“Tell me about your wedding.”
She glanced up at him. His eyes were closed.
“I hardly think …”
“I want to picture you as a bride,” he said, interrupting her.
Why? For his own benefit? Asking was on the tip of her tongue, but she buried it. What did it matter if that was the case? She had no intention of taking him up on his proposal. In another day or so, they’d be separated, and he’d have only what she’d said to remember her by. Plus, he was in obvious pain, so she’d be providing a needed distraction.
She shut her own eyelids and thought back to that day. “It was outdoors.”
“No church?” he asked.
“No, though the minster was from a local congregation. He was a friend of my father’s and had agreed to do the ceremony.”
“So you didn’t attend any place?”
“We were never religious.”
This seemed like a simple statement, but evidently, it sparked something in him.
“It isn’t about religion, Clem. It’s about your heart.” He laid his palm against her chest. “Right in here. I never went much either. Hard to when there’s nowhere to go. But I believe God watches over us. I believe he brought you and me together.”
“Fate?” she asked.
His hand caressed her neck, resting along the slope of it. “Not fate. That implies it was random. I was thinking more deliberately planned. God wanted me and you together.”
Not likely. Why would He? She kept these thoughts to herself. What Ezekiel believed was fine for him.
“So … not in a church.” He returned to the story.
“No, in the yard behind my parents’ house. It was early summer, and the daylilies were in bloom. They grow wild there along the roadsides.”
“You had a wedding dress?”
“My mother’s dress. She wanted me to wear it.”
He exhaled, his breathing ragged. “I’ll bet you were gorgeous with that crown of hair.” He lifted a lock in his hand. “I love your hair.”
Nathan used to say the same. It’s like having the sun in my hands, he’d tell her, and she’d felt flattered to have it appreciated for once and not made fun of. Kids at school were cruel, and she’d suffered plenty of humiliation, as if being born with red hair was a curse.
“Was it up or down?”
“Up.”
Ezekiel’s hands slid upward to her cheek. “I can picture that. I’ll bet he wanted you all to himself right then.”
She didn’t respond.
“I would have.”
“I hardly think that’s decent to say,” she replied.
“Who’s going to hear it? You’re a beautiful woman. I saw that right after I thought you shot me. And here we’ve been keeping each other warm at night, I can tell it, too.”
It went both ways. Nathan had been bulky, broad in the shoulders and stout at the waist. Ezekiel was much leaner, the shape of his body somehow the perfect fit for hers. She shouldn’t have noticed that, but it’d been hard not to.
“What are you thinking about, Clem?” he asked.
“That it will be cold tonight, and all this talk is wasting energy.”
He brought his hand behind her head and turned her face upward. The press of his lips came as no surprise, nor the reach of his tongue. No, the surprise was her welcome to it. How, in the face of Nathan’s memory, with talk of their wedding, could she kiss another man like that?
She was unfaithful. She was setting aside all he meant to her for the passion of someone else. She pulled back. “Stop. Please. I can’t.”
“Sure, you can,” he said.
“It’s wrong.”
“What would he have wanted you to do? Shrivel up and die out here?”
She twisted her face away. “You didn’t know him at all. He was a jealous man. He would have killed you for this.”
She exaggerated. He would’ve been unhappy, inclined to fight maybe, but not violent.
“That’s because he had the best wife, and I don’t fault him for that. I can imagine what he was thinking on your wedding day, you coming across the lawn toward him. I am a man, Clem.”
“You are not Nathan Button.”
He laughed. “I told you that. He sought to isolate you, keep you to himself. The fact he brought you out here tells me that. He didn’t even want your family to know where you were.”
Her stomach twisted. He was more right than he knew.
I’ll have your face looking at only me for the rest of our days, he’d said on their wedding night. Then he’d taken what he wanted and left her lying there, bereft. She’d loved him, but been unsatisfied.
