“Brad’s not in his room,” Mr. Hartfield said the moment Scott walked into the kitchen.
“And Georgia’s not in her stall,” he answered. “Brad’s gone, on account of his mom.”
“His mother?” Mr. Hartfield looked as if someone had hit him. “How? Where? I don’t understand.”
Scott shrugged. “He’s been writing to her since I came and he thought he was going to meet her yesterday in Billings.”
“Billings?” Mr. Hartfield sounded like an echo. “Why?”
“Isn’t that where she lives?” Now Scott looked at the faces around him. Caroline and Howdy were standing close together, their fingers touching. Mom leaned against the counter by the sink, shaking her head as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
“Brad and Howdy’s mother hasn’t lived in Billings for over a year. No one seems to know where she’s moved.” Mr. Hartfield said.
“Where did Brad get her address then?” Scott asked. He glanced out the window. The sky was dirty looking, like erasure smudges on an exam paper. He had seen that look before and knew what it meant.
“She wrote once after she left. Maybe Brad got it then.” Mr. Hartfield suddenly stared at Howdy. “Do you know anything about this?”
“No.” Howdy moved closer to Caroline. “No, Brad didn’t say anything to me.”
“Where do you send her alimony checks?” Mom asked quietly.
“To her lawyer, because that’s the way she wanted it.” Mr. Bradley walked to the window and stared out of it while everyone watched and waited. “I should have paid more attention to Brad after she left,” he said at last. “They were so close.” Suddenly he swung around. “Tell me everything you know, Scott.”
So Scott filled him in, the words coming in a rush, knowing that he had to go after Brad quickly now, before it was too late.
The quick glance outside told him he had to move fast. Being out with dogs in all kinds of weather told him how to read signs that a storm was piling up, ready to explode, where it was least expected. Maybe the signs had been there when Brad started out this morning, but Scott doubted it.
“I should have seen he was troubled,” Mom said. “When he kept looking for mail and not getting it.” She looked at each of them. “All those letters he wrote, what happened to them? Did they come back?”
“Don’t know.” Scott glanced at the back door, feeling its pull, urging him to move before the storm did. “He never talked to me about that.”
“I’m sure his mother has a forwarding address we don’t know about.” Mr. Hartfield shook his head. “She moved around a lot after the separation. She seemed so restless, even before she left.”
Scott couldn’t wait. The words burst from him. “There’s an old cabin Brad told me about. He went there once with her, his mom. I think he’s gone there again.”
“Why?” Mom was crying now. “Why would he go there? Why didn’t he come to one of us? Maybe, if I’d talked to him more …”
“Because …” Scott stopped. No, he wouldn’t say it, didn’t have a right. Brad had chosen him to talk to, no one else. Scott knew that the day Brad had found the cabin was the only time he’d felt loved, needed by his mom. Now he’d gone back to find that same feeling again. Only it wasn’t there, it was here, here in this house for him and the rest of the family as well.
Scott had to find him, tell him.
“You mean Brad went over the pass?” Mr. Hartfield was staring at him. “Oh, no. I figured he’d just gone to the neighbors. Let me think, I’ve got to figure …”
“I’ll go.” Scott’s hands were on the doorknob now. He risked another glance out the window. The clouds looked like heavy, dense smoke.
Mr. Hartfield began to pace. “I’d better drive over to the Weavers and borrow their snowmobile. Anything else would be too slow.” He grabbed his jacket from a peg by the back door. He stopped just before he opened it.
“Why didn’t Brad come to me and talk?” Mr. Hartfield asked, looking directly at Scott. “We always talked before.”
“You’ll have to ask him,” Scott answered.
“I’ll be back soon,” Mr. Hartfield said. “Then we’ll all sit down and talk together.”
Scott waited until he heard the station wagon rev into action before he opened the back door.
“Where are you going?” Mom hurried toward him.
“Mr. Hartfield doesn’t know how fast the dogs can run,” Scott said, zipping up his jacket and pulling on mittens. “By the time he gets back from the Weavers, I should be up there.” Got to, he thought. Got to keep Brad alive until Mr. Hartfield comes with the snowmobile, to bring him back down the mountain.
