The sound of meltwater dripping from the hastily-thatched roof onto the rough wooden floor of the cabin was enough to rouse Jonah from another night of restless sleep. The last of their firewood burned as dim, dancing embers in the hearth at the far end of the spacious room. Winter's chill lingered in the air, no doubt held in by the barricades of snow surrounding the shelter, towering up beyond the lowest branches of the surrounding trees at the edge of the clearing he and his brothers, Earle and Micah, had cleared five months earlier. Five months... two weeks, and three days, he noted as he ran his gnarled fingers over the hash marks carved into the log wall beside the head of his bed. Five neat blocks of six and some tallies and the beginning of another, only three groups and two lone slashes deep. It almost seemed a pity that he wouldn't be here to finish off another set. This month would have been a perfect set of six groups of five. The numbers had been a godsend. They'd given him something to obsess over on the worst of days when Rebecca's groans of discomfort were all he could hear or Micah's coughing near the hearth. Five and five and four times again. Another month together, we spend. A drop of melted snow patted down on his forehead, and Jonah blinked his thoughts back into order. His fingers, with their chipped and fractured nails and bleeding calluses siphoned dry and cracked from the cold, released their caress of the carved marks of time in the pine wall, a tender farewell that had become as much of a prayer as the routine blessing he gave to God every night before he carved them.
With a wide-armed stretch, Jonah sat up in bed, running a hand through his thick, unkempt beard as he glanced around the room. Emmelyne, his wife, lay snoring in a bed but a pace from his own. He pulled the warm blankets around his shoulders and crept in fur-lined wrap boots across the splintered floor toward her. "Wake up," he urged quietly. "Today, by God's grace, I think we can finally leave." She didn't stir, but he could see the smile on her placid, resting face. Her fingers gripped the wrapped-linen pillow beneath her head gently, their tips a blackened purple. With a caring sigh, he cradled her hand, kissing it tenderly before nestling it back beside her ruddy-cheeked face and letting her lie.
In the next bed over, his younger brother Micah and his wife, Rebecca, insisted on sleeping beside one another. It no doubt kept them warmer at night, and he wished in silence that his own wife had wanted such closeness during those months of hardship. Having her there had been enough, he insisted to himself. Micah coughed in his sleep, but neither he nor his wife stirred beyond a groan from Rebecca. The woman was several months along and heavy with child, but she ached to no end, and her skin looked as pallid and cold as the wet snow sloughing off the eaves. They need their rest as well, he decided with a nod. It's a long journey ahead, and we'll need all our strength to make it.
The last beds were empty. Earle, his older brother, was likely already up and outside, and his wife, Constance, was no doubt busy in the kitchen. Jonah could hear her at work. He didn't need to look to know she was scraping together one last meal for them all. It had been a long, hard winter, and it had come all at once when a massive snowstorm trapped them at the neck of the valley. They were weeks, no more than a month and a half by his maps, outside of California. Their five-month delay had hardly been by choice, but when the storm hit, Jonah and his two brothers had cut a close clearing in the woods, felling towering ponderosas to build a humble but warm cabin in which they and their wives were to spend the duration of the winter, come hell or high water. Earle had gone out and hunted enough meat for them to survive well enough until an encounter with a grizzly set him to bed for weeks, leaving the handsome young man with a grim scar across his left cheek. Their cabin had provided ample shelter through January until a second blizzard hit, burying the house up to its eaves in fresh, wet snow. Beyond their cleared perimeter, the winter's weight reached halfway up trees in some places. Emmelyne and Micah had worked sunup to sundown clearing the storm's work for three days. By the time they had cleared a path around and back up into the woods, Micah had come down with a nasty cough and Emmelyne's fingers had begun to redden and purple from the cold. Jonah and Constance had spent the time inside tending to Rebecca, whose growing pains had begun to worsen since the onset of the storm.
Late March had come on with a ferocity that had gradually calmed itself, and finally, the weather seemed ready to break. Jonah inhaled deeply, drinking in all the hope and grace that came with the early spring sunlight. The air was heavy with the aroma of pine and wet moss, a forest coming back to life after a deep winter's slumber. Pulling the blanket tighter over his worn and patched clothes, Jonah followed the single-step-wide path of footprints that wove around the cabin and found his brother hunched over in the back of their weatherbeaten wagon. The canopy had been crushed under the weight of the snow, but it appeared that his brother was intent on fixing it regardless.
"Earle!" he called, waving a hand toward the man's back. His brother stood up and turned to him, the scar across his face as angry and red as ever.
