“I thought I was rescuing her... I thought I was the knight in shining armor... But it turns out; she was the badass princess that was rescuing me.” Steve Maraboli
A blast of arctic wind blew down from over the trees, across the narrow, snow-covered meadow, and into the side of the small cabin, causing the glass windows to rattle before continuing on with a howl. But inside it was comfortable as the flames inside the fireplace insert kept the rooms toasty warm and provided ambient light through the glass embe dded in the iron door.
In the cabin's one bedroom, Rosemary Dickinson was abruptly awakened, not by the wind but by the not unfamiliar sense of urgency. Dread filled her as she sat up and reached for her heavy chenille robe draped over the foot of her bed. Sliding it on over her favorite, well-worn flannel pajamas, she rose to her wool-socked feet and stumbled across the shadowed floor, then through the doorway into the open living area. Other than the light from the fire, it was dark and the only sounds were the wind, the generator in the shed outside, and the blower on the insert as it blew warmth into the room.
Without hesitation, Rosemary flipped the wall switch that turned on the light and fan hanging from the tall ceiling and made her way quickly to the corner nearest to the multi-paned picture window. A half-finished painting of a summer meadow was perched on an easel, but it was from atop the small antique ladies' desk that she lifted a large sketch pad and a piece of artist's charcoal before returning to plop down on the end of the sleeper sofa closest to the fire. She paused for a moment, closed her eyes, took a deep breath, then began frantically to sketch.
Minutes later, she set the charcoal aside and stared at the result of her work. There was the unmistakable figure of a man lying prone in the snow, surrounded by lodgepole pines. Standing protectively over him was a large dog, possibly part husky, that was staring at her from the drawing with eerily penetrating eyes. Again she felt the urgency, as if the dog itself was pulling her into the picture. She knew what it meant. Someone needed help, as they always did, but this time there wasn't anyone she could call for it. She was miles from civilization, the only road to and from the cabin was buried under three feet of snow, and there was no cell phone reception while the storm continued to rage. There was no one but herself. She closed her eyes in fearful frustration. He needed help but where was he? And how could she possibly provide it?
The sense of urgency abruptly heightened, sending her staggering once again to her feet and back to the bedroom. After switching on the bedside lamp, she hastily donned two sets of silk thermal underwear and a pair of flannel lined jeans, followed by a flannel shirt and a heavy sweater. She removed her wool sleep socks and replaced them with heavy cotton socks close to the skin and thermal grade wool socks over them. After lacing up her heavy snow boots, she hurried back into the living room and lifted her heavy, bright red parka from the peg by the door and slipped it on, followed by a wool balaclava and the hood of the parka over that.
It was as she was drawing on a silk glove liner that she heard the howl. Pausing for just a moment, she hurriedly donned the other liner, a pair of heavy wool gloves, and the pair of windproof ski mittens over them. Again she heard the howl, only closer this time, and without a second thought, lifted the search lantern from the shelf above the coat pegs, and opened the door to the deadly wind.
After struggling to close the door behind her, she turned and pointed the light in the direction she believed the howl had come, and gasped as two yellow orbs stared back at her from the tree line. They disappeared as another howl was heard over the wind, only closer than before. Once the initial surprise had passed, Rosemary stepped from the porch just as the dog appeared in the light before her. It was a large husky, just as she had drawn, with a pack attached by straps to its body. It bounded up to her, jumped up to lick the balaclava, then back down to its feet where it turned back in the direction from which it had come. Looking over its shoulder, its woof of impatience was lost on the wind but no less tangible to her, and she began to follow it without question.
She didn't know how long she struggled through the drifts, always keeping the lantern pointed toward the dog. Once within the trees, the snow wasn't as deep and the wind was reduced, but it still blew against the pines, causing them to pitch, moan, and crack from its force. Rosemary was constantly aware of the ease with which lodgepole pines became uprooted even in mild weather. In a storm of this magnitude it was an imminent danger.
After what seemed like hours, the dog led her into another clearing, much smaller than the one in which the cabin sat, and to the side of a man lying half-buried in snow with a heavy pack strapped to his back. One hand, encased in an insulated glove, lie beside his head where it was obvious he had been pushing snow away from his face. He, too, wore a balaclava, and a heavy snow suit. His splayed boots were attached awkwardly to a pair of snow shoes.
Hearing an ominously loud crack, followed by the sound of one heavy trunk crashing into another, she hurriedly lifted the pack from the man's back and assessed his condition. She could find no obvious injury but her repeated attempts to rouse him only brought her a very small measure of success when his eyes flickered open only to close again. After removing the snow shoes from his boots, she rolled him onto his back. Fighting to make herself heard above the storm and knowing it would be difficult for him to feel it through the balaclava, she slapped him hard a couple of times.