Scott stepped outside, felt a hovering stillness that he knew masked the storm’s approach. Then he was running across the barnyard and into the barn. He harnessed the eager dogs, keeping their energy barely under control as they leaped and jumped and tugged, knowing what the harnesses meant.
Putting the harnesses on the dogs was the easy part, without help, attaching them to the sled would be a free-for-all. But he’d have to manage somehow. At least the steel-claw brake would help in steadying the sled, keep the dogs from running away.
The dogs ran ahead of him outdoors to the sled where Howdy stood, waiting. “Figured you might need me,” he said, grabbing Kaylah’s harness.
Scott smiled his thanks. Without any words, Howdy and Scott began to straighten the lines and harnesses. First, however, Scott stamped the brake securely into the ground.
Bruno wobbled around the other dogs, whining as Scott and Howdy worked. “You can’t go, Bruno,” Scott said. “You have to stay here.”
“I’ll put him in the barn,” Howdy said.
Scott fastened the nylon dog bag to the sled handle, not that he expected to use it, but it was better to be safe than sorry. Then he ran back into the barn and grabbed a thick, old horse blanket for extra security. He didn’t expect to use it either, but this trip had a lot of unknowns in it.
“Let me go with you, Scott,” Howdy said.
“Can’t, Howdy. Next time.” Scott pulled on a nylon hood and set his goggles in place.
“Ready?” he asked. Kaylah turned to look at him, waiting for his signal. Now Rusty looked and Chinook, too. They knew today was different.
Scott released the brake and pushed. “Go, dogs, go.” The sled leaped forward, moving toward the high north meadow. A little while later they crested the rise and Scott paused, to look below. Behind them lay the house and barn, snuggled warm and invitingly into a cluster of cottonwoods.
And Bruno. Bruno struggled silently after them, and Scott knew he had to take him, too. He secured the sled with the brake, commanded the dogs to lie down, and ran back to get Bruno, wondering if Howdy had deliberately released him. No matter, now. Nothing mattered but to reach Brad in time.
Scott picked up Bruno and staggered back to the sled with him, then quickly zipped him into the dog bag and tucked the blanket around him.
Now Scott stared ahead of them to a cold, white quilting of snow covering the winter rye. Zigzagging across it was a dark path, fresh with recent prints. Brad hadn’t been gone long, but it still could be too late. He had to hurry.
“Go,” he shouted, and the sled leaped forward again. The storm hit and swirled around them as they cleared the hedgerow and entered the open field. They were fully exposed now, and the wind pushed and pulled, tearing Scott’s eyes, working its way under his collar and fingering his back. He pulled his mitten cuffs over his jacket sleeves while he ran beside the sled to give the dogs a break from carrying his weight. Now he locked his jacket zipper all the way up under his chin. Bruno cozied further into his bag so that only his nose and eyes were exposed.
It grew colder as they climbed. Scott drove the dogs on and on as the whiteness of the world around him numbed his sense of time. The path grew crustier and icier too, so that the dogs stayed on top of it, but their footing lost its sureness. Now intuition took over, guiding Kaylah along the dark path that Brad had left behind.
Finally they needed to stop and rest. Scott called a halt and stepped on the brake, then flopped on the snow beside the panting dogs. He said nothing, he barely had breath for breathing. After a while he wiped his nose and smiled stiffly as he remembered Jamie’s description of weather like this. It’s a day, Jamie used to say, cold enough to freeze snot.
At last Scott could think about the course again, and he looked ahead to the mountains only to find he was within them. The pass had crested here, onto a small plateau. Conifers, carved by the wind, bowed like soldiers passing in review. Beneath them, a frozen creek lay in broken pieces.
The creek. Hadn’t Brad said something about the cabin being near the creek? The thought squirmed in Scott’s mind.
“Let’s go,” Scott yelled. The dogs heard his urgency and jumped to their feet again. Soon they were running hard beside the creek bed as Scott waited for the first sight of the cabin.
Then he saw it, weather-worn and dull gray against the snow. It was so old and broken down, it hardly deserved a name. Cabin meant warm fireplace, soup bubbling on the stove, lights twinkling in the windows. This one didn’t have a window, just a hole where once there had been one.
