Hard to tell if she shook her head yes or no, so violently did she shiver, but she did shift a bit, lifting her chin. “It is, but the Robinsons moved out years ago,” she shouted. “The house is empty. We cannot stay there alone.”
“It is that or die.”
Without waiting for her consent, he squinted into the colourless world, scanning what he hoped was the right side of the road. If he turned too soon, they’d plow headfirst into a frozen hedgerow and be stuck. Too late and they’d miss the turnoff altogether.
An eternity later, an indistinguishable shape appeared. Maybe. Maybe not. Bram hunched forward on the bench seat, straining to see. Eventually, he focused on what could be a man in a charcoal coat, arms wrapped tight, standing immobile—the exact sight he was hoping for. The man-sized tree stump had guarded the Robinson farm lane for as long as he could remember. He slowed the horses with a slight tug—not too much lest they stop, but not too little or the back of the wagon would swing wide. With a layer of ice beneath the snow, it would be easy to lose control. Ever so carefully, he guided the horses in a gentle arc.
It was an excruciating dance, this delicate balance of trying to remain on a road he couldn’t see. Thankfully the drive wasn’t miles long. Just as the last of the day’s light threatened to give up its ghost, the light grey mass of a structure grew darker in hue. He pulled on the reins with a “Whoa, now. Easy boys.”
The crunch of wheels against snow ground to a halt. Bram climbed down from the driver’s seat, stiff enough to shatter should he slip and fall, which he nearly did. He grasped the side of the wagon and worked his way around to the passenger side. “Come, Eva. I am here for you.”
Gloved fingers shot out of the driving snow, flailing for his grip. He flung his hand toward her. Too late. A body hurtled athim, catching him off-balance. Bram flew backward, Eva sailing with him to the icy ground. He lay dazed, frozen, and completely out of breath ... though it was nice to hold Eva so close.
“Sorry!” She pushed away and toppled sideways.
If he weren’t so cold, he’d laugh.
With a few slips and slides, he made his way to his feet. Anchoring his step, he hauled her up. After a quick re-tucking of the blanket around her shoulders, he pulled her against his side. “Hold on to me and try not to lose your footing.”
She gripped him without argument or mercy. As he trudged toward the old house, it took all his effort to breathe, so tightly did she cling. Ahead, the dark maw of a door hole opened in the whiteness. No actual door closed out the elements. Blast. Would this ramshackle old house be any protection against the storm?
He stumbled inside, pulling Eva along with him, and once his vision adjusted to the shadows, his spirits lifted. A door did still hang from its hinges. Likely the wind had blown it open.
He slid his arm from Eva’s shoulders. “Stay here. I will see to the horses and return to make a fire in the hearth. Maybe look around for some wood, hmm?”
She nodded, teeth chattering.
He fought the door shut behind him—a brutal battle—and tromped back into a face full of snow. It was an even bigger fight to unhitch the horses, but eventually he prevailed and led them to a collection of wooden boards leaning together like a band of drunken sailors desperate to remain upright. Some barn. The roof was more of a suggestion than a covering. One of the horses snorted a puff of steam in protest.
“Easy now, Jasper.” He patted the bay on the nose. “Let’s see what we can find you and your mate.”
Bram rambled around the big space, scowling when wind whipped snow through cracks in the walls. Two stalls toward the back seemed to be the best hope of protection. At least it was better than being out on the road.
It took him some time to remove the horses’ tack, his fingers refusing to cooperate in the frigid air. Frequent breaks of huffing warm breath onto his hands helped somewhat. Eventually, he secured Quill and Jasper for the night, then shouldered his way back into the storm. Twilight settled like a dark counterpane pulled over the earth. He longed for a cheery fire, for light and warmth. Survival, actually. Thank God he’d purchased a new cigar and plenty of matches while in Cambridge.
After another tussle with the door, he staggered inside, numb with cold. Shadows gathered in the front room, but no woman did.
“Eva?” he called. “Have you found some kindling?”
Nothing but the howling wind answered.
It wasn’t a big house. She ought to have heard him.
“Eva,” he called again as he tread across warped floorboards to a side room. Blackness reigned, the only light from a single window. Snow stuck against what glass remained and a drift crawled across the floor. He pushed the door shut.
“Eva!” he shouted while striding into a back room. A kitchen, apparently. A broken range stood cockeyed on a few missing legs. An old sink against one wall. Part of a chair and what used to be a table heaped in the center.
But no Eva.
A gap-stepped stairway clung to another wall as if either may tip over at the slightest touch. Surely she’d not have gone upstairs ... would she?
He dashed over to the steps. No. She absolutely would not have. The ceiling had collapsed on this part of the house, blocking anyone from traveling beyond the top stair.
He wheeled about, heart catching in his throat. He’d heard tales of those frozen to death, how delirium set in just before the poor soul wandered out into a perceived promise of warmth. Shedding clothing. Lying down to sleep. Forever.
“Eva!” He tore toward the rear door. “Where are you?”
She would die here, and not because of God’s lack of smiling. This was all her fault. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid! Eva spun in a circle, clutching onto two small sticks for firewood. Snow pelted her face, blinding her. She couldn’t even see her footprints to decipher which direction led back to the safety of the Robinson farmhouse.
