ORANGE.
Everything was orange.
“It’s okay, honey,” orange people kept saying.
What did she own, who did she know who was bright neon-orange?
“You’re all right. It’s a miracle.” Even their heads were orange.
“We’re just going to strap you onto this sled, honey. Don’t be scared; we’re right with you.”
There seemed to be a vast crowd of people. Legs everywhere, bright-colored legs, not just orange, but all colors: blue, green, yellow, red —
Red, thought Christina. The red suit I thought was Blake. It pushed me off the ski lift.
She tried to raise her head, but orange hands pressed her back down onto the sled. “Lie still, honey. You fell into soft snow. You didn’t break bones; you didn’t suffocate. That was a one in a million fall — we’re guessing just bruises, but you lie still until a doctor looks at you.”
They were a rescue crew. Over their ski clothes they wore plastic orange smocks like firemen or highway workers, so they would be visible in any weather. And the colored legs: it was a gathering crowd of skiers at eye level. They were making a great deal of noise. “Why is everybody shouting?” whispered Christina. She was no longer on the mountain. They had moved her off the treacherous ski slope to the cleared area in front of the lodge and were waiting for the ambulance.
“They’re pretty glad you’re okay,” said a rescue worker. “A lot of people saw you fall out of that chair lift. I guess it’s everybody’s nightmare.”
“I didn’t fall,” said Christina. “I was pushed.”
But the rescue worker just knelt beside her and patted her. “You’re still shaken up, sweetie,” said the woman in a motherly voice. “Nobody pushed you. The metal bar came undone somehow.”
“The man in the red suit,” protested Christina.
“There was somebody in the lift ahead of you,” agreed the rescue people, “but that skier may not even have seen what was happening. At any rate, whoever it was apparently reached the top and skied on down Suicide. We’re hoping he’ll get in touch with us and let us know what he saw, if anything.”
The Shevvingtons were pushing through the crowd to reach Christina.
Blake got there first. “I thought you were right behind me!” he said. “I looked around and no Christina!” He felt her, up and down her ski clothes, as if expecting to find and set any broken bones himself. His face was white as snow. “She was with me!” Blake said to the rescue squad. “I was going to take her down Cardinal, partners. And then she vanished.”
“Got on the wrong ski lift,” said one man. “We’ve got signs everywhere. I don’t know what else we can do to make it clear that Suicide is very advanced. Imagine a beginner getting on that lift! Didn’t you read any of those signs, honey?” he said, angry with Christina.
“I didn’t look up,” whispered Christina.
“Great,” said the rescue worker. “We have a dozen signs, and the kid doesn’t bother to read.”
“Blake, listen to me. It was that man. The wetsuit man. He’s here. In a snow suit. Red. Like yours. I thought he was you.”
“I guess she did hit her head,” said the woman rescue worker. “Listen to her babble. Let’s get her down the mountain right away. Is the ambulance here yet? Is the doctor here?”
Mrs. Shevvington arrived and flung herself down in the snow next to the sled stretcher. “Chrissie, darling,” she cried. “Thank goodness you are all right!” She gazed pleadingly up at the orange people. “It’s my fault,” she cried. “I didn’t watch her closely enough. I had no idea she would try anything like that!”
The rescue squad was absolutely shocked. “You mean you think she may have done it on purpose?” one whispered.
“No!” screamed Christina. “Don’t listen to her!”
“She is under psychiatric care right now,” said Mrs. Shevvington. “I think the name of the ski trail must have stimulated her.”
“It did not!” screamed Christina.
Mr. Shevvington stood over her, too. His ski suit looked black in the starlight. He had taken off his cap and goggles to show his distinguished hair. The crowd quieted a little, just as impressed with Mr. Shevvington as all adults always were. What did he have, that in moments he could make them admire him and believe his words? “We were so lucky,” he breathed.
The crowd echoed, “You were so lucky!”
