She went to the bathroom, deciding to take a shower to warm up before checking on the wood pile she thought she had seen back by the shed. The hot water heater was gas powered, so certainly it would still work. But a surprise awaited her when she turned on the shower. A little water came out, and the pipes made a horrible sound; then the water stopped altogether. She was so used to big city living that it didn’t occur to her until that moment that she was on well water which, of course, wouldn’t pump without power. This would be the perfect time for a generator, but she didn’t have one, and even if she did, Claire had no idea how to operate it.
She dressed quickly in several layers, careful not to wake Sam. Hopefully, she could get some wood and start a fire before he woke up. The garage seemed the best exit as it wouldn’t require her to carry anything up the front stairs. However, the garage door was electric. When Claire tried to pull it up manually, she realized the rubber sweep was frozen to the ground. The side door on the next level was coated in ice and run off from a malfunctioning gutter. Her only viable exit was the front door.
Claire stepped carefully onto the porch. She kept a bucket of ice melting compound with a plastic cup in it near the door. She scooped out the chemical with the cup and approached the stairs to sprinkle the compound on them before she descended. But as she placed her weight on her left foot, she felt her leg go out from under her, slipping on a thin layer of ice she hadn’t even noticed. What followed was the strange sensation of flying followed by several hard blows on her right side, and then she couldn’t breathe.
This must have been exactly how it had felt for her grandmother when she fell years ago, and just like her, Claire was alone. Not even Sam knew she was out there. Would she die? What would happen to Sam? How long before someone found them?
After several long, panicked seconds, she drew a full breath and mentally took stock of her injuries. She could move all her limbs. She was fairly certain now that she hadn’t broken anything. However, the right side of her butt and all down her leg right felt like it was on fire.
Using her elbows and moving slowly, Claire sat up gingerly. This was a good sign, she decided. If her hip was broken, she would probably be screaming in pain by now. Well, she was in pain, but she wasn’t screaming. Panicking was an option, though. With no electricity, no heat, no water, and no immediate hope of getting a fire in the fireplace, the day looked grim. How would she cook? And what about Sam? Although his fever had broken, being without heat for a while could send him into a relapse. What was she supposed to do?
She wanted to cry, but sitting on the ice in the front yard didn’t seem a good place for that. So, scooting on her left side over to the porch, Claire slowly drew herself up, hanging on to one of the porch columns for support. She slid onto the icy wood butt first, then pushed against the column to move herself toward the front door. When she reached the dry portion near the front door, Claire carefully opened the front door and crawled in on her hands and knees.
She noted with concern that inside the house wasn’t much warmer than outside. The house must have lousy insulation. Wonderful. Another expense come spring. Slipping off her boots, she slowly stood up and walked to the couch. Once seated, she surveyed the house in the gray light. She was safe, for the moment, which meant this was the perfect time to burst into tears.
Claire was still sitting in the living room, crying, when Sammy came out, wrapped in his blanket. Seeing his mother crying frightened him.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
Claire sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “I just fell and hurt myself outside.” She gave Sam a wobbly smile, even though she didn’t feel like it.
“How’d you do that?”
“I slipped on the ice and fell down the stairs.”
Sam frowned. “Do you want me to look at it for you?”
Claire had to laugh despite her discomfort.
“No. Thanks, though. I’m going to go to the bathroom and check it out myself.”
“The toilet is doing something funny,” Sam informed her. “It doesn’t really flush.”
“That’s because we don’t have electricity or water.”
Sam pouted. “I wanted to watch TV.”
“I know.” Claire walked carefully toward the bathroom. “Give me a minute, and then we’ll create a game plan.”
Once in the bathroom, Claire closed her eyes and let a few more tears flow. Then, she pulled down her pants and checked her injury. A red mark the size of both her hands traveled from her butt down her right thigh. The injury was going to swell and hurt like the dickens.
But what to do now? Having no water was a major problem. The driveway was too slick to even get her car up the slope and onto the road, so driving out of the mess wasn’t possible. She could melt ice for water, but she wasn’t sure how sanitary that would be, and she didn’t have any way to melt it quickly, either.
At least she had milk in the refrigerator, so they could have cereal for breakfast and go from there. Ice for her bruise wouldn’t be a problem either. She could just go sit in the yard.
All was not lost if she could crack a joke, Claire decided. Still, sometimes being an independent woman had its negatives. She needed help, but the one time she was willing to ask for it, instead of pushing away Garrett or another benefactor, she had no phone to call. Her land line phones were all cordless, and her cell battery was dead. An image came to mind. She thought of her drawing of the woman alone high in a tower, cold, surrounded by snowflakes and disfigured by a stray pen mark. Claire had not understood why she couldn’t discard the drawing until now. She was that woman—cold, hurt, and alone with no help in sight.
