The deep, silent woods that she loved surrounded the cabin and the lake. There were no tracks, no way at all of telling which direction they might have taken, no way even of knowing how long they'd been gone.
"Danny? Danny, answer me."
"Me, me, me," came the echo.
Panic swelled in her, and she ran aimlessly along the familiar paths, sobbing and calling her son. She couldn't think what to do.
She was all alone. Gabe was gone; she didn't have a telephone with which to call anyone for help.
"Logan, help me please. Logan, I'm so scared..." she babbled the words again and again, until finally she realized what she was doing, what she was saying, and she stopped and drew in a deep shaky breath.
Thinking of Logan and his quiet reasonableness, her own control partially returned. She had to have help, and quickly.
It was getting colder, and darker as well.
She forced herself to stop the aimless running, to go back in the house and get the keys to the truck, her wallet. She sent the pickup careening down the narrow road, and then onto the highway that led to Northome.
Billy McDougall was the sheriff for the area. She didn't know him well, but she knew where he lived. She drove to his house and banged on the door until his wife opened it.
"My son's gone off into the bush." She couldn't bring herself to say run away, even now. "He's only twelve, he's taken his pet moose and it's getting dark."
Billy had a spare tire that hung down over his belt, and he'd started to go bald.
"Sit down," he urged Karena, sinking into a chair himself, but she shook her head. They had to hurry; they had to find Danny before night set in.
Billy had a clipboard, and he asked endless questions. Was Danny familiar with the woods, had he done much camping, had he had a fight with Karena, had he ever run away before?
"I'm not sure how long he's been gone, all day I think. No, I don't know which direction they took. I checked what he took with him, matches, yes, I'm sure he would, and his sleeping bag is gone...and food, he took food. He's twelve, he's only twelve..."
She answered as concisely as she could, knowing the questions were probably necessary, but the feeling of urgency inside her increased with every passing moment, and Billy seemed so slow.
"Couldn't we get the search started, and I'll tell you anything you need to know later?" she suggested finally, feeling at her wit's end with urgency.
Billy hesitated, then said in a soothing voice, "Look, Mrs. Carlson, your boy's at an age when kids run away, lots of them. Hell, my brother's kid took off once. Now from what you tell me here, Danny's quite capable of taking care of himself in the bush for a night. I'd be lots more worried if he were out on the highway where any nut could give him a ride. But with that moose along, well, the way I see it, he'll probably get cold and hungry and be there when you get home. For sure, take my word for it, he'll turn up tomorrow morning for breakfast. See, Mrs. Carlson, if I pulled out the National Guard every time a kid had a fight with his parents, well, hell, where'd we all be?"
She watched him, not able at first to believe he wasn't going to do anything. Then, when what he was saying penetrated, she whirled and headed for the door.
Billy got heavily to his feet and followed her, his voice reasonable and patronizingly patient.
"Now, Mrs. Carlson, I know you're upset and all, it's hard for you with no husband to lean on, and if that young rascal isn't back by tomorrow, mid morning, you let me know and we'll set out and find him."
The sheriffs voice faded as she jogged to the truck, jumped in and started the ignition. Then she drove to her father's house, with a sickness in the pit of her stomach that grew and grew.
"I told you so," Otis would say. "I warned you about that boy, no proper discipline, I knew something like this would happen—"
Karena drew up in front of the small house and reluctantly went in, steeling herself for the lecture sure to come.
Otis was sitting alone, an afghan her mother had knitted across his knees, watching a show on television. Her heart wrenched suddenly at how his sober face brightened when she came in the door.
"Well, hello, daughter, come on in."
Rapidly, she explained, and Otis listened without comment. Then, all he said was, "Let's get to your place and try and figure out which way he's gone. Got a big flashlight at home?"
She nodded, and he amazed her by taking her hand and giving it a comforting squeeze. "C'mon, Kari. Don't look like that. We'll go hike to some of Danny's favorite spots. I'll bet he's camping out up near that sawmill pool, that's about where he'd have gotten to on foot in a day."