Christina felt like biting his ankles. The straps on the stretcher were not fastened down yet, and she jumped up, ready to beat on the Shevvingtons. Blake caught her. “Don’t,” he whispered. “You’re playing into their hands! You have to act sane.”
I’m going to kick them until I have kicked them all the way to the cliff, and then I’ll kick them over! thought Christina.
Blake held her even tighter. “They want an excuse to lock you up,” he breathed in her ear. “Don’t give it to them! All these witnesses! Chrissie! Get a grip on yourself. Smile. Be a sweetie.”
Once more, thought Christina, they’ve won. I refuse to believe it. I refuse to believe that I could be shoved off a ski lift, and all these people saw it, and still they think I’m the demented one!
Blake hissed, “I love you, Christina. Now save yourself! Do you hear me?”
Christina turned to the rescue squad workers. “I cannot thank you enough,” she said courteously, her clear voice ringing like an island bell in the mountain air. “I can’t imagine how I could have been so dumb, getting on the wrong ski lift. I guess I just didn’t shut the metal bar all the way closed when I got on. Please forgive me for causing such a stir. I’m perfectly all right. I don’t need a doctor or an ambulance.”
The squad looked uncertain. Christina was clearly able to stand and walk, but what was this woman implying about Christina’s mental state?
But Christina was saved by Dolly, who hurtled through the crowd, her tiny emerald body like a bullet shot from a gun. “Chrissie, Chrissie!” shrieked Dolly. “Are you all right? I saw it from window! But I didn’t know it was you up there!”
Dolly flung herself on Christina, and the little girls hugged. The crowd murmured, “Aw, isn’t that sweet.”
Blake said, “Let’s go inside the lodge and get warm now. Chrissie’s jeans are soaked through.”
“Yes, she needs to get warm,” agreed the crowd, as a single person.
Blake half carried, half led Christina up the lodge steps. The Shevvingtons tagged along. Blake was so handsome and debonair; Dolly was so adorable and vividly red and green; Christina was so appealing with her strange hair in the moonlight — nobody saw the Shevvingtons again.
But the price! thought Christina. This was my chance to corner them with the truth!
As if reading her mind, Blake said grimly, “This was their chance to corner you, Chrissie. You nearly bought it. If you hadn’t been paralyzed for life breaking your spine, they’d have locked you up with Val for attempting suicide. On Suicide Trail. It’s pretty cute, when you think about it.”
Christina remembered Blake’s earlier words. “I love you.”
The heat of his body had been merely warmth when she was cold; the support of his arms had been merely crutches when she was weak.
But now it was love. Christina was dizzy, sick, thrilled with love.
“Don’t faint,” said Blake, alarmed, half teasing. “Come on, girl of island granite. Be strong.”
Dolly did not like tagging after Christina and Blake. She did not like all this attention for Christina when she, Dolly, was there. Dolly held out her arms to Mr. Shevvington. “Carry me!” she demanded in a high, piteous voice, like a kitten. “I’m so trembly after what happened to Chrissie.”
Mr. Shevvington scooped her right up. He was tall, and Dolly was very visible snuggling against his shoulder. “Don’t worry, little darling,” cooed Mr. Shevvington. “You’re safe with me.”
The crowd sighed with pleasure. “Such a pretty picture,” said everybody, tilting their heads like mother birds to watch Dolly being cuddled. Several people took photographs. Blake and Christina went ahead. Slowly the Shevvingtons followed them into the ski lodge.
Inside, a vast fire crackled in the towering two-story stone fireplace. Logs as big as Christina’s room at the Inne smouldered in the stone cavity. “Heat,” whispered Christina. “I could step right inside the flames to get warm, I’m so cold.”
“Ssssssshhhh,” said Blake urgently. “You want the Shevvingtons to quote you on that?”
“No, but I want to get warm.”
“Where’s Anya?” said Blake, getting irritable now. “She’ll take you up to your room. You need to sit in a hot tub and get some warmth into your bones. And if Anya doesn’t help, you’ll have to ask Mrs. Shevvington.”
