He reached across the space between us and touched my face, drawing a hand along my cheek as he’d done once before only this time there was compassion and more in that motion, and I asked, “Were you wounded in Afghanistan?”
The question was so unexpected that it broke the tension and he laughed. “Only if being hit by a ball during a game of baseball counts.” He sobered. “But I learned how to run when the bombs came. Fast.”
I laughed too as my stomach turned over at the thought of what he’d experienced, and somehow I knew that we’d be able to work out the details, whatever they might be and I knew as surely as I knew my name that I was about to become an unpaid but important employee of the Center.
CHAPTER 16
There were a lot of details. A lot of outdoor things that I’d be doing and most of them were things I kind of knew how to do but wasn’t a professional in. Like snowmobiling.
“You’ll lead groups.”
“I can ride a snowmobile but I’m not proficient.”
“It’ll all be on groomed trails and you’ll take the lead and go as slow as you wish.” He grinned, an uplifting of his lips that added depth to the light in his eyes. “The rides are advertised as a ‘Winter Wonderland Sightseeing Trip’ so if anyone gets ideas about racing or other unwise activities, I call them to account and make them slow down.”
My grin matched his. He knew how to control a situation. “So no one goes fast on snowmobiles around here?”
He tipped his head and those eyes twinkled. “Only if they bring their own snowmobiles that they take on unsupervised trips, which they can do and my insurance isn’t involved if they crash and burn.” His expression returned to normal. “We can go for a ride today if you like. You drive and I’ll ride shotgun.” He thought more. “There are trail maps and, of course, you have your topographic map if you want to use it.”
It sounded doable. Sort of. “What else besides snowmobiling?”
He ticked off a list on one hand. “Cross-country skiing, also on groomed trails and with much the same rules. Snowman and snow fort building if the temperature is right for making snowballs.”
“Are there ever snowball fights?”
“Always.”
“Okay. What else?”
“Anything snow-related and, of course, there’ll be the picnic in the snow that the Center is known for. I’ll do the catering and will be there on a lawn chair to talk to everyone but you’ll have to get everything ready and be available for whatever people might need.”
I found myself nodding. He continued, “When we take that snowmobile ride to get you acquainted with it, we can cut across country as I did when I ended up at your cabin, and tow the broken snowmobile back and pick up anything at the cabin that you might want to bring here.”
I looked down at my clothes, the same ones I’d worn since leaving the cabin. Why hadn’t I thought to bring something to change into? Because I hadn’t expected to succeed? “Clothes would be nice.” Lips that were pressed hard together to avoid another grin said my reply was what he’d expected, as he said, “That’ll be tomorrow. Tonight we have a marshmallow roast in the fireplace in the great room and we practice making s’mores and staring into the fire.”
“Is that also on the agenda?”
“Absolutely, but as it’s an indoor thing, it’ll be my domain. But it’ll be good practice because guests will expect both of us to be in attendance whenever possible because we will be the host and hostess.” Host and hostess. The words had an unfamiliar ring.
The fire that evening brought back the fire that first night, when someone – Jase – had got it going and I’d simply stared into the flames and warmed myself on that thick, comfy rug. Now s’mores were added and the evening lasted far too long. It was way past midnight when we reluctantly tamped down the fire and retired to our bedrooms.
But before I went to bed, I found myself going past my bedroom door in order to check once again the room that would become my studio. It was large and filled with bedroom furniture but in my mind it already held the totality of my paintings and equipment.
The next morning, we got going right after breakfast, maps in the glove compartment of the snowmobile, along with ropes and packs to carry things back with. The trip was gorgeous, the trail wound among some of the most beautiful stretches of forest in the area and skirted the bog that had almost been our undoing. Now it lay before us as an interesting piece of northern territory instead of a foe to be overcome.
A small herd of deer crossed as we watched, using the trail the buck had used and the does and younger deer, the trail that had saved our lives. We watched until they disappeared in the woods on the other side and then we went on our way.
The broke-down snowmobile was a white lump but it was easy enough to brush off the snow and tether it to the one we rode, and then we continued through the pristine forest to the cabin, where I packed everything I’d brought with me for our Christmas vacation, plus all the gifts I already had packed in the car, plus the portrait of Jase that I’d started. Now I would get a chance to finish it.
Unpacking things from the car required brushing snow off until my tiny car once again was recognizable, though as I emptied it of packages, I realized once more that there was no way such a small vehicle could get anywhere in the amount of snow that the blizzard had dropped.
Then we slowly and carefully returned to the Center, where Jase went inside at my insistence and I pulled the damaged snowmobile onto a trailer to bring to town for repairs because, though Jase could normally fix it himself, he chose not to have me do the work with him giving instructions.
“You have enough to worry about learning the things you need to know. Let someone in town takes care of this beast.” Another expense. I was glad I’d made the decision to stay and help and not ask for wages. He was too nice a person to lose his business because of a bum leg.
Over dinner that night, one he fixed while singing at the top of his lungs and hobbling around the kitchen with verve on a pair of crutches, he approached another thing he’d need help to accomplish. “Tomorrow is Sunday. I’d like to go to church if you don’t mind driving.”