The sawmill pool was at least ten miles from her cabin. They drove along the old logging road as far as they could, the headlights picking out animals' eyes now and then in the blackness beside the trail. Then they parked and began to walk, lighting the rough path with the flashlights, and every so often she called for Danny as loud as she could, but there was never any answer.
The woods creaked and groaned all around them, and the darkness was a palpable, textured entity, full of whispers and murmured bird sounds and unexplained noises. Otis didn't say much as they walked, and when he did talk it was about some fishing trip he'd taken into the bush long ago with Karena's mother, and how nervous she'd been camping at night. There was a wistfulness to his voice.
"You miss her a lot still, don't you, Pop?" Karena asked once.
Otis simply grunted, "Always will, Kari. Always will."
It seemed that the entire night had passed by the time they finally reached the sawmill pool, and when the sound of water finally indicated they were near, Karena put her fingers to her mouth and whistled, then called again and again.
There was no sign of Danny and the moose anywhere. She and Otis shone their lights here and there, but the entire area was deserted.
Her disappointment was so intense Karena dropped to a stump and bent over, holding her middle with both arms.
Otis rubbed her back awkwardly. "Don't take on, now, daughter. We'll go back to your place and then in the morning we'll figure something out. He's a tough young'un, no need to worry about him making out. And he's got that blamed moose with him for company."
She trudged along wearily behind Otis stumbling now and then on the rough ground. He stopped and pointed at something in the beam of his flashlight.
"Fresh orange peel." Otis bent and picked it up. "Maybe Danny did come this way after all, but he must have turned off before he got to the old sawmill pool. No way to telling what direction he went tonight, but first light in the morning we'll come down and see if we can pick up a trail."
There was nothing more to do except go home. It was after one in the morning when they finally reached the cabin.
Otis fell into an exhausted sleep about two. Karena went silently outside, past the empty moose pen and down to the lake.
She stood there, shivering in the frosty air, and she tried to convince herself that everything would be fine, they'd find Danny and Mort in the morning. She looked around at all the things that had always brought her comfort, the lake, the trees, the sky. They were all there, unchanging.
She had changed. Now, at this crisis in her life, nature wasn't enough. She needed Logan. She needed him so much, but he was miles away.
In her head, she saw his eyebrow lift over the frame of his glasses, she heard his voice, the humorous and slightly ironic way he'd say, "There are such things as telephones, moon lady."
It was two thirty in the morning, and she went running back up to the cabin. Otis was snoring loudly on the couch, and she pulled the quilt over him. Then she scribbled a note in case he awakened and worried over her.
There was a pay phone outside of a service station just this side of Northome.
Logan was asleep when the phone beside his bed rang, and it rang twice more before he could force his fogged brain to figure out what it was. For no good reason, he'd always believed he couldn't hear properly without his glasses on, a
nd he fitted them groggily on his nose.
"Karena? Is that you, Kari?" He shot upright, fully awake now. Three in the morning. Something was drastically wrong.
Her first words, the tone of her voice, told him how serious it was. He listened and his fist slowly balled up and smashed down in impotent frustration on the bed beside him as she spoke.
She needed him, and he wasn't there for her. It tore him apart. But he forced confidence and calm into his tone as he spoke.
"I'll be there as soon as I can, my love. We'll find him." When there was no answer, he said loudly, "I love you, my darling. Remember that I love you."
"I'm so scared, Logan," she finally whispered. "And it's cold out, and” her voice hitched and then she sobbed, “Logan, he's only twelve."
He hung up when the connection from her end was broken, thought for a moment, and instantly lifted the receiver again.
By ten on Friday morning, the sky was leaden gray and there was a forecast of snow. Logan's car was full of students and another vehicle followed behind with more students who'd eagerly volunteered to go with him. As they sped along, the first white flakes came swirling down.
