The Snow Queen

by Florence Witkop

  But another, more insidious problem was developing. I was growing tired, so tired that each step, instead of being a cheerful movement to Jase’s songs, was becoming an effort. Soon, I was afraid, no amount of effort would be enough. I took a second to look around and thought what it would be like to be stranded in the bog without even the protection of the trees when I ran out of energy and couldn’t take another step.

  What then?

  I deliberately ignored the setting sun, the wind that still hit my face like needles, the bog itself and, instead, concentrated on the next step. One step at a time, I told myself, and eventually we’d get where we were going.

  I took that one step and then I took another and another and another until the world became a blur of steps with me not knowing whether I was walking or merely thinking about walking. In some corner of my mind, I realized that was dangerous so I took a deep breath, taking in the cold air and not caring how it could chill my insides, and I gloried at the sharpness that intake of cold gave me and I looked around and realized that we were more than half-way across the bog. Within shouting distance of the other side.

  So I shouted. Yelled. Told the world that I was going to sit before a fire that evening and drink cocoa and laugh as the wind blew outside. And soon Jase joined me and he, too, yelled and said whatever came into his mind and together we spooked the deer ahead of us until they sped up and ran the remainder of the distance and disappeared into the forest.

  And then, after what seemed like a long time and might have been, somehow, without knowing it was happening, I stumbled and almost fell and realized that we’d reached the end of the bog and I’d struck the bank at the edge and had to climb up it and I wasn’t sure I could do it but somehow I did without knowing how. Just one step at a time.

  One moment we were in the bog and then we were on the bank. And then I half fell onto the sled and only Jase’s arms kept me from falling into the snow. But we weren’t safe yet. We still had to reach the Center.

  “A break is in order,” Jase said as if we weren’t in dire straits and I was almost done for but, rather, as if we were walking in a park on a summer day and a bench was presenting itself for a moment’s respite.

  “If we stop I won’t be able to get moving again,” I said, struggling to rise and start again because I was as sure as anything that stopping would be the end of us. And we were close. So close.

  I felt rather than heard him nod agreement and definitely heard the muttered words that said how he wished he could take over and get us there. “We’re almost there, Laurie. A couple of yards to the left you’ll find a wooden walkway that leads right to the Center. If you can get the sled on it, the going should be much easier.”

  I struggled in the direction he pointed and found the walkway and pulled the sled onto it and started off, but it was uphill and steep and I soon knew that, close as we were, I wouldn’t be able to make it even the short distance to the Center.

  I was totally done and it was dark, not quite full night but close and that blackness was the one last thing needed to put the end to what had been a good effort that wasn’t good enough. Things couldn’t get worse. We would die.

  Then things got worse. Two eyes appeared inches from my face. I blinked and found myself staring into the eyes of a wolf. We’d got so close and now we were about to fall victim to one of the most intelligent predators in the woods.

  Except Jase didn’t see it that way. “Wolf!” His shout was full of gladness. “Wolf, old boy.” The wolf went around me and to Jase and then the two of them became one lump as Jase hugged the wolf. Jase looked around the wolf and at me. “It’s Wolf. My malamute.”

  A dog, not a wolf. That was small comfort though it would be nice to have company as we waited for the inevitable. A huge, strong dog with a tail that plumed over its back and muscles that rippled as it moved through the snow as if it didn’t exist.

  “Wolf will get us to the Center.”

  “How?” A nice dog, a very strong dog, but all we had was a rope and a sled, not a harness and Wolf was just one dog, not enough to pull the sled.

  “Come here. Help me.” Jase was digging into the pile of blankets that had kept him warm even across the brutal bog. “Do we have a knife with us? Scissors? Something that’ll cut?”

  There was a knife at the bottom of the pack and I found it. As soon as he got it Jase began cutting the blanket into strips and then I knew what he was thinking. “But does he know how to pull? Won’t he just sit down and do nothing?”

  “We have a sled at the Center. When we have little kids there, Wolf pulls them around all by himself.”