“Hey! Wake up!” she yelled, then slapped him again.
She hoped that, combined with her voice in his ear, the slaps would be enough to rouse him. The dog tried to help by pressing its nose against the man's face and beneath the hood to his neck. Finally, the man jerked and Rosemary found herself staring into heavily lashed eyes of deepest brown.
“Hey!” she yelled again, “You have to get up! You have to help me get you back to the cabin!”
For a moment she was afraid he would become unconscious again, but then she felt a shudder go through him. Closing his eyes, he nodded and seemed to draw on something deep within himself to try to sit up. After several attempts, and with her help, he finally succeeded, after pausing to gather himself again. The dog stood on the man's other side, continually nuzzling his face and Rosemary could almost hear its encouraging whines above the storm.
Finally, after several more minutes of painful effort, she was able to help him to his feet where he leaned heavily on her, his arm about her shoulders while her arm held on to his waist. Carrying the lantern in her free hand, which she held pressed to his stomach, she prayed that she would be able to hang on to it, and they slowly followed the dog and her own boot tracks back to the clearing where the cabin lights blazed through the darkness.
The ferocious wind blew the door open as soon as she turned the knob and she struggled to get the man into the cabin as steam erupted where the warm air inside met the cold air from without. Once she had him lying on the couch, she hurried back to the door and used every ounce of her weight to get it closed again. The dog had at some point come inside as well and now stood beside the couch, once again nuzzling the man's balaclava-covered face and whining urgently.
Rosemary quickly divested herself of her coat and other outer wear before hurrying to the fireplace.
There she added two logs to the fire inside the insert and switched the blower to high before turning her attention to the couch's occupant.
He was lucid enough to help her lift the balaclava from his head and partially remove his ski suit, but then he collapsed, unconscious, before she could get his boots off and remove his legs from the suit. She succeeded in doing so despite the dead weight and was relieved to find his thermals were hardly damp from sweat. No need to strip him to the skin. Turning back to the storage ottoman that sat in front of the couch, she withdrew a couple of heavy blankets and covered his shivering body from neck to toes, followed by a plump pillow that she placed beneath his head. As she straightened, the dog hopped on the couch and laid down atop the man, its nose once again buried against his neck. The pack it carried looked as if it were filled to capacity but she wasn't foolish enough to try to remove it.
Instead, she made her way to her room where she stripped out of her heavy clothes and into a fresh flannel gown and wool socks. After washing up in the bathroom, which opened across from her bed, she slipped back into her robe and returned to the living room. She found her unexpected guest no longer shivering and sleeping peacefully with the dog still atop him. It struck her as odd that he hadn't seemed as affected by the cold and snow as she would have thought. He hadn't seemed to be suffering from hypothermia, though he had difficulty maintaining consciousness, and had, in fact, been fairly warm beneath his ski suit. She couldn't understand why his situation had turned so dire.
After tucking the blankets closer about his neck, she retreated to the small kitchen and set about making herself a pot of cocoa. While the milk warmed in the pot, she withdrew a large mixing bowl from a cabinet, filled it with water, and set it beside the refrigerator for the dog before turning back to the stove. Soon she was carrying her steaming mug back into the living room and taking a seat on the love seat that was arranged at a right angle to the sofa.
Drawing her feet up beside her, she watched the man as she sipped her cocoa. He was about her age, maybe a little older, nice looking with over long dark hair lightly sprinkled with silver and a strikingly featured face that bore the marks of someone who had experienced an active life. There were intriguing laugh lines that radiated from the outer corners of his eyes, high cheekbones and a strong jaw bearing a cleft in his chin that hinted at a strong personality. Beneath the scruff of his beard and ruddiness left by the cold, she could see the permanent tan of someone who spent a lot of time outdoors. Taller than she by several inches, she had noted his well-built physique when she removed his outer wear and couldn't help an instantaneous female response to his overall presence. She couldn't decide if she was anticipating his awakening with dread or something altogether different.
After finishing her cocoa, she set the mug aside before rising to collect her sketch pad and charcoal, and return to the loveseat. Once again bending her legs to the side, she covered them with the long length of her gown and tucked the flounced hem snugly about her feet, then turned her attention to the drawing she had made earlier. The man lying prone in the snow was featureless but the dog she had drawn was identical to the one that now lay protectively atop its owner. After a moment, she turned to a fresh page, lifted her charcoal, and began to sketch.
Almost an hour later, the dog suddenly lifted its head, whined, and began to lick the man's face. Shortly afterward, the man stirred, took a deep breath, then lifted his hands and began pushing the dog away.
