get them howling loud enough so whoever is
out there will hear us. We start howling
and the dogs raise their voices too.
The snowmachine doesn’t stop.
It’s moving farther away.
We stop howling, and
silence closes in.
It’s darker than
before. I can’t
seem to get
warm.
Willow,
you sleep now,
Kaylie says. I’ll stay
awake. We’re not freezing.
I trust her to wake me up if …
If what? That’s what I don’t know.
I lie down with Roxy and doze off.
Then, deep in her throat, Roxy growls,
and I’m wide awake. Her ears perk up.
Is Roxy scared? Should we be? Kaylie
says, Want to make another fire? We
could freeze to death out here. We
make a small fire, but we don’t
want to go out in the dark
to get more firewood.
What did Roxy
hear?
Out
here in
the middle of
the long cold night,
under the snow-covered
spruce tree, Kaylie and Roxy
and I lie awake, keeping each other
warm. Like a steady heartbeat, Kaylie
speaks a few words to me and I answer.
The night has a heartbeat of its own,
and somehow we’re inside it. Kaylie
says, When I held Roxy in the sled,
it seemed like she was watching
where we were going, even
though she’s blind. I know
just what Kaylie means.
Willow, she whispers,
I’m scared. Are you?
I don’t try to deny it.
Maybe a little, but
look—it’s almost
morning. Roxy
sniffs at the
first hint of
light, and
stretches.
It’s
morning,
and Roxy’s eyes
are no worse than they were
last night. I think I know where we
went wrong, I say. If I’m right, it won’t be hard
to find our way back to that trail and take it to my
grandparents’ house. Kaylie says, No way, Willow. We’re
going home. (Not me, I’m not giving up. But I don’t argue yet.)
We feed the dogs, pack the sled, hitch up Cora, Lucky, and Magoo,
and start down the trail, heading in the direction of the snowmachine
we heard. It’s so much easier to find our way this morning. But—
what are these big tracks? Look, we have a lynx around here!
We study the tracks, trying to figure out which way it went.
Kaylie says, Let’s get going. Save all this talk for later.
So we set off together. But I look at Roxy, thinking:
She warned us, maybe scared off a lynx that came
too close. We thought we were taking care of
her, and all the time she was taking care
of us. Hike, Cora! Hike, Magoo!
All right, Lucky! It’s time
to be on our way—
to Grandma’s
house.
We
have to
go about a mile
on the wrong trail before
we come to the right one. I see
what happened: Cora hasn’t been
to Grandma and Grandpa’s house as often
as Roxy has. She made a wrong turn down the
old trail. The snow was falling so hard by then, we
couldn’t see past the dogs. That’s why we didn’t notice
we were headed in the wrong direction—everything is
so clear this morning. Hey! Is that what I think it is?
Kaylie, look! I think the lynx was here not long ago.
All around the intersection of the old trail and the
new one, we see tracks of a large lynx, fresh this
morning. We both sink in up to our knees,
but the lynx walked on top of the snow
The fork we should have
come to yesterday
can’t be much
farther now.
This time
I know
I’ll
see
it.
I
can’t
believe this!
Kaylie is stressing out
about missing half a day of
school! She wants to go home
instead of keeping on and trying to
get Roxy to Grandma and Grandpa’s.
We’re almost there! I’m afraid one of
our dads is coming, not far behind us.
I know we’re giving everyone a scare.
Maybe they’ve been up all night, but
we still have to keep going! Listen!
I hear dogs on the trail behind us.
At least it’s not a snowmachine.
If it’s Dad, he’ll have Prince and
Samson. They aren’t as fast as
these three dogs, but his sled
will be lighter than ours—
he could catch up. Hike,
Cora! Good job, Lucky!
Roxy barks twice, like
she’s cheering us on.
Magoo barks, too,
and then even
Kaylie yells,
Go!
Look!
Where?
What is it?
An animal …
a streak of gold.
Roxy growls deep
in her throat, like she did
in the middle of the night.
We slow down and stare into
the forest—the lynx stares back
at us. When we move on and speed
up, so does it. It’s sleek, graceful,
moving beside us and keeping up.
I know we’re strong enough
to outrun it if we want to,
but I don’t think
I want
to.
Albert, Richard’s grandfather (Lynx)
There’s no doubt about it—Richard is smitten with this Kaylie. I remember being thirteen and in love. The girl’s name was Celina, her hair was black, her laugh reminded me of northern lights. I’d try anything to make Celina laugh. She paid me no more mind than Kaylie pays to Richard, but I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to protect her—whether or not she wanted my protection. Or so I told myself. Truth was, I just wanted to be near her.
