by Will Decker
Though I consoled myself with the fact that as long as I could hear the saw grinding through wood, Sandy was still working it, and thus, she was all right. Yet, I couldn’t help but grow more concerned by the minute, especially when I knew that I was right about the wolves returning.
Laying helplessly on the table, unable to move from it, I dreaded the time to come when the saw stopped running, and she started the long quiet chore of lugging the cut wood back to the cabin. During that time, I’ll be beside myself with worry, right up until she’s back inside the cabin where I can see her and know she’s safe.
Instead of going insane with worry over something that I couldn’t control, I tried to think of ways to distract myself from the thought of Sandy being out in the woods all on her own. Slowly, determinedly, I shifted my thoughts to the reason I was on the table, and what I could do to hurry up the healing process. To my good fortune, they hadn’t needed extensive debriding, just a simple draining of the pus sacks, and a sterilizing cleansing. When Sandy finishes with the firewood, I’ll have her raise my feet so that I can see them for myself. Except for the time spent cleaning and replacing the bandages, they didn’t really hurt very much. They itched an awful lot as the new tissues grew, but Sandy convinced me that so long as I couldn’t scratch them, it was a good thing.
After a short period of idling, the saw stopped running. Anxiously, I strained against the newfound silence in an effort to hear. My mind told me that there wasn’t anything wrong, and that she was finished cutting wood. Yet, I felt certain that if I listened hard enough, I’d hear her crying out for help.
Strain as I might though, there wasn’t anything to hear, excepting the occasional sound of snow sliding off the roof as the sun warmed it. It seemed almost unnaturally quiet, and I started to believe that there might actually be something wrong, when the saw suddenly sprang back to life.
After taking a deep breath, I slowly let it out in a sigh of relief. It was inevitable that she would have to shut the saw off again, and even though I was now familiar with what it sounded like when the saw wasn’t running, I also knew that I would put myself through the same worry and agony all over again.
To my amazement and astonishment, I’d never before listened to the sounds of my immediate environment since coming up here, and I was surprised at the quietness and solitude. It seemed almost funny, in an ironic sort of way, when I considered that I’d come up here for just those specific reasons, and I’d yet to enjoy them.
It seemed like I’d just started listening to the endless drone of the saw again, when suddenly, I was startled awake by the door being kicked open, as Sandy entered with an armload of wood. I jumped in my skin, but in actuality, only swung my head toward the door. Through my sleep-blurred eyes, I quickly noticed that she’d already brought in several armloads, as was evident by the large pile of split wood lying beside the cookstove with snow still clinging to it.
“You’re awake!” she said cheerily, noticing me looking up at her.
She dropped the armload of wood on top of the existing pile, then closed and latched the door behind her. As she turned back into the cabin, she pulled off her mittens, while simultaneously asking if I was ready for some coffee.
“I would love a cup,” I answered spiritedly, all anxiety and trepidations of earlier gone in a flash, as her good mood and optimism quickly rubbed off on me. “You’ve been busy today. All that fresh air and exercise seems to have lifted your spirits.”
“I love the outdoors,” she answered cheerily, pulling off her hat and climbing out of her snowsuit. “And I love nothing more than being out in it.”
Although I felt compelled to ask if she’d seen any sign of the wolf pack, at the same time, I didn’t want to bring up the subject and possibly dampen the good mood that she was experiencing. Besides, I silently confided to myself, if she’d seen any sign of the wolf pack while she was out making firewood, she wouldn’t be in the good mood that she was, and she wouldn’t have hesitated to tell me. Since she didn’t mention them upon entering the cabin, I was willing to accept it without saying that she hadn’t seen any sign of them.
While adding coffee grounds to the blackened pot, and then pouring water in it from the larger kettle of melted snow, she asked if I’d care for something to eat, too. When the water had almost reached the top of the pot, she added, “Since I worked up quite an appetite today, I thought I might fix something a little more substantial than soup, something more solid and rib sticking. It’s about time I start putting some solids away, if I intend to keep my strength up.
