Whiteout

by Vicki Delany

  “Don’t be silly,” Pam replied. “We’re almost at the car. You’ll be warm as soon as we get there. Where’s your scarf, anyway? You have that really fabulous red scarf. I’ve always liked it. Did you loose it?”

  The car was parked almost squarely in the middle of the lane. With the piles of drifting snow Brad couldn’t tell where the road ended and the ditch began. He was too afraid of getting stuck to park the car properly. Anyone else out tonight would simply have go around.

  They waited for Brad to unlock the doors. “I left it at Joanna’s house,” Tiffany said. “But I’ve been so mad at her that I don’t want to go back and get it.”

  Pam nodded. “She’s a strange one. No one likes her much, she’s so stuck up.”

  “My mom says she’s a real rich bitch.” The girl with the shaved head and the tattoo spoke up. “Thinks she’s too high and mighty to mix with people from Hope River. Nancy Miller from the store told my mom that she’s here to write a book, that she’s some famous novelist.” The girl snorted. “I don’t think so.”

  “She’s all right,” Tiffany said, blowing into her mittens again. “She wants to be left alone, that’s all. And she never told Nancy Miller she was writing a book. Nancy made all that up.”

  Brad stood by the open car door, and whistled. “Are we going to go or are you chicks going to stand there clucking like a pack of hens all night? Get in the car. Linda, Pam, let’s go.”

  “Why don’t we go and get your scarf? Joanna’s place isn’t far,” someone said.

  Tiffany wrenched the back door open and climbed in. The others quickly followed suit. It was too cold to stand around arguing.

  Several false starts had the engine grinding while the wheels spun wildly through the fluffy snow, but eventually they found a patch of packed snow to grip and the old car lurched on its way.

  Brad slowed down at the curve before Joanna’s house. The outline of her cabin was visible through the bare trees. Only the light over the front porch was on.

  “Stop,” Linda shrieked. “We can just run in and get the scarf.”

  Tiffany was developing a strong dislike for this Linda. Why couldn’t she mind her own business? “There’s no one home. The lights are all out and there isn’t a car in the driveway.”

  “Can we just get going?” Pam groaned. “The bar’s gonna be full by the time we get there.”

  Eyes sparking, Linda ignored them both. “You’re right, there is no one home. So let’s go and get the scarf, eh?”

  Brad jerked the car to a stop and shut off the engine. “If it will shut you up. Let’s go.”

  The other two boys needed no encouragement.

  “I’m in.”

  “Sure, let’s do it.”

  Before Tiffany knew what was happening, all the car doors were flying open and everyone else was standing outside in the snow. “She’s not home. I don’t need the stupid scarf anyway. This is dumb, let’s go.” She gestured wildly for Pam to get back into the car.

  “Maybe she’s at home but at the back where we can’t see the light. Maybe her car is broken and in the shop for a couple of days,” Linda said. “I think we should go and knock on the front door anyway. Come on Tiffany, we’ll get your scarf back.”

  The five teenagers set off toward Joanna’s dark cabin. Tiffany sighed and followed slowly. It would be great to have that scarf back. It was a really warm one, one of the few nice things she owned, and it looked fabulous, too.

  Brad was first to reach the cabin. The others crowded in behind him as he marched up the front steps and loudly banged on the door with his fist. There was no answer so he knocked again.

  Tiffany stood alone at the bottom of the steps. “No one home, let’s go guys.”

  The others ignored her. Brad continued hammering on the door. Squirrels and mice and chipmunks that had taken up residence under the porch stirred restlessly. They were not used to being disturbed in the night and were unsure of what to do. Remain in the safe, familiar darkness of their homes hoping that the fuss up above would not descend any further, or venture out into the cold open spaces? They burrowed deeper into their dens and hoped the noise would soon stop.

  “Well, we have to get Tiffany’s scarf,” one of the boys announced to the group. “If the big city bitch isn’t home to give it to us, I guess we’ll just go on in. The scarf belongs to Tiffany, after all.”

