The Snow Queen

by Florence Witkop

  So practical. Jase knew his business. “To simplify purchasing and storage.”

  “Exactly. The stores in town know what I buy and they always have everything on hand.” His eyes lit up. “Which was one reason I chose this particular event center to buy. Nice town. Nice people. Johns Falls should be proud of its merchants.”

  We had soup and sandwiches for lunch and Jase explained that guests made their own sandwiches from an assortment of ingredients but that he didn’t want to put all that stuff out today for just two people so we rummaged in the refrigerator instead and, in so doing, I realized what all those plastic containers of sandwich ingredients were for. They’d be arranged on the counter for guests to choose from.

  Much the same happened for dinner, though Jase did say what time to stick the prepared pot roast in the oven so it would be ready at precisely the right time. In fact, he jotted it down on the recipe itself, which said that never before had anyone but himself been the cook.

  I considered the recipe cards. “This isn’t so difficult.” When the small pot roast was done that was a fraction of what would be cooked when large groups were present, I removed the huge apron that had been protecting my clothes while thinking how similar it was to the smock I wore while painting that also protected my clothes. Usually. Until I got so involved in what I was doing that I forgot and wiped my hands on my pants. Did Jase do the same while cooking?

  I looked down at myself. There were grease spots on my shirt instead of the usual paint spots on my slacks. Jase, on the other hand, unlike what I’d imagined would happen when a man cooked, was immaculate which just shows that some people are born slobs. Me. My mother followed me around with a washcloth when I was young because she liked a clean house. It helped. Some.

  “How’s the cooking going? Not that you’ll do it, I will, but you should know how it’s done.” He tilted his head in that way I’d already figured was typical of him and was one of the things that made him so likable.

  “It’s not so bad.”

  “Wait till something goes wrong.” He grimaced. “Though, as I said, I promise to do as much of the inside stuff as possible. Probably all of it. This is just for information in case something happens and you have to take over.” Like if he fell and hurt his leg all over again and had to be rushed to the ER and I’d be left alone to deal with who-knew-how-many guests.

  The thought almost gave me a panic attack.

  He indicated the menus. “As you’ll notice, the meals are the kind that can be kept warm for a long time because often guests are late getting back from wherever they’ve been.” He pinned the menus and recipes to the huge bulletin board that covered half the wall above the table and informed me that it was time for me to learn my other duties. “The outside stuff. The nitty gritty. What you’ll actually do.”

  I took a deep breath because this was the part I wasn’t sure I could handle. But I reminded myself that I had to do it or, as Jase had hinted, the Center might have to close. I took another deep breath and followed him to the huge closet filled with all kinds of outdoor clothing where I’d hung everything warm that I’d brought from the cabin and from home in Minneapolis, plus all that my parents had added to the pile, which was considerable.

  With embarrassed laughs they’d insisted that we take everything because they didn’t want their only daughter getting cold at work, and they were making sure it wouldn’t happen. “We didn’t know what was going on and we’ll never get over that lack of knowledge, but we’re making sure Laurie will be as safe as possible from now on.”

  I’d already had a lesson on how to lead a snowmobile party when we retrieved the snowmobile that was broken down, so now Jase led the way to cross-country skis hanging on a wall in a small outbuilding near the edge of the forest. “Make sure everyone has the right gear in the right sizes and that they know how to use it and then load it all into the truck and head for the nearest groomed trail. Guests will follow in their own vehicles, so drive slowly.

  “When you reach the trail, make sure everyone is correctly outfitted – and that’s important because often they forget what they were just taught back at the Center – and then you simply lead them slowly along the trail much as you’ll lead snowmobilers.”

  It seemed simple enough. It wasn’t because Jase on crutches could ride behind me on a snowmobile but he couldn’t accompany me on cross country skis. He couldn’t even come with me to teach what to do because he’d have to use both legs.

  “The Center advertises itself as ecologically aware so we don’t blast our way through the forest but, rather, we go slowly and carefully.” Good. That would make my job easier.

  By the time we headed back to the Center I absolutely knew that I’d never figure out the right amount of effort required to keep warm while holding back enough energy to finish the course even though, on our trek to the Center, it hadn’t been a problem. Knowing when to divest myself of extra layers had been instinctive.

  Jase didn’t think it should be a problem now. “It’s like pulling a sled and you’re good at that. Very good. Just remember how you did it. What you did. You set out at whatever pace you chose and as you walked you altered your speed according to what your body told you was right.” He stared at his bum leg in frustration. “It’s very similar.”

  I’d pulled a loaded sled from the dark of early morning to that same dark of night and I’d learned early in the journey how to pace myself. I looked Jase straight in the eye and counted the flecks of black in his irises and noticed with a mini shock that they were the color of the evening sky and said, “I will do it. I can do it.” And, somehow, I knew that I could.

  We did fun stuff the next day. I made snow angels pretty far behind the Center with Jase cheering me on. We chose the forest so as to leave the snow nearest the buildings pristine so future guests could make their angels nearby where everyone could see them. Jase insisted on making his own angels beside mine even though getting there was hard with crutches and making snow angels was even harder. I breathed a sigh of relief when he once again was upright and moving.