“You’re absolutely right,” I wholeheartedly agreed, glad that she wasn’t going to secretly starve herself behind my back in order to save the food supplies for me.
She paused for a moment, as she appraisingly studied me. Fleetingly, I considered asking her to prop my feet up so that I could take a look at them for myself. But I quickly decided against the idea, thinking that it might be better if I didn’t mention the subject of my feet until after we’d eaten. It wasn’t that I was kidding myself about what to expect; I was still surprised and thankful that she didn’t have to amputate. This was in all probability going to be the first real meal for either of us in more than three weeks, and I didn’t want to risk ruining it. Actually, it was twenty-two days, to be exact, if I counted pancakes as a meal.
Glancing at the spot on the wall where the calendar had been, I noticed that it wasn’t there.
“The calendar?” I asked curiously. “It’s not on the wall where it used to be. Did you move it?”
“Yes. Look to your left,” she said, turning back to the stove and starting on our next meal. “I thought it might be easier for you to see there. I couldn’t help but notice how you like to keep track of the days.”
Glancing to the left, I quickly realized how much easier it was to see the small numbers on the calendar, now that it was less than two feet from my face.
“Thank you. I like it there,” I told her in earnest.
First, I counted the days that had passed since the last supply run by our landlord. Then, I calculated the number of days until he was due again. It worked out to nine more days. Silently, I prayed that my theory was way off the mark and that Fred, our landlord, would show up on schedule. Furthermore, that his innocence would be obvious, and when he saw my condition, he would immediately take us directly off the mountain, going straight to the nearest hospital. I said this prayer not so much for myself, but for Sandy’s sake. She deserved better from her life than what she had been handed.
Supper was a grand success, as Sandy showed off her cooking skills. Granted, we didn’t have any meat. But the dumpling stew that she made with her own recipe for homemade dumplings, combined with frozen vegetables, couldn’t be beat. And the fresh egg custard for dessert was almost more than I could stand. Unfortunately, the culinary ecstasy couldn’t last forever, and when we’d finished the last of everything off, I knew it was time to see what lay below my line of vision.
Sandy cleaned the dishes, fixed two more cups of coffee while we engaged in small talk about my past, and then returned, taking up her usual spot on the edge of the table.
“I sure do miss my cigarettes,” I started. “I always enjoyed an after-dinner smoke more than any other. I guess I found it relaxing.”
“How long has it been since you quit, or didn’t you really quit?” she asked, feigning sarcasm, while a smile played at the corners of her mouth.
“Yes, I quit,” I emphatically proclaimed, feeling the bite of her sarcasm, feigned or otherwise. Softening before her smile, I choked back a sarcastic response of my own and chuckling said, “You think you have a problem with hording bouillon cubes, well let me tell you, if I were still a smoker, I’d have cigarettes stashed in every available pocket. While I was in denial, I horded cartons of cigarettes everywhere, even behind the john. I was always paranoid that I was going to be somewhere when the desire for a cigarette would become overwhelming and my pack would be empty. And matches!�
� I exclaimed. “I was ten times worse about hording matches. I harbored this deep-seated fear that I would be stuck in the middle of nowhere, put a cigarette between my lips, and then discover that I didn’t have a light for it. That one really drove me mad.”
Her demeanor suddenly grew serious, and I thought maybe I’d said something inappropriate, when she softly announced, “I used to horde bottles everywhere. In the apartment where I lived, I had more nooks and crannies to tuck bottles away that sometimes, even I couldn’t remember where I’d hidden them all. And my car,” she started, and then abruptly stopped, as the pain of what had almost happened came flooding back. She took a deep breath, and then slowly, full of determination, continued, “Even my car became a stashing place. I’d hide bottles under the spare in the trunk, in the jack compartment, any place that a bottle could be squeezed out of sight. If the niche was only large enough for one of those single-shot bottles, then that’s what went in it. If there was a cranny, you can bet there was a bottle.”