“I'm okay, boy,” his voice was deep and raspy, “I'm okay.”
After a few more licks the dog seemed reassured enough to sit up and hop down from the sofa. After a luxurious stretch, it took a seat beside the man's head and watched with small, pointed ears pricked and what looked like a smile of satisfaction on its face. Its tail beat happily on the off white flokati rug.
Hesitant lest the dog consider her a threat, Rosemary remained on the loveseat but watched the man closely as he awoke. When he opened his eyes he stared upward for a moment before slowly looking about him. When he discovered her on the loveseat, his eyes widened in confusion.
“Welcome back,” she said in a soft voice, “How are you feeling?”
“Where am I?”
“In my cabin. I found you about two hours ago and brought you back here.”
“What hap...?” He groaned and raised a hand to his forehead.“Seizure.”
“Seizure?”
He nodded and dropped his hand.
“I sometimes have seizures, though it's been a long time since the last one.”
Taking a deep breath, he sat up, his long legs stretching until his feet rested under the coffee table. The dog instantly stood and began hopping from the floor to the sofa and down again, each time slurping its tongue against the man's cheek as it whined in doggie ecstasy.
“Down, boy!”
The dog sat, its tail continuing to move frantically with joy.
Rosemary watched as the man hung his head and brushed a hand through his tousled hair.
“I have some cocoa made. Would you like some?
There was a pause before he looked up with a wry smile.
“Maybe in a bit. Right now I need to use your bathroom.”
“Oh, right.” She rose to her feet and stepped around the coffee table to lay her hand on his arm. “Here, let me help you.”
He started to protest but fell quiet when he realized how unsteady he was as he rose to his feet.
“Thank you,” he whispered as she wrapped her arm about his waist and began to gently guide him down the short hall, through her bedroom and into the bathroom.
Once inside where he could hold on to the sink, she backed out and shut the door behind her.
“Call when you're finished if you still need me.”
Returning to the kitchen, she refilled her mug and filled another with cocoa and stuck them in the microwave to warm while she built them a couple of ham sandwiches. She didn't know how long it had been since he had eaten but she felt sure he needed something to help his body recover from his ordeal.
Minutes passed and she was just about to go check on him when she heard him coming slowly down the hall and back into the living room. Turning, she saw him kneel down and begin unhooking the pack from the dog. From inside one of the many pockets he withdrew a small prescription medicine bottle.
“I have some cocoa warmed up for you and a ham sandwich. I don't know how long you've been out there and I thought you might be hungry.
He stood back up and smiled at her.
“I am, thank you.”
“Well, here, have a seat at the table and I'll bring it to you.”
He nodded and crossed to the small round table that was just big enough for two people. Pulling out a chair, he sat and made himself comfortable. The dog found its way to the water bowl and began noisily drinking.
“By the way, my name is Luke Faulkner.”
She smiled as she set his mug of cocoa and a small plate bearing the sandwich before him.
“Pleased to meet you, Luke. I'm Rosemary Dickinson.”
He sipped his cocoa and closed his eyes on a sigh of appreciation.
“That is some great hot cocoa.”
Rosemary sat in the chair across from him and sipped her own cocoa.
“I'm glad you like it.”
“What's your secret?”
“The secret ingredient, you mean?”
Luke nodded, “Yes.”
“Would you believe chocolate liqueur?”
His eyes widened then he chuckled.
“Not your grandma's hot chocolate?”
Rosemary grinned as she lifted her mug to her lips.
“Actually, it is.”
“God bless her, then.”
She watched as he shook a couple of pills from the bottle into his hand and washed them down with another sip of cocoa before taking a bite of the sandwich, pleased that he no longer seemed affected by his close call. After a moment she bit into her own.
“You said you hadn't had a seizure in a long time.”
He paused and she wondered if she'd overstepped.
“No,” he finally replied, “Not for three years.”
“My brother's an epileptic,” she explained, “Has been since he was injured wrestling in high school. Since he's been on the medication he's on now he hasn't had one in a long time, either. Well, medication and the fact that he makes sure he gets plenty of rest. His seizures tend to come when he lets himself get too tired.”
Luke nodded.
“Same here. Only I started having them after I was injured in Afghanistan.” He shrugged. “It's funny that I survived everything I did, but it was being overturned in a Humvee on a rainy day that caused my head injury.”
“I'm sorry.”
“Don't be. It is what it is.”
He ate the last bite of his sandwich and washed it down with his cocoa.
“One good thing that came out of it is Timber.” He glanced down at the dog now lying quietly beside his chair. “He's been with me since I got out of rehab.”