  The others nodded in agreement. Tiffany launched herself up the steps. She had forgotten to be cold. “She’s not home and I don’t want the damn scarf so let’s go.”

  Brad smiled at her. “But Tiff, we want to get your scarf for you.”

  “Yeah,” Linda said, overflowing with sweetness and light. “You need the scarf, honey bunch.”

  “If we wait any longer there’ll be a line up to get in to the bar. We might get asked for ID. So maybe we won’t get in at all. Let’s go, eh?” Tiffany knew that argument should convince them.

  Pam and one of the boys pushed past the others and started back down the steps. But Brad and Linda stood their ground. “We’ll get your scarf, Tiff,” Brad said. “Won’t be a minute.” The other kids were looking uncertain.

  “I’ll come back tomorrow, when she’s home. No problem. Let’s go. Please?”

  “Maybe we can have a little look around while we’re here,” Linda smirked. “She’s probably been using Tiffany’s scarf. That means that she owes interest or something to Tiff. Right?”

  “Right.” Brad leapt down the stairs, but instead of walking across the yard and up the hill to the road, he paced up and down in front of the porch, scooping the snow aside with his boots.

  The little animals scattered about in terror and confusion. One mouse, braver than the rest, made a run for it and reached the safety of the forest undergrowth in record time. Attracted by the sound of people, the old owl swooped soundlessly out of the night sky and came to rest on her favorite branch overlooking the front yard. She caught sight of the mouse’s tail as it scurried into the safety of the undergrowth. Too late. The owl settled down to watch in silence.

  Brad was turning the corner of the cabin when his foot came into contact with something hard and unyielding beneath the snow. He brushed the loose snow aside and picked up a heavy rock.

  “Yessss.” Linda jumped up and down, yipping with excitement.

  “Christ, Brad,” Tiffany hissed. Now she was scared. “Put that thing down.” She lunged toward him to grab the rock. He danced easily out of her way, and tossed the rock back and forth from one hand to another.

  “Pass, pass,” Linda shouted in glee and raised her hands. Brad tossed the rock and she caught it easily in her gloved hands. Tiffany ran back to the stairs, but Linda threw the stone over her head.

  “Touchdown,” Brad yelled, making the catch. Once again he scooted out of Tiffany’s reach.

  Pam and the other two boys edged backward toward the road. Linda and Brad were tossing the rock back and forth while Tiffany ran between them begging them to give it to her. The squirrels and chipmunks cowered in terror under the porch. Too late to make a run for it now. The old owl snorted in disgust, humans made so much noise. They always ruined the hunting.

  Tiffany was on the edge of tears. “For Christ’s sake, Brad, put down that damned thing. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

  This time, instead of tossing the rock to the waiting Linda, Brad pulled back his arm and aimed straight at the large front window.

  The glass shattered with an explosion that Tiffany was sure had to be heard in North Ridge and a spray of fine shards burst into the cabin. Pieces of broken glass littered the snow-covered porch, the reflection of the overhead light causing each sliver to sparkle and glitter like a diamond resting in a soft bed of cotton wool. “Way cool,” Linda sighed.

  Pam and the other two boys turned on their heels and ran up the hill as fast as they could. One of the boys slipped on a patch of ice and fell heavily into the snow. The others ignored him in their haste to get away. He stumbled to his feet and
scrambled after them.

  Brad whooped with delight and rushed up the steps. He wiped jagged glass out of the window frame with his coat sleeve and created enough of an open space that he could barely fit through. Gingerly he climbed over the windowsill and stepped into the cabin. “I’ll get your scarf now, Tiffany.”

  Linda giggled and followed him. From outside, Tiffany could hear the sound of broken glass crunching under their boots. Frightened, she peered in after them. This was so out of hand. Brad had draped the red scarf around his neck and was sorting through Joanna’s collection of CDs. Linda was out of sight, but Tiffany could hear her opening the fridge and rummaging through the cupboards.

  “Hey, guys, look what I got here.” She came out of the kitchen cradling several bottles of wine in her arms like a particularly delicate baby. “Party tonight. Oh, boy.”