“I’m different,” Ezekiel said, breaking into her thoughts. “I don’t want to steal you away. I want to teach you how to live. There’s so much more out there than this. I love Alaska, and I come here in the winters. But I go home after. I visit my family. What do you think yours is wondering about you?”
“If they’ll ever see me again,” she said.
Her mom had taken her aside after their wedding. Nathan is a good man, but I’m thinking you’ll be gone from here forever. I’ll pray for you, my sweet daughter, that you’ll find in him what you’re seeking, and someday, I’ll see you again.
“Wouldn’t you like to go back? Aren’t you tired of being alone?”
She huffed. “I’m tired of you fostering dreams in me I cannot have. I am happy here. Can’t you see that?”
“What I see,” he replied. “What I know when you kiss me is how much more you want to have.”
“You are a dreamer,” she said.
He shook his head. “No, I’m a man falling in love with a woman who’s everything I’ll ever need. My question is, when will she see that?”
CHAPTER 4
Ezekiel had plenty of time to think the next morning, Clementine having gone down to the river to hack the snowmobile out of the ice. She left him warm and comfortable enough, though the bed she’d made was empty without her in it. Unfortunately, knowledge of that caused his mind to wander. He allowed it, picturing her in ways he should not, more to avoid the numbness that had crept into his leg and fend off the worry.
But soon, two hours having crept by, a chill entered, one not from the snow or the cold air, but from far within his core, and it consumed his flesh. His hands shook, and his legs trembled. Shivering violently, he tried to still his body, tucking his hands beneath his head.
His fear rose to a new height. He couldn’t die. His loss would send her into a spiral she’d never get out of. For her, he had to live. But he had to live for himself as well because to go unfulfilled, to leave this world without having known the love he’d begun to have for her, was unthinkable.
He’d never expected to find love in the wilds of Alaska, miles from anywhere. He’d always figured one day it would drop into his lap, but more civilized and requiring him to give up more—his forays across the ice for months in the winter, his need for solitude sometimes. No female would ever want to accompany him through that. He’d prepared his thoughts to give up his freedom, resettle, for her sake, and put it all in the past.
Yet here was a woman who satisfied his heart, one who could subsist on the barest essentials. They needed each other.
She’d never grieved for her spouse. Whatever had happened to Nathan Button, she blamed herself for it. Living alone out here was as much some form of punishment as it was penance. She thought to continue his dream. Perhaps, her husband would have liked that. Seemed like from her words, he was an intensely selfish man, one who thought only of what he wanted and not so much of her.
Because he’d damaged her. He’d made her the ascetic she was. She’d deny herself any pleasure at all to somehow prove to the memory of Nathan Button she was all the things he’d wanted her to be. When all she needed to be was herself.
His shivering ceased, and the chill inside took over. Ezekiel stared outward barely aware she’d returned or that her hands were on his cheeks or her tears dri
pping on his chest.
“Do not die on me,” she cried. “Do not die on me. I lost one man. I’ll not lose another.”
He motioned with his mouth, his lips forming words that stuck to his tongue. Then he shut his eyes and faded away.
***
Clementine wept, her mind returning to a place she’d prevented it from going for these many months. Nathan’s bedside, his eyes sightless at the ceiling, his hands stiffened into claws that dug at the air, and her response – screaming, frantic to raise him back up. But it wasn’t to be, and soon, the task of burying his body fell on her alone.
She’d fashioned a travois from a bit of canvas and two stout poles, shifted him onto it, and dragged him away from the house, two hundred yards or more. She’d had nothing to say over him once he was laid in the hole, and no emotion left from exhaustion.
It wasn’t until later, staring at his empty plate, which she’d absentmindedly set like always, that she’d fallen apart. And relived it. And relived it.
Ezekiel Knapp being in almost the same state was too much to bear. If he died, then so did she. For no matter how wrong it was, no matter how disrespectful of Nathan’s memory, no matter how he’d fallen into her path, crawled into her bed, kissed her lips, he was embedded in her heart deeper than Nathan had ever been.
