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by Dianne Kochenburg

Sidney opened her eyes and for a moment she couldn't quite remember where she was. The room was cold even though the heater was still glowing and the kitchen light was still on. Then she remembered. She must have been sleeping in the chair for hours.

When the cat noticed that Sidney was awake, she jumped onto her lap, and started meowing. It was the meow she used to tell them she was hungry. Sidney stirred, trying to push her off. Once the cat noted that Sidney was awake, she hopped over to the top of the couch and started walking along it, fixing a gaze at Matt, while looking for a particularly vulnerable landing spot.

            "Toast," Sidney commanded. She threw off the quilt and staggered to her feet, hoping to get the cat's attention before it jumped onto him. The cat meowed an answer, knowing that its threat had been warning enough.

            Sidney opened the door, hoping that the snow would be gone. Wouldn’t it be lovely if yesterday was nothing more than a bad dream? The snowy air hit her full blast. No light, just wind gusts. She stood there shivering for a second or two and then she began to make out the drifting snow that was piled against the door. It was too deep for Toast to venture even one step beyond the threshold. She sniffed the powdery snow and a few flakes stuck to her furry nose. She sneezed and backed into the kitchen, hissing her dismay. One thing was definite. The storm hadn't passed yet and the snow hadn't melted during the night.

            "You're right, Toast. I wouldn't want to pee out there either." 

            Sidney moved toward the cellar door with the cat following her. She waited impatiently, rubbing against her legs, as Sidney pried open the door and the cat quickly scampered down the stairs and out of sight.

            Toast had been with them for several years now and had come into their lives the way most cats do -- accidentally. It would never have occurred to either Sidney or Matt to say, "Well, what do you think, shall we go find ourselves a cat today?" Toast was on their porch one summer morning, sunning herself on the railing as if she owned the place already. She gazed at Sidney with a fondness that belied the fact that Sidney had never set eyes on the marmalade calico before. 

          The cat's first sound had been an endearing cross between a purr and a meow, a polite request and a thank-you pronounced at the same time. As Sidney approached the stray on the railing, she knew at once that the little animal wanted a home, but the cat didn't resort to the usual pathetic pleading. And Sidney knew it was settled when she began a loud purr as Sidney stroked her fluffy orange and tan fur. Matt had resisted Toast's first advances but it didn't take the cat long to convince him that she was part of the family.

            Now they both belonged to the cat, not the other way around. She traveled with them back and forth between their home and the cottage, happy with the life they all shared. Matt and Sidney marveled at Toast's adaptability and they often wondered why her previous owners had abandoned her, if that had indeed been the case. Perhaps this particular cat simply knew that one set of companions could be better than another. If that was the case, Matt and Sidney had passed the test.  

             When Sidney turned, Matt was up. “Still snowing?” he asked.

            "Uh-huh. Still snowing and the wind is up too. How are you feeling?" she asked.

            "I’ll tell you in a minute," he stretched and yawned. He tested his right leg and yelped. "It might be a little better. Just some morning stiffness. Gotta get to the bathroom," he said.

The path to the bathroom wove around the couch, through the divider, into the kitchen past the table and counter, and into the hallway containing the cellar door and the bathroom. He made slow progress. Finally he reached it and closed the door behind him as if it was just another morning routine for him.

            Sidney sighed as he retreated. He couldn't possibly get the jeep out of the firepit today.  She looked around the kitchen. She'd have to make them some breakfast. The cans and boxed food were piled high on the counter. Maybe it was just an old wives' tale, but the theory went that if you packed canned goods in the refrigerator, even though the refrigerator was turned off, they wouldn't freeze during the winter, even if indoor temperatures dipped well below freezing. She'd put the stuff back on the shelves later. She'd have to inventory all their food and organize the kitchen again. They might be stuck for a few days.

            Familiar morning sounds. Just another day, just a small setback. That's what she told herself as she looked around for something to eat. As soon as the storm blew over and the snow melted, they would fix the jeep somehow and drive out. Wouldn’t that be a story for their friends. And the kids. After they got over the shock, it would be a grand adventure. A wind gust rattled the shutters and yanked her out of her reverie. Better have another look outside just to make sure. She jammed her feet into her boots, grabbed her jacket and opened the front door. This time she stepped outside.

