Itwasbitterlycold.
Bright,brittle sunlight slanted through the pines as frozen crystals cascaded in slow motion off the branches, floating gently on the still air like constellations of diamonds. Days of fog and not a breath of wind had encased every inch of the forest in hoarfrost, each individual needle sparkling in a thousand striations of white.
Jacob’s breath misted before him in great plumes as he hiked through the forest. The trap lines along the frozen creek bed had come up empty so far. His boots crunched the snow in the irregular rhythm of his now familiar limp, and he leaned on his stout walking stick more than he’d like to admit. It was going to be his companion for a while; his broken leg was healing but still painful. At least that stick was useful for other things. He could test the depth of a snowbank and the soundness of the ice encasing the creeks and streams. His hands were swathed in thick fur mittens. He wore a rough parka fashioned out of pieced together hides, with a cowl of soft rabbit fur pulled tight around his face so only his piercing blue eyes could be seen in the recesses of his hood. Tiny icicles had formed on his beard. It was the longest it had ever been, and to be honest, a little unmanageable, but at least it kept off some of the chill.
Jacob paused to check the angle of the sun. It wasn’t far into the afternoon, but already it hung close to the edge of the mountains. Not much daylight left. Might not be able to check the north line today. But maybe he’d have enough time to put up a bit of firewood when he gotback to the cabin. He bent down and tugged the laces of his splint tight then soldiered on, determined to at least get this line done despite the ache in his leg.
He made it back with a skinny hare and just enough light to split firewood for the long, dark night. Jacob gritted his teeth, chiding himself with how long these tasks took, hobbling around, barely able to juggle an armful of wood without tripping and falling on his face. His whole life he’d been capable and strong. To be limited to the mobility of a man four times his age chafed his pride.
Jacob rattled into the snug little cabin. He dropped the wood by the fire and propped his walking stick next to the door.
“Don’t chew on that,” he said, pointing a finger at Dantès. The hound lifted his head and cocked it to the side, the look of innocence on his face so sincere that Jacob laughed. They both knew there were teeth marks all over it. He hobbled over to the bed. Obadiah lay shivering under a pile of buffalo hides. “How are you doin’, old man?”
“Feelin’ my age, that’s for darn sure.” A coughing fit came over him. It came from deep inside his chest, sounding like the rattling chains of Hades’s underworld. Jacob’s brow creased in worry. Obadiah had taken sick two weeks ago and still barely had the strength to walk the length of the cabin.
When the fit had passed, Jacob helped him sit up. Obadiah asked in a raspy voice, “How were the lines today?”
“Got a hare.”
“At least we’ll have a little supper tonight,” he said with a heavy sigh.
“Couldn’t quite make it to the north line today. Not enough light. Maybe somethin’ more substantial will turn up there.”
“Ah, not likely. They’re gettin’ wise, these critters. They know me just well enough to stay away. Gonna have to find a new spot. Start fresh.” He coughed again.
“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Jacob said, trying to keep his voice light.
“It’s the leanest year I’ve had out here. Game’s gettin’ scarce. And then I been laid up for weeks. And nothin’ but a hobo with a gimpy leg to help,” he said, a twinkle in his eye despite his pale and hollow cheeks.
“Who are you callin’ a gimp?” Jacob bantered good-naturedly.
“Well, it ain’t Dantès.”
The wolfdog looked up at the sound of his name. He had barely left Obadiah’s side these past weeks. Jacob went to the table and set to skinning the hare. “Maybe Dantès should be the one makin’ the grub.”
“Might taste better’n yours,” Obadiah said, his laugh morphing into another coughing fit.
“I got a lot of things in my head. Ain’t got space to lend to the feminine pursuits.”
“Exceptin’ peppermint tea and onion poultices?” Obadiah asked, reaching for the mug of cold tea sitting beside his bed.
A wash of sadness filled Jacob’s heart. It still hurt to think of Kate and all the experiences they’d shared. But at least he wasn’t angry anymore. Well, only a little bit, anyway. “Just a few essential skills I picked up from someone who knew just exactly how to care for a body.”
“Would that someone’s name be Kate?”
“Yeah.”
“She sounds like a mighty fine woman.”
“The finest,” Jacob said softly.
Obadiah lay back and closed his eyes. “Maybe when you see her next, ask her to teach you to cook.”
Jacob snorted a laugh. “Won’t likely see her again.”
The old trapper cracked an eye open. “You said they settled at the old Avery place on Willow Creek?”
“Yeah.” Jacob could feel himself growing surly. He really didn’t want to talk about Kate.