  “No,” Tiffany shouted through the broken window. “You’ve got my scarf now, let’s get the hell out of here.”

  “Lousy collection of CDs,” Brad announced. “Not one worth borrowing.” With a disgusted sweep of his arm he swiped the CDs off the table and onto the floor, then he moved over to Joanna’s desk.

  “No,” Tiffany screamed, as Brad grabbed the monitor. “No more.” Linda had deposited her cache of bottles on the couch and was heading off down the hall in search of jewelry. She stopped and stared at Tiffany in surprise. “Come on, Tiff. What’s the matter with you? I thought you hated the old broad. Come on in and pick up some stuff. I bet the rich bitch has some things worth taking.”

  “No,” Tiffany screamed again. That computer meant everything to Joanna, it was her livelihood. “Put that thing down Brad. Right now, I mean it. You said it yourself: the cops are in the woods at night ever since Luke’s murder. I bet that window breaking made a lot of noise. Maybe they’re on the way now.”

  Brad placed the monitor back down on the desk and Tiffany let out a long, slow sigh of relief. “I guess you’re right. Nothing much here worth taking anyway. Don’t know why you think she’s so rich, Linda. No one with money would be living in a shack like this in a town like Hopeless River. I sure wouldn’t. Grab those bottles and let’s split.”

  Linda sighed and looked once more toward the bedroom, but obediently she collected her wine bottles and climbed out the broken window after Brad.

  Tiffany exhaled a huge sigh of relief and followed. Brad unwound the scarf from around his neck and tossed it to Tiffany. “Told you we would get the scarf, Tiffany. Say thank you.”

  “Thank you,” she mumbled, gripping the warm cloth to her chest.

  “Now let’s go and party.” He grabbed one of the bottles out of Linda’s arms and held it high overhead. “No need to drink at that lousy bar tonight.”

  Linda giggled and danced wildly through the snow, little puffs of white clouds rising under her feet.

  Tiffany stared at the ground. “I don’t feel much like a party any more, I want to go home.”

  “Christ, are you a whining bitch or what?” Brad sneered. He threw the bottle back at Linda who had already started up the hill. It fell unnoticed, and soundlessly rolled into a snowdrift under the porch. “I got your scarf for you, didn’t I? You don’t sound very grateful.” He grabbed her by the arm. “Now let’s get the car and party. You can show me how grateful you are.”

  Over the boy’s shoulder, against the black darkness of the trees, Tiffany could see an even blacker shape slowly take form and shimmer with all the fragile grace of a ballerina in the light wind. As she watched, it drifted deeper into the woods, blown by the cold winter air. Then it reversed direction and came back toward them. Brad turned to see what Tiffany was looking at; he could see nothing but the blackness of the winter forest that stood in sharp contrast to the undisturbed snow below. He tugged on Tiffany’s arm. “Did you hear me? I said, let’s go. The others are waiting.”

  Tiffany watched as the shadow retreated back into the woods. This time it silently stood its ground. With a cry, she wrenched her arm out of Brad’s grip. “No, I’m going home. Good night.” Without a backward glance she tossed her red scarf around her neck and marched resolutely into the woods. The dark shape melted before her and the trees swallowed them up.

  Brad shrugged. “Suit yourself, stupid bitch!” he shouted after her. He was sorry she was leaving. He rather liked Tiffany, although he couldn’t figure out what her problem was. He had tried to impress her, hadn’t he? He followed his friends back up the hill to the car.

  Chapter 25

  Joanna pulled her car into the driveway and blew out a sigh of relief. Even though she would have to shovel one more tedious time, it was good to be home. She wrenched her briefcase and overnight bag out of the back seat, threw them over her right shoulder and started down the path to the cabin.

  It was not until she dropped her bags on the front porch with another heavy sigh and put her key into the lock that she noticed the glass crunching underfoot, and then the gaping hole in the front window. With a cry she struggled to turn the key and burst into the cabin. A large section of the front window lay in tiny bits scattered around the living room. She stared in disbelief-surely the wind couldn’t have knocked a hole in the window. There was nothing immediately apparent that might have fallen through it, such as a tree or branch. The daze of incomprehension in her head cleared slowly and then in quick succession she noticed that a rock was sitting in the middle of the rug, that her monitor was lying half-cocked over a pile of books and that large muddy tracks covered the worn floor boards.