“Sure.” I flushed. “I’m afraid I’m not as good at attending church as I should be. This will be a chance to remedy that flaw.”
“Me neither, usually, but after what we went through and survived, I’d like to check into God’s place and tell Him thanks for saving our lives.”
I thought. “The buck showed us that there was a path and a small herd of deer showed us where that path was.”
He continued. “And Wolf was where we needed him right when we needed him to be there.”
“Coincidence?”
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
I took a long swig of milk. “I think I’ll give thanks too.”
“Just in case it wasn’t the biggest coincidence in history.” He looked at the floor and his voice was husky. “We shouldn’t have survived, I realize it now that I can look back on that day.” But we did survive and now Jase wanted to do the right thing. So I put my hand on his and we let our glances meet for a moment as we gave thanks that we were alive.
Church the next day was small and filled with people. The sermon was probably good but I didn’t hear a single word because I was busy silently saying ‘thank You,’ over and over again and I wished it had lasted longer because when it was done I wasn’t sure I’d given thanks enough times. Then we adjourned to a largish room for fellowship, which consisted of coffee, three kinds of cookies, where a throng of people wanted to hear the story of our miraculous trip through the forest that Maude had spread through the county. Everyone had a comment or an opinion.
“Can be done, I know that, but not many people would even attempt it.”
Jase gulped his coffee, not as good as that from the cabin that was now the Center’s preferred blend, but it was hot. “You have to understand. Laurie is special.”
“How so?” Eyebrows rose.
“She has thi
s thing with the forest.” He’d said it before. Now he said it again as he brushed crumbs from his lap. “Yes, she’s good at reading maps but I think she’d do okay without them because she knows the forest. She lives and breathes to the same rhythm as the forest. She could do it and I knew she could, that’s why I pushed for going to the Center, because I recognized what she is. She’s – special. A kind of snow queen.”
A few heads nodded as others turned to me as if trying to see what Jase saw. There were shrugs and more nods and then everyone turned back to their conversations and cookies.
An elderly man said, “That bog, though. That’s a killer.” This time everyone within hearing distance agreed and a shiver went through me at the realization of what could have happened. I said a few more ‘thank Yous’ and finished my coffee and cookies and stood up and then Jase and I left and returned to the Center, silent and thoughtful and every so often I’d find my gaze going skyward but all I saw were small, white clouds scudding across a China blue winter sky.
When we arrived at the Center, Jase declared that tomorrow we’d have a picnic.
“Outside?”
“Of course. It’ll be fun and instructive and I’ll get everything ready so all you have to do is decide what you need done in the third bedroom. There’s a handyman I call every so often. He’ll come and get the present furniture out and maybe even go with you to Minneapolis to bring whatever you need back.” He continued. “I want it done as soon as possible just in case you’re thinking of changing our mind.” He licked his lips. “You have no idea how essential you are about to become. I need you here so I want to cut off any possibility of retreat.”
The next day, there was no wind and the sun was as warm as a winter sun can be, which wasn’t very warm but I was dressed in many layers and the fire that I started in the large, metal ring under Jase’s instructions eventually had me unzipping my parka and removing my mittens.
Jase showed me where to find dinnerware that I put on the large table beside the outdoor grill and he cooked us a sumptuous feast that we ate on logs surrounding the fire that doubled as stools. As we ate, I decided that food was a large part of why people returned to the Center year after year.
Jase grinned and explained. “I like to cook.”
“And I like to eat.” I looked at the setting sun. “What’s it like having a picnic when it gets dark?”
“We have the fire going. Some groups prefer eating late, under the stars. What say we come back when it’s dark and make s’mores?” I was learning that s’mores were a fixture at the Center.
Were s’mores on their advertisements? I decided to ask when I’d been there long enough to have a say in such things. If I was there long enough for anything beyond Jase’s healing.
Between the outdoor picnic and the outdoor s’mores party, Jase contacted the handyman, Petra, who said he’d be there bright and early the next morning to drive me to Minneapolis and move everything I wanted into that third bedroom. After he’d removed the current furniture, of course.
Jase asked if he could ride along. “A chance to get some things for the Center.” He scratched his head, a gesture I’d come to realize was typical Jase. “Specialty stores are great but shipping sometimes makes me think twice. But if you’ll be going to the city, I’d like to go along and take advantage of the ride.”
I panicked. I’d have to know by tomorrow what I wanted brought back to the Center of all the things in my over-crowded apartment. I didn’t know and wouldn’t know until we got there and I could look over my cluttered apartment-slash-studio. So I didn’t enjoy the s’mores as much as I might have in spite of the fact that the stars and moon were out in full glory and there was no wind and the fire that we’d stirred up and thrown more logs on snapped and crackled and lit up the dark with a red glow that would scare any wild animals away and welcome any people who happened along.