            The snow blanketed everything, covering all surfaces, camouflaging the pine trees, ground cover, porch and even the jeep. Its shape was just barely identifiable down by the lake. There must be well over six inches, she thought, standing on the slippery porch. The wind slipped down through the trees in a continuous clamor. It never ceased to amaze her how noisy the forest could be when the winds came up. She shivered and zipped up her jacket. She could detect the first pale light of sunrise over the lake. Soon it would daylight. She stood out on the porch for a few moments, remembering how different it all looked just a few short days ago. 

Summers were usually mild and pleasant around Goose Lake. It was a small mountain lake, fed by run-off, some underground springs and several small streams, nearly a mile above sea level and way off the beaten track. The closest town was twenty-five rough miles away, along a road that wasn't ploughed during the winter. There were only a handful of permanent summer residents that spent much time at the lake every year. Some cabins were only used a couple weekends during the season. The fishing was marginal, and although the lake was fairly large, power boats were not allowed. The only boats allowed were small outboards, patio boats and kayaks. Sam, the lodge's innkeeper, acted as part time sheriff, coast guard patrol, fire department and mail collector for the summer residents.

They figured it was probably the homely name, Goose Lake, and that played a part in keeping the area so remote, that and the boating rules. A handful of Canada geese and lots of ducks made the lake their summer home. Sam was always busy puttering around the small marina, and Beth ran the lodge and rented out several small weekend cabins nearby. No matter how busy they were, they always had time for conversation, a drink, or a meal with Sid and Matt.  

She turned and carefully picked her way back to the kitchen and slammed the door behind her. Matt hobbled over.

            "Let me see," he said. She opened the door again. He took a couple steps outside and sniffed the air. "My God, look at it. What do you think, maybe six, eight inches?"

            "Yeah, maybe more," she answered. "Looks like we could be stuck here for a while, huh."

            "Looks that way. I gotta sit down." He moved off toward the table. "I'm not sure how bad this knee is. Feels stiff." He lowered himself into a kitchen chair.         

            "Let me take another look at it. Hey, look there. I think I can make out the Michelin pattern pressed into your skin," Sidney remarked.

            "Not funny," Matt answered, but he smiled anyhow. He prodded the injury, fingers kneading his bony flesh. Matt was tall, six feet, and thin with a runner’s build. He hiked, fished a little, cut wood for the cottage, did lots of physical work that kept him fit. Now in his late fifties, he struggled with the beginning of a paunch. He liked to relax in the evenings in front of the TV, have a glass of wine or two, maybe a dish of ice cream before bed. It was starting to add up.

            He was a CPA by profession, a bean counter for a large company, tedious work that he enjoyed for the most part. He never complained about the routine, he loved the challenge of the balance sheet and the profit and loss statements.

            "I think it's improving too." Sidney said. Her half-remembered first aid training wasn't helping her much. “It’s still swollen but since you can walk on it, I think it’ll probably be fine in a few days.”

            "Thank you, Dr. Bryson. That’s exactly what I wanted to hear" he said. “I just hope you’re right.” shaking off her hand. "Damn it, Sid, if you'd of put the cat in the carrier in the first place yesterday, we'd be on your way through the Golden Gate by now."

            Sidney glared at him. "What! So you're blaming me for this mess? Well, that's just fine."

            "Well, you were the one poking around here all afternoon when you knew I wanted to leave early. You saw the storm coming as well as I did. We should have left at noon latest."

            "Now just wait a minute, mister," Sidney protested. "You never said anything to me about leaving early, and you were taking your sweet time with the damned shutters. And don’t forget, it was you that wet down the driveway, not me. And you were the one who left the jeep in neutral, not me. So don't blame me for what's your own stupid fault."

            "Like hell it is." He spit out the words, then turned away.

            "Uh-huh. You just stand there and blow. I’m going out to get our stuff. "

            First she needed the snow shovel from downstairs. She eventually found it and was back up with it in time to notice Matt trying to get his boots on over his swollen foot. Her anger at him was subsiding, but she said nothing.