“Is he a service dog?”
“Yeah. He has the ability to warn me when a seizure is imminent. It's especially important with the kind
of work that I do.”
“What's that?”
“I'm a seismologist.”
She knew that due to the area's recent preponderance of tremors that studies were being performed all over the region.
“Is that what you were doing out here in this weather?”
“Actually, Timber and I have been out here for several days checking the instruments and were on our way back when the storm hit. It hadn't been forecasted until the weekend or we'd have been back a lot sooner.”
Rosemary nodded.
“I know, it came in a lot faster than they'd thought it would. I wouldn't doubt it if more than one person was surprised by it.”
He cocked his head to one side.
“How did you know to look for me, anyway?”
She hesitated, reluctant to tell the whole story of waking up and drawing the scene. Finally, she decided to tell him half of it.
“Timber's howling alerted me.”
“His howling?”
She nodded.
“Yes. I could hear it over the storm and something in it felt, I don't know, urgent. So I stepped outside and he was there at the edge of the woods, staring right at me. My gut told me he was trying to tell me something and, well, I listened to it.”
“That was either an incredibly brave or incredibly foolish thing to do, but either way, thank you.”
Rosemary smiled and nodded toward the dog.
“Thank Timber.”
Luke smiled and reached down to scratch behind the big dog's ears.
“He'll get a steak when we get home.”
“Where's home?”
“Bozeman, Montana.”
“That's a long way away.”
He shrugged and took a sip of his cocoa.
“A fair distance, I suppose. And you? Are you from around here?”
“No. I'm from Charleston, South Carolina originally.”
“Ah! I thought I detected a hint of the south in your voice.”
“Afraid so.”
“So how'd you end up here?”
“An uncle left me this cabin in his will. It was his summer escape but I decided to make it my home.”
“What do you do?”
“I'm a freelance website designer.”
“I noticed your easel and art supplies in the corner over there.”
“I'm an artist on the side.”
“So a true creative.”
Rosemary smiled and took a sip from her mug.
“Yep. I think my parents would have preferred that I be an accountant or something, but for whatever reason, fate made me an artist.” She shrugged. “I've been fortunate to be able to make part of my living at it. How did you come to be a seismologist?”
“My folks were both military and we were stationed for a large part of my formative years in Alaska. There were a lot of earthquakes where we lived and on a field trip we visited the weather office once, which also monitored the earthquake activity. I was fascinated by it and by the time I started high school I had decided to make seismology my career. I took some correspondence courses while I was overseas then used the GI bill to finish college when I came back.
“Do you spend a lot of time in the field?”
“Not usually. I'm a professor at the University of Montana there in Bozeman, but I took a sabbatical to be a part of the studies here.”
“So you must have a PhD.”
“Yes.”
“I graduated from a community college for my website design degree, but I've also taken university courses in art. I'd like to go back one day and finish my degree.”
A companionable silence fell between them while she drank the last of her cocoa.
“Well, it's pretty late so I guess I need to make up your bed so you can get some rest. I'm sure you must need it.” She stood up and began to collect their dishes. “The couch is a fold out and reasonably comfortable.”
He drained his mug and also stood.
“Thanks. That sounds great after a week in a tent.”
After rinsing the dishes and stacking them in the sink to wash after breakfast, she pushed the ottoman aside and removed the cushions from the couch. With Luke's help, she unfolded the bed from the inside and between the two of them, the linens were soon covering the mattress. Timber immediately hopped on and laid down in the middle, causing Luke to grunt in exasperation.
Rosemary chuckled as she paused in the doorway to her room.
“I'll leave the two of you to figure out the sleeping arrangements. Help yourself to the shower if you like. The towels are on the shelves above the toilet.”
“Thanks. I'm not sure how much that will help, though, since my change of clothes are in my pack.”
She thought for a moment before lifting a finger that indicated he wait.
“I'll be right back.”
He watched her return to the kitchen and a moment later heard the door to the mudroom open. A few minutes later she returned with a pair of well worn gray sweats and pine green t-shirt.
“These were my uncle's,” she explained as she handed them to him. “They'll be miles too big but I think they'll do until I can get the clothes you have on washed. And here's some safety pins to tighten up the waist of the pants.”
“Will I disturb you going back and forth to the bathroom?”
She shook her head.
“No. I always sleep like a rock so don't worry about it.” She paused at the door to her room. “Good night.”
~
By dawn, the storm had died considerably though the wind continued to blow snow around the little cabin. Rosemary yawned as she rose from the bed and slipped into her chenille robe. After a quick trip to the bathroom, she made her way quietly through the living room, noting on the way that Luke still slept with Timber, who was lying comically on his back. As she passed by, the dog's eyes opened and his tail gave a half-hearted wag before he gave a doggie sigh and closed his eyes again.