I did notice that the s’mores were delicious. Why hadn’t I had any since childhood? Why had I thought of them as just a kid thing? I stuck another marshmallow on my stick, leaned back comfortably against a log, and watched as it turned just the right shade of burned brown to stick on a graham cracker that was already smooshed with a chocolate bar. I forgot about tomorrow’s decisions and simply enjoyed the night.
And I enjoyed Jase, the good-looking guy I now worked for and I didn’t even feel guilty knowing that I was greedily enjoying him because I’d learned while still in the cabin that he was a special person and good looks were only a part of that specialness. If I took advantage of that unique part of him, well if that was the case then I didn’t care and I also decided that when guests came to the Center they could have his undivided attention but there weren’t any guests at the Center right now.
So I grabbed what special vibes I could get from Jase and squirmed a bit to get more comfortable and stuck my booted feet even closer to the fire, hoping the soles wouldn’t burn while deciding that if I smelled burning rubber I’d withdraw them, but not before.
And I watched Jase. And I watched him some more. His profile in the firelight was the perfect masculine figure. Tallish, built like an athlete, which I suspected he was what with all the things that came with helping hordes of people enjoy the outdoors.
Could I do that profile justice in a second portrait? Should I even consider doing a second portrait? I’m not a portrait artist but I thought about it and decided that, since I’d always trusted my gut where art was concerned and because my gut had stood me in good stead in the past, I’d trust it this time too. I’d do a second portrait of Jase, one of dark and parkas and firelight on the night snow and it would be good.
I touched the snow. Just touched it. So white, so innocent, so soft, yet it had almost killed us both. I shivered and threw a handful into the air and then I watched in the firelight as it floated back to the earth.
CHAPTER 17
Minneapolis, when we arrived, was the same city I’d always known only now that sameness felt wrong because I was a different person than before our dangerous trek, a fact that impressed itself upon me more and more as our time in the city progressed and I chose which things to bring back to the Center – which was everything and I ended up ending my lease. Thank goodness Jase had a large truck.
Then we visited my parents, who had listened and cried when I called them from the Center to explain what happened but now turned white when they learned the details that I’d held back because they were scary and they wormed every single iota of the experience from me. Of course they did, they always could, but now I wished it was otherwise because they were shaken beyond belief.
“We had no idea.”
“You should have told us everything over the phone.” No I couldn’t have, not without breaking down. But after telling and retelling what had happened, they said that the only important thing was that we were okay and they still had a daughter.
We spent an evening with them and were invited to stay overnight, with them insisting that they had plenty of bedrooms for everyone, which they did, but Jase and Petra were eager to get back to the Center. Petra’s wife would be waiting. So we said our goodbyes and headed to the warm truck with my mom holding me back as we left the house.
She ran her fingers through my hair, comparing it to her lighter shade of red as she did when I was a child and then she gave me a peck on the cheek and turned to go back into the house because it was cold outside, really cold, but she stopped long enough to say, in a strangled voice, “I’m glad you both survived.” Then she added, “Jase seems like a nice guy. You’re doing the right thing in helping him.”
My mom doesn’t say much but when she does, it pays to listen and her words made me feel better about the decision I’d made. Then, as she stepped from the cold outside into the warmth of the house where I’d grown up, she added, “After this, we’ll keep in touch more often.”
She shuddered. “Never again if we don’t know what’s going on will we let more than a day go by without calling.” She shuddered again
and then she stepped into that warmth and shut the door and Jase and Petra and I headed north to the forest and the Center, where we didn’t even unload except for my paints that couldn’t be in freezing temperatures, but rather we dropped Petra off at his house and when we reached the Center we tumbled out of the truck and into the warm great room because it was late and we’d had a busy day.
Jase made dinner. He looked me up and down, considered my tired expression, and informed me that he’d changed his mind about starting lessons on the Center menu that evening so I’d know what we served and in what order. Considered me again, top to bottom and back before shaking his head. “It can wait.”
He grilled hot dogs that we scarfed down and then we went to bed and I stared out the window at the night world that wasn’t truly black because in a white, snow-covered world even night was only a kind of very dark gray and I wondered at the simplicity of that dinner.
Would simple hot dogs ever seem simple again instead of becoming the difference between starving and not? Would I ever be able to watch pantry supplies dwindle without panicking? I decided that perhaps that time would come. Eventually. And then I turned away from the window and slept.
The next morning, when I entered the kitchen the table was covered with neat rows of menus, each containing piles of recipes. Jase indicated one pile. “This is the Monday pile. It’s what we serve on Mondays and in the coming days we might as well go through the whole week’s worth of menus in turn so you can learn what we eat and how to prepare it.”
I gulped, he relaxed and dropped the teacher stance and we proceeded to cook a normal breakfast of bacon and eggs, which was the first breakfast on the menu as it was served the first day a group arrived. As we ate, I asked, “Do groups ever stay more than one week?”
“Occasionally.”
“Do you repeat this menu for the second week too?”
He divided the piles into two areas. The piles took up most of the table. “Most groups don’t stay that long but the second pile of recipes is for those who do stay a second week.” He picked one up. “If you’ll notice, though, it’s pretty much the same ingredients put together in a different way.”
The Snow Queen Page 10