"I think we should be able to make it out of the valley this morning," he said with a grunt, stretching his back. The older man gestured to the wagon over his shoulder. "Though, I'm afraid we'll have to head out on foot. The axles cracked, and shy of praying for a miracle, I'm not sure we'll get them fixed enough to travel."
"It's miracle enough that we've survived, my brother," Jonah said, clapping the man on the back. From the far side of the cabin, Micah's cough rang out like a gunshot. The slight, younger man, rounded the corner in the same narrow trail of tracks that he'd taken.
"You know, if you expect Rebecca to walk in this, we'll never hear the end of it." Jonah's younger brother ran a hand through his rumpled hair and coughed again, a fit overtaking him until he doubled over. "God damn this blasted cough!" he choked when the fit finally lifted.
"Help me turn what's left of this canvas into a satchel," Jonah said, gesturing for his brothers' aid. "If we tie it together, we can use the frame to make a travois that ought to work in place of the horses and carriage."
"We'd still have horses if we hadn't eaten them after the food ran out," Micah pointed out sourly, crossing his arms over his chest and stifling another cough. "They were skin and bones."
"We're all skin and bones except that wife of yours, Earle," Emmelyne's voice rang out. The wide-shouldered brunette hustled around the corner of the cabin, blackened fingertips gripping the edges of the blanket around her shoulders. "I think Constance has been sneaking tastes of our suppers."
"Now, now," Jonah placated his wife. "There's no need to cause a fuss. We leave today, and we must all be our best. We've come this far. No sense making a scene of it now."
Inside the cabin, Rebecca and Constance were bickering loudly. "Come, let us finish with this place and get moving. The days are still short, but we can be on foot before noon if we work quickly."
The sun was well past its peak overhead by the time they had packed what few belongings they had left to carry with them. A meager supply of rations, skins of water from snow that had been boiled over the fire, and the remains of fabric from their bedding, to be used for warmth one way or another. Jonah humped his shoulders and shrugged the travois straps over his arms. His brothers and their wives stood around him, awaiting his guidance onward. Emmelyne stood beside him, her frigid hand in his. Micah stood with Rebecca, both of their faces pale and gaunt in the wintry sunlight, his cough bubbling to the surface as often as Rebecca grimaced and placed a tense hand over her enlarged abdomen. Earle gave his brother an affirming look from behind raw, red claw marks as his hand was held tightly in a white-knuckle grip by his tall, severe splinter of a wife, Constance's neck ringed in an equally raw, bruising scar from taut fabric against skin. Jonah averted his eyes from the woman.
He blinked, and suddenly, Jonah stood alone in the clearing, the travois on his shoulders slackening in his grip. Lined up beside the cabin stood his family: Earle, Rebecca, Emmelyne, Micah, and Constance, all staring forlornly toward him as they raised their hands to wave farewell. Jonah blinked again and their figures had been replaced by six slashed timbers driven into the snow -- five coming up to his waist and one in miniature nestled in the middle. Jonah shook his head, turned, and headed west. There was nothing left for him there.
With a wide-armed stretch, Jonah sat up in bed, running a hand through his thick, unkempt beard as he glanced around the room. Emmelyne, his wife, lay snoring in a bed but a pace from his own. He pulled the warm blankets around his shoulders and crept in fur-lined wrap boots across the splintered floor toward her. "Wake up," he urged quietly. "Today, by God's grace, I think we can finally leave." She didn't stir, but he could see the smile on her placid, resting face. Her fingers gripped the wrapped-linen pillow beneath her head gently, their tips a blackened purple. With a caring sigh, he cradled her hand, kissing it tenderly before nestling it back beside her ruddy-cheeked face and letting her lie.
In the next bed over, his younger brother Micah and his wife, Rebecca, insisted on sleeping beside one another. It no doubt kept them warmer at night, and he wished in silence that his own wife had wanted such closeness during those months of hardship. Having her there had been enough, he insisted to himself. Micah coughed in his sleep, but neither he nor his wife stirred beyond a groan from Rebecca. The woman was several months along and heavy with child, but she ached to no end, and her skin looked as pallid and cold as the wet snow sloughing off the eaves. They need their rest as well, he decided with a nod. It's a long journey ahead, and we'll need all our strength to make it.
