[Canadian West 05] - Beyond the Gathering Storm

by Janette Oke

  “Usually. Yeah. But I don’t know in this soup. Be a miracle if anything shows up. I’ll roll down the window and stick my head out. See if I can catch any glimpses of the ditch. Watch for anything that might give us a landmark.”

  Laray leaned out as far as he could.

  The heavy swish of the wiper laboring against the snow along with the howling wind through Laray’s open window limited their conversation.

  “You sure we shouldn’t be walking?” Laray asked after a while. “I can’t see a thing out here.”

  “Snowshoes. Wish I had my snowshoes.”

  “Snowshoes wouldn’t show you the way.”

  Henry clamped his jaw tight and fought the car against the wind.

  “Hey—slow down,” called Laray. “I think this might be our corner.”

  Henry wondered how they could possibly go any slower.

  “It is. Yeah—I see the corner post. You’ve got to make a turn to your left. Easy. Easy. Not quite yet. Now. Turn it easy. A little more. I think we made it.”

  Laray ducked back in. “That’s the first hurdle,” he said, sounding excited. “Now if we can just follow this road.”

  They crawled along, mile after mile. The storm did not slacken, and the snow on the road increased. Henry felt the car slipping sideways and fought for control. Ahead loomed the worst part of the road, and they were already fighting just to stay on it.

  “Laray,” Henry said. “You ever done any praying?”

  “Not since I was a kid. I let my mother do the praying for me, sir.”

  “I think it might be wise for us both to do some now,” he said, not just in idle jest.

  They found themselves in the ditch. “Oh-oh. I think we’ve done it,” called Laray. “We’re awfully close to some fence posts here.” He climbed out and put his shoulder to the back of the car as Henry fought to get the car back up on the road. They both breathed a sigh of relief when the wheels were able to respond.

  “You see anything you recognize?” Henry asked as Laray climbed back inside.

  “I hardly know what to look for. You lose all sense of distance in this white whirl,” he answered, shaking the snow out of his face. “Would it be any faster if I ran along in front?”

  “Appreciate your offer, but let’s just hang on for as long as we can. That wind would be pretty hard to buck, and I wouldn’t want to take a chance on losing sight of you.”

  “Don’t want to drop over that edge,” he warned.

  “Are we getting close?”

  “I’ve lost all track,” he said, swearing softly. “Sorry, boss, about the language, but I’ve no idea where we are.”

  By some miracle the car clung to the road as they struggled onward against the storm. More than once Henry breathed an earnest prayer. They would be of no help to the accident victims if they ended up in one themselves. He was glad for a praying mother and father. And Laray had said that he let his mother do the praying. Perhaps they were surrounded by even more prayers than he knew.

  Laray hoisted himself up to lean out the window again. “Whoa,” he said, letting the breath out in a gasp. “We just passed over that drop-off. We missed the edge by about a foot.”

  Henry felt the tension in his chest. So close. Yet still going.

  “We shouldn’t have much further to go now. Not if it’s by the Double Bar.”

  Through the storm a dark shape suddenly loomed before them. Henry hit the brakes and skidded sideways. He was sure they were going to hit whatever it was, but the car jerked to a stop just short of the shape that showed through the whiteness. Soon other shadows began to move around them. People running, waving arms, and all trying to talk at once.

  Henry reached down to turn off the ignition. Already Laray was sprinting from the car.

  Henry zeroed in on the man closest to him and called out above the howling wind, “Take us to the site. What’s the situation?”

  “This way,” the fellow called back. “Over here.”

  Two trucks had collided in the storm. One had been sent reeling into the ditch and landed on its side. The other, though upright, was the most damaged. Henry winced. Certainly there were injuries. How would they ever get them to a hospital?

  “How many people?” he asked as he closely followed the man who led the way.

  “Three. A couple of young cowboys from the truck in the ditch and a farmer in the other.” Henry was glad no women or children were involved.

