CHAPTER 10
I reached a fork in the trail. I couldn’t see it for the snow that covered it like a white blanket, but I knew it was there, and I paused, thinking.
“What’s wrong?” Jase’s current song stopped and a worried question came my way.
“Nothing.” I pointed to the break in the trees where the path went in two directions and I pointed to the Y that led to the right. “This is a shortcut if I can remember how it goes. I know the main trail by heart but if I can get us through this shortcut without getting lost we’ll save some time.” I thought about it, trying to picture it in my mind. “A lot of time but I’m not sure exactly how it goes through the forest.”
He rummaged in the things on the sled. “We have the topographic map. Would that help?”
So we took a break, poured ourselves some hot coffee and I read the map as I drank. Not too much coffee, I didn’t want to have to stop and pee because it would take forever to remove so many layers of clothes, not to mention that it would be really, really cold. So I sipped slowly and savored every bit as I examined the map. “Now I remember. I know the route and, yes, I can get us through the shortcut and save a couple of hours.”
He examined me much as I’d examined the map. “What are you, anyway, some kind of forest spirit?”
“Huh?” His comment was so unexpected that I couldn’t help myself.
“You know the forest so perfectly. It looked like you knew each and every tree we passed. Every trail. Every bush. It certainly seemed that way.” He tipped his head back to take a healthy swig of coffee, being a guy who could pee without completely undressing, and continued. “So I know you’ll get us there safely. I know it as surely as I know my name.”
In a sudden bout of self-doubt so strong that I almost doubled over from it, I could only hope that he was right. But I did remember the short cut after checking it on the map and it was valid and as I studied the map the better to imprint the details in my brain, memories returned of the times I’d trekked these very paths with my dad during the summer so we could study the flora and fauna that lived near the huge bog that was so different from that near the cabin.
I’d loved the look and placement of the bog flora and fauna and in that fleeting moment I vowed that when we reached the Center and everything was fine, I’d return to the bog with pencil and sketchbook and get it all down on canvas.
When we reached the Center? What was I thinking? More like if we reached it. No, I told myself sternly, when we reached it was right. No if about it. So I replaced the cap tightly on the thermos and shoved it back into the blankets for added insulation to keep it hot for the next time we stopped. If there was a next time. Perhaps, I told myself, I’d now simply keep going until we were warm and safe at the Center.
As I started to move, I realized that the stop had done something to me that wasn’t good. During those few minutes of rest, my body, especially my legs, had grown stiff and I now had to force myself to return to the brisk pace of earlier. Plus, though I hated to admit it, the downward slope was lessening as we approached the low land and, eventually, the bog at the bottom.
I no longer swung along the trail so easily. Instead I felt each and every step until I finally warmed up once again and was able to kick snow and move myself and the sled at the pace necessary to reach the Center before full dark. Though it would be dark when we arrived, I knew that, with only brief winter daylight before night came once again, it hopefully wouldn’t be the deep, black of true night, the kind of dark that made finding the way difficult if not impossible.
Jase continued singing but, as time passed and his voice went hoarse, it slowed and finally turned into a low but musical humming that kept me going as well as the songs had and then I knew that his singing was intentional because every single song had a strong rhythm and when I stepped to that rhythm the going was not only faster, it was easier. Had he been in the military that he knew how effective marching songs were? I would ask.
I wanted to stop several times and check the map but decided against it because I didn’t want to lose any more time. But during one break in singing, I tossed a question back to Jase. “Think you can plot our course on the map while we move?”
“Sure.” I heard rustling as he dug the map from the nest of blankets and opened it carefully so as not to tip the sled or move about, which would make towing more difficult. “Right on track,” he sang out a few minutes later. “I’m amazed at how easy it is to figure out where we are.” And, after a moment, with laughter in his voice, “I take back what I said about you being a forest spirit. You’re just very good at reading topographic maps.”
I giggled without opening my mouth because I didn’t want to inhale any more cold air than necessary but was glad once again for Jase being with me because his cheerful manner made this whole ridiculous, hopeless endeavor seem possible.
Hopeless? Ridiculous? Now where had those ideas come from? We’d not ventured forth into a dangerous, freezing world without truly believing – knowing -- that we could get where we were going. Or could it be that this trip was a fantasy, merely a last desperate attempt to do something that gave us a small chance of survival over doing nothing and waiting to die?
I shivered as I shoved such unwelcome questions to the back of my mind and moved even faster along the path that I knew existed even though I couldn’t see it beneath the light, fluffy snow until I was kicking up a veritable storm of white flakes into Jase’s face.
“Hey,” he called out and I expected to be reprimanded for too much snow in his face but I should have known Jase better than that. “We’re get there in time for lunch at the rate you’re going. Don’t wear yourself out. Slow and steady wins the race, you know.” There was a faint undertone of alarm in his voice that I ignored but I took his advice and slowed to my previous pace that I knew I could keep up for hours, and that was a good thing because hours of walking lay ahead of me. Many hours.