  She ran from room to room searching for signs of damage. Nothing else broken, nothing seemed to be missing. Is it possible, she wondered, that a large animal had broken through the window, knocked over the computer, tracked mud all over the carpet and then jumped back out via the route by which it had arrived? That seemed rather unlikely, she thought, rearranging the computer equipment and papers, and sweeping up mud and glass up off the floor.

  Only much later, after the little cabin was neat and tidy and well organized once again, when she reached into the cupboard for a bottle of wine to open while preparing her dinner, did she discover that her entire stash of wine was missing. In disbelief Joanna sat back on her haunches. There were a good number of bottles in here, surely she couldn’t possibly have drunk them all and then forgotten about it? She rooted through cupboards and under the sink, she even opened the back door to make sure she hadn’t inadvertently put full bottles out with the empties into the blue recycling box. Only then was she forced to face reality: she did not misplace the wine and no wild animal tiptoed in to steal it. She picked up the phone and dialed the police. As the distant ringing of the telephone in the little OPP station echoed into her ear, Joanna’s eyes came to rest on the coat hook hanging in pride of place by the door. The abandoned scarf waiting for Tiffany to come and collect it was noticeable by its absence. Slowly, she placed the phone back onto the cradle. Other than the wine, nothing else was missing, nothing but one long, hand-knitted scarf in a particularly striking shade of red. Her heart sunk to the bottom of her stomach. Still, she searched the cabin from top to bottom, all the while knowing her efforts would be futile. At last she admitted it to herself. No one would break into a person’s home and leave an expensive computer, a good CD player, even her parka, untouched but take a couple of bottles of wine and one scarf. No one that is, but the owner of the scarf.

  Now that she knew Tiffany had broken into her cabin, violated her space, destroyed her trust, she should phone the police. It would be so easy. They would doubtless even find the scarf on the girl. She stared at the phone but could not summon the will to make the call. All too well she remembered that teenage defiance, the wall of indifference that covered up the cowering child underneath who was trying so foolishly to stand up to so-called authority. She believed that the night she called the police on Alexis, as necessary as it was, was a turning point in their relationship. Everything was now out in the open and nothing was ever the same between the two of them again. She did not
regret that frantic phone call because Alexis had struck her and she had to know that there were lines over which you did not cross. That there would be consequences. But Tiffany had not committed any act of violence toward her, Joanna. She had come to reclaim her scarf. That she could merely have walked up to the front door and asked for it back, Joanna had no doubt. She did not attempt to excuse the girl’s behavior to herself; the feeling of violation vibrated through her, sharp and strong.

  In all her years of living in the city she had never experienced one act of violence, not one, not one single one. Despite the fears of the women with whom she worked who rushed home after dark to cower in their houses until their husbands came home, Joanna, who did not have a husband, walked boldly and freely about the city streets. She heard many tales of houses and cars broken into, of property stolen and damaged, of burglaries and rapes and murders and she refused to give into the fear. She lived her life freely and moved about as and when she wanted. To do otherwise would be to freeze up and to die.

  Yet it was here, in her tiny cabin in the north woods to which she had escaped in search of peace and of solitude, that her home was violated and her space threatened and her complacency shattered. Her rage was almost physical.

  Joanna threw on her coat and her boots and set off up the road.

  Maude’s smile of greeting faded the instant she saw her friend’s face. “Is something wrong? Come in, please.” The older woman bustled the visitor into the front room. As always her home was immaculate, not a fleck of dusk on the furniture, not an object out of place. A cheerful wood fire burned steadily in the open fireplace. From pride of place in front of the flames, Rocky stretched languidly, opened one lazy eye and twitched the end of his nose to check out their guest. Recognizing Joanna he thumped his tail, grunted softly and rolled over in search of a more comfortable position.