  “Anyone badly hurt?”

  “Could have been worse. One guy has some pretty bad head cuts. He’s up walking around. Couldn’t keep him down. I think the farmer has a broken leg. We laid him in the back of that truck and pulled a tarp over him. Got ’em both over there. The other fella—I don’t know. He keeps saying his head hurts. That’s all I can get from him. My son here and me heard this crash all the way to the barn where we were tending stock. Came on down to check it out.”

  “You the one who phoned for help?”

  “No, I sent my boy. Over to the neighbors. We don’t have a phone.”

  They had reached the truck where the man was lying under the tarp. Henry heard him groan before they even reached him. Laray was already studying the one with the cuts.

  Henry did a cursory examination of the leg. It was broken all right. The man would need to be moved—soon—or he’d be freezing as well. Henry turned to the farmer who’d given what help he could. “You say you live close?”

  “Right over there.” He pointed with his beard.

  “Can we get them over to your house?”

  “You’re welcome to do that. The boy and I couldn’t handle all three alone, and we didn’t dare leave them.”

  “You don’t happen to have a sled?”

  “Kids have a small one.”

  “Can you send the boy for it, please?”

  All the time they were talking Henry was checking the man with the head pain. He removed his gloves and let his fingers slide over the skull and neck. Dare they move him? Yet they had no choice. If left where he was, he would soon freeze to death.

  He spoke to both men now. “Just hang on. We’re going to get you out of here. Get you in where it’s warm.” He took off his heavy jacket and wrapped it around the man’s, upper body. The wind bit and tore at his shirt. Even heavy underwear could not hold the cold at bay.

  Laray was at his elbow. “Don’t think the guy’s cuts are serious. Don’t seem to be too deep. He’s bled a lot, but head cuts always do. At least he can still walk. He should be thankful for that.”

  “So should we,” said Henry, his voice low. “We’ve got to somehow get these two over to that farmhouse on a kid’s sled.”

  They managed it. It wasn’t easy, but they did it. One at a time through the storm. The boy, who turned out to be a strapping young lad whom Henry had seen in town on a few occasions, did the pulling. Henry walked beside the most seriously injured man, trying to ease the bumps and the jolts as best he could. Laray stayed with the other fellow until the sled returned. They would all be glad to get in out of the wind.

  The house was small, but the woman who met them at the door quickly put everything she had at their disposal. Henry noticed that she was very relieved to have her husband and son safely back inside. From somewhere in a back room a baby cried. He heard another young voice trying to comfort the infant.

  They brought every lamp in the house to shine on the accident victims. Even so, Henry could not determine the seriousness of the head injury. He dared not give the man anything for pain. The woman worked with cold compresses on his forehead, hoping to somehow ease the throbbing.

  They knew one another by name. Henry was sure that at least helped ease some of the trauma for the man. However, it also made the farm family more concerned.

  “We’ve gotta get us over to that phone and let their folks know they’re here,” said the farmer.

  “I’m not sure anyone should be going back out in that storm,” cautioned Henry. The woman looked at her husband, eyes pl
eading with him to heed the warning.

  “I’ll ride ol’ Barney. He’s got a nose like a bloodhound.”

  “If you are intent upon going, could you call the office and let my man know we made it?” Henry requested. “And take your rifle just in case you need to signal for help.” The words were more to reassure the woman than to help the farmer.

  Ol’ Barney must have done his job, for before they had even gotten everyone settled as comfortably as possible, the man was back.

  “Got aholt of yer ma, Davey,” he said. “She was mighty glad to hear you’re all safe.”

  “Thanks,” mumbled the young man with the broken leg. He was still damp with sweat in spite of his chill. Henry had needed to straighten the leg and bind it as best he could. Now the woman was busy spooning warm soup into the lanky lad.

