Footprints In the Snow

by Ronald Ady Crouch

  We made our way over the fence and down the hill, meeting our parents on their way up. I wasn’t sure if they were going to be pleased to see us or furious, especially with me as the older son, who should have known better.

  “I think I’m going to be in big trouble,” I said to Jake nervously, more nervous than I felt when I thought I was lost.

  “I’ll stick up for you Shawn, you saved us, it’s my fault, If I hadn’t delayed us at the creek arguing about crossing it, we’d have been home by now. If Dad finds out he’ll kill me.”

  I had no intention of throwing my brother to the wolves. “Well, as Dad would say, I just hope you learned something from your experience. Let’s just leave it at that, okay with you brother?” He squeezed my hand. “Okay then, let’s face the music.”

  “Oh, thank God you’re both safe,” said my mother hugging the pair of us. In the glow of the flashlight, dad looked like the devil, red-faced and angry and terrifying.

  “Well, how far did you go?” he said through clenched teeth.

  “We reached the creek,” I said.

  “But we didn’t cross it, honest,” blurted out Jake a little too quickly.

  “Shawn, probably not. But you Jake, I’m not so sure about that.”

  “I give you my word Dad. We never set foot on it, that’s the truth.” And it was the truth. Luckily I had stopped Jake before his foot landed on it. So I left it at that and dad didn’t ask any more awkward questions.

  “Well, I just hope you two learned something from your experience.” I wish he hadn’t said that, I knew what was coming and I was powerless to stop it. Jake burst out laughing, probably more as a result of a relief of enormous tension. The laughter turned to nervous tears. Mom hugged him close to her. I stood there feeling alone and helpless and sad.

  “Well, I have no idea what that’s about, but anyway, good job son,” dad said, much to my surprise. “You all got home safe, nobody got injured, nobody died, you’re all home safe and sound. That’s a good day in my book.”

  “You were right Mom,” I said. “I put my trust in Pepi, just like you always told me to. He got us home, not me. Without him we’d be lost back there in the woods. I’m sorry, I let you both down.” Dad gave me a hug.

  “One thing I know about you Shawn, and I’m not pleased, you know that. But I do know this, even without Pepi to get you home, you would have taken care of your brother, whatever your own personal sacrifice. That’s a rare and powerful gift.”

  Jake and I sat at the kitchen table looking glum. The atmosphere tense, as our mother placed a hot meal in front of us with a tumbler of fresh water.

  “Well then,” said my dad in his usual manner. “What did you discover on this epic expedition of yours that ought to be national news, if not international for that matter? Who knows, maybe one day it will be. Go on then, let’s hear it.”

  “We reached the creek,” said Jake sheepishly, “but we didn’t cross it like you asked.” Dad bent forward in his chair, his bushy eyebrows furrowed, almost meeting above the bridge of his nose, his dark eyes boring into Jake, who began to squirm on the bench seat. “Mom,” said Jake, desperate to avoid further scrutiny and drawing out the word, Mom, as well as trying his best to avoid dad’s staring eyes, remarked, “The footprints kept on going, they never stopped. Other than the snowman’s footprints, there was no sign of him, not even a dropped golf ball or a carrot nose. Nothing, absolutely nothing. That’s right isn’t it Shawn.” He was no longer squirming in his chair. The attention had been diverted to me, much to my brother’s relief.

  “What I want to know is how Dad did it? I don’t understand how he got up to the snowman without leaving any of his own footprints. The only way I think he could have done it, was to drive his truck way past the creek, knowing we wouldn’t cross. Park his truck, put on a new pair of those wooden snowshoes, and walk backwards all the way to the creek. How you crossed I don’t know, not without breaking the ice and then continued all the way back to where Snawmon was standing. Somehow you demolished and cleared up the mess, then walked back to your truck in the same footprints you’d made getting there.”

  “I know how Dad did it,” said Jake triumphantly. “He couldn’t have walked backwards all that way, he just put those wooden snowshoes on backwards and he walked forwards. On the way back he turned around, this time with the snowshoes facing the right way and walked back to his truck on the other side of the creek following in the same footprints he’d made getting there.”

  “That’s it Jake! Brilliant, why didn’t I think of that?” I said.

  Dad looked back across the table at Jake. Mom had positioned herself against my brother, her arm resting around his shoulders affectionately, perhaps even protectively. Reminded me of a lioness protecting one of her cubs.

