Fury in the wind chp 6 - Stumbling Through the Woods

What time was it? Was it morning or evening? Carris had no clue. For a moment she couldn’t even remember where she was. The smell of embers was in the freezing air somewhere nearby. She was stiff to the bone and curled up in the fetal position in the pitch black.

She spun out of the position in a moment of panic, groaning as her back cried in protest at the sudden movement. Her neck was also rather stiff. To her left she saw a few orange coals, fizzling out around the blackened remains of a fire she had started earlier in the night.

It all came back to her. She had fled her home in an upset panic, then, feeling like she was already such a burden much of the time, she had refused to give in and go back inside, or be a weight on Gwyn’s shoulders, and had gone to the ice cave as a last resort. At least in there the wind was blocked, but so was all light, and she was now completely unsure of what time of day it was. She felt like she had slept a long time, at first cozily by a great big fire she had made, but her head was still aching and her heart felt heavy.

There was one way to find out what time it was. She had to get up and leave the cave. Typically, that would be no problem, but now it seemed like the biggest task. She felt embarrassed. She felt ashamed. Her heart told her that it was not her fault that her mother had lashed out, but she still felt like everyone would somehow know. All eyes would be on her, and she would have to explain why she had not been at home. Not only that, but she wasn’t sure how serious her mother’s threat had been. Would she be allowed back at home?

She groaned in frustration. It felt like no matter what, she was in a losing situation. But she refused to let her mother have the last say. If she was going to kick her out, what harm would telling Malcolm the truth do? He deserved to know anyway.

With that resolved, she picked herself up, kicked out the last of the coals, and made her way out the narrow entrance. To her delight there was dull grey light coming out the chasm’s mouth, and she shielded her eyes as they accustomed themselves to the light. She could feel her hair was a tangled mess. She did her best to straighten it out, but it was a losing effort with no comb or brush, so she let it lay. She splashed cold water from the creek on her face, bringing color to her cheeks and a shudder of shock to her lips. She scooped and drank a few handfuls of the frigid water and headed back to town.

By the position of the sun, it was just an hour past sunrise. That meant that Malcolm should still be at home. Carris’ mother would still be sleeping, and Mr. Collums was likely already at work on the mill. She skirted around the borders of the village. She could smell the smoke on the breeze from Porgie’s inn and just make out the distant clang from the blacksmith. The air was cold, but not as bitter as the previous days. Carris could forgive a stranger for thinking winter was coming to a halt, but she had been here her whole life. This was nothing more than a lie from nature for fools to fall for.

The Collum’s lived in a hut to the west, accessible by a dirt path. It was set back in a small clearing, surrounded by pines. A wisp of smoke snaked out the stovepipe chimney of the dilapidated hut. Malcolm was coming out of the front door, hobbling over to the wood pile that was covered with a tarp to the left of the front door. He smiled quizzically when he saw her coming up the path, letting the door close behind him.

“What brings you here so early? I don’t think my farther has anything for you to wash.”

Carris said nothing as she crossed the distance. She could already feel the heat on her neck, the banging of her heart in her chest, and the shakiness in her limbs as she debated simply fleeing all of this.

“Something is wrong,” Malcolm said. He set down the split logs he was planning on carrying back inside.

“How do you know that?” Carris asked, annoyed that he was right.

“Because your forehead gets all wrinkly and you clamp your jaw.”

Carris tried to smooth her features out, but guessed it probably made her forehead even more wrinkly. She never even noticed clenching her jaw during moments like this until after it had all passed, and she finally unclenched it.

“So,” he said, letting the word trail off.

“I don’t know how to say this, so I’m just going to say it,” Carris said. She had all the eloquence of a fish out of water.

Malcolm’s head cocked to the side like a confused puppy. But his face was concerned. He had worry lines of his own to match Carris’ and his eyes were narrowed. “You never do anything else.”

Carris snorted. “If only you knew.” She wrung her hands together, refusing to come closer than a few feet. She felt like she was about to betray her best friend, and by telling him the truth no less. “Your father, he is, uh, he’s been lying to you.”

Malcolm’s brows shot up, in confusion, not anger. He said nothing but was clearly caught off guard.

“He hasn’t only been going to work on the mill as much as he’s said.”

“Carris, I thought you were going to be direct. What are you talking about? I went with him to the mill just a few days ago.”

Carris looked at the ground. She couldn’t meet his eyes. “Not every day. I found him at my cabin last week.” She paused. “With my mother.”

Malcolm scoffed. “What do you mean? With your mother?”

Carris whimpered. She was sweating, fidgeting, looking everywhere but Malcolm’s direction. This was such a mistake, but she couldn’t stop talking now. “They were kissing.”

