more exertion had produced more warmth. The surety gave me added confidence.
Eventually that dark, dark, gray of pre-dawn gave way to the lighter gray of dawn itself, though the sun remined hidden by thick evergreens. But I could see the green needles taking on a glow as the sun back-lit them. Someday, I told myself, I’d paint a picture and try to capture that subtle blur of green and gold. But not now. Now I had more important things to do.
With the rising sun came the dip in temperature that almost always comes with the advent of a winter’s day, a drop of many degrees, and even as warmly dressed as I was, I could feel that chill on my face. And if I was cold, what about Jase? He wasn’t walking, he didn’t have the heat from exertion to warm him and he was in a veritable snowstorm caused by my kicking up the light, fluffy snow that inevitably flew back and right in his face.
I tossed a question over my shoulder, not wanting to stop because we had a long trek ahead of us and every second could be important. “It’s getting colder. Do you need more blankets?”
His shout echoed from tree to tree and told me that he, too, was determined not to do or say anything to slow us down as his baritone floated cleanly through the cold air and was cheerful and confident. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about me and if I fall off the sled, then you’ll have easier going!”
And then he laughed and that sound, too, bounced from frozen tree to frozen tree and put a spring in my step because he’d somehow found humor in this difficult ordeal and so I laughed also, a ringing sound that would have waked any nearby sleeping bears.
Slowly the gray became true daylight and I flicked off the flashlight and looked about to make sure the night hadn’t played tricks on me and sent me in the wrong direction but, no, we were right on track and at some subconscious level I thanked the forest for being my friend and showing me the way. And I continued on, carefully but surely following a path that had been laid out years before I was born, perhaps by Native Americans, or by animals seeking the easiest way from one point to another.
The forest gradually changed and a subtle downward slope told me that we were leaving the high forest where the cabin was located and heading toward the huge bog that we’d have to traverse to reach the Center, but each breath I took told me that there was no chance of it being dangerous because the below zero temperatures had surely frozen even those patches that were insulated by many years’ worth of accumulated grasses. And the bog was far away, we had hours of travel before reaching it.
The sun did its warming thing and the temperature climbed a bit. Not much but the severe cold of early morning gave way to more bearable temps and the trees thinned enough that every now and then rays burst through and warmed my face and, I was sure, Jase’s face, even if it had to penetrate clouds of kicked-up snow.
Warm enough that, eventually, I slowed and then stopped and removed my parka and tied it around my waist. “What are you doing?” Jase’s voice was full of alarm. “It’s cold out. I’m considering another layer of blankets.”
I turned and for the first time since the sun came up, was able to truly see my companion. He was huddled on the sled, half lying against the packs we’d lashed to it and covered by a pile of blankets. I almost laughed. “You could be an ad for an arctic adventure, warmth guaranteed and no effort required.”
“Not the arctic, please. This is far enough north for me.” But he took advantage of the stoppage and tugged at the tightly wrapped blankets on the back of the sled. I dropped the rope and ran to help because I didn’t want there to be any possibility of him falling off the sled and me having to somehow get him back on.
When I reached him, I removed one double mitten and felt his face. It was cold. So cold. So I slid that hand down farther to feel his chest and that was warm but not as warm as I felt was right for an injured person. Not that I know that much about first aid but being warm seemed appropriate for healing. So I took off my other double mitten and untied the extra blankets and spread them over him, tucking the sides and end in tightly enough for them not to slide off as we went.
He examined me, taking in the parka around my middle. “You still haven’t told me why you’re getting undressed on what must be one of the coldest days of the year.”
I grinned and wondered how this man could make me smile in the direst of circumstances. But he could, and that thought warmed me even more. “Because, as I’m sure you know if you’ve ever been cross country
skiing, exertion warms the body and it’s better to shed layers than to sweat because, when you stop, that sweat will freeze to your body and you’ll be in serious trouble.”
“You’re that warm?”
I shivered. “I will be when we get going again.”
“Okay.” He tipped his head to hide the frustration of being unable to walk, and I thought I saw shame in it too because a somewhat smaller than average woman was pulling him instead of the other way around. I stopped the impulse to touch his face and reassure him that I was fine with what I was doing and wondered what he’d do if I did reach out a hand and draw my fingers across his cheeks. Would he laugh or try to hide to save himself from the clutches of a mad woman? Probably both.
Then I pulled on my double mittens – his actually, being the ones he’d worn when he appeared at my door in the middle of the night -- and slid myself back in place with the rope taking the place of a dog sled harness, and moved out once more.
Then something unexpected happened but, after thinking, I realized that it was only to be expected. It was pure Jase, something that in the short time we’d known one another, I’d learned was a part of his personality that probably brought him a lot of business at the Center where I was sure patrons loved him.
He started singing. Singing! In the middle of the frozen forest on a journey that could end in disaster. He sang songs about snowflakes falling and winter wonderlands and every other winter song he could think of. And I found myself both smiling and picking up the pace because I walked to the rhythm of his singing and I wondered if that was his intent though he didn’t say so.
And so we went, ever so slightly downward, and that was a good thing because it was less difficult for me and would enable me to tow Jase and the sled much faster and farther than I’d be able to on level ground. I thought ahead to the bog that would not only be level but covered with high grasses and probably drifted over. It would be hard going.
So I sternly pushed the bog from my mind and wished I could sing along with Jase but knew that the effort would drain me of precious strength and that taking deep breaths of the cold air could lead to serious consequences. Jase, smothered in a cocoon of blankets, didn’t have to worry about such things. So I simply listened to his cheerful, winter songs and kept moving. And smiling.
The Snow Queen Page 5