Her gut dropped. Sunny. This is bad.
I’m not a quitter, but I can’t step on that.
It’s solid ice. Bird felt like crying. She knew that the temperature couldn’t be much below freezing for this kind of storm, but she was cold. Ice frosted her eyelashes and stung her eyes. She was soaked to the skin, right through her coat. She could feel her feet, but just. And now, after all this effort and getting this close, it looked like they might have to turn around.
Sunny pawed the road, testing the footing. What about the Good Lady, Bird? She never gave up on us.
Innumerable times over the years, Laura Pierson had helped them when they’d needed it. She was a person who could be counted on in every circumstance. Mrs. Pierson needed help, and they were very close. It was just a question of how.
Okay, Sunny, how do we get across?
I’ll stay on this side of the road until I see a way.
Do you want me to get off?
No, not yet. You’re keeping my back warm.
Merry Fields
… And forth they went together,
Through the rude wind’s loud lament
And the bitter weather.
Horse and girl walked on, heads bent against the fierce wind. Bird looked around. She hadn’t seen Cody since they’d left the farm. He’d been right behind them when they went through the gate. Cody? Where are you?
There was no answer.
Sunny, have you seen Cody?
No. I don’t feel his presence.
Bird began to worry. The small coyote had looked much frailer than before, and now he was somewhere out in this storm. Maybe Cody, the one who always helped others, needed help himself.
Cody? she messaged again. No reply.
Cody would show up, she told herself. He always does. She tried not to fret as she looked for familiar landmarks. Under normal conditions, Merry Fields should have been visible from there. In fact, Bird could’ve sworn it was almost across the road from the path they’d been on. But tonight, everything looked strange.
Bird! transmitted Sundancer. I can get across here.
Piles of withered leaves and sticks were scattered on the road, possibly from upended garbage cans. The horse stepped over the icy snow bank and used the discarded foliage as a path.
Good call, Sunny. We must be really close.
Are you kidding? We’re here.
What? Bird was surprised to recognize the white mailbox that stood at the end of the Piersons’ laneway. Merry Fields 19347 was painted on it in dark green.
I would’ve walked right past it!
Duh. That’s why you’re the passenger.
You think you’re so smart.
Smarter than you.
Aside from the mailbox, nothing else looked the same. The lane was totally obscured by ice-laden branches. The old willows on the front lawn bore no resemblance to their majestic past, and the birches at the side of the house had been demolished.
As they got closer, Bird saw a bigger problem.
The huge trembling aspen outside the kitchen door had split, and a big branch had come right through the roof of the porch. Another had fallen across the stairs.
Holy, she said. This looks bad.
Bird slid down from Sunny’s back and promptly slipped on the ice.
See? Not as easy as you think.
Very true. Ouch. Stay here while I check out the house. Don’t go far. I might need you.
You’re very welcome.
Sorry. Thank you, Sunny. You did great. Really.
The big gelding snorted and stamped his feet. His mane was completely encrusted with icy strings. It made a jingly noise as he shook his neck. I’ll be in the shed, out of the wind.
Okay.
Bird crouched over, prepared to break a fall as she slid one foot, then the other, across the ice to the farmhouse. She stepped over scattered branches and then climbed over the huge branch of the aspen to reach the door.
It was wide open. The house was very dark inside and just as cold as outdoors.
“Mrs. Pierson?” she called. She crossed the threshold cautiously and stood at the door frame. She called again, more loudly. “Mrs. Pierson? Are you here?”
Bird heard a weak cough from the corner, then another. She shuffled toward the noise with her arms outstretched, feeling her way. The floor was almost as slippery as the ice outside.
“Is that you, Bird?” croaked a thin voice.
Bird jumped out of her skin. “Mrs. Pierson? You scared me! Are you all right?”
“Not really, dear. I fell down. Can you find the flashlight for me, dear? It’s in the cupboard beside the coat closet in the hall.”
“Yes. I’ll get it.” Bird turned around and felt along the wall until she got to the hall. After a minute of uncertainty, she found a doorknob and opened what she hoped was the closet door. “Mrs. Pierson? Can you give me a clue? Which shelf?”
“I think it’s on the top shelf over on the right. If not, the second from the top.”
Bird reached up and felt around, unsure of what she was searching for, and at a great disadvantage in the dark. “Is it a big, square flashlight or …” Bird’s fumbling knocked things over and caused several objects to crash to the floor. “Sorry!”
“I think I heard it. Feel around on the ground.”
“Okay.” Bird got down on her knees and patted the floor until she felt a long, heavy cylinder with a large, round end. “Found it!”
She pressed a raised button. Light shone out in a steady beam, giving the room definition.
“This is great!” Bird exclaimed. She came back into the kitchen and took a good look.
“Oh, no. This is terrible.”
The kitchen door was knocked right off its hinges. Not only had the branch broken through the porch, but it had also crashed through the kitchen wall.
The temperature was frigid inside the room, and sleet was blowing in through the opening and all across the floor. That’s what’s making it so slippery, Bird thought. And there was no way to keep out the elements. She quickly closed the hall door behind her in an effort to keep the cold from spreading throughout the rest of the house, realizing it was already too late.
The worst sight of all was when the flashlight lit up Laura Pierson. She was lying on the floor, shivering in her nightgown and slippers, looking very small and cold and dishevelled. Her back was hunched against the wall, her bare, blue-veined legs were out straight, and one ankle was quite swollen. Her old face was pale, her puffy white hair was askew, and her glasses had smashed on the floor beside her, leaving her small blue eyes squinting and blinking against the light. A trickle of blood seeped from the bridge of her nose. Her forehead was bruised.
“What happened?” asked Bird. “How long have you been sitting here? And where do you hurt?”
“Can you get me that blanket, dear? The one on the chair?”
Bird took the plaid wool throw off the back of the armchair next to the fireplace