Yesterday, when word went out that the girls were missing in the blizzard, Richard strapped on his snowshoes and headed down the trail. He would have loved to find those girls—especially Kaylie—and help them get to safety. But the storm grew worse, and he turned back—the boy does have some sense.
I went out to see what I could see.
That dog they call Cora (I knew her as Mary; as I recall, she was Willow’s grandpa’s auntie) can remember when the old trail was the only trail. It didn’t surprise me to see her lead them that way, but I was afraid it would mean trouble. I decided to follow and stay with them.
Roxy doesn’t miss much—she heard me in the night and growled, so I moved on. The snow had stopped by then. I left a few tracks for them to find this morning, and a few more by the trail where they took the wrong turn yesterday.
This morning, before the crack of dawn, Richard hitched up his four dogs and came out looking for the girls. If he’d left home a little earlier, he would have seen my tracks before they did; he might have met them as they came back down the old trail. But Willow and Kaylie passed that place before he got there. He’s on the trail behind them now. His sled is almost empty, s
o he’s moving faster than they are. He may yet be of some use.
As for me, I’m teasing them a little. Willow doesn’t mind if I run along beside them, and if Kaylie is a little scared, well, that will give Richard something to protect her from.
If
we go
too fast,
we could
have another
accident. If we
don’t go fast enough,
the dogs behind us will
catch up. They’re getting close.
I hear a musher’s voice, but I can’t tell
for sure if it’s Dad. Kaylie is holding Roxy
securely in the sled. There’s a good trail packed down
just right. (Thank you, whatever friend we heard in the middle
of last night, out on a snowmachine, packing the trail for us.)
Okay—I’m going to go a little faster, be as careful as I can.
If the trail is good all the way to Grandma and Grandpa’s,
we can make it in another fifteen minutes. If it’s Dad
behind me, we might be able to get there before he
catches up. Kaylie turns around in the sled so she
can watch the trail behind us. Whoever it is,
they’re getting closer—it sounds like
they have more than two dogs.
What! Kaylie almost falls
out of the sled—
Richard?
Kaylie
and Richard
are ridiculously
happy to see each other.
The lynx comes to the edge
of the trees to look out at us. Richard
roars at it, making this wild face. Kaylie
laughs. Just before the lynx runs off, it gives
the two of them a look—is it chuckling at them?
I hold the two dog teams apart and keep Roxy quiet.
Richard wants to take Kaylie home. Don’t you know how
worried people are? If she does leave to go with him, what
will I do without anyone to hold Roxy? It’s Kaylie’s choice,
and I can’t stop her. She looks at Roxy and me. She asks,
Could you take Roxy the rest of the way alone? I think
so—I’m almost there. If they go back, they can tell
Mom and Dad I’m okay. Kaylie will miss only
half a day of school. Sure, I say. I turn away.
I tuck our two sleeping bags around Roxy.
I’ll be fine. Go ahead. Roxy whines
a little as we watch them go.
I put my arms around her.
Snow falls from a
branch onto her
face and mine.
I brush it
off.
All
my doubts
come circling in
as soon as I’m alone.
It’s like I’m a mouse and
they’re hawks that have been
watching, out of sight, and now
they see their chance to swoop down
on me. What if Roxy gets worse from
being on this trip? She needs her bandage
changed, and she has to stay warm and dry.
Kaylie and I kept her with us in the shelter
all night, but I know she should have been
indoors. I didn’t even leave Mom and Dad
a note—I couldn’t think of what to say
that wouldn’t make them mad, so I
just left without saying anything,
which will make them madder.
And there’s this problem:
Grandma and Grandpa
might say no. What if
they already have
too many dogs,
and can’t
keep our
Roxy?
Oh,
Roxy,
look at you,
keeping your head tucked
down in the sled, so the cold wind
won’t hurt your eyes. I love how your right
ear perks up like that. What do you hear? Dogs barking?
Maybe Grandpa’s. (Come on, Roxy, we’re waiting for you!)
I love how, when we first hear the thwack of Grandpa’s ax,
you lift your head a little and turn to me, like you used to
when you could see. It’s early for Grandpa to be out
chopping wood. I bet he’s been up all night,
waiting for us. Now we’re almost there.
Grandma and Grandpa will feed us.
