by Stephy Smith
What would the man feel when he thawed a bit? He was far colder than she had ever been. A quick shiver ran down her spine. In an instant, she laid a blanket over his long body. When the cabin heated, she would remove the man’s wet clothing to allow him warmth. Her face flushed. Never had she thought she would perform such a task.
Lizzie gazed at the man a long while. Strong, well-defined features cut across his weather beaten face, his blond hair caked in a mass of ice and pine needles. She reached to wipe melted snow from his beard and moustache. The dark circles under his eyes displayed on ashen skin. His lips were no longer purple, but still held a bluish hue. The paleness of his skin made the man look fragile, almost dead. She was afraid to touch him for fear his skin would rub off his bones.
Laughter filled the air. The image of the look on her face with the man’s skin resting in her cold hands was enough to make her think she’d lost her mind.
“Mother always warned me to stay off the mountain in the winter. Now I understand. It has frozen my brain and caused all kinds of strange things to enter.” Once again, she laughed at her thoughts. “What would this man think of me if he was capable of hearing me? The poor man would be forced to believe he had died and gone to some foreign land where there is nothing but lunatics.” She leaned over him.
The habit of talking to herself had to cease. Mentally aware of the situation and the man, she didn’t want to risk scaring him. There was no telling what he would think or how he would react to her words.
A wicked shudder traveled her body. What kind of troubles had he endured in his young life? Not only from war, but also from the torment of the mountain. The thought of wildlife chewing on him or thieves relieving the man of his sparse possessions caused new anger to build inside her.
Lizzie couldn’t imagine how long he laid on the mountainside. If it hadn’t been for the big cat’s terrorizing of the cattle, the man would have died with his friends. The last couple days of tracking, there had been no fire on the slopes. It wouldn’t take long for a body to freeze in the frigid temperatures this time of year.
“Where are you from? Who’s your family?” Her low voice slipped from her lips. All she needed was a sign of life other than the shallow rise and fall of his chest. She listened to the uneven breaths and prayed he wouldn’t perish.
The unconscious man lay limp on the floor. Lizzie moved away and poured hot water from the kettle into a washbasin. She set the water on the table, and wiped his brow. Gentle strokes of the rag removed mud and debris from his soiled face and neck. Her slender fingers picked sticks and pine needles from his matted beard.
Thunder erupted from her chest, and her hands shook as she unbuttoned his shirt to reveal a broad, boney chest. Tears filled her eyes at the sight of the withered body that she knew had been healthy before the war. Hopelessness of his survival crept into her soul while she waited for the man to show some kind of sign. There was no way for her to get the help she needed. She was thankful for her mother’s teachings when she had been younger.
“River Crow, I could use some guidance,” she uttered to her grandfather’s spirit, which she believed watched over her. Her mother had called on him many times in different situations. Not one time had they ever crossed paths with a half frozen man. She offered up gifts of sage and other herbs to his spirit the way her mother always had.
With renewed faith, Lizzie warmed some rabbit stew. She filtered some broth to set aside in case the soldier woke. The burden crushed her as she sat to eat with a heavy heart. Her eyes darted to the man on the floor.
“When was the last time you ate?” Guilt overwhelmed her. Here he lay on the floor, motionless, and unable to eat.
There was a family out there somewhere missing a son, husband, or father. Her troubled heart sank to the depths of her stomach. She realized she had no idea where to begin looking for the family awaiting his return.
If he were from this vicinity, someone would come for him. This wicked weather would prevent someone finding him. What was she thinking? Everyone around here knew how dangerous these mountains were.
Her own family had fallen victim to a murderer a few years ago. Tears blurred her eyes. There was no way she would let this man die without the benefit of spending at least one more moment with his family. Her family had meant everything to her. Under her own assumption, all families were the same. She knew how much he meant to his own family and how much they meant to him.
Lizzie walked across the room and stood over the wash pan. A vague stir twirled her around. Her hopes cowered when his body thrashed under the covers.