* * * * *
Paul had given himself such a thorough chastening for his cowardice that he went to bed early. Nothing wore him out like mental self-flagellation. A light sleeper, he woke up when the electricity went off. Grabbing the flashlight he kept beside his bed for this purpose, he went to the garage and flipped the switch to generator power. The heat kicked back on immediately and the answering machine beeped as it regained power. Yes, the generator was a good investment.
He didn’t think of Claire until he was back in bed. Would she be all right?
Of course she would. People lived without power for years in some countries, and they were just fine.
But Sam was sick, and she didn’t know anybody close by.
No, Claire had said they would be fine. She didn’t want help.
But did she? Was this one of those female tricks when they said one thing but meant another? He was never very good at those.
Trick or no, being without power wasn’t any fun. And if she were on well water . . .
She probably had a generator.
He tossed and turned for several seconds before sitting up again. He should call her. It was the right thing to do, just to make sure she was okay. As he picked up the phone, he glanced at the clock by his bed. Because of the battery backup, the time was still accurate. One eighteen. No man in his right mind would call a woman at one eighteen and expect her to be pleased about it.
He would call her in the morning . . . after it was light . . . after she had had time to eat breakfast . . . when he was sure she was awake.
14
At ten o’clock that morning, three hours after her fall, Claire put on her coat and boots. Sam sat on the couch, dressed and wrapped in a blanket, playing his DS. Claire had warned him the battery would run out soon, but Sam said he didn’t care.
“You’ll be listening for me, right?” Claire asked, her hand on the door knob. “Sam?”
“Yeah.” The boy didn’t look up from the game.
“Sam, I’m serious. You’ll be listening for me if I call you, right?”
Sam looked up to meet his mother’s eyes. “Right.”
She didn’t expect Sam to be any help if she fell again, but she couldn’t stand the idea of going outside without someone knowing where she was.
“Okay.” Claire took a de
ep breath. “I’m heading out for firewood.”
After opening the door, Claire went to her hands and knees. She was not going to fall again. Having lost the plastic cup for the ice melting compound in her previous fall, Claire gripped another one with her teeth so she could crawl with all four limbs firmly planted on the ground. With some care she could sprinkle the steps, let the ice melt, chip it off with the shovel resting by the front door, then go out after the firewood. Her hip burned and ached, making her feel sick to her stomach, but she pushed on.
Getting out the door while crawling was more difficult than she had thought it would be. When she heard a vehicle driving slowly up the road, she didn’t give it much thought. She was more concerned with how to get her bootlace free of the storm door.
“Claire?”
Paul sat in his truck with the window rolled down. He had pulled just far enough into her driveway to be off the road, and now he was looking at her with an expression that held a mix of concern and amusement.
Yanking the cup out of her teeth, Claire plastered on a smile and waved. “Hey, Paul. How’s it going?”
“I was a little worried about you. I tried to call you this morning, but you didn’t pick up.”
“All my phones are cordless.”
She yanked to tug her boot free of the door. When it didn’t come loose, she sat down and put her hands in her lap, trying to look casual although she was sitting on her porch with her feet spread out in front of her and one of them propping the storm door open.
“Need any help?”
Claire’s impulse was to tell him no, she was fine so that he would leave her alone to her embarrassment. But common sense spoke louder. If this was the state she was in after just a few hours, what might happen later? And there was Sam to think about it.
“Actually, yes.” She laughed nervously. “It’s been the comedy of errors at my place this morning.”
Paul got out of the truck, making sure each foot was firmly planted before he stepped.
“The sidewalk is pretty icy,” Claire warned, “so be careful.”
Paul stuck his gloved hand into a bucket in the back of his truck, pulling out a handful of salt which he scattered onto the icy walk. Almost immediately, the ice began to crackle. He repeated the action several times, then walked on the grass to the porch where he surveyed Claire’s situation.
She blushed.
“The whole front edge of the porch is icy,” she said. “The stairs are really slippery, too. I found that out the hard way.”
She didn’t know why she said it, except that she was tired of suffering alone. Hadn’t that always been her beef with Will? She still remembered doing laundry one day to discover his socks were caked in blood. He had broken off a toenail in physical training but hadn’t done anything about it or told anyone. She had been so angry. “How can you expect me to take care of you when you won’t take care of yourself?” she had demanded. Well, now she was on the other side of the situation and needed to follow her own advice.
Paul glanced at her sharply, his eyes narrowing. “You okay?”
“I took a bit of a fall. Bruised myself up a bit. But it’s nothing an ice pack and some painkillers won’t fix.”
While she was speaking, Paul sat on the porch and slid himself back until he was at Claire’s feet. Removing his gloves, he untangled her boot lace from the door.
“Thanks.”
He smiled, and Claire felt her heart beat faster.
“You sure you didn’t break anything?”
“Just my pride. I landed on a well padded area.” She patted her butt.
Paul looked at her intently for a few seconds. “Do you need to go to the ER?”
“I’m fine. Just bruises.”
He stood, taking care with his right leg, and reached out a hand to pull her up. Once standing, she dusted off her snow pants and avoided his gaze.
