The Snow Queen, Page 2

  His voice, on the other side of the threshold, was grim. “What I walked through wasn’t a flurry. The forecast was wrong.” He swept an arm to take in the small space of the outside world visible from the doorway and then, as if thinking that I might need more convincing, he stepped to one side so I could see the whole clearing where the family cabin stood in order to better see the snow coming down thick and hard. Inches were accumulating as we watched. “See for yourself.”

  CHAPTER 3

  I looked hard at the outside world and he was right. As I peered into a dark that was now so complete that only the backdrop of freshly fallen white snow allowed me to make out anything, I saw that my tracks had completely filled in while we talked and his were quickly disappearing. I thought about his trek to the cabin. “If you’d taken longer to get here, the trail would have gone cold.”

  He nodded grimly. “Someone was watching over me.” And then, as a gust of wind that managed to somehow penetrate the thick trees sent snow cartwheeling everywhere and caused a white-out, he accepted my invitation and stepped inside and closed the door hard, after which we just stared at each other in the dim light of the oil lamp.

  He looked around. “Nice cabin, and thank you for giving me refuge.” He shook himself and began removing his thick, warm outer wear. “It’s warm in here. Homey. Comfortable and I can sleep on the floor or anywhere.”

  “Not necessary. We have a loft with beds.” Two lofts, actually, one on each end of the cabin, the larger one for my parents and the small one for me and mine still had the lovely, pink bedspread from my childhood and spread across the floor was the same threadbare rug with teddy bears dancing across it that I’d loved as a child that was now so thin the floor could be seen through it, but I’d repeatedly refused to replace it until actual holes appeared. Which would happen soon.

  After those few sentences, we ran out of things to say, so we stared at each other until I noticed him sniff the air that was still filled with dinner and realized with a cringe that he probably hadn’t eaten in a long time. “I have lots of food left if you’re hungry.”

  Of course he was hungry, but I didn’t know another way to put it because I’m occasionally socially inept, which is part of the reason my agent and I don’t always get along. He thinks I should paste on a phony smile and shake hands with everyone and come up with artsy-sounding descriptions of my pictures every time a potential buyer comes near. I grope for words and his eyes roll, but enough customers buy my works that he’s semi-happy, though he’d prefer that I was more of an artsy type person who would make him truly rich.

  “I’d love something to eat.” My unexpected guest’s expression said how hungry he was while trying to hide that fact and I almost ran to the refrigerator to re-heat the casserole that wasn’t your normal dinner fare but would fill an empty belly.

  Unless – Oh dear--

  Was he a gourmet? Maybe I should warn him. “It’s –“ How to describe a mish-mash of leftover everything? Is there a name? “It’s whatever was in the refrigerator thrown together and heated up.” I flushed. “I won’t be insulted if you don’t want it.” But what else could he eat?

  Inspiration struck. “I have peanut butter and jelly.” Of course, that would mean using the bread I was saving for Cardinal bait, but if the weather was as bad as it seemed --and it was -- the chances of returning to the forest to finish sketches were growing slimmer by the hour.

  “Whatever you have will be fine.” He sniffed again. “It smells wonderful.”

  “Which means you must be starved.”

  He flushed. “Nothing since breakfast, but I’m sure that whatever you made will be – wonderful.” And half an hour later, judging by the way he shoveled the last of the left-over hot dish into his belly and sighed in contentment because he couldn’t manage another bite, he actually liked it. Or else he was on the verge of starvation.

  We washed the few dishes side by side, him washing and me drying and putting things away, then, as if by mutual, silent agreement, we adjourned, me to the couch and he to the cushiony chair near the wood stove. He dropped into it and stuck his legs out, flexing them in the warmth from the fire. And sighed in contentment once more. And closed his eyes, then opened them as if realizing that it wasn’t good manners to fall asleep in front of your hostess.