No one will get mad. They’ll
take care of you, Roxy.
I know they will.
They have
to.
Here
is what is
so great about
Grandma and Grandpa:
They don’t ask a single question
until Cora, Lucky, and Magoo are tied
and fed, and I’m inside wearing dry clothes,
too big, but clean and warm, and Grandpa has
brought Roxy in so she’s safe, too, and now she’s
eating beaver soup, and someone must have changed
her bandage and Grandma puts a plate of pancakes
in front of me and fried moose meat and potatoes.
I’m more hungry than I have ever been in my life.
I finish eating and slump in my chair, and then
Grandma picks up her sewing and says,
Willow, you want to talk—even
then it’s not exactly
a question. Yes, I
say, I want
to talk.
To you.
About
Roxy.
See,
I say.
I struggle
for words and
Grandma listens
with her hands and ears
and eyes, and that’s exactly
what I want to tell her, how Roxy
does that, too. Grandma, Roxy doesn’t
need her eyes—she still sees me. Or maybe she
knows me without seeing. She trusts us! How can
Dad and Mom just let her go? I can’t let them do that.
So I brought her here to you. If you can keep her, I’ll
bring food for her. I’ll come out every weekend and
brush her coat. When her eyes are better, I’ll take
her out and let her run. Grandma doesn’t
answer for the longest time, and I try
to think of something else to say,
but I can’t, so I just stop.
Grandma looks at me,
she looks at Roxy.
Finally, she says,
Maybe this dog
doesn’t want
to stay with
us. I bet
she wants
to stay
with
you.
Jean, Willow’s great-great-great grandmother (Spruce Hen)
What’s become of Kaylie and Richard (and Albert, that old lynx)? Let me see what I can see.
There they are. Richard’s dogs are well behaved. He lets Kaylie drive them for a while, standing on the runners in front of him, so happy, like she’s forgotten all about the mischief she’s been making, the trouble she’ll be in when she gets home.
I fly to the place where the old trail meets the new trail. It looks like half the town is here, reading the tracks in the snow.
They went this way, down the old trail, says Kaylie’s mother.
No, that’s where they came from, Willow’s dad points out. Then they turned this way … Look.
Little Zanna is walking around by herself, off to the side. What’s this big track? Kind of like a cat, only bigger.
Lynx! says Willow’s mother. I haven’t seen a lynx around here for thirteen years!
Prince and Samson look down the trail and bark. Everyone looks up.
Listen! Willow’s father says. Dogs in the distance … coming this way.
Willow and Kaylie!
When Richard and Kaylie come down the trail, everyone stares at them like Kaylie is a ghost and Richard has brought her back to the land of the living.
Now listen to them, all talking at once. I’ve never seen so much hugging and handshaking. It looks like Richard is meeting Kaylie’s parents for the first time—he has that proud I-saved-your-daughter look. If Kaylie is in trouble, her parents forget to tell her. Everyone stops talking and lets her tell her story.
Soon everyone but Willow’s family heads back into town.
I
hear
something,
Grandma says.
Our snowmachine!
Dad’s driving it, fast.
Even though I’m glad he’s
here, and I know I’m lucky to be
alive, I’m still a little scared. But when Dad
comes in, it is amazing—he is way, way
more happy to see me than he is mad
about what I did. He comes in and
hugs me hard, for a long time.
His first question takes me by
surprise: not, How is Roxy?
but, How is your leg? I
haven’t thought about
it since yesterday. Fine,
I say, and I realize it’s
true. After a while, I
hear Mom coming
with the dogs. She
doesn’t really like
dog-mushing, but
she can do it when
she has to. Zanna
is fast asleep in
the sled, so
warm, so
safe.
They’ve
already heard most
of the story from Kaylie:
the blinding snow, the wrong trail,
the shelter under the spruce tree. And Zanna
found the lynx tracks, so they know about that.
What’s left for me to say? I know I have to tell
them I’m sorry, and I am, and I do. But Roxy
is older than Zanna! Part of the family!
Shouldn’t they be a little sorry, too?
Why did they think it was
okay to make such a
huge decision
without
me?
Dad
starts to say,
Willow, why didn’t you—
I interrupt: You can’t blame it
all on me, Dad. Then they give each other
that look, like all the adults trust each other
and none of them want to know me, I mean really
know me, who I really am, what I really think, why
I do what I do, or don’t do what they think I should.
Dad starts to answer, looks at me, closes his mouth.
He doesn’t want to fight about it any more than I do.