Snow Brides

by Webb, Peggy

  Now Betty was shaking so hard the china cabinet on top of her swayed. But even if her rigors shook it off, she wouldn’t be able to move. With all those broken bones, she might not even be able to crawl.

  She started crying, but her tears froze in her eyelashes. She wished she knew how long she’d have to wait before she froze. Would she pass out first? She tried to shut out the terrifying thoughts. But nothing could keep them at bay.

  Maybe if she tried to stay conscious, Jonathan would get home in time to rescue her. She focused on the dim light coming from the room beyond. Was it coming from the candles she’d lit or was the fire still going? She’d heard of stranger things, hurricanes in the Deep South that tore out a wall, lifted a piano through the hole and left a half-empty can of Coca Cola sitting on the coffee table, undisturbed.

  The dim firelight showed her kitchen in shadows…and in shambles. Nothing stirred now, not even the tea towels.

  But wait. What was that?

  Betty peered through her frozen lashes toward a moving shadow in the far corner of her kitchen. As it stalked closer, she could see the outline of a ghost cat.

  It couldn’t possibly be.

  Was she hallucinating?

  Had Linda hallucinated before she died? Had Jennifer?

  Would Kate? Would her life flash before her eyes?

  With Betty’s past running a Technicolor horror show through her mind, the ghosts gathered to hover around her, shroud-like, beckoning with icy fingers while her kitchen dissolved into a bitter, white perdition.

  Suddenly a piercing scream split the silence. Betty watched with growing horror as the shadows closed in. First the dead girls, then her husband and finally the cougar, lean and fierce and hungry.

  Grand Marsais 9 News

  “Holly has been battering Grand Marsais and the surrounding area since one o’clock this afternoon, and she shows no signs of stopping.”

  As he faced the cameras, Stanley’s stomach rolled. He’d thought the hot dogs would settle it down after all those doughnuts, but they had only made his indigestion worse. If this kept up, he was going to embarrass himself on the air.

  He hastened through the weather report, pointing out that the blizzard was stalled over Grand Marsais and would last through the night.

  “She should show signs of weakening by midnight, and by early morning she is poised to move out, gather force and turn her deadly eye on Cedar Rapids, Iowa.” He moved his pointer across the map and finished his spiel just in time to be off-camera when he burped.

  Jean had been after him to see the doctor. Maybe she was right.

  She hadn’t called in the last two hours, and that was a relief. Maybe she was finally over worrying about her parents missing Christmas in Minnesota. Maybe she’d taken a nice long bath and was settled into her easy chair with a good book. Jean loved reading.

  He was about to call and check on her when his cell phone rang. It was his wife.

  “Jean? Are you okay?”

  “I am not!”

  “What’s wrong, hon? Two hours ago you said the backup generator’s working and everything was fine.”

  “It is NOT fine, Stanley. I’m having a baby.”

  “I know. And it’s wonderful. Just think, in two weeks we’ll be parents.”

  He put as much enthusiasm in his voice as he could muster, but he didn’t know if it was enough to fool Jean. The pregnancy was unplanned, and he hadn’t been too thrilled when she’d first announced it. It was only in the last few weeks that he’d begun to see himself as having any potential at all for fatherhood.

  “The baby is coming now!”

  “What? That’s not possible.”

  “Tell it to the baby.” Jean let out a wail that raised the hair on his head.

  “What was that?”

  “A contraction.”

  The baby couldn’t possibly come while he was stuck at the TV station in the middle of a blizzard. He tried to remember everything he’d read about babies and giving birth in the last two months, but he was drawing a great big blank.

  “What’s the name of that thing that happens when you’re not really in labor but you think you are? Something that starts with a B.”

  “Braxton Hicks contractions, Stanley.” His wife was speaking through gritted teeth. Not a good sign.

  “Yeah. That’s it. It’s bound to be Braxton Hicks. Just lie down and relax, Jean. That’s what the book says.”

  “You think so?” It was impossible to miss her full-out sarcasm.

  “Yeah, yeah. It’ll be all right now. Anyhow, even if it is real labor, that goes on for hours, and I’ll be home by morning…Jean, are you crying?... Jean…did you hear me?”

  She’d already hung up.

  Stan stood helpless and shook his fist at the storm battering the TV station.

  Chapter Twenty

  9:30 p.m.

  Joe shifted in his sleep, restless, not unusual for him since 9-11.

  He hadn’t wanted to take the first sleep shift, but Maggie insisted. She’d grabbed a catnap in the car, she argued. If he didn’t get some rest, he’d be of no use to her when the storm lifted and she could take Jefferson out again.

  Maggie leaned against her backpack and watched her husband toss in the small confines of the tent. Was he having nightmares about the exploding towers again? Was he dreaming about Kate, lost in the snowstorm? Was he thinking about their babies, lost because of Maggie’s stubbornness?

  Usually she let him shift away, always moving toward isolation on the other side of the bed. This time, she reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. He stopped tossing a moment, and then as naturally as he had in the early days of their marriage, he shifted toward his wife, moving close enough so that his head rested in her lap.