The moment the words came out of her mouth Malcolm’s entire demeanor changed. His brows furrowed, his stance stiffened and his eyes narrowed to nothing more than black slits. “What?” He looked back at his cabin.

He grabbed Carris by her shaking arm and dragged her off to the side of the cabin. “Why would you say that? My father wouldn’t do that!” He was mad. Carris could hear the high-pitched hurt in his voice.

Carris tried to speak again, but he cut her off with the wave of a hand. “No. Stop! Why would you say such a terrible thing?”

“I’m not lying,” Carris said, her voice quivering.

“Of course you are.” Malcolm began to pace back and forth. “You are confused, or you saw something wrong.”

Carris felt like shrinking into the shadow of the hut and disappearing. Maybe he was right. She had doubted her own eyes for the last week. But despite what she was thinking, she couldn’t help but defend herself. She had expected him to be angry, but not to dismiss her.

“I know what I saw!”

Now she reached out, trying to take his hand in hers, to show that she was only doing this because she cared about him. Because she couldn’t lie to her best friend. He pulled away.

“Stop. Stop talking. What is wrong with your family?”

Carris bit her lip. It was the only thing she could do to stop herself from crying. Her heart was racing, her face was flushed, and her whole body was shaking. Malcolm looked no better.

“Just leave,” he said, turning his back.

Carris reached out again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to tell you. I don’t know what to do,” she pleaded.

“Just leave,” he snapped, spinning back on her.

The tears could not be held back any longer. They streamed down her face. “I can’t,” she said softly,” putting her face in her hands and sinking to back against the hut to a squatted position. “I don’t know what to do.”

Malcolm aggressively wiped away the tears that threatened his own face. “Leave,” he said. “And don’t come back here.” He cleared his throat. “I have to take care of my mother.”

He limped by without another word, leaving Carris alone in the snow, sobbing into her hands. Every time he said leave it was like a dagger to her heart. First her mother, and now her best friend, just because she couldn’t keep her mouth shut.

She shoved off the hut, blindly stumbling through the woods, letting the tears flow. She had no clue where she was going or what she should do or why she had ever opened her mouth, or why she felt the need to be so honest. She hated all of it. Her mother, Malcolm’s reaction, herself for trying to be a good person.

She stumbled over a fallen log and crashed into a drift of snow. She screamed into the fluffy white stuff until she was hoarse, repeatedly striking the ground until her knuckles and eyes matched their crimson hue, and she was covered in melted snow and mud. She had never felt this low in all her life, and she had no will to move from the frozen earth. Maybe she would just lie there and let the cold embrace her until she drifted off into ethereal sleep. What was the point in getting up?

Her mother did not want her back. Her best friend had just abandoned and discarded her, and her only other friend would be better off without another burden. She had no dreams, no goals, and no prospects.

“Carris?” The voice came out of the stillness of the morning, distant at first, but getting progressively louder.

At first Carris thought she was simply hearing things, but the crunching of twigs and leaves approaching from the way she had come confirmed that a woman was headed her way. And to her surprise, it sounded like her mother.

“Carris, where are you, hun?”

Carris rolled onto her back, brushing off snow and dead leaves that she had uncovered in her fit of rage. Sandra came stepping over the same log that Carris had tripped on. She was out of breath and red in the face from the run, but she was there, looking worried and very much like a mother should be when their child goes traipsing in the woods.

“Mother?” She couldn’t believe her eyes.

Sandra rushed to her side, embracing her. “Oh, my baby, look at you.”

She tried to brush off some of the leaves, but she froze when she saw Carris’s bruised knuckles.

“Let’s get you home.”

Carris recoiled from her, confused and apprehensive. “I thought you didn’t want me back?”

Sandra’s eyes dropped. “I should not have said that. We can talk about it later. But we should draw you a bath first. Get you cleaned up.”

Carris was so confounded that she simply went along with it as her mother helped her to her unsteady feet. They said little as they made their way back home. At last, Carris asked how she had been found.

“I was heading to the Collums,” Sandra said.

Carris furrowed her brow, but before she could berate her mother Sandra put a finger to her lips. “Shush now, it isn’t as you think.” She took a dep breath. “I was harsh with you, and I can see that I gravely hurt you. I have been dealt a horrid hand, but I do not wish the same for you, and I would forever punish myself if I did the same to you. I was going to tell Mr. Collums that I could not trade my daughter’s love for his own.”

Carris said nothing. She wanted to believe. Wanted to smile and hug her mother. But it was possible that her mother had simply seen her run off and somewhere deep down inside, even she couldn’t leave her child freeze to death in the woods. That was a far cry from admitting fault or being a good mother. Still, she was grateful to have someone holding her steady, and the immediate danger of having nowhere to stay was taken care of for the time being.