Yawning around a sleepy grin, she entered the kitchen and began fixing the first pot of coffee of the morning. Soon its aroma spread throughout the cabin and she was just putting strips of bacon in a skillet when Luke awoke. After letting Timber out, he made his own quick trip to the bathroom before returning to the kitchen, where he was greeted by his hostess.
“Good morning. How did you sleep?”
“Like a log.”
“Good. The coffee's fresh. Help yourself.”
He helped himself to a large mug from the mug tree on the counter and poured himself a cup, breathing in the fragrant steam as he took his first sip.
“Oh, man, that's good!”
Rosemary smiled as she arranged a paper towel on a plate.
“Glad you like it. Would you like some breakfast? You have your choice of bacon and eggs or eggs and bacon, fried over easy.”
“I think I'll have the eggs and bacon.”
“Good choice. How many eggs?”
“Three or four, if that's okay. I've had nothing but powdered for a week and I'm eager for the real thing.”
“No problem. Bacon and four eggs coming up.” She motioned toward the refrigerator with her chin. “There's orange juice if you'd like some.”
While the eggs fried she buttered slices of bread and placed them in the toaster oven.
Timber barked at the front door and Luke let him in before retrieving a collapsible bowl and small bag of dog food from the pack Timber had been wearing the day before. After pouring food into the bowl and setting it down beside the bowl of water, he watched as the dog began eating before turning to wash his hands, collect a couple of small glasses from the drainboard, and pour himself and Rosemary some orange juice.
“Any particular place you prefer to sit?” he asked, looking at the small round dining table.
“No. Just put me anywhere.”
He set the glasses on opposing sides of the table before turning back to the kitchen and tearing two paper towels off the roll hung beside the small window over the sink.
“Where is your silverware and I'll set the table.”
“In the drawer there beside the refrigerator.”
Soon he had the table set for them except for their plates, which she was filling with bacon, eggs and toast. She placed one holding his four eggs on one side and one holding her two on the other before taking her seat. Luke followed suit and for a few minutes there was silence as they ate.
“I'll check my phone when we're finished to see if we have bars now that the storm is over,” she offered, “I'm sure you must have someone who would be worrying about you.”
He nodded, “Thanks, I do. I was supposed to be back today but they're probably wondering what I did with the storm moving in.”
When they had both finished, Rosemary started collecting the dirty dishes only to stop when Luke took the plates from her.
“You cooked, I clean.”
She chuckled.
“I won't argue with you there. Thanks.”
While he ran water into the wash pans in the double sink, she collected her phone from its charger on the bedside table.
“We have a couple of bars now but I'm pretty sure there will be more later,” she told him when she returned to the kitchen. After laying the phone on the table, she refilled her mug and stepped into the living room to begin making the bed before folding it back into the couch. Timber jumped up onto the cushions before she could replace the ottoman and she rolled her eyes as he made himself comfortable, his tail thumping against the upholstery as he laid his head on his front paws and gazed up at her with soulful doggie eyes.
“Just make yourself comfortable, Timber.”
After positioning the ottoman before the couch, she sat on the loveseat, folding her legs to the side while she sipped her coffee. A few minutes later, Luke joined Timber on the couch with his own mug and the phone and propped his feet on the ottoman. In short order he had made his call to the university in Bozeman, assuring them of his safety without going into detail about what had happened the day before in the wilderness and his subsequent rescue. After advising them of his delay in getting back due to the weather, he set the phone aside and settled back to enjoy his second mug of coffee of the morning. After a few minutes of silence, he rolled his head so he could look inquiringly at Rosemary.
“Last night after my shower I was looking at your painting when I saw your sketch on the table beside it. I recognized Timber and I assume the person on the ground must have been me. Did you do that while I was unconscious?”
She stared down into her coffee, feeling apprehensive about answering.
“Not exactly.”
“What do you mean?”
She paused, still watching her coffee. She could lie and make up a plausible story, or she could tell him the truth. She decided to take a chance and tell him the truth.
“Em, I-I see things sometimes. In my head. And I draw them.”
“Okay. Then what?”
“Well, the pictures, they're always, uh, of people in trouble. I try to help them somehow, usually by calling the police.”
Luke's expression was openly skeptical.
“And are you able? To help them, I mean.”
“Most of the time. The local police take me seriously.” She sipped her coffee. “They haven't always.”
“So last night you, saw, me, right?”
She nodded.
“Yes, and it woke me up.”