  Next I rolled a snowball large enough to become the bottom third of a snowman and I did it in plain sight because Jase thought guests might appreciate having a start that they could add to.

  Later, with Jase cheering me on, I slid down the hill not far from the main building on a sled much like the one Jase had ridden on our trip there. When I was done, I was covered in snow and laughing because I hadn’t gone sledding since I was a kid.

  When we went inside at the end of the day, I knew that I could do at least a passable job of the outdoor things that needed doing. Most of them, anyway. Maybe all of them.

  Jase thought so too, it was in those evening sky eyes. “I’ll keep the equipment working and in good condition. I can do that indoors and if there are any problems I can’t handle, I’ll call a mechanic.”

  “Could you fix everything if you weren’t on crutches?”

  “Mostly, yes, but some of it requires heavy lifting and I won’t ask you to do it.”

  “I helped my dad fix cars.”

  He licked his lips so I knew that money was a consideration but in the end he shook his head. “Best not to take chances. I can’t risk losing you and I don’t want any problems while guests are using the equipment. Billy in town knows my machinery and will keep it running.”

  My relief was so great that I couldn’t hide it and his not-quite-hidden smile said he understood.

  That evening, as every day, we ate another small version of whatever would be served that day if there were guests present and Jase pointed to a calendar on the kitchen wall that I’d noticed but not paid any attention to. “It shows how many people will be here and when they’ll come and when they’ll leave to make sure we figure meals and portions correctly.”

  I looked it over. There were empty boxes on the calendar when the Center would be vacant, like now. I assumed that was normal for winter, which he’d said was the slow season. Looking at the filled
spaces, I knew I’d be earning every free meal I’d be eating but there were enough blank spaces on the calendar to guarantee enough time to paint if I scheduled my time.

  I suddenly wanted to finish the portrait of Jase I’d started at the cabin. The desire was a physical need, an itch that needed scratching. And I wanted to start on the second portrait, the one of him outside in the night with stars as a backdrop. I was itching just as badly to get going on that one and why I felt that way when I’d never done portraits before was something I couldn’t fathom.

  Was I changing, evolving as an artist and portraits would become my next phase? Or was it Jase himself? Was there something about the man that called to me and if so what was it about him that got to me so thoroughly that I wanted – needed -- to get that essence on canvas?

  As if Jase could read my mind, he suddenly said, “I’ve been considering another activity that guests might like.” He looked away so I knew this activity involved me, and then he looked back. “An indoor activity. If you’re interested.”

  “Which would be?”

  “Would you consider giving art lessons?”

  My mouth dropped and he hastened to add, “If you want.” As I managed to close my mouth, he went on. “You are an artist, after all.” He gestured to the walls in the main room. The yards and yards of walls that were partly covered with woodsy decor, but mostly were bare. “And of course, as I said, you can display your paintings and sell them here. That would be wonderful for you and for the Center so I hope you will.”

  He grinned, seeing that he had my attention. “Lessons would give the guests something to do that’s interesting and they just might decide to buy paintings by their teacher if they see them on the walls.” He added, “Give it some thought.”

  “I don’t have to think.” The words came out. “I’ll do it.” Two pictures on that wall would be portraits of the Center owner. I could see them now in my mind and could hardly wait to get started.

  CHAPTER 18

  The first group arrived the next week in cars and trucks, some pulling trailers laden with snowmobiles, everyone laughing and eager for a week in the snow-filled forest. My heart sank as they approached, but Jase was cordial and confident and glossed over their concern about his crutches, gesturing towards me while relating how I’d saved both our lives by trekking through the forest and across a large, dangerous bog. A little thing like leading them on excursions in the wilderness would be child’s play.

  They believed him. I gulped and smiled until my face threatened to crack and wished I could die as I wondered what I’d got myself in for and what they’d do when they discovered I was a fraud.

  They turned out to be nice people, mostly from Minneapolis and we even had some mutual acquaintances so that helped assuage the queasiness in my stomach when I first led those without snowmobiles to the cross-country ski trails.

  Jase and I had already taken a group snowmobiling and it had gone well, but that trip hadn’t been emotionally draining because Jase was behind me on the lead snowmobile. If anyone had had a problem, he’d have been able to talk me through what to do. Not this time. But nothing untoward happened and after we returned and my knees stopped shaking, I was glad I’d gone.

  And so the week went, one day at a time. Jase’s meals were oohed and ahhed over and three women were enchanted with a rudimentary, fun art lesson and said they’d come to the exhibit that would include my work in Minneapolis later that month.

  I smiled and didn’t expect them to show up but decided they were nice people and when the group pulled out at the end of the week, I felt a lift to my spirits that was both unexpected and exhilarating.

  Jase and I waved goodbye from the huge front door, with Jase’s arm casually around my shoulders. As the last truck with its snowmobile trailer disappeared around down the driveway, he asked, “What’s this about your pictures being on display in Minneapolis?”