          The snow on the porch was still powdery and easy to move. She thought she could almost brush it away with a broom as she pushed shovelfuls over the side of the porch. She cleared a path to the stairs and was able to scrape a path down them without much work. She figured she could walk through the snow dragging the shovel behind her and make a clear enough trail to get to and from the jeep easily enough. The wind was steady and the snow was just barely drifting down as she picked her way down the driveway to the jeep that still sat forlornly in its firepit parking spot.

            She opened the rear door and grabbed a couple light-weight bags and carried them back to the porch. Then she started back down for another load. It took many trips before she eventually got all of the luggage, bags, the cat carrier and some other miscellaneous junk out of the jeep and into the house. Matt helped by moving the bags inside as she brought them up the steps.

           “I brought the cell phone in while I was at it,” she announced as she closed the door. She fired it up and watched it search for a signal. She’d done this exercise before, always a waste of time. What made her think today would be any different. Goose Lake was surrounded by mountains, tucked in and therefore out of range. She idly wondered just how far she would need to climb before it would work. “Damn! No luck!”

                Sid unpacked the food that had come out of the refrigerator, suddenly remembering that she was going to offer it to the kennel folks when they dropped off Toast. Half a carton of milk, a tub of margarine, a few eggs, some fruit, half a loaf of bread, some wilting lettuce, a few carrots, a bunch of limp celery, some potatoes, the usual leftovers from the vegetable bin. A miracle. None of it was frozen.

She popped two slices of bread in the toaster, and built a pot of coffee from the grounds that she’d left open in the frig. Then she spread the margarine thinly over the toast and then added a layer of strawberry jam to each piece. The coffee filtered into the pot, ready at last. She pulled down crockery mugs and filled each. She dug around in the cupboard and found some powdered creamer. Ugh. Ah well. She would save the real milk for later. She quartered an apple, cutting out the seeds, and placed the crescents on a plate with the toast. A peace offering, this breakfast, placed on the coffee table, which Matt now was using as a foot stool.

            "Here’s your coffee," she offered.

            He nodded. 

            "So, what do we do now," she asked, after they'd finished off the toast.

            "Well, as I see it,” Matt said, scratching his head, “there's not much we can do right now. We’ll just wait out the storm and then take a look at the car, see if I can get it out of there. Maybe it’s not what I thought. This storm can’t last.”

He reached over and grabbed her hand. “I’m sorry, kiddo. This mess is all my fault. We both know that. We’ll be okay. You’ll see.”

            Sidney tried to smile. Instead she nodded. “We’ll be okay.” 

"So I guess I’ll ice my knee again. Thanks for the coffee."

“Want more?” she asked, heading for the kitchen for refills.

            Sidney refilled his cup and he murmured thanks as she set it in place. This time she got him ice cubes for his knee.

            "I need to make a list. There must be some things we should be doing," she suggested as he settled back on the couch.

            "Sure, Sid. That’s a good idea," he said. 

She handed him the tattered notebook she kept on the kitchen counter. “Here, you write it. And you can help me figure out what to do first."

            He took the pad and pencil from her and balanced it against his good leg.

            "Put down 'food inventory'. I have to check on what we have here," she began.

            "Okay. What about the cat food? Did you bring it in from the car?" Matt asked as he began to write out the list.

            Sidney looked around. She couldn't remember. "Oh, yeah. There it is, over by the door."

            "The cat's gonna eat better than us," he said.

            "Or at least longer. There isn't much food here. Well, there's lots of canned stuff, but not much fresh."

            Matt shook his head and then wrote Inventory Food.

"You know what I think I’ll do?" Sid said as she looked at the mess on the kitchen counter.

“What?”

“I’m going back over to the lodge. Maybe I can get in. I’ve been thinking about this. You know how we keep a key under the railing? Well, it could be that they’ve got a key stashed somewhere too. Or maybe they forgot to lock up.” She gave Matt one of those looks that said, am I really saying this? “Nah. They didn’t forget to lock the door.”

            "Oh, okay. So the phone's probably off then."

            "Well, according to what they talked about, the phone service's cut off when they leave. Of course, you can't get into the lodge anyhow."

