Crimson Snow

By Kate Caldwell

Crimson Snow - a short story by Kate Caldwell

I stumbled out of the cabin, clutching my coat in my hands. My feet slipped on the dirt trail that led to the forest, covered in ice and lightly blanketed with snow. Struggling to stay upright, I held my arms out for balance. Out of the corner of my eye, the sight of blood trickling down my upper left arm, mixed with tiny flakes of snow, made me bite my lip. A small quiet cry slipped out from between my lips, despite my resolve to hold it back, as I remembered the pain. Attempting not to cry, I shoved my arms into the sleeves of my bear fur coat. A gift from my father. A painful scowl crossed my face at the mere thought of the man. Father? No, that title belonged only to God. This man deserved no respect.

My feet carried me through the high drifts of snow, almost unconsciously, as I hurried away from my home. Blood slipped down my covered arm, dripping onto the snow and creating a stark mark of my existence. Slowly, I began to zone out, my mind growing numb just like my body.

I had once loved winter. It was the start of the holidays, a promise of sweet treats, the bringer of beautiful snow. But now? I would have laughed if my face had any ounce of feeling in it. Now, cold air wasn’t the only thing to summon shivers to my skin.

I trudged past trees, some naked, others complete with their signature dress of green needles. Winter marked my father’s return from the wilderness. The rest of the year, he was gone—trading and hunting. He sent enough money to keep us alive, but love? That was never sent in his brief letters.

My eyelashes clustered with white flakes as I blinked, silent and cold. Winter brought only one promise now, one of heartache and pain, of loss and bitterness.

A root, hidden underneath the snow, caught my foot and I collapsed into a rough tree trunk. The bark scraped against my face and I let myself drop to the ground. Snow swallowed me as I tried to keep myself from breaking, from running home to a life I would never love. My skin was unfeeling in the cold hug of the pile of snow. My mind pushed against my actions, arguing with my unwillingness to move. But there was no remaining strength in me. No motivation to pick myself up. All I had was frozen limbs and a heavy heart.

A coldness, dark and mournful, settled over me as I leaned against the thick oak tree. Frozen tears marked my face and I could feel the wet blood against my skin.

I stared at the white sky of swirling snowflakes through the bare branches above. My mother had once told me that no two flakes were the same. She said that just like humans, all snow is uniquely beautiful. I had believed her, as a child did, not only about the snow but about me. Uniquely beautiful. Just like the snow of the Creator.

A gust of wind blew freezing air over me and my teeth began to chatter, shaking my jaw. I had always found the chattering satisfying, the click of teeth proof I was indeed cold, and not just faking it. There was no satisfaction in frozen limbs, though, or the bitter ache of cold that had burrowed into my very bones.

I glanced at my arm, covered under my sleeve of bear fur. The numbness had taken the searing pain of the cut, the wound inflicted by my father’s dagger. No, the man’s dagger. He had been angry, always was, during winter. Well, either that or simply being home stoked the temper in him.

A weary groan escaped my lips. I was young, too young to die. I had hoped there would be more to life than a small log cabin on the edge of the woods, with windows patched with stained sheets and families of mice residing in the walls. I was wrong. There was nothing more for me. Me, a worthless daughter of a man who didn’t care.

To my mother, I was a blessing, but only to comb the childrens’ hair and mix up breakfast when she wasn’t well. I had taught them to read, to write, to smile in the glory of everyday events. I supposed that was all I was good for. All I was made for.

Footsteps crunched across the packed snow, rudely interrupting my thoughts of worthlessness.

I let my eyelids close, succumbing to my fate. In my confused wanderings, I had made a good distance between the cabin and I, but my father was a hunter. Finding creatures that fled was part of his job.

But it was not my father who swung me into their arms, carefully and gently; who carried me through the forest, their body warmth easing the cold; who set me down into a soft bed by the fire. No, that was certainly not my father.

***

When I awoke, I was warm. The snow was gone, replaced by a heavy quilt tucked around my body.

I sat, feeling the heat of the fire envelop me and letting a brief smile grace my face. Kindness seemed to float in the air, as if the house itself was telling me that I was safe.

“Good.”

I glanced at the elderly woman in the corner of the cabin, rocking to and fro in her chair, her hands crossed on her lap.

“You are up.” She stood slowly and hobbled to the fire, where a black pot simmered over the flames. My stomach rumbled at the thought of food. How long had it been since I ate? Surely no more than a few hours.

The woman laddled a bowl of something hot and walked over to me, her wrinkled face sweet. “Here you go, lassie.”

I took the bowl, letting the soup inside warm my hands and accepted the wooden spoon she held out to me. We met eyes, and hesitantly, I asked the question that had been plaguing the back of my mind.

“You rescued me?”

She heard the obvious disbelief in my voice and chuckled, resting her hand on the headboard behind me. “No, lassie, not I, but my son.”

I nodded as I slurped the tasty vegetable soup, my eyes darting around the cabin. A large table was in front of the fire, riddled with candlesticks and quilt blocks. It looked worn, loved, like once a beautiful family had once talked and laughed over their food.

An empty bowl sat alone on the side of the table farthest away from me. Her son, maybe?

A door slammed, and I craned my head to spot the object of the sound. He was nearly covered in snow, from his knitted hat to his dripping boots. I drew back from the sight of the tall stranger, worry surging up in me until I could hardly breath. Was he here to return me to my family? Did he work for my father?

“Hello.” He spoke as he pried the shoes off his feet and tossed his coat onto a hook hanging from the wall. “You terrify me too.”