“You were sure it wasn't just a dream?”
“No.”
“How could you be sure?”
“I just know. There's something different about it. Something different from plain dreams. In this case, it was Timber's eyes that got to me.”
“How so?”
“It was like he was looking right at me and willing me to come.” She shrugged. “I couldn't ignore that. When I left the cabin he was waiting at the edge of the clearing and he led me to you.”
Luke wasn't certain what to make of what she said, but then he remembered family stories of certain ancestors having second sight and found he couldn't dismiss her completely.
“Forgive me for finding this hard to believe, but on the other hand there have been members of my own family tree who were purported to have had certain gifts. Wherever, however, you came to know that I was in trouble, I'm thankful you did.”
After a moment, she met his eyes and was gratified to see a cautious acceptance rather than scorn reflected in them.
“Thank you. For not blowing me off, I mean.”
“And thank you for following your instinct to find me.”
They smiled at one another then he laid his hand on Timber's head and scratching between the pricked ears.
“I suppose I should thank Timber as well.”
“Of course. I'd never have found you without him.”
“He's actually trained not to leave my side but obviously he realized this time was different.”
“Smart dog.”
“Yeah.”
The morning passed quietly. With the worst of the storm over, they were able to use her cell phone to let the authorities know where he was and assure them that neither of them were in immediate danger. Rosemary sketched in her sketchbook while Luke rummaged through Timber's pack and pulled out everything it contained, including a dog eared copy of a John Grisham novel. She asked him questions about his classes and profession and he answered them, including stories of his experiences as a professor and a seismologist. She talked to him about being an artist and the paths her life had taken that allowed her to pursue art as a career. He told her about what it was like growing up with three younger brothers and she chuckled as she remembered what it was like growing up with four older sisters and a younger brother. Coming from large families, they shared an understanding of family dynamics that those born as only children, or who were born into small families, couldn't fully comprehend. As they talked they discovered they shared a similar sense of humor and views of life and the world, and they began to feel that they had known each other forever.
Over the next two days, they grew more comfortable with each other and often found themselves laughing together over one anothers quirks, or when he rough-housed with Timber and when she emerged one night dressed warmly for bed in such a way that she looked like a bag lady. They became increasingly aware of one another and Rosemary often caught him watching her with warm, admiring eyes, sending her heart and pulse racing in response.
She had completed two sketches before sharing them with him. One was of Timber lying on his back as he had that first morning. The other was of Luke as he stared pensively into the flames of the fireplace. He asked her what she planned to do with them.
“I could paint them,” she replied, “or I could leave them as they are.”
“I would really like to see the sketch of Timber painted, if that's possible. I'd be happy to pay you for it. Consider it a commission.”
Rosemary shook her head.
“No need to pay me. I'd love to paint it and can do it on a smaller canvas, say an eleven by fourteen. That would make it easier to ship.”
“I'd still like to pay you.”
Again she shook her head.
“Nope.”
Luke sighed in exasperation and let the matter drop. He'd find some way to repay her, in kind if not with money.
On the third day, Rosemary was folding clothes from the dryer when Timber became progressively more anxious. She watched as the dog kept trying to herd Luke to the couch and she felt the first stirrings of concern, particularly when she realized that he was uncharacteristically slow to respond to Timber's behavior. Finally, Timber had guided him to the couch then jumped up and put his paws on Luke's shoulders. Luke immediately sat down and stared blankly at the fireplace. Moments later, his face contorted as a heartbreaking cry erupted from his throat and he began to seize as he fell sideways with his head violently hitting the arm of the couch. His body was stiff as it jerked in response to his brain's faulty electrical activity. His jaws were locked tight and he stopped breathing. The sight of him in such a state was frightening, but her experience with her brother had taught her what to expect and what to do.
After a couple of minutes, the seizure passed. Luke began to breathe again as his body relaxed, and as was typical in the aftermath, he fell into a deep sleep, snoring loudly as his throat relaxed. Timber had never left his side and now began to nudge and lick Luke's face, whining his worry. Rosemary stepped close and reached over the dog to gently turn Luke's head so she could check the spot where it had hit the arm of the couch. She winced when she found a large knot that was quickly bruising.
Deciding to make him as comfortable as possible, she raised his legs onto the couch then used all her strength to pull his dead weight far enough away from the arm that his neck was no longer at an odd angle. At that moment he began once again to seize and Rosemary's heart began racing. This was definitely an emergency!
Leaving him briefly, she ran to the dining table and grabbed her cell phone, pressing the emergency button as she hurried back. Moments later a 9-1-1 operator answered and Rosemary quickly and succinctly described what was going on and her location. She also advised the operator that the road leading to her house was still impassible with snow. She was told to remain on the line while assistance was dispatched.
