Whiteout

by Becky Citra

  “Hang on a sec,” said Robin. “We need to turn on the radio.”

  Robin put the radio in the middle of the table and turned the switch. “Dad, can you hear me? Dad? Dad?”

  No reply. Did the radio even work in a blizzard like this? Robin had no idea. She turned and swept her eyes along the shelf. A fishing reel, a glass bottle, a box of nails, a stick curved like a snake.

  Matches. In the tin can. A whole box of them.

  “We’re going to light the stove, Molly,” said Robin. Her breath made a white cloud. “It’ll warm up in here fast.” She squeezed Molly’s shoulders and then stumbled to her feet.

  Newspaper, split logs and a few pieces of kindling were stacked beside the woodstove. The girls tugged off their mitts and with stiff fingers tore paper into strips. Robin opened the stove door, and April piled the paper in the bottom.

  Robin laid all of the kindling on top of the newspaper. Her hands fumbled as she struck a match. Nothing happened. Had the matches somehow got damp? She tried again, biting down on her lip. The end of the match burst into flame, and Robin held it against the edge of the paper. The paper flared up with a reassuring whoosh, and then a wave of smoke swept into the cabin. Robin couldn’t see the sticks or the paper anymore, just thick choking smoke.

  “What happened?” coughed April.

  “The damper! I forgot to open the damper,” Robin grunted.

  Stupid. How could she be so stupid?

  Robin yanked the wire handle on the side of the black stovepipe, trying not to breathe in the smoke. The handle wouldn’t budge at first but finally it turned, and the smoke cleared. She peered hopefully into the stove. The paper had turned to ashes and the sticks of kindling were charred.

  “That’s all the kindling we’ve got,” said Robin. She felt sick.

  “Blow on it,” suggested April, peering over her shoulder.

  Robin blew gently and bluish flames sprang up, licking one of the sticks. April passed her more crumpled-up paper, and Robin pushed it around the kindling. She kept blowing on the flames, and after a few minutes, the sticks crackled and snapped. She carefully rested three logs on top and closed the stove door. “We did it,” she breathed.

  Molly had climbed off the bed and was standing behind the girls. “I’m hungry,” she whimpered. There were tear streaks on her face.

  “We’ve got food,” said April. “It’s going to be just like having a picnic, Molly.”

  The wind whined like a wild animal outside the cabin, rattling the windows. Robin unpacked the sleeping bags from the bins under the bunks. The girls took off their boots. They each snuggled inside a bag and huddled on the floor close to the stove. Molly opened the bag of trail mix and took a huge handful.

  “Don’t take all the Smarties,” warned Robin. She dug into the bag. As she munched, she tried to organize her thoughts. She wasn’t ready to think about the horrible experience in the blizzard yet. It was still too real—the numbing cold, the pellets of snow stinging her face, her terror that Molly was lost somewhere. She slid a glance toward April. Her cousin had pulled her sleeping bag up to her chin and was picking at some trail mix.

  Robin frowned. The fight with April seemed so long ago. One minute they had been having fun, cutting up magazines, and then she had found that stupid letter. She tested her feelings, trying to remember exactly what April had told Stephanie. The school is boring... Robin is acting weird. She sighed. None of it was fair, but she didn’t feel angry anymore. Just kind of tired.

  Suddenly Dad’s voice, full of static, filled the cabin. “Girls, do you read me? Do you read me?”

  “Dad!” screeched Molly.

  Robin hopped to the table in her sleeping bag. Dad always sounded like he was trying to contact Mars when he spoke on the radio. She pushed the speaker button. “Dad! It’s us! We’re fine!”

  “All of you? Molly?”

  “Molly too. We’re fine,” repeated Robin.

  “Thank God.” Robin could hear Dad take a big breath. “What happened?”

  Robin glanced at Molly. “It’s a long story.”

  Dad quickly turned into Mom’s clone. “Have you got anything to eat? Have you managed to fire up the stove?”

  “We’re toasty,” said Robin proudly. She eyed the woodbox. “We have enough wood to last all night. And we’ve got power bars and trail mix.”

  “Do not...I repeat, DO NOT go outside. Do you have any idea...almost thirty below...” Dad’s voice became buried in static.

  “We won’t,” promised Robin.

  Molly wriggled free of her sleeping bag. She danced at Robin’s side. “I want to talk to Dad.”