“But you kicked it, just like I did,” I said encouragingly. “You’ll always feel the longing, I’m sure. But you’re stronger now; you can resist the temptation. Just as I’m sure that cigarettes will always have their claws in me, so will alcohol in you. But the claws just aren’t as sharp and deep as they use to be. They’re not drawing blood anymore.”
“Yes, I think you’re right about the urge always being there. Even though I got the most dramatic warning ever, and it almost cost a small child his life, steeling my determination against ever drinking again, that urge is the main reason why I leased this cabin. Because I couldn’t completely trust myself, I had to remove myself from any possible temptation.” She paused for a moment, while her gaze met mine. When she continued, her voice was husky with emotion. “That was before I met you. Now, I have something more than just myself to worry about; I have a greater reason to succeed.”
“We all have our demons to face,” I said thoughtfully, meeting her gaze. “Some of us more so than others. And some of the demons are so fierce and evil we can’t do anything else but run and hide from them.” It was my turn to face a bit of reality. “Isn’t that what we did when we leased these cabins? We didn’t come here to face our demons; we came here to escape them. At least, I realize now, that’s what I did.”
For a long while, she didn’t say anything. And then slowly, thinking over each word before mouthing it, she said, “I came here to get away from the temptation, which I guess is an evil all of itself. So yes, I was running, if the truth were known. But now that I’m here with you, I want to face that demon. Like never before, I want to show that demon that I’m stronger than it could ever be. Even when you’re not aware that you’re doing it, I feel the strength you’re giving me,” she hesitated. “And with the strength you give me, just by believing in me, I know I’m strong enough to go on with my life.”
“It does my heart good that you know how much I believe in you and always will. Does that mean that you’re ready to go down off this mountain with me, if and when Fred shows up on schedule?”
“Yes, John. You’re not going to get away from me that easy.”
“I love you, Sandy,” I whispered. “When we get down from this mountain, I’d be truly honored if you would come to live with me. In separate rooms, of course,” I blurted, suddenly embarrassed, and then quickly adding, “At least until we decide otherwise.”
“I love you too, John. And yes, I would love to come and live with you. And yes, I’m sure we’ll decide otherwise. Until you’re sure though, separate rooms will be fine with me.” And then, moving closer to kiss me, she said almost as an afterthought, “But only until you are sure.”
It wasn’t my imagination that she emphasized the word ‘you’.
Before our lips met, I softly whispered, “I’m sure.”
We kissed passionately for a while, followed by an extended period of lying next to each other, holding each other tightly. Though I didn’t want the moment to end, I didn’t resist her efforts when she slowly pulled away. Sitting up on the edge of the table, she asked me if I cared for another cup of coffee. When I grunted in the affirmative, she slipped off the table and, after lithely stretching her limbs for a moment, gracefully stooped over and gathered our mugs from the floor. Because I was using the table for a hospital bed, she’d developed the habit of placing our empty coffee mugs on the floor so they were out of the way, and not liable to get knocked to the floor.
Watching her cross the few feet to the stove, I could feel myself getting aroused. Her slacks were tight, revealing every shape and curve of her body, and she had nothing of which to be ashamed.
My feelings of arousal were short lived, as the pressing matter of my feet reasserted themselves with a fresh bout of itching. Fortunately, they were beyond my reach, making it impossible for me to scratch. If I wanted to see them, I needed Sandy to raise them. Yet, because I didn’t want to burden her anymore than I had already, I was hesitant to ask. In addition, I was afraid that I might dampen the mood that was permeating the cabin. I hadn’t felt this much love and warmth since before Amy’s tragedy, and I was too afraid of disturbing it. If I could just get myself up into a sitting position, I could see them without her help.
But no, I thought quickly. Even if I had the strength to sit up, I wouldn’t be able to remove the bandages by myself. There was no way around it. If I intended to see the damage to my feet, I needed her help.