They were nearing the cabin when they heard a splash in the creek bed. It sounded like something large had hit the water. Perhaps a bear, wolf or dragon, but no matter what, Carris and Sandra were in no condition to fight.

But through the trees they saw a man, now soaked and dripping, staggering over the edge of the creek. He was poorly dressed for the weather, and he stumbled about like he had been out for far too long. Sandra hesitated. There were few visitors out here, especially in wintertime, and this man had come crashing from outside the normal paths. He didn’t look like a trapper. No fur hung on his belt, not fuzzy cap or jacket kept him warm, and he looked unarmed.

He was coming their way. There was a light that sparked in his eyes when he saw living beings, and he hastened, rushing past the saplings and using them more for launch points and he pushed and pulled his way through. Now that he got closer Carris could see that he was elderly. Older than most in Potter’s Creek. His thin white hair was drenched like a wet cat atop his head, and his clothes were torn and soiled.

He collapsed before their feet with a sigh. His chest was heaving. Whatever ordeal he had gone through, it had taken the last of his strength. Sandra was frozen, but Carris knelt. Suddenly, having something else to focus on helped her shove the problems of the morning to the side and focus on the immediate problem. This man needed help. 

“Sir, can you speak?” She put a hand on his back, feeling that there was not much else but skin and bones. What was a man like this doing out in the woods in the middle of winter?

He tried to speak but could not at first. Carris nodded, understanding that he needed physical care first. Questions could come later.

“Mother, help,” she said.

She wrapped her arms around one of his own, and Sandra took the other. Together they were just barely able to get him to his feet. Carris snuck her head underneath his arm and carried him along. Sandra went ahead to the cabin door and opened it. She then hurried to the fire, her fingers trembling as she tried to light a match. Carris carried the man across the room to her own bed behind a curtain held up on a rod and sliding hooks. He was so heavy that despite trying to be gentle, she more or less hurled him into the bed.

He bounced once on the mattress and then remained still. His chest moved ever so slightly, and that was good enough. Carris massaged her shoulder. Dead weight was incredibly hard to carry, and even though this man was frail, he weighed at least as much she did. She took the matches from her mother, motioning for her to get the tea kettle.

In five minutes, they had a kettle boiling on the fire. They sat at the table, staring at the unconscious man. It was quiet, save for the crackling of the fireplace. Carris twiddled her thumbs. At last, they both tried to speak, cutting each other off. Sandra offered a weak smile.

“You first,” she said.

Carris nodded, looking anywhere but at Sandra. “You should go. Speak to Mr. Collums.”

Sandra balked. “I’m not leaving you here with a stranger on the cusp of death. We must keep our priorities straight. You must go for the physician, but first we need to get him out of those freezing, wet clothes.”

Carris’s nose wrinkled at the idea of that. Sandra chuckled. “I’ll do ig. You go for Physician Olander, and I will get him some fresh clothes.”

Carris nodded, happy to have something to do besides sit in awkward silence. She grabbed her heavier winter coat off the rack by the door and buttoned it up as she hurried down the path toward the heart of Potter’s Creek. It was a small cluster of buildings that Carris could draw by memory. There was a blacksmith to her east, then a few rows of houses and cabins running to the north. The main center had a bell tower and small cobbled square flanked by Porgie’s Inn, the cobbler’s shop, Olander’s house and infirmary, and a few other necessary shops. In the afternoons the vendors would roll out their few shopping carts, although in the winter it was only once a week, with not much to sell. Everyone had a garden, and most people paid only for fresh meat and a few particulars.

On a winter morning like this, the square was mostly deserted. The cobblestones were kept clear of snow, and so Carris was able to hurry across without fear of slipping. She banged the big brass knocker on Olander’s house, a fancier log structure than most of the rest of Potter’s Creek. He was, after all, one of the most important men in town. He was also older in age, and so Carris waited for two full minutes before he arrived at the door. He was stout for his age. He stood tall and strong, age failing to put a curve in his back. He smiled when he saw Carris.

She quickly explained the sudden appearance of an old man in the snow, noting how poorly dressed he was. Olander simply nodded, grabbed a leather bag from just inside his doorway, and motioned for Carris to lead the way. She tried not to run but realized that Olander how no trouble keeping up with her at a quick walk.

“Is everything alright at home?” he asked as they passed through the square.

“What? Wh-“ He cut her off.

“Your hands, lass. Have a go at an oak door?”

Carris blushed and jammed her hands in her pockets. “No, of course not. It’s just the cold. Dries the skin out. And laundry makes it worse,” she lied, hurrying out in front so he couldn’t see her face.

Olander simply said “ah,” and they hurried to the cabin without further conversation. When they walked through the door, much to Carris’s surprise, the old man was standing by the fire, albeit holding himself steady with one hand on the hearth, while the other gripped a steaming cup of tea.