  “I don’t know if he can hear you.” Robin held the button down and Molly shouted, “Daddy! It’s me.”

  For a few seconds, Dad’s voice was clear. “Molly, why do I think you’re behind this? We’ll talk at home.”

  More static and then snatches of Dad’s voice.

  “...snowmobile in the morning...NOT GO OUTSIDE...I repeat...”

  Robin grinned. Even dads could freak out.

  “See you tomorrow,” she said. “Over and out.”

  The girls stripped off their jackets. Robin peered out the window at the darkening sky. It was hard to tell if it was still snowing. While April put another log in the stove, Robin lit the two oil lamps.

  Molly filled the empty space between Robin and April with chatter. “Do you think I’m going to get in trouble? Should we play cards? I wish we had some hot chocolate.”

  “We do!” said Robin, jumping up. She had remembered the tin of hot-chocolate powder in the cupboard. She grabbed a pot and opened the door a crack to scoop up snow that had drifted up against the cabin wall. Then she set the pot on the stove.

  It was amazing how much snow it took to make three cups of water. Each time Robin opened the door, a blast of frigid air swept inside, making Molly shriek with excitement.

  They all agreed that it was the best hot chocolate they had ever had. Molly finished first. Full of huge yawns, she only protested a tiny bit when Robin tucked her into her sleeping bag in the bottom bunk. “I’m going to stay awake because I don’t want to miss anything,” she mumbled. Her eyes floated shut and her thumb drifted into her mouth.

  April had found a deck of cards and was laying out a game of solitaire on the table. “There’s another deck if you want to play double,” she said.

  “That’s okay.” Robin sat on a chair beside her. She sipped her hot chocolate and watched April flip cards for a few minutes. Suddenly April shoved all the cards across the table. “I’m going back,” she said.

  Robin froze. “What do you mean?”

  April stared at her. “I phoned Stephanie this morning. She says I can live with her.”

  “But Mom and Dad—”

  “Your dad knows. We discussed it. He has to talk to your mom, but he was pretty sure she’ll understand. He said it might have been the wrong decision for me to come here in the first place.”

  “So it’s not definite then.” Robin stalled for time, trying to make sense of the feelings colliding inside her.

  “It’s definite enough. Your dad’s on my side.”

  “And I’m not?”

  April’s cheeks flushed. “It doesn’t feel like it,” she muttered.

  Robin opened her mouth to protest. Then she clamped her mouth shut tight. She didn’t know what to say.

  Silence.

  Finally April said, “So are you mad again?”

  “No,” said Robin. Her hands were shaking. She put her mug of hot chocolate down and pressed her hands against her legs. She swallowed. “It was all my fault anyway. The accident and everything.”

  “What do you mean?” said April.

  Robin’s words came out in a rush. “I told Aunty Liz I would never ever forgive her if she didn’t try. I begged her.” She twirled the hot chocolate around the bottom of her mug. “I think that’s why she did it,” she finished miserably.

  “That’s not why,” said Ap
ril slowly. “It was because of me. I had a fit. I even cried when Mom said we might have to miss Christmas at the ranch. I said she was going to wreck everyone’s Christmas. I acted worse than Molly ever does.”

  Both girls were silent for a moment. Robin’s heart pounded. “Why do you talk to Molly about the accident but you don’t talk to me?”

  “Because she’s interested,” said April.

  “So am I,” said Robin.

  “So then why do you change the subject every time it comes up?” said April. “You’ve never even asked me one question.”

  “I have,” said Robin weakly.

  “No, you haven’t. You act like it never happened. Like everything is just supposed to be normal.”

  Robin swallowed. “I guess I didn’t want you to get upset.”

  “Maybe I would get upset.” April’s voice shook. “But this is worse. It feels like you don’t care.”

  “Then tell me. Please,” said Robin.

  April stared at Robin. She took a big breath. “I was so scared when we were driving. Mom wasn’t saying anything. And I kept thinking I should tell her to go back. But I didn’t. I’ve wished so many times that we could do that day over again.”

  “Me too,” whispered Robin. “What happened? I mean, exactly, when the truck hit you.”

  “It was so fast. You couldn’t see anything. Just white. And then suddenly there was this huge truck right in our face. I don’t know after that. I remember hearing screaming. I think it must have been me. And then Mom kept saying, ‘Everything’s okay. Everything’s okay.’ And then there were flashing red lights and people, and I don’t remember much after that.”