He yelled out in horror. Her feet launched from the floor. Lizzie knelt beside him to offer some kind of comfort. His hand grabbed her wrist. She fought the urge to pull away.
A dark, fierce look fixed on her. Courage willed her to stay calm, and let the man’s focus register she wasn’t the enemy before she spoke. To wake up in a strange place after all he had been through would set a person’s mind reeling. She waited a tense instant and gave him time to take it all in.
Her unstable voice fell into a soft, even tone. “It’s all right. You’re safe here. The war is over.” She patted his arm. He released his hold and glanced around the sparse cabin.
To double-check the cabin, her eyes followed his. Nothing nearby would send the unknown visitor into a world she didn’t want to visit. His worried eyes lightened, and she sighed with relief. The faraway look he displayed moments before had vanished. A long breath escaped his lungs; his face relaxed a bit.
Her simple wooden table with two chairs divided the kitchen area from the fireplace. A large, wood burning stove sat at the far end of the room next to shelves fastened to a wall. Jars of canned vegetables and meat nested next to a few plates and cups. Dried herbs hung from the ceiling in tiny bundles. She would sacrifice her share of food to feed the man if she had to.
With careful aim, she could pick off one of the rabbits scampering around the cabin. It wouldn’t take much to butcher a chicken or two. His skin and bones shimmied into her mind. He had to be near starving.
“Would you care for some broth? It’ll help warm you.” She reached for a cup and filled it. With a gentle lift of his head, she raised the cup to his lips. “Take small sips. Don’t overdo it. We don’t want you getting stomach cramps.”
His distant stare sent shivers down her spine. A few sips of broth and the man’s eyes closed. The strength faded from his malnourished body too fast for Lizzie to be comfortable.
“I wonder how long it will be until your appetite returns. Well, no matter. I’ll be here to feed you,” she whispered.
She replaced the covers and sat down at the table. Without a thought, she ran a hand over her hair and picked up the new reader she’d bought from the mercantile a few weeks earlier.
Cold, stress and anger of the day bunched her muscles into a tight ball of knots. No matter how hard she tried to relax and get lost in the story, her mind failed to leave the man on the floor.
The reader dropped to the tabletop with a loud thud. She abandoned her studies to let the soldier take place in her mind. Not knowing his name, where he came from, or what he had gone through encouraged her interest. With her mind working overtime, she let it wander into a world of imagination.
She closed her eyes and envisioned him as a young child. The type of young people Papa had taken into their home. Orphans no one wanted. He taught them to work, pray, and read. He loved them all.
According to Papa, all lost souls deserved a chance to grow into respectable people. She embraced the memory.
Except, in her mind, she couldn’t picture this particular man being one of the street kids Papa had brought home. Whatever his circumstance was, she hoped he had a loving family somewhere. One that nurtured, cuddled, and gave him the good life so many children missed.
She prayed he had a childhood with brothers and sisters, full of laughter, peace and joy. Her heart refused to accept anything less for the brave young soldiers from the war
. There had to be someone out there somewhere.
Visions danced in her head of him wandering through unknown territory, carrying a rifle as long as he was, his heart pounding at every turn made. The ever-constant question embedded in his mind, Will this be my last day I spend on Earth? She shook her head free from the sickening feelings.
For the first time since the war started, she let herself dwell on the feelings of the men involved. She hadn’t thought much on the subject or what all it entailed. Now, here she was, thinking of all possibilities of how these men endured the trial.
Lizzie glanced in his direction. She thought better of probing his pockets for any letter from home. His agility and strength had frightened her when he’d taken hold of her wrist.
Despite his crumpled condition, his alertness surprised her. His instincts of survival had settled in his brain. It was one sense she was sure would stay with him for a long time to come.
Some kind of lightning bolt shot through her when he had grabbed her. It was something she’d never encountered before. That one touch stirred a lightness and happiness she had hidden deep within herself years ago.