The last beds were empty. Earle, his older brother, was likely already up and outside, and his wife, Constance, was no doubt busy in the kitchen. Jonah could hear her at work. He didn't need to look to know she was scraping together one last meal for them all. It had been a long, hard winter, and it had come all at once when a massive snowstorm trapped them at the neck of the valley. They were weeks, no more than a month and a half by his maps, outside of California. Their five-month delay had hardly been by choice, but when the storm hit, Jonah and his two brothers had cut a close clearing in the woods, felling towering ponderosas to build a humble but warm cabin in which they and their wives were to spend the duration of the winter, come hell or high water. Earle had gone out and hunted enough meat for them to survive well enough until an encounter with a grizzly set him to bed for weeks, leaving the handsome young man with a grim scar across his left cheek. Their cabin had provided ample shelter through January until a second blizzard hit, burying the house up to its eaves in fresh, wet snow. Beyond their cleared perimeter, the winter's weight reached halfway up trees in some places. Emmelyne and Micah had worked sunup to sundown clearing the storm's work for three days. By the time they had cleared a path around and back up into the woods, Micah had come down with a nasty cough and Emmelyne's fingers had begun to redden and purple from the cold. Jonah and Constance had spent the time inside tending to Rebecca, whose growing pains had begun to worsen since the onset of the storm.
Late March had come on with a ferocity that had gradually calmed itself, and finally, the weather seemed ready to break. Jonah inhaled deeply, drinking in all the hope and grace that came with the early spring sunlight. The air was heavy with the aroma of pine and wet moss, a forest coming back to life after a deep winter's slumber. Pulling the blanket tighter over his worn and patched clothes, Jonah followed the single-step-wide path of footprints that wove around the cabin and found his brother hunched over in the back of their weatherbeaten wagon. The canopy had been crushed under the weight of the snow, but it appeared that his brother was intent on fixing it regardless.
"Earle!" he called, waving a hand toward the man's back. His brother stood up and turned to him, the scar across his face as angry and red as ever.
"I think we should be able to make it out of the valley this morning," he said with a grunt, stretching his back. The older man gestured to the wagon over his shoulder. "Though, I'm afraid we'll have to head out on foot. The axles cracked, and shy of praying for a miracle, I'm not sure we'll get them fixed enough to travel."
"It's miracle enough that we've survived, my brother," Jonah said, clapping the man on the back. From the far side of the cabin, Micah's cough rang out like a gunshot. The slight, younger man, rounded the corner in the same narrow trail of tracks that he'd taken.
"You know, if you expect Rebecca to walk in this, we'll never hear the end of it." Jonah's younger brother ran a hand through his rumpled hair and coughed again, a fit overtaking him until he doubled over. "God damn this blasted cough!" he choked when the fit finally lifted.
"Help me turn what's left of this canvas into a satchel," Jonah said, gesturing for his brothers' aid. "If we tie it together, we can use the frame to make a travois that ought to work in place of the horses and carriage."
"We'd still have horses if we hadn't eaten them after the food ran out," Micah pointed out sourly, crossing his arms over his chest and stifling another cough. "They were skin and bones."
"We're all skin and bones except that wife of yours, Earle," Emmelyne's voice rang out. The wide-shouldered brunette hustled around the corner of the cabin, blackened fingertips gripping the edges of the blanket around her shoulders. "I think Constance has been sneaking tastes of our suppers."
"Now, now," Jonah placated his wife. "There's no need to cause a fuss. We leave today, and we must all be our best. We've come this far. No sense making a scene of it now."
Inside the cabin, Rebecca and Constance were bickering loudly. "Come, let us finish with this place and get moving. The days are still short, but we can be on foot before noon if we work quickly."
***
The sun was well past its peak overhead by the time they had packed what few belongings they had left to carry with them. A meager supply of rations, skins of water from snow that had been boiled over the fire, and the remains of fabric from their bedding, to be used for warmth one way or another. Jonah humped his shoulders and shrugged the travois straps over his arms. His brothers and their wives stood around him, awaiting his guidance onward. Emmelyne stood beside him, her frigid hand in his. Micah stood with Rebecca, both of their faces pale and gaunt in the wintry sunlight, his cough bubbling to the surface as often as Rebecca grimaced and placed a tense hand over her enlarged abdomen. Earle gave his brother an affirming look from behind raw, red claw marks as his hand was held tightly in a white-knuckle grip by his tall, severe splinter of a wife, Constance's neck ringed in an equally raw, bruising scar from taut fabric against skin. Jonah averted his eyes from the woman.
He blinked, and suddenly, Jonah stood alone in the clearing, the travois on his shoulders slackening in his grip. Lined up beside the cabin stood his family: Earle, Rebecca, Emmelyne, Micah, and Constance, all staring forlornly toward him as they raised their hands to wave farewell. Jonah blinked again and their figures had been replaced by six slashed timbers driven into the snow -- five coming up to his waist and one in miniature nestled in the middle. Jonah shook his head, turned, and headed west. There was nothing left for him there.