  In that brief moment, though, while his eyes were closed, I’d examined him. Tallish, maybe six feet, with a complexion browned by being outside summer and winter, sandy hair and, though his eyes were closed, I remembered their deep, dark depths. Nice eyes. Friendly. And thoughtful, concerned about something, though I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what was on his mind in case it was the blizzard and the dangers it presented.

  When he opened them and flushed in embarrassment at being caught napping, I couldn’t avoid saying, “I wonder how long the blizzard will last.” Then I shrugged off any concern because I didn’t want him to think I was a coward, but also because I wasn’t ready to deal with the problems inherent in being stranded in a remote wilderness cabin in a blizzard. “It’s an inconvenience. The weatherman said two to three days.” Which was how long most blizzards last. No big deal. Or so I said without speaking out loud.

  He wasn’t sure I was right about the storm’s duration. “It was predicted to start two days from now. So does the early start mean two additional days of snow and wind?” He shook his head and shuddered a bit and then, as if not wanting to be negative, he smiled, though a bit wanly. “If so, I’m doubly glad I found your place. I’d hate to be stranded in the forest for a week.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’d maybe survive but it wouldn’t be pleasant.”

  “Plus, you’d have to contend with the drop in temperature that follows a storm.”

  He shivered. “It’ll get really cold when the blizzard ends. It always does.” He peered into the hot stove and rubbed his hands to gather more heat. “Lots of degrees below zero.”

  I hadn’t seriously thought about what happens during a blizzard. I’d lived in the north all my life but this particular storm was all wrong and I wasn’t prepared. It wasn’t supposed to happen until I was safe at home.

  Nor had I considered the weather that follows because I hadn’t expected to have to deal with that, either. Now I did and all because this stranger knocked on my door in the middle of the night and showed me what was happening.

  Weather filled my mind. Crowded out everything else. Bothered me so much that I wished he’d not come like some mystery man through the snow. “I hope it’s over quickly and we can be out of here.”

  I didn’t say that the cabin wasn’t provisioned for extended winter stays and that my parents and I had just about exhausted all supplies of every kind during our impromptu winter vacation. But my eyes strayed to the window beyond which was the dangerously low pile of firewood. Another day’s worth at the most.

  I thought about the almost bare cupboards and almost empty refrigerator. And the fact that there was no cell service and no one knew where I was except my parents and they were used to not hearing from me for days at a time. Sometimes weeks. But I didn’t say anything because what good would it do? Why scare my guest?

  We watched the fire in silence, each thinking our own thoughts, but oddly, the uncomfortable part of getting to know someone was gone and the silence became companionable, which surprised me because on those few times we’d had company at the cabin, any silence had been strained as guests sought for something to say that didn’t include the lack of electricity or plumbing or cell service.

  This man, all light brown skin and hair and darker eyes and legs that skimmed the floor and left shadows twice as long as they were seemed to belong to the night, the fire and the flickering light of the oil lamp and the sturdy log walls between us and the blizzard that was just beginning to roar through the north country and how a person could be one with a storm at night I couldn’t fathom but that was what I saw. I tried to envision a picture that would bring out that essence and failed because I c
ouldn’t wrap my artist’s imagination around what I was seeing.

  We sat in comfortable silence until we found ourselves nodding off and, with embarrassed expressions, we both at the same time said that it was time for bed. I pointed him towards the loft with a double bed that my parents used and, as he climbed that ladder, I climbed the second one to the loft with the teddy bear rug.

  In bed, warm and comfortable, I couldn’t sleep. Instead, I listened to the storm beyond the walls and wondered what it would be like to be stranded in that white, isolated world with no safe place nearby, no food, and little hope of rescue. It could have happened to him. Not to us both now, of course, because we were safe in a sturdy log cabin, but the thought made me shudder until I put the pillow over my head and slept.

  CHAPTER 4

  In the morning, the first thing we did after descending from our lofts was go to the window to see what the world was like in the light of day, hoping against hope that we’d been wrong and the snow we’d seen had been just a winter’s kiss instead of the beginning of a full-blown blizzard.