Jase called out for me to stop. I hesitated because once I had the rhythm down, I didn’t want to break it for anything and have to get up to speed again after checking on him. But he didn’t stop yelling, so I finally found a quiet place in one of the infrequent spots of sunshine where an old evergreen had crashed to the ground and new ones hadn’t sprung up yet, and went back to see what was bothering him.
He had something in his hand and he held it up to me. “Lunch.”
“We don’t have any food, remember?”
“Yes we do.” He waved his hand through the air and shoved it at me. Jerky, the kind my father kept around to snack on, but the cupboards had been empty when we left. We’d eaten every single scrap of food in the cabin. Or so I’d thought.
“It was in a drawer beside your parents’ bed. Someone must have wanted it there for midnight snacks. I was going to bring it down for dinner last night when I thought better of it. I decided it would be more useful for lunch today.” And once again, he shoved the jerky towards me. “It’s the middle of the day, roughly, so it’s time for sustenance.”
I took the jerky gratefully and began to chew. Then I noticed that he didn’t have any. “What about you? We share.”
He shook his head hard in a way that brooked no argument. “Not today. You’re doing the work, you need the calories. I’m warm and comfortable and I’m not even hungry. So eat up, lovely lady, and I’ll watch and drink so much coffee that in time you’ll have to stop so I can pee.”
I wanted to insist that we share. To shove it down his throat if necessary. But I didn’t. I thought of the hours of walking that lay ahead and admitted that, much as it bothered me to eat while he didn’t, he was right. If our survival depended on my ability to get us to the Center, then I’d best do everything possible to make that happen.
So, ducking my head to avoid seeing him not eating, I shoved the remaining jerky into the capacious pockets of my parka and returned to my place at the front of the sled, took up the rope once again, and set off.
And, yes, the jerky made a
difference. As I walked and ate, I could feel energy flow into my body and I was so grateful to Jase for thinking ahead because, if it had been me, we’d have had jerky for dinner last night and nothing today.
I treated myself to jerky on a schedule. I didn’t have any way of keeping track of the time beyond the sun itself and we only reached clearings occasionally to see where in the sky it was, but that was enough. Each time it moved two fingers farther towards the horizon, I’d give myself another stick of jerky. I figured that way I’d have a steady supply of fuel for my body that should last until dark. After that, if we hadn’t reached the Center, I’d start praying very hard.
We had to stop once for Jase to pee. I almost laughed because he couldn’t stand so had to roll half-way over to accomplish the feat and his muttered comments on his situation would have been comical if things hadn’t been so dire. Actually, listening to him I decided that they were comical and I was grateful to Jase for once again bringing sunshine and humor into what was a very difficult situation.
When he was done, making sure he was once again tucked into blankets because he had no food to warm his body and was doing no work to turn last night’s dinner into heat, and being very careful to avoid the yellow snow while doing the tucking, we once again set off.
And he started singing once again, not humming, and I found myself picking up the pace and wondered again whether he was deliberately singing tunes with a quick rhythm to get me going faster and I decided once more that when we were safe and warm I’d ask if he had military experience that included long marches in bad weather.
I checked the time. The sun was moving faster towards the horizon than I liked. Without stopping, I threw information back at Jase. “We won’t get there before dark.”
“That’s okay,” was his steady, upbeat reply. “I know the area around the Center. If you can get us anywhere close, I can guide you the rest of the way.”
I found myself breathing a sigh of relief because that sinking sun had begun to worry me. I knew the way to the bog and through it but, beyond that, my father and I had never gone so I’d figured I’d have to plot a course through unknown territory using only the topographic map and how good would such a path be in the dark? Now I knew that we’d be okay if I could get us through the bog because the Center lay just beyond. Jase had said something about a path from the Center to the bog for guests to watch nature. We could follow that path.
What would we see when we reached the bog? What had the blizzard done to it? How badly had the wind blown the snow with nothing to stop it? Was it packed too hard for me to walk through but not hard enough to walk on? Had it turned the bog into a place that was so unrecognizable that I’d not know how to cross it?
As the land bottomed out and the slope turned into level ground and I knew we were getting close, I started praying that the bog wouldn’t be our final resting place.
Then we broke out of the trees and it lay before us. The bog we’d have to cross in order to find safety.
CHAPTER 11
I heard Jase’s indrawn breath as I stopped, and we contemplated what lay ahead. It didn’t look so bad. No huge drifts to surmount, no brush thrown every which way to stop us in our tracks. Just an expanse of clean, white snow. And yet, something wasn’t quite right. Something set my teeth on edge but I didn’t know what it was until I took a step out of the forest and into the bog. And then I knew and my heart sank because we couldn’t make it. I knew with a certainty that lay like lead in my stomach that I could not get us across that seemingly innocent expanse.
“It’s got a crust. The wind blew so hard here in the open that there’s no fluffy snow anywhere. Just hard, white stuff that’ll take a gargantuan effort to break through but it’s not hard enough to walk on.” I sank to my knees and stared at the blinding white sheet of snow that had to be traversed for us to reach the Center but that couldn’t be crossed. Couldn’t be.