  It was the other man who most concerned Henry. He needed a doctor, but to try to get to one in the storm would be foolhardy. Henry prayed the storm would blow itself out before it was too late. He accepted a cup of the hot coffee the oldest girl was passing around to the huddled group and lowered himself to the floor, his back up against the wall. He looked across the room at Laray. The young fellow was going to make a great Mountie. He had handled himself well under pressure. Henry was proud to have him as a member of his detachment.

  No one in the house that night got much sleep. The woman did go to bed, but Henry was sure with all the extra people and commotion in her kitchen she couldn’t have rested well. She had shared some of the blankets from her bed with her unexpected guests. Even through the walls of the little farm home, the coldness of the wind could be felt.

  Henry took it upon himself to keep the fires going. He hoped there was plenty of wood stacked up outside. If the storm continued much longer ...

  He must have dozed off, and he awoke with a start. He quickly rose to check on the three accident victims. The man with the cuts appeared to be sleeping without too much trouble, but the other two seemed restless.

  To Henry’s great relief, the sun’s rays woke him the next morning. Snow still whirled about in the gusts of wind, but the storm itself had subsided. Now they had to get the injured to the hospital. It might take a long time with the roads being drifted over. They would likely have to shovel their way along.

  He hoped everyone would be able to stand the trip.

  The farmer and his son went with them, shovels in hand, to dig out the police vehicle. With four of them, it didn’t take too long to clear a path. But the motor that had sat out in the storm refused to start.

  “I’ve got a good team and a sleigh,” offered their host.

  Henry nodded. It would be slow—far too slow. But at least it might get them to where they could find other help.

  The man harnessed the team while Henry prepared the injured for travel. They would be taking two to the hospital. The man with the cuts insisted he would heal up on his own. Henry did not argue for long. The fellow looked much better after the blood was washed from his face.

  Laray forked hay onto the sleigh to make a bed of sorts. They covered the men with borrowed blankets and spread more hay over the top. If at all possible, they hoped to keep the motionless limbs free of frostbite.

  They had been on the road for less than an hour when they met a truck. Henry flagged the driver down and explained their situation. He offered to transport the men to the town hospital. The men, hay, and blankets were transferred to the truck bed. The farmer returned on home with his team, carrying words of deep gratitude to his family.

  They had to shovel their way through drifts a good many times, and Henry was more than glad to see the buildings of the town appear on the horizon. It was an enormous relief to turn the injured over to the doctor’s care. They had done what they could. Henry prayed silently that it might be enough.

  CHAPTER Fourteen

  “I hear you’re going to give us a real Christmas,” Mr. Kingsley remarked as Christine laid a sheaf of papers on his desk.

  She nodded, smiling.

  “I can’t tell you how excited Boyd is about it.”

  I wish my mother was, thought Christine with a little inward pang. Elizabeth had been quiet on the phone when Christine had discussed her plan. The girl knew her mother was keenly disappointed that she wouldn’t be with her own family, especially when Henry wouldn’t be there either....

  “So what do you need?” Mr. Kingsley’s question intruded on her thoughts.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I assume real Christmases cost money. How much do you need?”

  “Oh no,” Christine hurried to explain. “It’s not about money.” Then she quickly realized that, yes, it was—in a way. She flushed slightly. “Well ... you’re right ... of course. There will be some things—”

  “Like?”

  “Well ... a tree. We need a tree. Our family always just trekked out and cut one. I’ve no idea what you do here in the city.”

  “Don’t think the neighbor will take too kindly to us cutting down one of his,” joked the big man. “What else?”

  “Well ... decorations. We always made our own, but I have seen some lovely ones in the stores.”

  “And...?”

  Christine felt her cheeks flaming. It was sounding like she really wouldn’t be doing the boss and his son a favor by imposing her idea of Christmas on them.

  “Look—we don’t need to do this if ...”

  “No, no.” With a wave of his hand he motioned her to continue. “Boyd is excited about it. He doesn’t even remember a Christmas. I never bothered with one—except the gift thing. I always gave him a gift.” He looked at her expectantly.