  No such luck.

  The outside world was beautiful in its own way and I thought in some remote part of my mind that it would make a lovely picture, with black and brown tree trunks and green pine needles, all enveloped in snow that varied from blue where it lay in shadows to pristine, virginal white in more open spots, and a few multi-colored drifts where it had been swirled into various odd shapes. Like the one that was my car only now it was covered by who knew how much snow and was an indistinct, unrecognizable lump.

  More important, though, was that we saw everything through a veil of still more snow falling steadily, thickly and persistently from the sky beyond the treetops. Looking up, the sky was invisible. All we saw were billions of snowflakes cartwheeling down. There was wind up there, too. We could feel it though the thick trees kept it at bay nearer the ground.

  “I was hoping I was wrong,” was all my visitor said, with a huge sigh.

  “Unfortunately, you were right. That’s a real, old-fashioned blizzard out there.”

  We stared out the window until it occurred to me that we’d been together overnight and didn’t even know one another’s name. Dumb. I turned to him and said, “I’m Laurie.” No last names, we wouldn’t be together long enough to need them. Would we?’

  He held out a hand and I took it and we solemnly shook hands as a grin started at one corner of his mouth and spread across it and then jumped through the air and landed on me and we found ourselves laughing like a couple of idiots because we were both thinking the same thing. How had we managed to ignore the fundamental courtesy of exchanging names?

  “I’m Jase, and I own the event center. It’s a fair distance from here, which is why I didn’t start walking home when my snowmobile died.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I figured the road would be closer and I’d flag someone down. Good thing I didn’t, no one would be on the road in weather like this. And a very good thing that I saw your tracks.” Then, with a grimace, “Sorry, of course you don’t know what I’m talking about. I’m so wrapped up in my somewhat new acquisition that I assume everyone knows about the event center even though that’s a blatant, arrogant assumption on my part.”

  “Not at all, I’ve heard about it. Everyone has.” I withdrew my hand with a slight flush because neither of us seemed to realize we’d been shaking hands way longer than usual. “I’ve heard lots of good things. Like that it’s an awesome place.”

  “That’s a relief.” We stared at one another and tried to come up with something else to say until we realized that morning is breakfast time so I opened the cupboards to see what was available. “We can finish the eggs. Then I won’t have to carry them home. And there’s a fair-sized slab of bacon.”

  I reached for the bacon and was stopped by Jase’s hand on my arm. “Let’s not eat that yet.” He examined the contents of the refrigerator while pretending not to, a subtle alarm spreading over his face at how little was in it. “Just in case we’re here for a while what say we stretch the supplies until we know how long it’ll be?”

  He smiled to take the sting from his words and shrugged as if it was no big deal that the food inside was limited while not fooling me for a minute. Concern nibbled the edges of that subtle expression, turning it into full-blown concern as neither of us could avoid the fact that there wasn’t an unlimited supply of food.

  He shrugged and tried to act casual. “It’ll be easier for you to throw any extras in the car when we leave than to go hungry because we ate it all too soon.” And then, giving up on pretending things were normal, he caved and his face sobered. “I’m so sorry. My presence here makes things worse. There are two of us. If I’d not come, you’d have plenty.”

  I pulled out the eggs and left the bacon in the refrigerator. “I’d never get over it if I learned someone suffered in the blizzard near the cabin while I was comfortable in here.” I shuddered and had a hard time stopping until I forced my body to be still because I didn’t want him to know how shook I was by his comment about supplies and about what it was like outside. Mostly about how little food we had.

  We made breakfast. We worked well together and ended up with a decent meal that we ate seated on opposite sides of the scarred and wobbly wood table that had been in the cabin since forever. Then we cleaned the kitchen together and looked around and realized that there was an entire day ahead of us, and that meant hours of doing something. But what?