  “He can’t pull you, though. You’re heavy.”

  Jase’s reply was grim. “He can help. You’re done in, you can’t make it without help and Wolf is what we’ve got in the way of help and I know he’ll do it if we can hitch him up.”

  We couldn’t hitch Wolf up to the sled but we did fashion a make-shift harness that I grabbed hold of. Then I once again hitched myself to the sled, grabbed Wolf’s harness and Jake told him to go ahead. “Go home, Wolf. Go home.”

  It took many tries before Wolf got the idea but eventually he moved out. As soon as he felt the tug on his harness, though, he sat down and looked back at Jase because this wasn’t what he and Jase usually did. “Go, boy. Go home.”

  Wolf slowly, uncertainly, moved forward and Jase called him all kinds of wonderful things and then Wolf got the idea that he was to pull in tandem with me and so he did. And we moved slowly up the slope towards the Center that wasn’t in sight yet, but had to be close.

  I cried the whole time, couldn’t stop, hadn’t been able to stop since that first tear in the bog. I could barely see through my tears but it didn’t matter because Wolf knew the way and, if he didn’t, Jase did. So we slowly, step by step, went towards warmth and safety. I didn’t even try to see ahead, it was all I could do to keep hold of Wolf’s harness and force a body that was already beyond its ability to keep moving.

  CHAPTER 12

  I almost ran into the door. I would have if Jase hadn’t shouted and made me look up. “It’s unlocked.” Moving on automatic because I was beyond thought and knowledge of what I was doing, I opened the door and then, because it was what I’d been doing all day and couldn’t think enough to know how to stop, I pulled the sled right into the main room of the Center and across the floor, stopping only when the fireplace loomed inches in front of my face.

  The wind shut the door, which was good because I was beyond knowing what I was doing and I’d have left it open. Jase’s voice penetrated the fog that was rapidly enveloping me. I’d kept my wits about me during the trip enough to get us here. Now I was disintegrating. “The fire is ready to go. All it needs is a match.”

  I didn’t know what he was talking about. Fire? Match? What did they have to do with anything? I simply stood there and cried as I’d been doing since we were halfway across the bog and I kept it up now because I didn’t know how to stop.

  Tears ran down my face and I noted with a kind of detached interest that they weren’t freezing on my cheeks and then I laughed because of course they weren’t, we were inside, but that didn’t make any difference, I still sobbed as if the world was ending.

  I looked down. I was standing on a thick, soft rug that had probably been chosen so people who wanted to sit before a fire could be comfortable without being on chairs while making s’mores or simply watching the flames. Looking at that plush rug, one thing penetrated the fog that surrounded me. It looked like a wonderfully soft rug.

  I wanted to lie down right there and then and would have if I could have figured out how to move. Then I felt Jase’s hand on my leg. “Come on down, Laurie, and join me.” I looked where he pretty much had ordered me to look because his voice had left no room for argument and saw him already on that rug and comfortable, having shoved the sled aside. He looked at me as if I was a freak who couldn’t figure out what he was talking about, which I was because I didn’t have a clue
. His voice grew softer as he said, “You can stop crying now.”

  “I’m not crying.”

  “Laurie, Laurie.” His voice was milk and cream and butter. “Laurie, it’s okay. Forget what I said, you can cry all you want but what’s important is that you can rest while you cry.” He tugged on my pants leg and I found myself sliding downward and when I landed on the rug, I saw that he’d pulled the blankets from the sled and was tossing them about. Then he pulled close a couple of huge pillows put there for guests to lounge on while enjoying the fire and I just stared dumbly at him and wondered what he was doing.

  “Come here,” he said, reaching for me, pulling me closer, touching my face, wiping tears from my cheeks and still I didn’t know what he was doing, what was happening. “It’s okay, Laurie, you got me here, you took care of me, and now I’ll take care of you.” A warm palm rubbed my cheeks and came away wet. “Hush, Laurie, it’s okay, I’ve got you now.” And still I couldn’t stop crying.