  “Well, there’s the meal ... but I’ll—”

  “No, you won’t. I happen to know what you earn. You can’t afford to go buying turkey and trimmings. Tell you what. You make out a list, and I’ll take you shopping. How’s that?”

  Christine smiled.

  “We’ll get the doodads for that tree at the same time. How’s Saturday afternoon?”

  “Saturday is fine. Just fine.”

  “Good. I’ll pick you up—no, you catch the streetcar. I’ll meet you at the Hudson’s Bay Company store. Two o’clock. Agreed?”

  “Fine.”

  “I’ll see you at two. At the west entrance.”

  Christine nodded.

  Mr. Kingsley was more than generous. He purchased so many fancy decorations for the tree that Christine wondered if they could find one with enough branches to hold them all. All the while he kept making remarks like, “I think Boyd would like that,” or “Boyd’s favorite color,” or “Do you think Boyd would think this pretty?” Christine got over her nervousness and threw herself into the shopping, adding garlands and wreaths to the fast-growing stack. After all, it was not for her—it was for Boyd. Mr. Kingsley was used to spending money to keep his boy happy.

  At the grocer’s, Christine’s list was soon completed, and more items kept appearing on the counter. “Wouldn’t this taste good with turkey?” Mr. Kingsley would ask and stack something else on the pile. We’ll never get all this home on the streetcar, Christine cautioned silently, but when it came time to settle the bill, the man simply said, “Deliver it to this address,” and they left the store.

  Christine debated whether to have everything done to greet Boyd when he arrived or to wait and let him get in on the fun of decorating. She decided to wait. She was sure he’d love to be involved. She carefully stacked all the bags and boxes of ornaments and longingly eyed the large tree that Mr. Kingsley had brought in. It would be hard to wait. But then—it was hard to wait for Boyd to arrive home anyway.

  He arrived late Thursday night. Christine did not see him until after work on Friday. He’d slept all day, he admitted with a chuckle. He was absolutely tired out.

  “When are you moving over?” he soon asked.

  “Moving over? What do you mean?”

  “Well—you can’t do everything from here.”

  Christine had not even t
hought of changing her residence. “Oh, I’m sure I can. All I need to do is decorate and cook.”

  “That doesn’t sound like a real Christmas,” he grouched. “A cook coming in for a couple of hours.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you’d see it that way.”

  He was going to sulk again.

  “I thought we were going to be ... like family.”

  She took his hand. “We will. I’ll spend most of Christmas Day with you. I won’t only be cooking.”

  He still didn’t cheer up. Christine had learned that it was no use trying to talk him out of one of his moods. “Look,” she finally said, “you likely need some more sleep. We have all Christmas vacation to catch up. And we have that tree to decorate tomorrow.”

  He shrugged.

  “I’ll see you then. It’ll be fun.” She stood on tiptoe and placed a kiss on his cheek.

  And by the next morning, all was sunshine and warmth again. They did have fun. Boyd, going from serious and artsy to playful and ridiculous, hung decorations all over the front hall and living room. “We need more for the dining room,” he exclaimed. “The store’s still open. Let’s run uptown and get some.”

  Christine laughed. “We nearly bought out the store on our first trip.”

  But they went for more. Christine had to admit that the house did look wonderful. Boyd had rearranged a few pieces he had hung to get a laugh and now put them in more appropriate places. Christine was pleasantly surprised to learn that he had an artistic bent. Their tree looked glorious, to Christine’s thinking, because of Boyd. He tucked this in here, adjusted that ornament there, and put ribbons and streamers in all the right places.

  “You’re good at this,” Christine complimented.

  “Had you any doubt, madame?” was his response as he cocked his head to one side and swept out an arm.

  From his favorite chair by the crackling fire, Mr. Kingsley chuckled between sips of the hot cocoa Christine had prepared. They had spent Sunday afternoon and evening together, and she knew Boyd’s father was more than pleased to have his son home.