A staircase, huge and solid, circled layer on layer above the stones. It was nothing like the tippy fragile forest of white banisters at Schooner Inne. It was made of great planks of oak, sturdy as trees.
Down the stairs came Anya.
She had dressed for dinner: a narrow white wool skirt beneath a delicate, lacy top with a row of tiny ribbons around the throat. Her hair was spun black and her lips were soft and pink. She was as beautiful as a princess, as fragile as glass.
Blake’s grip on Christina loosened. His eyes were for Anya and Anya only. Vivid in scarlet pants and jacket, his dark hair windbrushed, his cheeks wind-burned, Blake crossed the wide room to Anya, and she descended the stair to Blake. Complete in themselves, Blake and Anya touched fingers. Reaching over the banister, Blake guided Anya down the last few steps, and when she reached the bottom and there were no railings between them he took her in his arms and kissed her. Then, synchronized as a single person, they moved across the room to Christina.
I never had you, she thought, grieving. You were always Anya’s.
She turned her head away to keep anyone from seeing the pain it caused her. Grow up, she told herself. You wanted Blake to be the rescuer, and he was. You wanted Blake to be a hero, and he is. So stop pretending he can be your boyfriend as well. You’re a little girl. Anya is a beautiful woman.
“Blake!” said the Shevvingtons, shocked, setting Dolly down so fast she nearly hit the floor. “What are you doing here, Blake? Why aren’t you at boarding school? What is going on, young man?” They tried to be the fierce principal and the harsh teacher, but the ski lodge diluted their power with Blake. He bowed to them mockingly. “What a surprise to meet again,” he said. His eyes were exactly the same as theirs: hard, fighting eyes. If they entered a ring — Blake vs. Shevvington — Blake would win.
For Anya he would fight any battle.
Christina ached with cold and exhaustion. But at least the Shevvingtons were beaten. Christina had survived; Anya had Blake.
The rest of the weekend, thought Christina, trying to summon up energy and gladness, we will ski and laugh and party and stay up late. There would be no more accidents — the Shevvingtons can’t risk it.
We’ll have food sent up to the room, she decided, having always wanted to order from room service. Perhaps we’ll order in the middle of the night. If there’s dancing, I’m sure Blake will save one dance for me.
Mrs. Shevvington’s little black-hole eyes landed on Christina. Mrs. Shevvington knew when she was beaten. Christina knew that the Shevvingtons would change plans immediately. She did not have the strength to fight back this time. But Blake is here, she thought. Blake will fight for me. So it’s all right.
Mrs. Shevvington straightened. “Arthur, dear,” she said loudly to her husband, “after this dreadful brush with death, I’m too shaken to stay longer. I simply cannot finish out the ski weekend. My nerves,” said Mrs. Shevvington, who had none, “are frayed. Girls, you must pack immediately. Go to your rooms. As soon as Christina is warm and in dry clothing, we’ll drive straight home. Tonight.”
But now I want the weekend, thought Christina. She did not have enough energy to argue a single syllable. She could hardly stand up without Blake.
Dolly said, “That’s very wise, Mrs. Shevvington. Chrissie can hardly stand up. She can sleep in the car.”
“I’d rather sleep in the room,” Christina mumbled.
Mr. Shevvington picked Christina up this time. Blake was too absorbed by Anya to notice. Dolly frowned with faint jealousy. Christina was too tired to argue.
Anya wilted against Blake. “Home?” she whispered. “Oh, please, no! I just saw him again. Not yet!”
Just as she manages to blossom again, thought Christina, they cut her back.
“Come, Anya,” said Mrs. Shevvington. “Come, Christina. Do not dillydally.”
“Anya is staying for the weekend,” said Blake. “I’ll drive her home.”
“She most certainly is not staying. I do not give permission,” said Mrs. Shevvington.