  “There now,” she whispered. She stared at her husband, the way his hair turned golden under the glow from the Candoil lamp, the way it still fell across his forehead, as thick as it had always been.

  He was a handsome man, always had been and probably always would be. Joe had the kind of face that aged well. When he was eighty, he would look fifty.

  Would she? Would they still be together at eighty?

  Suddenly she was crying, from sorrow, from fear, but also from a deep well of regret. How many times through the years had she longed to tell Joe what losing the babies did to her? How many times had she wanted to make her burden of guilt lighter by sharing it with him, explaining how she couldn’t ignore a child the age of Kate lost in the wilderness, how she’d taken every precaution, how she’d never believed that a woman as physically fit as she wouldn’t be able to breeze through a search and rescue with her babies still snug in her womb?

  Maggie glanced from Joe to Jefferson. Her dog was sleeping peacefully, occasionally moving his front legs as he dreamed.

  He was the most beautiful of her SAR dogs, the most intelligent. And yet each one had performed perfectly in the field, never missing a scent clue, never leaving the lost unfound.

  She wished she had explained to Joe how she’d been certain that the hard work of rescue would fall on Kelly’s shoulders. She wished she could go back to that hospital bed and tell Joe how sorry she was that the babies were gone. She wished she could tell him it was all her fault.

  She should have been more watchful. She should never have tried to climb a path that was too steep and too narrow, a path riddled with loose stones that would catapult her over the edge and into the ravine.

  When this is over, she’d said to him earlier this evening. They would talk about everything after the storm was gone, after they’d found Kate.

  I’ll be here, he’d said. Only three words, but Maggie wove them into a silver chain of hope and hung them over her heart.

  Joe might shy away from controversy and go out of his way to avoid a conversation that could turn confrontational, but he never lied. Not to her and not to Kate.

  It was that simple. That miraculous.

  She ran her hand softly through his hair. “Whe
n this is over, Joe, I’m holding you to that promise.”

  Jefferson made a muffled mock-bark in his sleep, and Joe shifted so that his right arm wrapped around Maggie.

  Could they make their marriage work again? After all these years? It wouldn’t be easy, and it would require change. On both their parts.

  While Maggie’s personal storm raged, the blizzard-force winds outside snapped the tops off entire stands of trees and wreaked havoc on the loose snow that had been piling up on the ridge behind the abandoned trading post. Working under cover of dark, Holly readied her assault with the carelessness of Nature turning deadly.

  “Please,” Maggie whispered, unaware. “Please.”

  It was both plea and prayer--for Joe, for Kate, for herself, and most of all for the brave SAR dog who was key to finding their missing daughter.

  The loose snow picked up speed as it roared down the bluff. Jefferson was the first to hear. When he sat up and barked, Maggie went instantly alert.

  “Oh, no!” She shook her husband. “Joe! Avalanche!”

  It slammed into the back of the trading post with a force that shot the back door open and sent snow roaring into the storage room.

  Joe grabbed Maggie’s hand and pulled her from the tent with Jefferson following.

  As they raced toward the front, he yelled, “Did you hear it, Mags?”

  She instantly knew everything his question entailed. A slab avalanche, the most deadly of them all, announced itself with a thunderous whumping sound that was unmistakable.

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Positive!”

  They were almost at the front door when the roof groaned. It started collapsing at the back, and Maggie watched in horror as it folded inward.

  Please God, she prayed. Let me be right.

  With a sluff avalanche, loose snow piling down from the bluff might bury part of the general store.

  If Maggie was wrong, if she had failed to hear the warning sound and this was a slab avalanche, they would be buried alive before they could get out of its path.

  * * *

  9:30 p.m.

  Jonathan woke with a start. He was furious to discover he’d fallen asleep and his fire was almost out.

  He raced onto the back porch and grabbed more wood, then stoked the fire till it was roaring hot. The glow lit the front room and made a bright path into the hallway.

  What was Kate doing? Had she sneaked past him while he dozed? Had she found herself some other hidey hole where she could fight him off?

  He stalked back into the hallway and climbed onto the table. The effort cost him, and he groaned with pain. His leg was worse and his head felt as if it had been run over by a Mack truck instead of an attic trunk.

  “Kate, I’m coming for you!”

  “Come ahead, sucker. See what you get.”

  Her reply enraged him. Why was she sounding so alert and feisty when he could barely move?

  “If you’d get smart, you could be down here cuddled up with me by the fire instead of freezing your pretty buns off in that cold attic.”

  “Dream on, monster.”

  “This is your last chance, Kate.”

  “Yours, too, Dumbo.”

  “You’ll be sorry.”

  “Take your best shot and we’ll see who’s sorry.”

  Jonathan adjusted his make-shift helmet. Just let her shove a spindly chair at his head. He was ready for her. Matter of fact, he was more than ready. When he got into the attic, he’d have her stripped naked and on her back before she could say pretty please. When he was finished with her, she’d be begging him to take her off to a cabin in the woods. She’d be pleading with him to let her be his wife and skin his rabbits and fry his fish and have his babies.

  But he was going to play it smart this time.

  He got very still and quiet so she’d wonder what he was up to. He waited until he could almost hear how her heart beat faster, how fear crept in and she went all girly and uncertain.

