She tried not to clench her jaw and tense her shoulders. Tried not to let the heat pricking the backs of her eyes turn into actual tears. Tried not to let the panic bubbling in her stomach creep into her voice.
But she wasn’t sure she succeeded. “We ran out of pemmican two days ago, and we sent the last of the jerky with Heath and Richard when they went to find help.”
“What about biscuits?” Dr. Ottingford’s voice, which was normally dry and monotone, held a note of hope.
“We ran out of those ingredients last week. I told you.”
“You did?” Father blinked, his eyes large behind his thick spectacles. “I could have sworn we had enough supplies to last us when Richard and Heath left.”
“We also assumed they’d be gone for about a week. It’s been three.”
“There, there. Don’t fret.” Father reached out and took her hand, then patted it as he’d done when she was a child. “I’m sure Richard and Heath have found the river by now. Maybe they even went to one of those Indian villages to ask for help. It will all work out. You’ll see.”
“But what if it doesn’t?” Bryony tugged her hand away from her father. “What if they slipped while trying to make it down a mountain? Or what if a grizzly bear attacked them too? What if snow comes tonight and makes passage out of the valley impossible?”
At this point, the only thing she could assume was that her brother, Heath, and his best friend had perished in the wilderness. They should have been back weeks ago. Why couldn’t her father see it? How could he be so smart when it came to science, and so utterly clueless about everything else?
“We’ll be fine.” Her father reached out and patted her hand again. “This isn’t my first expedition where something’s gone awry. Walter, remember the time when we were in the Southwest studying vegetation in the Texas desert?”
Dr. Ottingford rubbed the bald spot on top of his head, his eyes wide behind his own wire-rimmed glasses. “Yes, I remember. We were able to find water before running out. It wasn’t nearly as dire of a situation as our guide first thought.”
That wasn’t how she remembered it. It had seemed beyond dire, as though they’d been hours away from dying. She’d been accompanying her father on his expeditions since her mother died when Bryony was the ripe old age of eight. Before that, she’d crept into her father’s hothouse to sketch plants and record her observations about whatever he happened to be growing. But even though that expedition to Texas had been six years ago, she could still recall the terror she’d felt when their guide realized the creek they’d been planning to get water from was dry, and they had to look for another water source.
It had taken them four hours to find one.
But they’d been lost in this wilderness for ten weeks. Surely that had to be more serious than a four-hour delay in finding water.
“Your brother and Richard made it back to the river. I’m sure they did. Help will be here any day now.” Her father turned toward the pot hanging over the fire. “I know a meal of boiled roots doesn’t seem like much, but we’ll be eating fish aplenty soon enough.”
But what if Heath and Richard got lost? Or what if they were dead?
“I think we should leave in the morning.” She followed her father back to the fire.
“No.” Her father picked up one of the tin bowls beside the fire, then stirred the broth in the pot. “We said we’d stay here and study the vegetation until they returned. The last thing we need to do is move. That will make it impossible for them to find us.”
“That assumes they’re alive and well enough to lead an expedition back to us. And we don’t know that they are.”
Her father dropped the spoon back into the pot, his light blue eyes piercing beneath his bushy white eyebrows. “Do you truly think your brother is dead, Bryony?”
She shifted her weight on the uneven ground, her throat growing tight. She didn’t want to think that. Didn’t want to believe that what had once been a happy family of four, with two parents, one son, and one daughter, was now just a father-daughter team.
But what else was she supposed to think?
What—other than a major disaster—would possibly keep Heath from returning to them when he knew they were stranded in the wilderness?
“I don’t know what to think. That’s why I’m so worried. Part of what makes me think we need to leave in the morning.” And hope and pray they’d somehow find their way through the towering mountains and winding valleys that had confused them for the past ten weeks. “You can tell winter is coming. I know you can.”
Almost as though confirming her statement, a brutal gust of wind blew down from one of the mountains, working its way beneath her wool coat.
“The girl does have a point, Atticus.” Dr. Ottingford looked to the north, where the tallest of the mountains surrounding them towered over the valley with its snow-capped peak.
It should have been a beautiful sight, the majestic mountain with a turquoise lake at its base and a series of smaller mountains circling the lake. It had been beautiful the first time she’d seen it. Before she’d realize just how lost they were.
Now it terrified her.
“The weather is turning, and we don’t know what might have befallen Heath and Richard.” Dr. Ottingford gestured toward the mountain to the north, then dragged his gaze along the series of peaks that surrounded them to the east and south and west. “Half the time, the peaks are too shrouded in clouds for us to see them, and when we can, the snow line is always farther and farther down. We can’t afford to be here when winter comes. The canyon we followed to get here will become impassable with the first bit of snow.”
Her father sighed, his shoulders heaving. “We need to wait longer. I really do think Heath and Richard will return, possibly with an entire team to guide us out.”