“Permission,” said Blake, “is not yours to give. I am eighteen. I can vote and die for my country. And therefore, I can decide when to drive Anya back to Schooner Inne.”
A chill that was not from snow or mountains settled all over Christina’s heart. If I go home without Blake or Anya, she thought, if I go back to Schooner Inne and only Dolly is between me and the Shevvingtons … that means there is nothing between me and the Shevvingtons.
Mrs. Shevvington stomped her foot, like Dolly having a pout. “Well, I’m not paying for that room,” she said spitefully. “Just where do you expect Anya to sleep?”
“I’ll get her a room,” Blake said.
My folder is not yet closed, thought Christina, whose eyes had closed of their own accord. And I am so close to the truth now that the Shevvingtons cannot wait much longer to be rid of me.
Blake. I need you. You have to come, too. Anya has to come, too.
But she had not spoken aloud. She was thinking it in her sleep. She had fallen asleep right on Mr. Shevvington’s shoulder. She knew it and did not know it, wanted to move but slept on.
So they were back early. She slept through the drive back to Schooner Inne, slept through being put to bed upstairs, slept till way into the next day, when Dolly woke her up. “I’ve had breakfast!” said Dolly impatiently. “Let’s go over to Jonah’s. They’re playing in the ice maze. We have to tell them everything. And I have photographs. One of the people in the ski crowd had a Polaroid, and he gave me photographs. We’ll show them to everybody.”
“Of me falling?” cried Christina, waking up immediately, thinking, Proof, proof! This is it! A photograph of the man in the red suit — proof that I was pushed, that I was not alone in that chair lift! I’m there, I have it, I won after all, I —
“No, no,” said Dolly. “Nobody had a camera out then. Photographs of us rescuing you. See this pretty one of me in Mr. Shevvington’s arms? And here’s a really nice one of me snuggling down next to your cheek to be sure you’re all right.”
Christina stared at the cracked plaster on her ceiling. Do I laugh or sob? she thought.
“What do you want for breakfast, Chrissie?” said Dolly. “I’m willing to fix you something.”
“I think I’ll just chew on my pillow for a while,” said Christina.
Everybody was startled to have Christina and Dolly join them. “But you were going away for a three-day weekend,” protested Jonah.
“Did you wear the yellow suit?” cried Mrs. Bergeron. “Did you have a wonderful time? Are you a natural at skiing? I bet you are.”
Dolly said importantly, “Christina fell off the ski lift.”
“No!” they all screamed. “She didn’t! How terrifying! Are you all right, Chrissie? What happened?”
Dolly gave her version of the fall.
Christina did not offer hers. She could just imagine what people would say. Pull yourself together, Christina; stop telling stories; behave in a socially acceptable manner; do what the Shevvingtons say.
Jonah said impatiently, “Dolly, shut up. I want to hear what Christina says. You weren’t part of it at all.”
“I was so!” said Dolly, pulling her lips together in anger. “Look at the photographs of me.”
“Nobody cares about photographs of you,” said Jonah irritably, brushing her aside. “Christina,” he said, “that is so scary.” He pulled her away from the rest, so they were standing in a corner of the house that made a sun trap, out of the wind. “Chrissie,” he whispered, “was there something more to this than — well — you know — the Shevvingtons? They wouldn’t really go that far, would they?”
The rest were screaming, yelling, pushing, and sliding in the ice mazes.
I could be skiing now, Christina thought. With Blake. Going fast, skimming over the top of the world with his hand on my waist. Wearing the lemon-yellow suit. The sun could be over Running Deer instead of this boring old backyard.
She wanted to share with Blake, not Jonah! She wanted Blake to care, not Jonah! Jonah was just another seventh-grader. Blake was man, handsome and strong and — and Anya’s.
Christina sighed. She said, “I don’t know. Let’s play.”
When it was time to go home, she could not find Dolly.
She shrugged. Dolly never stayed unless she was the center of attention. Dolly had doubtless gone on home herself.