Time passed. Finally, the sounds of snowmobiles were heard over the ceaseless moan of the winter wind. By that time, Luke had stopped seizing and was breathing normally, but he had yet to regain consciousness. After advising the operator of help's arrival, she hung up the phone and hurried over to open the door, allowing the bitter wind to invade the warmth of the cabin.
Three snowmobiles carrying four figures, with one vehicle towing a litter full of equipment, roared to a stop at the front of the porch and the riders quickly dismounted. While two began unloading equipment from the litter, the others rushed up the steps to the door.
“Paramedic Red Simmons,” he introduced himself, “How's the patient?”
Rosemary led him into the living room to the couch where Luke remained unconscious. Timber resisted when she caught him by the collar to pull him away to give the paramedic room, but finally sat and closely watched Red's actions.
“He stopped seizing about ten minutes ago and his breathing normalized, but he hasn't woke up.”
The paramedic removed his helmet, insulated mittens, and their accompanying silk liners, then lifted his balaclava up, allowing her to see why his name was Red. Serious blue eyes in a ruddy face covered with a scruff of bright auburn hair bent over the unconscious man as he withdrew a stethoscope from a large pocket on the side of one thigh. Behind them, two other medics entered the cabin carrying the life-saving equipment and Rosemary rose to close the door against the elements. Timber, seeming to understand they were there to help, remained where he was, watching the activity closely as they went to work on Luke.
The men worked efficiently, often firing off questions, some of which she knew the answers to and some not. She told them how Luke had come to be there and described the condition she had found him in just two nights before. When asked what medicines he took, she brought them the bottle holding the pills he took twice a day. When they cut Luke's sweater open they discovered a medical medallion on a chain with a telephone number inscribed on it and one of the men used her cell phone to call it. Not long after, he had gained the information necessary and passed it on to Red. An IV was started. Luke's heart and eyes were checked, his blood pressure, pulse, and temperature taken, and Red even opened his mouth and checked for injury there. In just a few minutes, they had given Luke a thorough exam and had called for a medivac chopper to transport him to the hospital thirty miles away.
“Is he going to be okay?” Rosemary asked anxiously as she kneeled beside Timber and scratched his ears comfortingly.
“He's stable,” Red replied, “They'll know more once they get him to the hospital.”
They began preparing Luke for transport, wrapping him warmly in emergency blankets until he resembled a mummy. One of the EMTs unfolded a litter and, as the familiar pulse of helicopter blades filled the clearing, he was carefully placed on it and strapped down. Two of the EMTs ran outside to meet the chopper, with one returning quickly.
“There's no place they can land so they'll have to lift him,” one of the men told Red and the paramedic nodded his understanding.
“Can I go with him?” Rosemary asked and Red shook his head.
“I'm afraid not. Do you have heavy winter gear?”
She nodded, “Yes.”
“You can ride back to the road with one of them and you'll be taken to the hospital from there.”
As they finished wrapping Luke and carried the litter out the door, she quickly changed into heavier clothing before donning the insulated jumpsuit, mittens, and boots needed to protect her from the elements. Remembering the fire, she hurried to the fireplace insert and used a poker to bank it.
Timber was standing beside the closed door, whining, when she finished.
“I'm sorry, boy,” she told him as she gave him a final scratch behind his ears, “You can't go. I need you to stay here and watch the house.”
Though it was obvious he didn't like it, the dog obediently remained inside the house while she walked out, closing the door behind her.
It took an hour for her to reach the hospital where, frustratingly, she was refused any information about Luke's condition because she wasn't related. Consigned to the ER waiting room, she waited while his family was notified in Colorado, and it was another five hours before his father and two brothers arrived. By that time, Rosemary was haggard with worry and trembling from too much vending machine coffee. After introducing themselves, his father left to go in search of someone who would allow him in to see his son while Luke's brothers listened as she filled them in with what she knew. In a few minutes, their father returned and told them that Luke was awake and would be spending the night for observation. Miraculously, there didn't appear to have been any lasting damage from the seizures, though the doctors hadn't been able to decide on what caused the seizures. The brothers started to follow their father then stopped when they realized she wasn't coming along.
“You want to come?” one asked and she nodded, relieved to be included.
“Yes, please.”
Once in the room, she hung back while Luke's brothers and father gathered around his bed. He was wan and exhausted from his ordeal, but otherwise in good spirits as they joked and laughed, their relief evident in their affectionate teasing. When he noticed her standing alone, Luke smiled and motioned her over. Reaching out, he took her hand and pulled her a little closer.