Dependent on her own security, strength, and courage, she searched within herself. She didn’t know what the lightning bolts were a symbol of, but someone with medicine that strong sent a renewed pain in her heart. Here in front of her was a man who threatened to tear down the shell she’d built up around her, and she didn’t even know his name.
What kind of man could emit such a strong sensation in a short moment of confusion? This man, with magical powers, strong powers, whatever one wanted to call it, had reached into her heart and soul. He’d touched the depths of everything she’d buried with her family. Although he was crumpled and broken, weather-beaten and half frozen, she still found the man handsome. She couldn’t let her mind stick on the subject. That was a fantasy land and she didn’t have time for fantasies.
When she had been younger, she’d had visions of a good husband and a passel of children. Standing next to the fireplace late in the evening, waiting for the man of her dreams to join her in their loving home.
Just like Papa and Mama.
It would never happen now. She was too old for such antics. Such childhood dreams shattered at an early age by an intruder. How could she entertain the frivolous thoughts of a life of happiness, peace, and full of joy?
Just like on the mountain she owned, there were some places a body just didn’t go—uncharted territory. Not even for a dip into a life she knew nothing about. For the first time in a long while, she felt a tinge of loneliness. She shook herself free of the thought.
Her heart pounded. If he would just wake up and tell her who he was, she could send for his family. He needed his family. She needed him to have his family.
On an off chance they would know what to do for him. All she had was her beliefs that her grandfather’s spirit would not abandon her in her time of need, in her quest to save this man from certain death.
Fear traced her veins. Responsibility overwhelmed her. Never before had she been confronted with the responsibility of someone on her own. The thought was too brutal for her to accept. She tried to outrun it, yet it kept pace with her mind. No matter how hard she fought, it wouldn’t give up its haunting display.
How could she fend off nurturing the man back to health? Just like the wolf when she’d found him. He’d become her family. Now, she was entrusted with a human life. A human she wasn’t prepared to care for.
She was used to helping wildlife and then setting them free. Could she care for a living human in the same capacity and set him free at the end when he no longer needed her assistance?
A man as handsome as he would walk away and never look back when he was well enough. The man would forget her and the mountain on which he’d almost lost his life.
She knelt above him and resisted the urge to touch him. To feel the tingle of sensation that coursed through her veins when he’d grabbed her wrist. Her heart lightened, even though she had no idea what had taken place within her.
Chapter Three
A scratch at the door called Lizzie away. She pushed open a tiny window and peered out at blustery snow swirling around as it piled against the door.
“Come on in, Spirit boy. You have to come in this way,” she said to a large gray wolf with golden eyes.
Spirit stuck his head in the window. He sniffed the air and followed the scent to the man on the floor. A snarl escaped his curled lips. He leapt from the casement to the wooden floor. His hair bristled and he crept to the silent body and followed with a sniff around until he was satisfied the stranger was harmless.
Lizzie laughed at Spirit when he sneered and walked back to rest at her feet. She’d found the pup cuddled next to his dead mother before his eyes had opened. It had taken a lot of patience to feed the tiny gray puffball until he grew big enough to drink and eat on his own. Since that day, the two had formed a friendship and had become constant companions.
The wolf earned the name Spirit for his strong and steady will to survive. Lizzie suspected it was time for him to return to the cabin after his three-day journey out in the cold. His gray coat had grown thick with the onset of winter. His golden eyes glimmered in the warm glow of the fire, then drifted shut.
Efforts to concentrate on her studies failed. Low growls came from Spirit when the man went into another fitful episode. His arms flailed, legs kicked, and his head rolled side to side. A nasty rasp sound came from his throat. Spirit’s fur stood on end and he sprang to a protective stance to place himself between Lizzie and the man.
“He’s a sick man. He was in bad shape when I found him, and I don’t know how he’ll progress.” She reached down, and Spirit relaxed under her gentle strokes.