What a fool she was to think she could turn him loose and walk away, return to the barest existence with no one to talk to but Timmy. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t. She’d have him beside her, beneath her, above her, around her. She would give herself to him in whatever state he chose.
She grasped his collar, her tears frosted on her cheeks, and shook him back and forth. “Don’t you die on me, Mr. Knapp. I didn’t come this far to let you go. The snowmobile is out; I’ve hitched up the sled; and we’ve only a few hours to ride to get there. Due west. Then help will come. Do you hear me?”
His eyes snapped back open, and his tongue flicked over his lips. He breathed out the faintest whisper of words. “You … love … me.”
She backed away, her hair dancing along his cheeks, and then lowered her mouth to his. He was cold, his skin wintry. “Promise me you’ll not die. Promise me.”
And she waited, her heart in her throat, for his response.
“I … promise ….”
***
Blackened poles stuck at awkward angles in the midst of a field of ashes. Her insides growing frosty, Clementine stared at the remains of Ezekiel’s cabin, visually picking out the few items that hadn’t been destroyed – a cook pan, the hull of the wood stove. There was no evidence of the radio.
Wandering across the space, she kicked the toe of her boot at the ground for any sign of what had happened and stopped sharp at a print burnt into the remains of the doorway. She crouched and laid her hand inside. Same size. Same pattern as what she’d seen outside her place.
She sniffed the air. Gasoline. Someone had set this fire.
Ezekiel had been trapping for a couple days before he’d met her. Whoever shot him could have burnt his cabin and caught up, but only if they were experienced enough at tracking. Even for an experienced tracker it would be a hard hike over terrain that could kill the best of men.
That meant this was deliberate. Someone was after Ezekiel Knapp. Why? He’d given no indication he had any enemies here and had behaved with her as a peaceful man.
Which brought to mind another thought. They hadn’t killed him, but injured him instead. Why wait until he was away from home to do that?
She headed back toward the sled. None of that mattered right now because he needed help, and she wouldn’t find it here. This meant more delay, more time without his receiving medical care, and him in an already tenuous state of health.
She knelt down beside the sled, taking hold of his hand. “We’ve got to go further,” she said. “Find somewhere indoors and warm tonight. There’s nothing left here.”
She’d not stop until they found shelter or she ran out of gas. She kept that to herself. Hopefully, it wouldn’t come to that.
Ezekiel had to be made warm. The cold would be too much for him. She buried her fear and remounted the snowmobile.
Each mile appeared the same as the last, an infinite ice-covered wasteland with no sign of anything or anyone. Come late afternoon, her fear returned. What if there was no one to find? What if she wasted her time and he died? Once again, it’d be her fault.
She could have saved Nathan, but she’d refused to go for help. I can handle it, she’d told him, though he’d protested again and again.
Fool woman. Take the dog and go.
But she’d wanted to prove something, prove she was all the things he’d asked her to be.
Clementine slowed and glanced behind. There was nothing left to prove this time. Ezekiel had already shown her what weaknesses were. Faced with his presence, his demands, she’d given in, just like she had with Nathan.
Come with me to Alaska, he’d said.
She’d stared into his eyes, contemplating his grand words. And protested. Alaska? But Nathan, that’s so far.
It’s where I want to be, and if you love me …
The memory faded.
She turned her gaze forward to an opening in the trees and swerved the snowmobile left in an arc. The opening spread wider toward a frozen pond surrounded by beaver-gnawed tree trunks. She dismounted and tested the ice, walking out a few feet. A shape on the opposite side caught her eye. Pointed, wrapped in canvas.
“Teepees.”
Her heart pounding in her chest, she returned to the snowmobile and drove out onto the pond. She crossed it in minutes and pulled up outside the cone-shaped home. It’d bring warmth. A fire inside would heat the walls, and she could warm him and buy some time.
