sixteen

He had to get to the cave. Get them out. Keep them from being buried alive. Micah’s heart surged as he charged forward.

The snowshoes hindered his progress. He pulled his knife and sliced through the ties. Plunging through the snow took more effort, but he could move faster. He raced through the cluster of trees separating him from the mountain. How fast was the avalanche moving?

A flowing cloud still sped downward, ever widening. Already covering half the distance to the cave.

He’d never make it. He gulped in a breath of air and cupped his hands around his mouth. “Ingrid!”

Please let them hear me inside the cave.

The rush of snow drowned out his voice. “Samuel!” What was the other woman’s given name? His thoughts muddled as he worked to pull them free. “Joanna!”

The billowing cloud had almost reached the opening. They’d never be able to get out, especially with Ingrid crippled.

God, help them.

He could only watch as the torrent of white curled over the dark circle that was the entrance to the cave, engulfing everything in its path. Plunging onward, ravenous to consume more.

His chest ached, his throat tightening. Did the snow fill the cave completely? He couldn’t lose them all. Not again. Why did God keep destroying everyone he cared about?

The wave of snow descended to the base of the mountain, surging forward with the very real possibility the swell may cover him where he stood. Maybe the Almighty planned to take him out with the others.

Come and get me. The pain could finally be over.

But the white clouds slowed, easing to a stop not twenty strides before him.

His heart thudded in his chest. He was alive. But why? Why leave me to grieve again?

As he looked back up the mountain to where the cave opening had yawned just minutes before, a wave of helplessness sank through him. How would he ever break through to them?

He had to try.

Turning back, he retraced his steps to his snowshoes. With so many layers of icy powder covering the trail, he’d need these to walk atop the fluff. It took some doing to retie the cut laces, which left time for his mind to churn.

Was the snow secure enough to walk on? Or would it shift out from underneath him, starting another avalanche, like the aftershock from an earthquake? He’d gladly let the massive white blanket smother him into oblivion, but Ingrid and the others were counting on him. He had to get them out.

Finally he pulled the knots tight, securing the frames to his feet. He also needed something to shovel snow when he found the cave. A sapling was the best thing he could find, and he used his knife to cut through the green wood. Perhaps he should leave his rifle by the trees so he didn’t have to worry about keeping it dry. Still, it went against his instincts to be without a gun in these mountains. He’d keep the weapon with him.

Finally, he turned toward the wall of white.

The mountain towered above him, and he mentally marked the spot where the cave should be. Hopefully.

Climbing upward seemed to take an hour. Two hours, as he inched his way over the sliding snow. Twice, the loose powder slid from under his feet, plunging him face-first into the icy mix.

At last he reached the place where he’d judged the cave to be. There was no indentation in the bed of churned snow. No sign that he’d gauged correctly. He might dig for hours, only to hit solid rock.

“Ingrid!” He pounded the snow with his stick.

Nothing answered, save a faint echo. He’d best not make another loud noise. Had it been his rifle shot that loosened the avalanche?

Please. No.

He dug in with the stick, pushing aside the loose powder. His actions had buried Ingrid and the others alive.

He would not let another woman he loved—

No, he couldn’t say that. However he felt about Ingrid, he wouldn’t let her die. Nor the other woman and boy. These people would not suffer the consequences of his actions.

For what felt like hours he dug, tunneling through the white mass. He’d had to remove his snowshoes early in the process, and he’d now pushed aside enough snow to sink to his thigh when he stepped into the hole. Digging took longer now, for he had to loosen the packed ice with his stick, then scoop out the powder.

He would dig as long as it took to find them. Or until the mountain took him, too. If only he knew for sure he was in the right place.

When he’d gone deep enough that he stood in snow to his waist, his stick hit something hard. He stabbed at the ground. Let it not be rock.

As he chipped away at the packed snow, a dark surface appeared beneath the white. He’d reached the stone of the cliff.

He sank back against the snow wall of his hole, disappointment stealing the strength from his limbs. The wrong spot.

Inhaling a long breath, he scanned the snow blanketing the cliffside around him. Had he dug too high or too low? Maybe the right height, but too far to the left or right?

He turned to stare down the mountain at the trees below, summoning the memory of exactly how the view had appeared from the cave entrance. He needed to be to the left a little.

Grabbing his stick, he hoisted himself out of the hole, then pushed to his feet. Without his snowshoes on, he sank to his buckskins in the loose snow, the icy wet seeping through to steal his breath. He slogged forward, stopping a couple of times to check the outlook on the trees below.

Finally, he found the spot that looked right. Although . . . maybe he should be a few steps higher.

At last, he started digging again. Shoveling the snow aside, scooping it out of the hole that gradually sank deeper and deeper. The snow had been waist-high in the other area, so that was a good estimate for how far he’d have to dig here.

Unless . . . If the snow had fallen into the cave, he might be digging for hours. Maybe the others would be clawing out from the inside.

Sweat dripped down his back as he worked. The sun glared off the white crystals. His mouth grew dry, but he stuffed in a handful of snow when it became unbearable.

He dug through to waist-height but didn’t reach stone. Maybe that was a good sign, or perhaps the avalanche had simply deposited more snow here.

Pausing to wipe the perspiration from his brow, he poked at the bottom of his hole. “Ingrid? Joanna? Samuel?” Just the thought of them freezing down there refueled his energy, and he stabbed at the snow again, shoveling loose powder out of the way.