  “Do you like to read?” I pointed to the shelves that consisted of our fairly extensive library because, with no TV or cell service, reading is a great option. He nodded and examined them for a moment before pulling out one of my father’s favorites. Jaws.

  I smiled privately as he dropped into the chair beside the stove and began reading the story all men seem to like, and soon he forgot I existed, which was fine with me because it meant I didn’t have to play hostess. My lack of social graces wasn’t important if he was reading.

  Which left me to think what I’d do with the day that stretched ahead. My fingers itched to sketch something. Anything. Outside would be best, with black trees with snow piled thick on the branches and perhaps that bright, red Cardinal. But it was warm in the cabin and that warmth held me in thrall, not to mention that it might be bad manners to desert my uninvited guest, at least until he was oriented to the place.

  But the itch grew, so I looked around for something inside to paint but I’d already memorialized the room a thousand times over the years. Besides, the restlessness brought on by the storm made me want something different. Something new. But what?

  My gaze moved until it rested on the sandy head of the man now lost in the story of a dangerous shark. I was caught by the flicker of firelight on his cheekbones. The half-smile as he followed the adventures of the intrepid sheriff. The way one leg was slung over the arm of the chair and moved back and forth ever so slightly as he grew more and more involved in the story.

  I’d paint my visitor. I’d never gone in for portraits but this wasn’t for sale, it was for passing the time and, in a moment of internal honesty, I admitted that it was also for me to see if I could pull it off. If I could do a portrait. If I could capture that quality in him that went so well with his surroundings. That made him look so right seated beside the wood stove.

  I thought once again how well he blended into the cabin and its furnishings. He had the same tone on tone brown skin as the cabin’s log walls had from years of the same kind of weathering that he’d got from being outside. He appeared just as sturdily made as the cabin and sat with a laid back, relaxed manner that all families want when on vacation. He was a man of the forest and of this place and time.

  The errant thought struck me that his event center must do well if guests got the same vibe from him that I did, and I wondered if they felt it as strongly or was it just the artist in me that excited my senses as I headed for my pencils?

  I quietly opened the case I’d so carefully shut the night before,
pulled out a pencil, and set to work, pleased and somewhat surprised at how well and how quickly it went until I glanced at the clock and discovered that more time had passed than I’d realized. Noon was near, the portrait was coming together nicely, the snow beyond the window continued to fall, and the wind above the treetops continued to blow. I put my pencil down.

  Jase looked up, eyes gleaming. “Can I move now?”

  I flushed. “I didn’t realize you knew I was drawing you.”

  “Kind of obvious. Can I see?” I showed him. His eyes went wide. “Are you an artist or something?” I nodded. “A real artist?”

  I laughed. “My pictures are in a gallery and people do buy them. Does that count?”

  “Absolutely.” He looked me up and down. “I know several amateur artists and some of them are quite good, but you’re my first professional.” The eyes gleamed again. “You don’t look like an artist. No strange, billowy clothes and dangly earrings.”

  “Sorry, I never learned how to be artsy.” I raked my hand through my hair. My short, practical, red hair. “A failure my agent bemoans frequently.”

  He examined me again, slower this time. “His problem. Normal is nice even if your hair is red.”

  “Red hair is normal.”

  “Normal for some families, I suppose but it could be considered artsy if you let it grow long enough and put some sparkly stuff in it.” He examined the almost finished sketch again. “Can I have it?”

  “When it’s done. This is just a beginning, a sketch. The finished portrait will take a while but I promise to give it to you.” Which was when I realized I had a specific picture in mind. Cabin, man, and atmosphere, with trees and snow seen through the window. A different kind of forest picture, but I had a gut feeling that it would be good.

  We had bacon for lunch, along with toast that almost finished the bread but I’d given up on a trek through the forest to see if the Cardinal was back and, after the concern about supplies, I decided that we needed the bread more than the birds did. We cleaned up quietly, both thinking of the food in the refrigerator and cupboard – the almost empty refrigerator and cupboard -- while wondering how long the storm would last.