“I don’t have any water.” Claire bit her lip. “Electricity took out the well. The house is getting cold, and I need help starting a fire. I’m very much a damsel in distress today.”
Paul frowned. “Half the state is covered in this stuff. The radio said power may not be back for three days.”
Claire groaned. She knew she couldn’t last that long.
“Are there any places that do have power? Sam’s not well yet. Maybe I could get a hotel room.”
“There’s another option. My place is on a generator right now. I’ve got water, heat, and a spare bedroom. You and Sam can have it if you want.”
“I don’t want to inconvenience you,” Claire protested.
“You won’t.”
Claire considered the offer. While she felt strange about saying yes, she knew she needed the help. Back before the move, she would have called Garrett. But her brother wasn’t nearby, and that was her choice. So, she would either have to accept help from someone else or try to make her way alone—a method she had already proven ineffective this morning.
“If you’re sure we won’t be in your way.”
“Of course you will,” Paul teased. “The place is so small there’s barely room for me.”
“All right, then.” Claire moved toward the door. “I’ll get our stuff together.”
“Take your time. I’ll work on the steps. We don’t want any more falls.”
* * * * *
Once the ice had started to melt, Paul was able to chip it off the sidewalk a bit at a time. He had brought an ice scraper with him and so far was making good progress. He hadn’t known exactly what he would find when he came to Claire’s this morning. He half expected her to be angry and send him on his way for infringing on her independence. But that had more to do with his fears than with any messages Claire had given him. She actually looked relieved to see him. She needed him right now.
Paul did enjoy being useful. It was a feeling he had not experienced since he left carpentry. As much as he liked making chess sets, he knew they were trinkets, something nice to sit on the table but nothing anybody really needed. Certainly as a carpenter he had built things people really didn’t need, but this was different. Just being here, helping Claire and Sam, made him feel as though he was making a valuable contribution to society again.
As he approached the steps, he had no trouble finding the spot where Claire had fallen. Her cup of chemicals had scattered over a patch of ice and completely disintegrated it. The glazed grass blades were broken, too, in a way that suggested something heavy had landed there. She must have fallen hard. He wondered if she was being honest about how badly she had been hurt.
He tossed the cup into the bucket on the porch, then set to work on the steps, scraping off the ice but careful not to remove the paint. He didn’t want to cause Claire any more trouble than she already had.
Once he was sure the porch, steps, and sidewalk were clear, Paul tossed the scraper into the back of his truck. He shifted some of the sandbags he kept in the back for traction to make room for Claire and Sam’s things. He had not come this morning intending to invite them to his place. Truth be told, he was downright nervous about it, but it was the right thing to do. Plus, having Claire and Sam in his space for a day or two would either push him to act or obliterate any chance he ever had with her.
He knocked lightly on the door as he entered. By the front door, Claire had already put a plastic garbage bag probably stuffed with pillows. The living room was empty, but he could hear her and Sam moving about.
“Do you want me to take this out?” Paul called.
Claire popped her head out of Sam’s room.
“Yes, please. We’re almost ready, I think.”
“Take your time.”
When he returned from the truck, a small case was waiting for him. Sam sat on the couch, surrounded by his snow gear, pouting.
“Ready to go?” Paul asked.
Sam shrugged. “What is there to do at your place?”
“I’ve got a lot of tools.”
“To make stuff?”
“Yeah.�
��
“Like what?”
“Depends.”
Claire lugged a suitcase into the living room. Paul noticed she was limping and her face was paler than usual. She must be in more pain from her fall than she was letting on.
“Sam!” she exclaimed. “I told you to be ready.”
She sighed heavily before going to Sam and helping him into his snow pants.
“Is this everything?” Paul asked.
“Yeah, thanks.”
Paul was almost out the door, when Claire exclaimed, “Oh, I forgot my cell phone charger!”
Setting down the suitcase, Paul walked back in. “Want me to get it for you?”
“Sure.” Claire fastened the Velcro on Sam’s boots. “I think it’s upstairs in the office by my desk.”
Paul made his way up the stairs, noting that he hadn’t been up there before. The office, its door slightly ajar, was right off the landing and difficult to miss. Making a cursory glance of the room Paul located the desk, but before he could examine it more closely, the painting in the center of the room grabbed his attention.
Resting on an easel, the canvas depicted a candle-lit cathedral with high ceilings. A blond woman in a blue dress was in the act of collapsing before a dead knight. The knight’s face was covered by a helmet. The woman’s face was covered by her hair, but her body language evoked such anguish, despair and grief, that Paul felt tears come to his eyes. The scene spoke of deep pain that he had experienced. He had felt just that way after the accident and then later when Linda said they were through. He had been both the mourner and the dead. Claire’s painting could have been done expressly for him.
He stared as long as he dared, feeling a few tears run down his cheeks. More than anything, he wanted to take the woman in his arms. No one should mourn like that alone, although he knew he had, and Claire had, too, or she wouldn’t have been able to create this scene.
The Carpenter & the Queen Page 9