He forced the stick harder with each jab. The sapling might break any moment, but he had to make faster progress. How long would the air inside last with the fire blazing and all three of them breathing? Not to mention the donkey and dog. He’d not even thought of the animals in this ordeal.

With a jerk, one of his thrusts broke through. He tumbled forward, landing on his elbows in the snow.

“Micah!” The voice inside barely drifted through the tiny opening. But the sound of it flooded him with joy. And fear.

And a fierce jolt of energy.

He jerked the pole out. “Ingrid. Are you hurt?” What a silly question when she had a broken leg. “The others. Are you all safe?”

“We’re safe.” Joanna’s voice sounded louder than Ingrid’s had. She must be standing near the opening. A bit of skin showed through the hole, then an eye.

“I’ll have you out soon.” He shifted to dig again.

“We’ll help from this side.”

“No.” He practically yelled the word, images of the snow where he stood caving in on them. Burying them again. “Pack our things. As soon as I make a hole large enough to get you out, we’re leaving this place.”

Ingrid hated this feeling of helplessness.

She listened to the sounds of Micah hacking at the snow. Of Joanna bundling their things back into the pack. Her quiet murmurs to Samuel.

Through it all, there was no way she could help, sitting here with her back pressed against the cave wall, her bulky leg extended in front of her. The wood planks bracing her broken bone were so heavy, the only way she could move was by scooting backward, dragging the limb behind her.

A scuffle sounded from the snow wall, and she turned to see Micah’s face, the whole of him. With the light behind him, his features were cast in shadows, but still she could sense his fear.

“Ingrid.” His voice strained with emotion.

She found a smile for him. “We’re well, Micah. And so thankful you found us.”

“I’ll have you out soon.” Heavy breaths slowed his words.

He was such a good man, Dr. Micah Bradley. Yet he didn’t seem to know his own strengths. This man who would spend himself to keep those in his charge safe. Do whatever necessary to make them comfortable.

A ball of black fluff crept toward her, breaking through her thoughts. “Handsome.” She reached for the little dog and snuggled him to her chest. “You’re the perfect man, too, aren’t you, fella?”

Now that Micah had widened the first tiny hole, the going went faster than before, and soon, he cleared an opening wide enough for him to step inside.

He was by her side in a moment, his eyes searching hers. “Are you hurt?” He looked as though he wanted to take her in his arms, to prove to himself that she was safe from the avalanche.

In truth, she wanted him to do just that, but she couldn’t ask him to. Still, the fact that they were alive, that he’d found them . . . they had to celebrate this miracle.

She reached for his hand and squeezed it. “We’re well. All of us. I can’t believe you were able to dig us out. God answered our prayers.”

She couldn’t see the nuances of his expression with the light shining behind him, but she could feel the way he clung to her hand. The desperation in his grip showed just how much he’d feared losing them.

“We’re well, Micah. God used you to save us.”

He nodded. “I’m glad.” It might be her imagination, but it sounded as if his voice hitched on the words.

He exhaled an audible breath, then released her hand and stood. “Let’s get everything out of here.”

He and Joanna worked together to push the sled and supplies through, with Samuel bouncing around them, jabbering about how brave he’d been when the snow closed them in.

A moment later, Micah stepped back into the cave and stopped in front of her, his hands propped at his waist. “Your carriage is ready, m’lady.”

Joanna stepped in behind him, Samuel at her heels.

The thought of the forthcoming pain made all the muscles up through her shoulders tense. She also hated to add so much work for the others.

She extended the pup toward the boy. “Can you carry Handsome until I’m settled?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He ran forward, then slowed as he took the dog in his arms. No matter how much energy bounced through the lad, he somehow always managed to move carefully when he held Handsome. It was a wonder, really.

Micah stepped around to her side and crouched. “We’ll do this the same way as before. I’ll lift you, and Joanna—I mean, Mrs. Watson—can stabilize the injured leg.”

Ingrid looked to her friend, who let out a sigh. “I suppose you should call me Joanna. We’ve no need for such formal address when we’re climbing mountains and surviving avalanches together.” She looked at Micah with a sad smile.

Something about the intimacy in the look planted a new thought in Ingrid’s mind.

Surely it was too soon after her husband’s death for Joanna to have feelings for another man. Yet she and Micah were experiencing so many of the same challenges on this journey. Such shared moments were bound to build a connection between them. When Joanna’s grieving passed, it would be only natural for her to realize the exceptional man Micah was. The two could be an ideal match. Both of them skilled, hardworking, and devoted. What a blessing for this woman who was becoming a dear friend.

The thought seared all the way to her chest, making it impossible to draw breath. Her gaze found Micah’s face as he reached forward to lift her. He tucked her so close, his strength wrapping around her, making her eyes sting. She ducked her face, willing the tears away.

Joanna carried her feet, working in perfect tandem with Micah. A team. Tears stung harder, the sense of loss almost devastating. She should never have let herself develop affection for Micah. No matter how easy it was to admire him.

As they settled her in the cart, Joanna wrapping the furs around her, she kept her face down, eyes averted. She could feel the weight of Joanna’s stare, but maybe her friend would think the pain caused the tears in her eyes.

Be thou my strength, Lord. God was truly all she had left. And Handsome. She took the dog from Samuel’s arms, forcing a smile of thanks for the boy. Then she buried her face in her pup’s soft fur and closed out everything else.