She set to work, shifting him off the sled and through the door. Weariness pulled at her small body. He was more and more difficult to handle as he grew sicker. Hauling him inside, she made him a bed and wrapped him tight, pausing only long enough to capture her breath and a last thread of energy before exiting to gather wood for a fire.
A curl of smoke whisking out the flap overhead, she collapsed at last, lying beside him and nodding off. She awakened hours later, the glow of the fire low and Ezekiel’s breath blowing on her neck. She peeled herself away to restock the flames, then uncovered him and checked his leg. The infection was worse, and his skin scalding.
He needed some form of nourishment, but was most likely past consuming solid food. She’d make a broth.
Melting snow in an iron pot, she dropped in a portion of meat and a few bones and set them to simmer, then dug out a bowl and sat it at the edge of the flames.
Ezekiel’s cough spun her around. He stared up at her. “Clem.”
She dropped to his side, her hand on his cheek.
“Thought maybe I was dead and this was heaven, seeing you here.”
She scowled. “I’m hardly fit for heaven, and you promised not to die.”
His face became a grimace. “Working … on that …”
“I’m making you some broth,” she said. “It’s important to get nourishment in you.”
He nodded and looked past her at the teepee. “Where’s … where’s the cabin? We didn’t reach it?”
The cabin. She’d known he wasn’t conscious when she’d spoken earlier.
“We got there,” she said, “but it was gone. Someone burnt it to the ground.”
“Burnt? But …”
“It was on purpose,” she added.
He silenced.
“Who is after you? Why would they burn your cabin and chase so far to shoot you in the leg?”
He exhaled. “There was a story I heard when I first built there.” He paused to gather himself. “Story said someone had buried gold there years ago. George …” He gave a loud grunt.
“George? The man who told you about teepees?”
He nodded, his cheek scrubbing the bedding. “This one’s his.”
She glanced around the circular walls. It was snug an
d appeared to be well-built.
“Lie with me, Clem.”
She curled herself beneath the blankets at his side, her face turned toward his.
He brushed her lips with his own. “Does me good to feel you there,” he whispered.
She wrapped an arm about him.
“Did I imagine it, or did you cry over me?” he asked.
“It was a weak moment. I … I thought you were dying.”
He laughed softly, the sound pleasing to her ears, but strained in his throat with evident pain.
“I don’t see what’s funny about that,” she replied. “Nathan died, and I was left here with no one.”
Ezekiel clutched her hands between them. “Tell me what happened. I want to know.”
She closed her eyes, tears welling upward. She could no longer keep it to herself. He wanted to know, and he deserved to know.
The truth fell out. “I shot him.”
***
Ezekiel sucked in a faltering breath. “You … you did?”
Unexpected. He’d pictured her husband’s death in many ways, mostly illness, but never injury and not at her hands. She was so capable now.
She bobbed her head, and a sob escaped. “In the chest. I was green and didn’t have good aim, but thought to impress him. I didn’t know he’d gone that direction. I heard the noise in the bushes and fired.”
Her sob became a wail. “Don’t die, Nathan. Please, don’t die. I didn’t mean to. I wanted to be what you’ve asked of me. I wanted to learn.”
“Shhh …” Ezekiel made the sound and laid his palm on the back of her head. “It’s me, Ezekiel, not Nathan, and I’m alive.”
She flipped her face upward and grasped at his cheeks, drawing their mouths together. Her hunger was evident in the motion, and desperation, and grief. She moved her lips to his cheeks. “I love you,” she said. “I love you.”
But what of that was for Nathan and what was for him? He kept his question inside.
She stilled at last, her fingers clutching at him. “He lived only one day afterward. I should have gone for help, but didn’t. I was too afraid to see people again, too embarrassed by my failure. You’re right. I’m a fool. I’ve lived out here alone to be what he wanted of me.”
Love After Snowfall Page 4