“Sandy,” I said, speaking to her backside, as she busied herself at the stove.
“Yes, John.”
“I need to see my feet. I have to know how bad they are.”
“I know,” she said calmly, before adding, “I was hoping you wouldn’t ask so soon. In a few more days, the cuts that I had to inflict will have scabbed over, and more muscle tissue will have grown back. They’re not pretty, John, but I understand your need to see them.”
“Will you help me sit up?” I asked of her, as she came around the side of the table. “My back is killing me from lying on this hard wood table for so long.”
“I know. I was going to suggest that we should start your rehabilitation tomorrow, before you develop any serious bed sores, or your muscles have a chance to atrophy,” she said almost matter-of-factly, giving me a little more insight to the inner strength she possessed.
It took a special person to do what she did for me. And it went well beyond having a strong stomach, or compassion for a fellow human. She didn’t have to share her rations with me, or even welcome me into her cabin. If she’d been smart, she would have turned me away, and made her own way down off the mountain. Between the skis and the snowshoes, she wouldn’t have had any trouble getting down off the mountain. Instead, she straddled herself with a cripple, a man she’d met only once before.
And he’d fallen in love with her. Even if she didn’t feel as strongly about him, as he did her, could she leave him behind to save herself? It was only a matter of time, before he would have to ask that of her. Already, he’d put her through Hell. But she was tough. The more time he spent with her, the more he loved her.
She reached an arm under my shoulder and lifted at the same time that I planted my hands against the flat surface of the table, and with a painful effort, pushed down, lifting myself skyward. My head spun, and I thought I was going to fall back. But she held me secure, steadying me against the rising tide of blood in my head. Together, we managed to keep me upright until the tide ebbed, and my head cleared.
The exertion brought a flush to my face, quickly followed by tiny marbles of sweat plastered across my forehead. My back cricked from the bending after having laid flat for such a long stretch of time. But everything was temporary, and within a minute or two, I’d feel fine. Or at least, I thought I would feel fine. Once I took a look at my feet, I might not feel quite so fine.
“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” she asked, concerned at the amount of effort it was taking just to maintain an upright sitting position.
“Ye
s,” I said shakily. “I’m ready. Let’s do it.”
Without another word, she went to the foot of the table, where several layers of blankets covered my heavily bandaged feet. Being very careful not to bump the bandages encasing my feet, she rolled the blankets up beyond my knees. Then, with even more care, she gently lifted my right foot, and carefully placed the pillow that she’d been using on the cot, beneath it. She’d done this every time that she needed to clean my feet, and was knowingly careful to leave enough of the pillow free so that when she lifted my left foot, the remainder of the pillow slid neatly beneath it. It was evident by her lack of wasted moves that she had done this frequently in the past couple of weeks. She never inadvertently bumped the foot that she wasn’t working on. She did everything efficiently, and without hesitation. I would have sworn she had a background in nursing.
While her touch was gentle, it was firm and precise. Within a matter of minutes, she stopped and looked at me, clearly asking without words if this was what I really wanted, before lifting the final wrap from my right foot.
No one could have prepared me for the sight that assailed my eyes, and now I understood her silence when I’d asked her to show me. Staring at the vision of horror, I sat in shock, unable to make the connection between my leg and the alien appendage connected to it. It was my foot, to be sure, but it appeared much too small and shrunken to be real.
While I sat dumbfounded, shocked at the sight of my right foot, she just as quickly and efficiently removed the bandages from the left. This one was actually a little larger than the right. Obviously, the damage hadn’t been as severe to the left foot as it had been to the right. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I remembered the wolf pulling my right boot off, and having to replace it in a hurry. That one brief moment in time, must be the reason for the disparity in my feet now. Yet, it was not a normal looking foot by any stretch of the imagination. If I hadn’t just seen the right foot, I would’ve sworn that it couldn’t have been any worse, and still be attached to my leg. But the right was worse, much worse, and it was still attached.