  Robin shuddered. What if it had been her family? “You must think about it all the time.”

  “I did at first,” said April. “I was afraid to go to sleep in case I dreamed it all over again. It’s a bit better now. Your mom’s been really great to talk to.”

  Robin nodded. “Aunty Liz...her injuries?”

  She listened quietly while April explained about pins and traction. “I have to be in Vancouver,” she finished. “I have to be closer to Mom. It’s got nothing to do with you. Do you get that?”

  “I do,” said Robin. And she did. It was what she would want too.

  April grinned suddenly. “Best out of five for double solitaire. Come on, it’s what we always do.”

  “Best out of ten,” said Robin. “It’s time we changed the rules.”

  Dad had said he would come for them in the morning on the snowmobile. That meant they had all night to talk and be together. She planned to make the most of it.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Done,” said Robin in a satisfied voice. She stepped back and surveyed their project. Kim had come over after school, and she and Robin and April had started putting the castle together right away. It was perfect.

  An ice castle. Stephanie had come up with the idea on the phone yesterday afternoon. She had read about it in a kids’ magazine.

  The castle was built from different sizes and shapes of blocks of ice. Mom had helped with that part last night when she got back from Vancouver, contributing ice-cream pails, a muffin tin, yogurt and margarine containers and an ice-cube tray. They had filled the containers with water and let them freeze overnight.

  April had thought of putting red and blue and green food coloring in some of the containers. It gave the castle...distinction, Robin decided.

  At first the blocks of ice kept falling over. Then Dad suggested mixing water and snow together to make slush to stick the blocks together. Dad’s Marvelous Mortar, he called it. It had worked perfectly.

  “I love it,” declared Molly.

  Kim frowned. “It needs something...Wait!” She clumped through the snow to the porch. She reached up and broke off a long icicle. “A spire!”

  When the spire was carefully “glued” to the tower with Dad’s mortar and three more were added (to give it balance, Dad said), the ice castle was declared finished.

  “How are you going to get it to school?” said Molly.

  “We’re not,” said Robin. “This is a practice. We’ll make another one at school on Thursday.”

  “Will April be gone by then?”

  “No. April has five more sleeps.”

  She was going to miss April, Robin knew that for sure. But in some ways, she was looking forward to life getting back to normal. Mom had brought back good reports from Vancouver about Aunty Liz and had assured both Robin and April that none of it was their fault. Her exact words had been, “Nonsense! My sister has always had a mind of her own, and she had made up her mind to come to the ranch for Christmas!”

  Molly hopped around the castle. “Can I keep it?”

  Robin looked at April and Kim. They nodded. “Sure. Until it melts,” said Robin.

  She hugged her arms to her chest. It was getting cold. The slush had soaked her mittens, and her fingers were freezing. Kim was staying for dinner, and then Robin planned to dive into a new book about training colts that her mother had brought back from Vancouver. She wanted to be ready in the spring for Kedar.

  Maybe in the summer Stephanie and April could both come up to the ranch. They could ride the horses and—Robin grinned. She liked making plans.

  Mom stuck her head out the kitchen door. “Anybody on the work crew need a hot-chocolate break?”

  “Before dinner?” said Molly ecstatically.

  “Ummm...why not?”

  “Marshmallows?” said Molly.

  “Don’t push your luck,” said Dad. “Mom is still Mom.”

  “Come on, Mol,” said April. “Race you in!”

  Robin lingered behind. Someone turned on the Christmas lights and their tiny reflections winked in the walls of the ice castle. She loved Christmas lights. Someone should invent spring lights and summer lights and fall lights.

  The door opened. It was Molly. “Robin, everyone’s going to play Madeline. Madeline! Hurry!”

  Robin took one last look at the glittering castle. It was perfect for as long as it lasted.

  Acknowledgments

  I would like to thank my editor, Sarah Harvey, for her amazing attention to detail and her ability to get at the heart of my stories. I would also like to thank my sister, Janet, for her invaluable insight and suggestions.

  Becky Citra is the author of more than a dozen books for young readers. She has written two popular series for Orca: the Ellie and Max historical novels and the Jeremy and the Enchanted Theater time-travel books. Becky lives on a ranch in Bridge Lake, British Columbia.