“Hey,” he greeted her quietly, giving her hand a squeeze.
“Hey yourself,” she responded, “You sure know how to give a girl a scare.”
“Not intentionally. I save that for horror movie night at the movie theater.”
She smiled in return then, without conscious thought, she used her free hand to gently brush the hair back from his forehead. Their eyes met and something more than idle friendship passed between them. His family grinned as they watched their byplay.
“He's toast,” one brother murmured to another and the three men chuckled to themselves. Only the pinkening of her cheeks indicated that Rosemary had heard, while Luke simply ignored them.
Not long after, his father and brothers left to go in search of a place to spend the night and have a meal, but she remained behind. By then, a chair had been pushed to the side of the bed and Rosemary sat, watching tiredly as Luke quietly fell asleep, still holding her hand. How was it that she could feel so much for him after such a short time, she wondered to herself, and once again brushed her fingers through the locks of hair that insisted on returning to lie against his forehead. Then, giving in to exhaustion, she gently laid her head on the bed beside him and followed him into sleep.
The End
c. 2022
**An excellent resource for learning about epilepsy is the Epilepsy Foundation. https://www.epilepsy.com **
Well, 'Becca, as a life-log Husky owner (of multiples), my first critique of this piece focused on its 'husky aspects', of course, since I'm now WAY beyond being interested in romance narratives. I'll curtail the urge to list them in great detail but suffice it to say that huskies are NOT advisable for service dog training (Comfort dogs, perhaps, but NOT service dog training) selection. They tend to be too independent, strong willed and what we call 'selectively intelligent' to comply with the rigorous training service dog training mandates.
They DO tend to lie on their backs, limbs askew in perfect abandon, and sigh when they feel utterly secure, content and completely relaxed...true...but not all huskies do that...and certainly not upon first introductions to strangers in strange settings. It's a matter of husky personalities being so radically different from dog to dog that behavioral generalisations are generally futile. Further, common husky wisdom recommends that a male human bond with a female, not usually with a male (regardless of Jack London's literary Alaskan allusions). I could go on, but that's admittedly nit-picking, of course (something I excel at, LoL).
As for the 'romance' implicit in this story, in my mind I briefly toyed with whipping out a parody of the story (giving vent to the devilish provocateur tendency that lurks deep within me), written from a male standpoint (as a former mountaineer and climber), but since my version would contain a hero who was a slightly built, near-sighted physical specimen with thick glasses and a homely affect, I decided to put that idea to rest, LoL.
I would have made the dog a handicapped Westphalian Miniature Dachshund (like one from Berkeley Breathed's famous 'Last Chance, Imperfect Dog Shelter', too...adds oppositional dynamics to the tale...who couldn't keep his head above the snow drifts! And my hero would have been a rather ordinary looking, out-of-work oceanographer, who had made a wrong turn at Big Sur and gotten lost in the wintry Ventana Wilderness. Ah well, no Harlequin bodice-rippers in my manuscript file to model after, so forget that idea, too!
OK. I've been painfully blunt and insensitive here but I will admit that your heroine comes sorta close to describing a former GF of mine, a CCU nursie who had a cabin up near Tahoe (CA) and was a champion cross-country skier (everything except the premonitional second-sight talent); sadly she died of Stage-4D breast CA, not long ago. AND, I can say that overall, I enjoyed reading this story (since it features my favorite breed, the Siberian).
Special thanks to Ron Hull, who knows of my passion for snow-dogs and directed my attention to this tale (you can send him fried egg sandwiches any time you feel like it, since he's so fond of them himself, even if he'd never admit it!). It's a documented nutritional failing of many PhDs. Best, Kalikiano ;))
A love story with a twist, I liked that. The detail was so good that you showed us where everything was beautifully. But it was so long that I almost decided to read it in two sessions. But the dialogue was faster to read and I finished it in time to do some other things before becoming a pumpkin this evening.
Of course, you had to add that premonition that Rosemary had that I've seen in fiction and some people claim happens to them in real life. Luke's pack got lost in the story, but I assume that it got picked up somewhere along the line and brought back to the cabin. I also wondered about the emergency generator. But I guess the storm had taken the power out and it had come on automatically. All in all, like the story, the cabin was quite well laid out, equipped and comfy.
Four fried eggs is a real way to clog one's arteries! Do they still want you to put something like a stick in the mouth to prevent injury and swallowing the tongue? At the lunch counter at the YMCA where I stayed during my master degree studies, I saw a guy have a seizure. He had his sandwich in his hand and squeezed it very hard until the bread came up through his fingers as he almost fell off the stool and quickly recovered so that we didn't have to do anything.
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