He cursed, and the students were silent in sympathy. Soon, he had to slow down because the whirling white mass half obscured the road ahead. It was the first storm of the season, and it couldn't have come at a worse time.
Karena had been awake all night. At the first sign of light, she'd awakened Otis. She made him breakfast but she couldn't eat. A bit defensively, she told him she'd phoned Logan, that he was coming, and to her surprise an unmistakable look of relief came over Otis's lined face.
"The professor might have some ideas," he said, adding hopefully, "Danny and Mort might just be here anyhow when we get back, Kari."
But the second trip along the trail was fruitless, and the cabin was exactly the way they'd left it when they returned. Soon, though, the sheriffs car drove in.
"Boy come back yet?" he called cheerfully. Karena and Otis were at the open door, and Karena shook her head.
When Billy came inside, Otis opened fire.
"I've voted for you in every election, sheriff, but that's over," he announced, pinning Billy with a stem and deadly stare. "My daughter came to you last night for help, and you did nothing."
Billy started his patter about not wanting to call the National Guard for every lost kid, but Otis held up a hand and Billy snapped his mouth shut.
"You tell me right now what you've got planned to find my grandson. I don't want none of your excuses."
Karena felt proud of her father.
"Well, we'll start by asking for volunteers for a search party, but I'm not authorized to spend money on a helicopter this soon, you understand," Billy began. "And with this storm—"
Otis shot him a look of utter disgust, and put his wet coat on once more. "You got a phone number for that sister of Gabe's in Portland, Karena? I'm gonna go phone him, see if he has some idea where the boy might go so we know where to look." A wistful look came and went in his eyes. "It's too bad Gabe's under the weather. You need him to talk to just now, Kari, to be with you. Gabe was always better'n me at talking."
There wasn't any bitterness in his tone, and with awful, hurting clarity, Karena saw her father's acceptance of his own shortcomings. How many times had Otis stepped aside this way, watched easygoing Gabe laugh and charm and comfort Anna, Karena, Danny, because Otis's reticence, his own stern nature made such shows of emotion difficult for him? And they'd all allowed it.
"Oh, Pop, I don't need Gabe," she said as firmly as the sudden tears in her throat allowed. "I need you, you're Danny's grandpa. Tell Gabe there's not a thing he could do here, that you're taking care of it all. We'll phone him and let him know the moment we find Danny. Give him my love, but tell him I said he's absolutely not to try and come."
Otis only nodded, but there was a fierce determination in his step when he took the phone number and drove off.
Muttering something about rustling up his deputies, the sheriff left, too, and the cabin she loved suddenly felt like an isolated prison cell to Karena.
It was snowing harder and harder, and the wind was beginning to blow into drifts over by the empty moose pen.
Logan drove in just past noon, parked carelessly, and threw himself out of the car. He raced to the kitchen door.
"Karena," he hollered loudly, standing in the open doorway, lightly powdered with the snow that was falling in swirling eddies.
She was over by the woodshed when she heard the familiar voice hollering her name.
She turned and ran, and then Logan's arms were so tight around her she could hardly breathe, and for long seconds his lips were on her cold mouth, silently assuring her of love and support. She clung to him, feeling the vitality of his strong body, the confidence he exuded, envelop her. A tiny portion of her panic eased.
They all went inside, and she remembered from the summer some of the students he'd brought along. For once she wasn't the least bit shy. She was only terribly grateful to have these strong young people here eager to search for her son.
Logan helped her out of the parka, sat her down in front of the fireplace and tugged her boots off. He warmed her feet in his hands.
"There's a whole army of foresters standing by, ready to comb every inch of woods from here to the Canadian border," he said confidently. "Here's what we plan on doing."
He went on holding her icy feet gently between his large, warm palms, and one of the young men brought them mugs of hot soup, and the rest drew up chairs to listen.