  He then proceeded to remove my outer wear and I roused enough to help and then I could feel the warmth of the room that the thick clothing had blocked. I blinked. Realized at least for that moment that I was crying and tried to stop. Failed, but looked at the soft rug and the blankets through my tears and then I gave a sort of hoarse sound that meant nothing and everything and let him fold me down and place my head on one of the pillows. “That’s it, Laurie. You’re done. You did it. You got us here. Now rest.”

  He pushed me gently until I was on my side and then he covered me with blankets and tucked them around me much as I’d done for him on the sled and then the world disappeared and I knew nothing for a long time except for hearing the sound of sobbing and I’d forgotten that I was crying so I wondered who was making that racket and why didn’t they stop.

  Later – much, much later – I woke to find the fire blazing and Jase beside me on that rug, sound asleep and with an arm wrapped around my waist. My pillow was wet. I felt my cheeks and there were dried tears on them. Had I been crying? I couldn’t remember but decided I must have been but couldn’t imagine why.

  Neither could I know why his arm was around me. Was he keeping me safe? Ridiculous, I could take care of myself, thank you very much, look what I’d just done, brought us both through the wilderness to safety, but the feel of that solid body spooned around me was so comfortable and warm and wonderful that I simply closed my eyes once again and turned the pillow until I found a dry spot and decided that I’d figure out later who had got the fire going and why I’d been crying and why we were on a rug instead of in bed as was proper and why he had an arm around me as if to keep me from flying away. I’d not fly away. I’d not fly anywhere. The rug was too comfortable to leave.

  That masculine arm felt right -- better – different – than my father’s when he’d wrapped me in safety and security when I was a child. Now I wrapped it more firmly around my waist and luxuriated in the feel and then I drifted back to sleep, only hiccupping a few times as unexpected, ridiculous sobs almost tore me apart. As sleep approached I wondered again why I was crying and I didn’t know the reason any more than I’d known why I’d been crying earlier, except I must have been because my cheeks had dry tears on them and the pillow was wet.

  But, even as sleep approached, I realized one thing. The fire was lovely and Jase’s body next to mine was so comfortable, so secure, that my sobs were slowing until, as I lay there wrapped in comfort and warmth before that lovely fire, they finally stopped altogether and I knew that whatever my reason for crying had been, it was finished. I’d cry no more. Then I finally, truly slept.

  When I woke, sun shone through the huge windows of what I now realized was the main room of the Center, with log walls everywhere, a reception counter on one side and a snack bar along the opposite wall. Chairs and small tables and couches were scattered about with, of course, the huge stone fireplace dominating the room. I was on the deep, plush rug in front of the fireplace, still covered by the blankets we’d brought from the cabin, with my head on a huge pillow meant for sitting rather than sleeping but that didn’t matter, it was comfortable.

  Jase was nowhere to be seen. I panicked. Could I have lost him? I racked my brain but the last part of our journey was no more than a foggy memory and I had no idea what had happened once we reached the Center. Except that the huge Malamute lying feet from me and staring at me with large, soft eyes had helped get us there, had added his considerable strength to what little remained of mine, and that his name was Wolf.

  “Hi, Wolf.” He wagged his tail and crawled a bit closer. “Nice doggie.” Another foot or so. Did he bite? Was he friendly? He looked like a big, cuddly teddy bear. “Come here and I’ll scratch behind your ears.

  That did it. He scrabbled the rest of the way and when he reached me he rolled over onto his back to let me know that belly rubs were more important than being scratched behind the ears. So I rubbed his belly and he showed his appreciation with low moans of appreciation. “Good dog and thanks for saving our lives.”

  Another moan of enjoyment and he decided he’d had enough pampering for the moment and jumped up and began inspecting me, sniffing everywhere that wasn’t covered in blankets and licking the dried tears from my face. I let him, knowing all dogs like salt and that I probably had enough on my cheeks to keep him satisfied for a long time.