  Finally he blew out a breath and made one clean leap toward the opening in the attic. His hands connected solidly. No way could a trunk knock him down now. His arm muscles strained as he hefted himself upward.

  He could see her now, silhouetted by the glow filtering into the hall from the fire. She was standing there waiting for him. He could already taste her skin.

  Even in the faint light she was beautiful. More beautiful than he remembered.

  She moved toward him, and he smiled. She was as good as his now.

  Chase over. Game finished.

  Her pale hair swayed as she leaned down. Her light blue eyes glowed as she reached out to give him a hand.

  She was sexy. So sexy.

  And she wanted him. Jonathan Westberg. King of the cabin.

  Suddenly she moved and pain shot through his right hand. His blood spurted upward. Too surprised to even scream, he glanced down at his hand. A screwdriver went all the way through his palm and into the wood below.

  “What did you do?” he screamed. She’d nailed him to the attic floor.

  “That was for Jennifer.”

  She came at him again, right arm extended. Suddenly his eyes caught fire and his whole face burned.

  “That was for Linda.”

  He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see. He hung there, a speared marlin, helpless.

  He knew that smell. She’d used wasp and hornet spray on him. He was going to die from the poison. He was going to be blinded for life. His skin was going to peel off and he was going to be scarred beyond recognition.

  Screeching with rage, he tore the screwdriver out of his hand and toppled from the attic. His back hit the table with a loud crack then he bounced and landed on the floor.

  He lay there stunned, his breath coming in gasps. He didn’t know what part of his body hurt the most. It took him a full five minutes just to recover his breath. Another five for him to determine that his leg wasn’t broken and he could still use the fingers on his wounded hand.

  “You’re going to pay for this, Kate.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “I’m coming up to there to get you and you’ll find out what fear really is.”

  “Haven’t you had enough, Dumbo?”

  “I’m just getting warmed up. You haven’t seen anything yet.”

  “Neither have you.”

  He hobbled toward the kitchen and her taunting voice followed him.

  “Where are you going, coward?”

  Just wait till he was done with her. Long before she took her last breath, she’d think she had died and gone to Hell.

  He stumbled in the direction of the kitchen. He could see nothing but shapes, and he was losing blood. It spurted from the wound, rolled down his fingers, dripped onto the floor.

  Suddenly the doorframe rose up to meet him. He slammed into it so hard he saw stars.

  Kate would pay for that.

  He corrected his path and held his good hand in front of him, trying to feel his way. At last, the kitchen. He felt the smooth surface of the stainless steel refrigerator.

  He groped his way across to the sink on the opposite wall and turned on the faucets. Nothing came out. Not a drop of water.

  Howling with rage, he felt along the top of the cabinet for the tea towels he’d flung about earlier.

  There. Something soft.

  He wrapped a dish towel around his right hand to stop the bleeding then scrambled around for another to scrub at his face.

  Water. He had to have water.

  He burst through the kitchen door onto the porch. Where he’d jerked off the shutter earlier, snow had blown through the screen and formed a deep pile. He threw himself down, face first, howling at the cool relief. He licked at the snow, wallowed his face in it, exulted in it.

  Who did Kate think he was? A wimp? Somebody she could stop with insect spray?

  If he didn’t hurt all over, he’d laugh. Had he cracked a rib on the last fall? Every breath he took was painful.r />
  He was going to get her. And he had to do it before the storm ended and that insane Carter woman hunted him down. He’d seen documentaries on how those stupid SAR teams worked. She would send that dog ahead, and he’d be the first one to find Jonathan.

  He had a plan for that, too. He’d put an arrow right through the beast’s heart. Let that stupid Carter woman see how she liked that.

  He lay there plotting until his nose got so cold he could barely feel it. When he rose from his freezing facial, he felt reborn, capable of anything. Especially taking down a girl who had just played her last card.

  He had a killing plan. And this time, it was foolproof.

  .

  Chapter Twenty-One

  10:00 p.m.

  The roof of the trading post was collapsing from the back, the weight of the avalanche too much for the old timbers to bear. The rumble and roar of falling timbers and shingles, crushed shelves and splintered walls, magnified inside the building.

  Joe stood at the front door clutching his wife. Jefferson stood beside her, fully alert. What was he hearing that they didn’t?

  Outside, the blizzard still lashed the wilderness with such fury it was impossible to see your hand in front of your face. If Joe ushered his family into a blizzard whiteout, it was likely that none of them would survive. But if he kept standing at the door, it was equally likely they’d all be buried under snow.

  Had Maggie been right about what she heard? That it was not the deadly slab avalanche? She was smart, capable. But she was also exhausted and worried.

  The rumble came closer, bringing down the store foot by foot. Still, the avalanche had not yet reached the front room.

  Keep going or stay? He couldn’t wait much longer to make a decision.

  Don’t let it be the wrong one. Please, God, not this time.

  “Joe.” Maggie tugged his sleeve. “Jefferson has relaxed.”

  He glanced at the retriever, barely visible now in the faint glow of the Candoil lamp coming from their tent. Maggie’s elegant SAR dog was leaning into her legs, licking her hand.