I frowned and brought my bowl closer to my chest. Maybe if he tried to steal me away, I could throw the contents at him.

The stranger pulled the hat from his head, revealing wet, dark hair. With a swipe of his mitten, his face appeared from the snow and he grinned at me, oddly chiper and unexpectedly young. Why, he barely looked older than me.

The old woman shook her head. “My son,” was all she offered to my curious mind.

My rescuer.

“Thank you.” I managed to get out. “For—” I paused. For what? For rescuing me for a few short hours until I returned to the horror of my house? Wouldn’t it have been better to just die in the snow? I shook my head at myself. It wasn’t that miserable.

He glanced at me. “Of course.” The man crossed to warm himself in front of the fire. “You have a family?”

I nodded, before realizing he wasn’t looking at me. “Yes.” I muttered, swallowing the last of my soup. “I am a Thompson.”

The woman’s son frowned and looked to his mother. “Thompson? They’re a few miles away. We can wait until morning.”

“Morning?” I sat up in surprise. “Why? There is still time in the day to return.”

The young man shook his head and mounted the ladder on the other side of the cabin. I assumed it led to a loft. “It’s nearly midnight. I recommend you get some sleep, try to recover some strength.” He disappeared into the hole in the ceiling.

His mother approached to take the bowl, and to my silent astonishment, to plant a kiss on my forehead. “G’night, lassie.”

***

The next morning, I stood in front of the blazing fire, as still my body would allow. I was determined to soak in the warmth and love of this house before I was returned to my family and to the man who impaled a dagger in the arm. His temper often flared without warning, triggered by the slightest sound or mistake. I supposed being alone in the wilderness all year was a vast difference to being surrounded by screaming children and busy women.

“Ready?” The woman’s son, who I knew by the name of Reed, slipped his mittens on.

I didn’t respond. No. I was not ready. I never would be.

Reed watched me as he stood by the door. He strode over, suddenly, and caught me off guard by pulling the left sleeve of my coat up, revealing the trail of dried blood on my sleeve.

I snatched my arm away, a pit of dread settling in my gut. “I ran into a tree branch.”

He nodded. “Obviously.”

We met eyes, his brown ones quite clearly not believing my lie.

“May I see it? Tree branches can be vicious.” Without waiting for an answer, he pulled my coat off. Reed stared at the swollen wound, his fingers twitching at his sides. “Tree branches are getting out of control these days.”

“It wasn’t a tree branch.” I said the words before I had time to regret them. “It was a knife.”

“Yeah, I figured.” Reed tossed my bear fur coat onto the bed and vanished into a small side room next to the ladder of the loft. When he returned, a few minutes later, his mother was trailing him.

She frowned at my arm, a fierce stubbornness entering her face. “I’m afraid you won’t be able to return today, lassie. The weather picked up.”

Reed nodded in agreement. “It’s practically a blizzard out there.”

The woman glanced at him. “It should last a few days, shouldn’t it, dear?”

“More like a few weeks, I think.” He shrugged. “Or a few months. It depends.”

My heart swelled in my chest. These strangers, these wonderful strangers, cared for me. They were trying to protect me.

“I don’t know what else we can do,” Reed placed an arm around my right shoulder and sighed. “We just can’t let the horrible storm hurt this wonderful lassie, can we, Mama?” At her stern shake of the head, he brightened. “My thoughts exactly. You know what? Since this storm is so bad and you unfortunately won’t be able to be reunited with your family, you should accompany us to our family Christmas.”

“But the storm…” His mother placed her hands on her hips. “What about the storm?”

Reed paused. “Well,” He began, “it’s worse in the direction of the Thompsons.”

I nodded eagerly. “Yes, it usually is. The house tends to be snowed in. We couldn’t get inside even if we managed to get there.”

The young man grinned down at me, dimples flashing as his smile continued to widen. “Well, that is just horrible, isn’t it?” He took a deep sigh. “I suppose you’ll have to accompany us…” Reed frowned, cocking his head. “Can you tell me your name? It feels wrong not to know.”

I smiled, an odd feeling of calm settling over me. “Elara Thompson.”

“Elara,” Reed repeated softly, his expression softening. “That’s a little better than lassie, I reckon.”

For the first time in a long time, I felt seen— loved even. There was something about how Reed said my name, something that seemed to say I mattered, that I had worth. Maybe, after Christmas, I wouldn’t have to go back. Maybe they would let me stay.

Echoing my thoughts, the woman spoke from the kitchen, warm and steady. “Oh, dear lassie, I do hope you’ll stay here for a long while.”

“My father might try to find me.” I said hesitantly, my voice trembling at the idea. He would not be happy with me. Abandoning my adoring family? Leaving my mother alone with the children she bore? No, that would not please the man at all.

“Not if I have anything to do with it,” Reed retorted with a tense smile. He crossed to the fireplace and lowered himself to the ground in front of the flames.

Something inside me broke and shattered into a million pieces. Who was I, that these people wanted me? Who were they, that they cared for a girl they barely knew, previously nameless? I hadn’t realized until now the ache in my heart. The longing for a home, a real one where laughter abounded and smiles were frequent.

I stepped closer to the fire, shaking, to Reed and his mother. To love and safety.

The young man glanced up at me, reclining on his elbows. Something fluttered in me at his gaze— fierce and steady, so like his mother’s but so very different. Her look had brought comfort, not the strange unknown feelings I felt now.

“I hope you find home here, Elara.” He smiled softly. “And I hope you never find a reason to leave.”