  Oops. I’d forgotten to mention the show that had been scheduled long ago.

  I studied his face. Was this a problem? His expression didn’t say. “The gallery that sells my work has exhibits every so often. It’s how they drum up interest and they sell a lot of pictures during and after shows.”

  “Do you have to be there?”

  My heart sank. “Yes.” And then, “I’m sorry. I forgot about it when I agreed to help here.”

  His lips pursed. “When is the exhibit?” I told him and his face cleared. “No one will be here that week.” His arm tightened on my shoulder. “Thank goodness.” Then he turned me towards the main room and dropped his arm to better navigate on crutches. “No conflict at all and you can take the truck because your car is still under a few feet of snow and I’m certainly not going to need it.”

  “Will you be okay alone?”

  He snorted. “Just because I have a bum leg doesn’t mean I need a nursemaid.” He shoved me lightly and we went to the kitchen and had a meal of left-overs from the week, of which there were lots. “I often don’t have to cook for many days after groups leave. I merely defrost what wasn’t eaten.”

  He indicated the freezer with one crutch. The man was becoming a crutch expert. “Since all the left-overs were frozen in single portions, choose whatever you wish and I’ll do the same.” So we each had different meals and dinner was wonderful and easy and then somehow we found ourselves in front of the fireplace that gave a winter wonderland ambience to the entire great room and was just as wonderful in its own way as the meal had been. I leaned back, relaxed, and let myself fall into a comfortable trance.

  Until I felt that itch to paint and soundlessly got up and found my sketchbook in the room that was now my studio. I returned to the great room and began getting Jase and that fire down on paper. A third Jase portrait.

  “Really? I’m not a model,” was all he said but he stayed where he was so I could sketch, though I doubted he’d move anyway because he was totally relaxed and somnolent and appeared content right there in front of the fire. I suspected he’d stay there forever if possible.

  The sketch went quickly and well. As the lines appeared like magic on the white paper, I wondered if portraits might be my thing after all, but in the back of my mind I suspected that it wasn’t my ability as an artist as much as Jase himself that made the difference.

  Not for the first time I wondered what it was about the man that made it so easy to get his essence on canvas and I determined to someday figure it out. Not tonight, of course, because tonight was for the fire and sketching and enjoying being alive in front of a fireplace in the north woods with a man who was – what? I didn’t know except that he wasn’t like anyone I’d ever known before and I couldn’t figure out what was different but knew that something was. Something special.

  All three sketches were finished in time to be included in the showing of my works and those of other artists in Minneapolis. I brought them, carefully wrapped, when I went to the city, having told my agent I had three pictures that weren’t my usual type.

  When I mentioned that they were portraits, he harrumphed and said I wasn’t a portrait artist so, though he’d look them over and leave space on the walls for them to hang in glory if they were up to his standards, he’d also have other pictures ready to take those spaces if they were as bad as he expected them to be.

  The portraits were included in the exhibition. Donaldo looked them over and then looked at me speculatively. He then walked straight to the wall and hung them himself instead of having an assistant do it, which was usual for him. I folded my arms across my chest and asked if he thought I had a future as a portrait artist.

  I was surprised at his answer. “No. A thousand times, ‘no’.”

  “Why not?” My mouth hung open. He’d gone against routine, which meant they were good.

  “These are anomalies. They are outliers.” He shook his head in a way that left no room for argument. “They are good, I’ll give you that, but they aren’t your usual work, so don’t stop painting the forest pictures that are your for
te.”

  I forced my mouth shut. “You agree they are good.” Unasked was the question of why they weren’t an indication of my ability.

  He rolled his eyes. Jase was across the room. He’d come after all and was staying with my parents and visiting friends during the exhibition. Wolf was happy with my dog-loving parents.

  Now as Jase turned to see what we were saying, Donaldo realized that we had an audience and lowered his voice, which normally could boom across a football field without need of a microphone. He actually whispered. “These are not an indication of your ability. Rather they indicate your feelings for the subject.”

  “Oh.” My mouth didn’t drop open, but instead made a perfect circle. “It’s Jase, isn’t it? I agree there’s something about him though I can’t figure out what it is that makes him such a good subject.” I glanced at the portraits that were next to my pictures of soaring evergreens and the mossy floor of the summer forest.

  Jase’s expression in those portraits said that if he walked the forest in the summer he’d know the exact places portrayed, which was possible because he, too, lived in the north woods. But there was more than that to whatever he brought to his portraits. “He could be a male model.”

  Donaldo shook his head in the violent way he has and gave me a pitying look. “It’s not him. Not at all. He’s a normal male, there a million of him out there. He’s nothing special.”

  “So what is it about him, then?”

  “You’re in love with him, that’s what.”

  I froze, shocked, and couldn’t say a word for a long time, until I managed to squeak, “That’s ridiculous.”

  Donaldo shook his head pityingly. “Love. That’s what I see in these portraits.” He rolled his eyes for a second time and added, “I just hope this new obsession of yours doesn’t send your talent into the basement.”