“Whoa,” Scott called, and the dogs fell gratefully on the snow. He wondered about Georgia O’Keefe as he walked up to the cabin. Her tracks led here, then disappeared. And Brad? Where was he?
Scott forced himself to look through the hole that once had been a window. He wanted to close his eyes, not look at all, for fear of what he might find. But he had to. Pulling in a breath of air so cold that it pierced the ball of fear stuck in his throat, he peered inside.
Georgia O’Keefe stood on three legs, resting the fourth. Nearby, Brad was rolled into himself on the dirt floor. He seemed to be asleep, at least his eyes were closed. He was so still, so still that … oh, God …
“Brad,” Scott screamed and leaped through the hole.
Georgia jumped but Brad didn’t move.
“Brad,” Scott yelled again, shaking him. “Brad.”
“No.” It was hardly a sound. “So cold. So cold. No.”
“Brad, you’ve got to get up. You can’t …”
“Storm,” he whispered. “Never saw it coming. How …”
Scott sighed with a great whooshing sound. He’s alive, but just barely. Another fifteen minutes and nothing will help. It’s that hypothermia Dad used to talk about. Be careful of getting cold and sleepy on the trail.
“Brad, you’ve got to try.” Scott shook him harder, but Brad only lay in a passive, sodden lump. Something else. He had to try something else. But what? Nice wasn’t working, maybe he had to be less than nice. How about ornery?
“Come on, peabrain. On your feet. Let’s finish our fight.” He kicked Brad hard so he’d react.. Nothing. Brad sank further into his dirty, damp jacket. His knit cap was soaked and Scott pulled it off, then his wet mittens too. He’d caught the full force of the storm, exposed on Georgia’s back.
Scott sat down, rubbed Brad’s stiff shoulders, wishing he could think of something more to do. Suddenly all his fear and anger and frustration boiled over at the same instant. He felt like a kettle about to explode. “Brad, you can’t die. I won’t let you.” No more dying around me, he thought. No more.
The impact of his thoughts hit him then. Finally he could love everyone and it was okay. He could love David and Howdy and Brad, yet keep on loving Dad’s memory, too. There was room. Even room left over for friends—Jamie, Michelle, and more to come.
He wanted to hit and hug Brad all at the same time. Criminy, wasn’t that a weird one?
Warmth, that’s what Brad needed now, or he’d die. Scott looked up, Georgia stared down at him. He didn’t know anything about horses, how to make her get down on the ground, use her body to keep Brad warm.
But he did know something about dogs. Oh, Lord, love the dogs. The wonderful, wonderful dogs.
Scott scrambled to his feet, ran outside, and unfastened their harnesses from the towline. “Stay, you bozos,” he yelled. “I’ve got another job for you.”
Then he unzipped Bruno from his nylon bag. “Come,” he ordered and they followed. Kaylah, Chinook, and Rusty leaped through the opening after Scott. He had to lift Bruno through.
“Look who’s here, guys. Look who’s here.”
Brad’s dog hobbled over to him, yelping and wagging his tail furiously at the same time. He began to lick Brad’s face over and over, smearing it with loving licks.
“Come on, the rest of you. Cuddle in around here.” The other dogs sniffed Brad, then settled down close to him. Scott urged and pushed them closer until Brad was surrounded, even covered in places by Mally blankets. Soon the only sound in the cabin was the panting of four dogs. Their warm, earthy breath hovered over Brad.
A moment later Brad murmured, “Umm, feels good, smells bad.” A smile appeared on his white, pinched face.
A couple of minutes later he said. “I had … to come up here … because …
Scott interrupted. “Hey, don’t talk. Save it for later. Anyway, I understand.”
Brad opened his eyes and stared at Scott. “Yeah, I guess you do. Thanks for coming, man.”
“No sweat.” Scott shrugged, but it was all he could do to keep from crying.
From far away they heard the steady hum of a snowmobile motor grinding up the mountain. It grew steadily closer and would be here in another ten minutes now.
“Listen,” Brad whispered. “Is it …?”
“Yeah.” Scott hesitated for a second before he finished. “It’s Dad.”
Then Scott sighed and sat back against the boards of the cabin wall, ready for the moment they could go back down the mountain to home, where the rest of the family was waiting.