Jase said nothing because there was nothing to say. We both stared at the bog as if wishing would change things. But it wouldn’t. “I’ll check out other paths. Maybe it’s only hard right here. Maybe there’ll be softer snow farther down.” A forlorn hope but I couldn’t just stand there and stare at defeat. I had to do something so I set off, one step at a time, checking the snow crust every few feet, but every time it was the same. There was no way to cross the bog.
We’d have to go around. Miles and miles more than planned and there was no way we’d make it that night. We’d have to spend the night in the forest and it was more than likely that would be the end of us. If the cold didn’t get to us, I’d simply wear out and not be able to go any further. I could feel it already, a bone-weariness that was a shadow in the background but that would grow over time until it would overwhelm me. And then all we’d be able to do was sit and wait for the inevitable.
I began to cry even though I tried not to, tears that froze on my cheeks and I didn’t care because they said what I was thinking. That this was the end.
Then something happened. As I tried to shake the frozen tears away, a flash of brown swept past me mere yards away. I stopped mid-shake and followed the movement. A magnificent buck came from the forest and bounded into the bog, taking huge leaps, each yards long, as it crossed the bog we couldn’t navigate as if it wasn’t there, straight as an arrow and precisely where I’d have crossed if I could manage. But the buck wasn’t hampered by snow because it leaped over it, hooves landing only long enough to push off again.
If only --- But I wasn’t a deer so I simply watched as it disappeared into the forest on the other side of the bog.
But--- another sound made me turn back to the forest in time to see five more deer heading for the bog. No buck in this group, it was a small herd of two large, fat does, a yearling and two smaller deer that could only have been born that spring. No huge leaps for this group, no bounding across the bog as if it didn’t exist. So how could they manage?
I watched.
They managed just fine. They stepped from the forest to the bog and continued on as if the crust didn’t exist, heading single file in much the same direction as the buck. So how could they walk so easily through crusted snow?
As soon as the question came into my mind, the answer followed. There was a game trail across the bog and they were walking along it single file as if the snow didn’t exist. And, with a rising excitement, I realized that if they could walk along that trail, perhaps I could too.
I almost ran to the place where they’d exited the forest and sure enough, there was a game trail that went straight across the bog to the very place we wanted to go. It was deep, all the way to the ground, much too narrow for the sled but surely somehow we could manage. With renewed energy, I plowed my way back to Jase.
He’d seen the deer too and reached the same conclusion. “There’s a trail. We can follow it!” He was so excited I was afraid he’d fall from the sled and we’d have a difficult time getting him back on it. “We can make it. I know we can.” And only then did I know that he, too, had seen defeat as our only option mere moments earlier.
He was ahead of me thinking of how to get the sled across. He pointed to a branch on a nearby bush that was hanging and ready to fall off. “Get that branch. I can use it to push the sled and keep it on the snow.” So it wouldn’t slide into the narrow trail and get stuck.
“It’ll be hard to keep it straight.”
“I’ll manage.” His voice was grim. “You just get us across. I don’t think it’ll be as easy as it looks.”
“I’m sure it won’t be.” But it was doable.
“There will be wind.” There’d been no wind in the forest because the trees provided protection. “Look.” He pointed his newly acquired branch towards the bog and so I saw the snow skittering across the hard crust like beads across ice. “At these temperatures it doesn’t take much wind to turn a walk into a brutal exercise in survival.” Again, I wondered if he’d been in the military but said nothing because I was too busy inspecting the bog and towi
ng the sled to the beginning of the game trail.
We set off and Jase was right about the wind. It was worse than brutal. It took my breath away and froze the tears that wouldn’t stop falling to my cheeks. I had to stop and rig a small blanket into a windbreak in order to move at all.
“We’ll make it. You’re doing great.” He shouted in order to be heard over the wind and through the thickness of the blanket and all the clothes I wore and there was an undertone of despair in his words and I knew that I wasn’t the only one who seriously doubted that we’d make it to the Center. Not today. Not tomorrow.
Not ever.
But somehow, we kept moving. I think it was the deer that did it, those five brown bodies far ahead of us that were crossing the bog just as we were. If they could do it, especially with two very young deer in the group, then we could too.
I told that to myself with every step as I ignored everything except the trail, the deer ahead that were plodding steadily along, and the snow that blew around my make-shift windbreak and into my face. My eyes. My mouth.
Once I shook my head enough to look around the blanket because I wanted to see how low the sun was towards the horizon but when I caught a glimpse of the dull red orb I wished I’d not done so because it sat exactly on the treetops. Night was coming fast. In minutes it would begin to darken and we weren’t even across the bog.
How would I see the trail? I stopped and went back and Jase handed me the flashlight without being asked because he had seen me check the sun. I flicked it on and the light gave me a moment of hope as it blazed and showed the trail clearer than it had been for a while because evening was coming fast and the light had been fading for a while.
The Snow Queen Page 6