  Looking at the sunshine pouring through the huge windows and feeling the love of the huge Malamute, all that crying that I now remembered faintly seemed ridiculous. And a waste of time and energy. And pathetic.

  Then Wolf jumped up, ignored me completely, and ran to a door leading to some sort of inner room and woofed several times. I heard a chuckle from behind the door and recognized Jase’s voice because the man was always cheerful and either laughing out loud or getting ready to laugh. I yelled, “Jase. Is that you?”

  The door opened and he came out, seated on an office chair with wheels, pushing himself with his one good leg while holding his injured leg in the air. “Hi. I wondered when you’d wake up though if you slept through today and into next week that would be okay, I’d not wake you.”

  “It’s morning.” An inane thing to say but nothing else came to mind, except, “How’d you get into the chair?” He couldn’t walk, after all.

  “This is my home. I can do anything here.” He explained. “One leg is injured but the rest of me is functional so it was merely a case of figuring out what I needed to get me around and the chair from my office would do and then to scoot along the floor until I was there and then get into the chair.” He rubbed Wolf’s head as the dog almost pushed him out of the chair in his eagerness to be loved. “Wolf helped in that regard. He makes a great lever.”

  He looked around, checked the brilliant sun, shuddered and I knew he was thinking that bright sunlight in the winter means extremely cold temperatures, and said, “Want some breakfast?”

  My stomach growled. “Love some.” Then I thought about Jase in his office chair. “I’ll do the cooking.”

  “I’m fine. I can get around in my own home.”

  “But you can’t reach high cupboards.”

  He grinned and that smile rivaled the sunshine that now shone into every corner and crevice of the large room. “Yes I can. I tried so I know. I very carefully get out of the chair, balancing on one leg and then, holding onto the counter for support because I don’t relish crashing to the floor, I can reach all the shelves in the kitchen.” That grin grew into one of triumph. “So I ask again. Want something to eat? Bacon and eggs maybe? Or would lunch be more to your liking?”

  I glanced at the old-fashioned clock on the wall with weights swinging gently beneath. “Lunch, maybe.” And then I thought. “Phone calls. I should call people. Do you have a phone?”

  “Of course. A landline because there are no cell towers in the forest as we well know.” He looked towards the admission desk. “Whom do you want me to call and what should I say?”

  “My parents, first, to let them know where I am and that
I’m okay.” I considered his leg and the office chair that was doubling for a wheel chair. “And then a doctor. And whoever plows the road to this place.”

  He nodded briskly. “Right away, but I already called the plow driver and she said she’ll be here tomorrow or the day after at the latest. This wasn’t the worst snowstorm in history but there are a lot of roads in the area and she knew that I didn’t have guests right now so getting the Center road plowed wasn’t a priority.” He paused, then continued. “We have an agreement, the plow driver and me, that she’ll make sure the road is clear when there are guests here but that, at other times, there’ll be no hurry.”

  “The doctor …”

  “Said that I should come in as soon as possible and that you should call him when you wake up, whenever that is, and with the skype camera, he’ll ask you to examine my leg and he’ll tell you what to do to keep it stable until we can get out of here.” All in one breath.

  I nodded and found myself relaxing once more against the huge pillow as Wolf for some reason, returned and snuggled on the blankets beside me and lay his head on my lap and Jase examined me from head to toe as best he could through the blankets that still covered me and said, “Go back to sleep, Laurie. I’ll wake you when lunch is ready. Are sloppy joes okay? They are easy.”

  “Good idea,” I said, surprised to find my words slurring as sleep once more took charge of me and I put my head on the pillow and my face in Wolf’s soft fur and went back to sleep.

  CHAPTER 13

  When I woke next, Wolf was gone. Following the sound of a dog scarfing down food, I saw him in a small room just beyond the kitchen that was what the room behind the door turned out to be and he was gobbling down dog food – or was it sloppy joes? – and the sight and smell made me suddenly ravenously hungry. The smallish room was furnished with a large table, several chairs and a bulletin board on the wall.