Logan had planned every meticulous detail, and he outlined it for her and for the rest of the group. He had topographical maps he'd brought from the college, already marked in areas, and as soon as the snow eased, a helicopter piloted by a friend of Cliffs was standing by to take part in the search. He brought her a hastily scribbled note from Betsy, a warm, wonderful note full of support and optimism.
For the first time since she'd read Danny's note the previous afternoon, Karena felt as if she and her father weren't alone, as if her son would be found.
She slumped in the chair and swallowed some of the soup, aware every second of Logan, and while she was thinking sluggishly about getting up and doing something, she fell asleep.
Logan covered her with a soft blanket taken from her bed, tucking it carefully around her shoulders and legs, and motioned the students into silence. He remembered to put another log on the fire, careful not to make a sound, and rested a hand for an instant on Karena's disheveled cap of curling white blond hair.
He'd been shocked when he'd seen her. There were dark circles under her eyes, and the chapped redness of her cheeks made the pasty whiteness of the rest of her skin doubly apparent. She was thin, much thinner than he remembered her being.
"I've missed you," she'd whispered to him brokenly. "I've missed you so much, Logan."
Karena slept for a full hour. While she was asleep, Otis returned, and he seemed transparently relieved to find Logan and his group of young men at the cabin.
Otis had spread the word among the loggers, and Abigail and Max arrived soon. Karena awakened and gave her friends a shaky, welcoming smile, but it was Logan her eyes singled out.
He came over to sit on the arm of the chair she was curled up in, taking her hand and holding it in his own.
"Gabe said he's pretty sure Danny's taken the old logging road we followed this morning, Kari," Otis reported. "Gabe and Danny were up there last summer, and they found a trail that connects with another logging road in the national forest that runs south of Moose Lake and ends up at Dora Lake."
Karena was sitting bolt upright now, and the others were listening closely. Logan got out several of his maps and traced the route carefully as Otis continued.
"Gabe said they talked a lot about that country being excellent for moose, and it's a game reserve besides. He figures the boy would take Mort up there, hoping the moose would be at home." Otis hesitated briefly, and exchanged a telling glan
ce with Logan. They both knew that once the landmarks Danny was relying on were covered with snow, the boy would have trouble. Getting lost was a real danger.
"That country's pretty rugged, lots of jack pine and dense as the hairs on a dog's back. He thinks Danny would cut off before this bridge here—" he pointed at the map "—and go up the north end, where the Bowstring River runs in. Gabe and Danny camped up in there once."
"There's a road of sorts into Dora Lake," Logan said. "Max, you've got a four-wheel drive. Why not take Robert here," he beckoned to one of the young foresters "and see if you can get in there, and then start hiking back along here—" he indicated the trail Danny might follow "—and two of us will start from this end and meet you?"
Max and Robert left as soon as supplies were readied, and two students and one of the sheriff's deputies began the walk from the Northome end. For Karena, there was little to do except wait, and the waiting grew harder with every long hour that passed.
When the searchers returned, they'd found no sign whatever of Danny and Mort.
The snowstorm lasted a day and a half, and although the growing number of eager volunteers bravely went out, intent on canvassing the areas assigned to them by Logan's efficient grid plan, they all came back half frozen and secretly doubtful that a boy, however well trained in woodland lore, could actually survive very long under those winter conditions.
The weekend drew to a close with no sign.
Only Abigail, tirelessly making sandwiches and soup and hasty meals, kept up an unfailing optimistic monologue.
It was early Monday morning before the snow slowed and stopped. By daybreak the sky was a bright and brittle blue, and Logan drove Karena over to the field where the helicopter would land.
"I'm coming along," Karena insisted while the pilot and Logan planned the flight. "I'll just be a minute. I need my sunglasses from the car, and the thermos of tea I made for Danny."
Logan felt the awful dread that had been building in him for the past three days surge and catch at his throat as he watched her run over to the car. She looked dangerously fragile.
Follow A Wild Heart (romance,) Page 21