  “Very good Jake,” said dad. “Here’s a question for both of you. Was the snowman there last night before you went to bed?”

  “Yes,” I replied.

  “And what time does your father head into work in the morning?”

  “You’re normally on your way out the door by six,” I said.

  “So, bearing in mind how long it took you to travel to the creek and back, and seeing as those snowman footprints went on as far as the eye could see, on the other side of the creek, that’s what you told me earlier, do you really think I had the time to do all that during the night. Let alone see where I was going in the dark, then crossing that thawing creek. I’d have had no sleep before going to work, even if I could have done it in the time, which in all reality, I could not have done.”

  “You could have done it Mom,” said Jake, looking up at her.

  “Me? Really? I don’t think so, for one thing, the bears are coming out of their long winter sleep and they’re very hungry. There’s no way I would have done it, we all know that.”

  “We heard a pack of coyotes Mom. Hundreds of them, really close too. I wasn’t scared though, really I wasn’t. Well, just a little bit.”

  “A little scared,” I said. “You were terrified.”

  “No I wasn’t,” replied Jake indignantly. I let it go.

  “Go have a hot bath, the pair of you,” said mom.

  As Jake and I made our way upstairs I heard my dad saying, “I don’t know Penny, this is really weird. What do you make of it?”

  “Somehow, and I know it sounds ridiculous, but I can’t help feeling your dad’s got something to do with it.”

  “You might be right, but I can’t for the life of me think how he did it the last time and now he’s an old man, a very old man living in a seniors’ home.”

  “Maybe they’re all in on it,” I heard my mom laugh.

  Chapter Five

  By the time our next Christmas came around, I had turned eleven and Jake had turned nine. Mom remained the same age, which apparently she does every year. Dad can never remember how old he is. According to the weather forecast it was going to be another white Christmas. Christmas Eve my mother suggested we all go snowshoeing, with proper snowshoes, not snowman snowshoes. We must have been out for two hours by the time we got back to the farm. The kitchen was warm and toasty, Jake and I sat with our backs to the woodstove, Pepi under the table by our feet. The hot chocolate was delicious.

  I remember my mother taking out a mug from the cupboard above the sink, followed by the sound of it smashing as it hit the floor. It was like it was in slow motion as it fell. Then she cried out, “Oh my gosh, what’s that on the hill! It can’t be, I must be dreaming.” I remember us all rushing to look out the kitchen window.

  “That’s Snawmon!” cried Jake. “He’s come back to see us.”

  “Who’s with him?” I asked.

  Standing on top of the hill was one very tall and very big snowman, our Snawmon. There was a smaller snowman standing next to him and between the two of them, a snowwoman.

  “That’s Reggie,” said my dad. “That’s my Reggie, but it can’t be.”

  “And that’s my Roberta,” said mom. “She’
s wearing the same pink bonnet and scarf I gave her all those years ago when I was a little girl.”

  “Reggie’s still wearing the same black trilby hat and blue scarf I gave him and he’s still got the broom in his hand. Come on everybody, let’s go see them.”

  I remember running up the hill after my mom. I’d never seen her run so fast in my life. I was running and trying to get my right arm into the sleeve of my jacket. Finally we all reached the hilltop, it was my first realization that grownups are really like children deep inside, only in older bodies. Mom was crying, dad was actually talking to Reggie, telling him he’d missed him and asking him how he was. It was all very strange. And there was Snawmon, looking just like the day we’d created him. It was weird. There were three pairs of snowperson footprints heading out across the fields from the north, out through the deep, dark woods, over the page wire fence to where we were all standing. I can’t explain logically how it happened. To this very day, I have not been able to figure out how they all got there. It is indeed, one of life’s little mysteries.

  The End

  Ron Crouch was born in Brighton, England. With nearly thirty-five years as a veteran police officer, he has worked in the U.K. and Canada. He has extensive international travel experience while working with the British Merchant Navy as a navigator.

  Ron is an avid outdoorsman, with a passion for wilderness camping throughout the year. He is also a watercolour artist.

  Ron continues to write and paint from his home in Ontario, Canada.

  Also Available from BWL Publishing Inc.

  Book One The Amazing Adventures of Grandpa Ramsbottom – The Flying Machine

  Book Two – The Amazing Adventures of Grandpa Ramsbottom – Kidnapped