Eyes fixed on the soft gray fur of her friend, her mind traveled to the time when the man had been young and full of life. A life she knew nothing of and could only imagine.
“I hope he had a wonderful family, Spirit. A family he could turn to when things were bad, or he just needed someone to be there for him. A lot of brothers and sisters to sing, laugh, and play with. Closeness, comfort, and love reminiscent of what I had with my family when they were still alive.” She glanced at Spirit’s relaxed body. It was the one thing she could wish for, something that she could hold onto.
Then, another thought entered her mind. Hot, wet streaks slid down her cheeks. “What if, like mine, his family is gone? Is that why he joined the war? Did he lose them forever in some kind of horrible mishap?” She wiped her cheeks and tried to dismiss the thoughts as an over active loneliness swept her senses.
Lizzie walked to the man. Tiny beads of sweat on his brow glistened in the dim glow of the fire. The heat on his face and neck warmed her hand. The cover had been pulled back from the thrashes. Bright red blood stained his pant leg. The smell of rotten flesh overpowered the inside of the cabin. Her throat contracted as the bile rose. She covered her mouth and concentrated on the wound.
“I can’t be sick. He needs me. I can’t be sick.” She continued to repeat the words to herself. Queasiness rose in her throat, threatening to spill on the floor.
She ran for her scissors and quickly cut away the pant leg. Spirit rested his head on the man’s shoulder. Lizzie assessed the gaping hole.
“Mercy me, things like this don’t happen when the weather is nice enough to go for the doc.”
Stoking up the pot-bellied stove, she set a pot of water on top to boil. With a snip, Lizzie cut up her spare linens, sharpened the hunting knife, and waited. Baking soda from a shelf was the closest thing she had to draw out infection. She scolded herself for not gathering herbs like her mother had taught her.
With the blade of the knife immersed in the boiling water, she held her breath a few seconds and blew it out. The hot blade touched his bared skin and opened the wound to allow the poison freedom to drain. Her unsettled stomach whirled her senses as the green pus poured from the wound. She twisted her head away and tears filled her eye
s as she swallowed the queasiness.
“I don’t have time to be sick,” she whispered to herself again.
Above the wound, she held the rag as she squeezed warm water over the cut to flush more poison out. She worked to relieve the man of his dangerous plight. Thoughts reeled as she prayed she wouldn’t have to remove his leg.
Her confidence wavered and exhaustion set in. She poured baking soda in the wound and wrapped it tight, then leaned against the rough-hewn chair.
Spirit lay on the floor next to the bed. The fire burned down and the cold swept across the interior. She pulled a quilt around her neck and peered at the fire, then crept across the floor to toss more wood in, and skittered to her own bed. Darkness surrounded the cabin. Wide eyed for a few hours, she tossed and turned before slumber took over.
Howls of the wind rustled against the window and brought forth a sliver of the sun to peek through the clouds for a brief moment. Lizzie peered out to watch the sunrise every morning. She hoped it would show its face, yet somehow, she knew this was the one time she would see only the golden rays today.
Spirit sprang from the floor and disappeared through the open window. Deep, white drifts of snow blocked the door. She shuddered and closed the window. With coffee cup in hand, she glanced at the houseguest.
An extra bed sat in the spare room used for storage. Cold air rushed past when she opened the door. She shivered, added another layer of clothes, and entered the room. Organization was all it took to clear a wide path. Her aching arms raised and shook dust from the bedclothes. The familiar thrashes from the man fell on her ears.
Lizzie ran to the man’s side and cut away the bandage. The red, puffy wound appeared shoddier than it had the day before. Filling the stove with wood, she scooped a cast iron pot in the snow outside the window and placed it on the stove.
She prayed for the spirits of the mountains to lend a hand in the outcome of this man entrusted in her care. His family’s hearts rested within her grasp and she hoped she could restore him physically for a happy reunion with them. Doubts plagued her mind. Her heart thundered furiously.