            "Maybe I should break in, try to anyhow. Maybe there's food left, even if the phone's off."   Sidney raised her eyebrows, a silent question. 

            "You'd pay hell getting in there. Need a crowbar at least. I think you better forget that idea."

            "Okay. Next item, electricity and the plumbing. We're okay as long as it's on, but what if it goes out?"

            Matt looked at her and then shifted positions. "Well, that's a good question. Put candles on the list. There are candles around here somewhere. But we better be out of here if the electricity goes out."

            "I know, I know. But just what-if? Let's figure it out, just in case."  She stood up, impatient with him, both hands shoved into her pockets.

            "Well, let's see." He scratched his. "First, the water. That's easy. Just set the back faucet in the bathroom to a slight drip and it'll keep the water moving. It won't freeze in the pipes then. Those pipes out to the spring are dug well underground. And it's gravity fed to the house, so we don't have to worry running out. We'll have water as long as the spring keeps running."

            Sidney sat back down. "Why, the back faucet?" she asked, interrupting him before he went off on a tangent about the water. She'd heard that story before, a physics exercise he liked to brag about.

            "Oh, well, it's where the water first comes into the cottage. Maybe you could set the kitchen tap to drip, but the bathroom's better." That settled, he moved on, "then there's the hot water. As long as we have electricity, we have hot water, just like the stove. That little water heater'll help keep the pipes warm enough too. Might wrap a blanket around them though, under the house for insulation." He started another list. "We've just got to remember not to turn the water all the way off. Better make a note and paste it to the mirror in the bathroom, something like that, so we don't forget." He wrote that down.

            "What about the electricity, then?" Sidney asked.

            "Now, if the electricity goes, we're in trouble. First, we're in the dark in this place with the shutters up, like they are."

            "Should I take them down?"

            "I suppose you could, maybe one or two anyhow. Be more light in here then, and we could watch the storm better." He made another note. "I'd say, take the ones off the doors. And maybe the small window in the front." He nodded and jotted another note. 

            "Then there'd be the heating problem if we didn't have electricity. We'd have to build a fire and keep it going all the time if we can't run this little electric heater."

            "Hmm, just like the pioneers, you mean? We'd have to make sure the fire didn't go out?"

            "Yeah. Tough job too. If we let the place get cold it would be hard to heat up again.  Better to keep a little fire going all the time. I think we should just stay down here on the main floor. I can't get up the stairs anyhow. Probably have to cut off heat rising upstairs too, any part of the place we don't need warm. Probably we should do that anyhow. Close up the stairway with a blanket or something, and shut that register." He pointed to the ceiling register that let the heat from the lower floor into the second floor. 

            "Of course, we'll need wood for the fire. You'd have to haul in the wood from the pile I've got under the house."

            "You mean all that wood you've been cutting and piling up over the years, we'll finally have a use for it?" Sidney smiled at the thought of the great wood pile stacked under the house. He'd been at it for years. Some of that wood must be five years old. One of Matt's summer preoccupations had been chopping firewood. He always claimed it was good exercise. Any time a limb came down or a tree fell, he'd cut it into chunks and stack it under the house. They sometimes had campfires in the firepit during the summer, but they rarely built a fire in the fireplace. Usually it was too warm for one, or they'd be too tired by late evening.

            "Yeah, it will keep the place warm for quite a while, but it would be no picnic to haul it up those steep stairs." He looked down at his leg once more as if willing it to heal. Sidney watched him. “And I think there’s a Coleman lantern in the cellar somewhere. I’ll see if I can find it. Don't remember how much kerosene I have though.” Another item for the growing list of things to do. Chores would keep them busy.

            "Well, I want to go over to the lodge anyhow."  Her anxiety rose as she spoke. 

            "Suit yourself, Sid, but I wouldn't waste my time with it."

            "Well, you rest, ice your knee some more. I'll be back in a little while. I want to check things out for myself."

            "Whatever. But take something with you, like a screwdriver or a crowbar. And be careful."

            She nodded and started for the door. The air was crisp and the ground was cleanly covered in its blanket of white. The path by the lake was the easiest since it was nearly flat all the way. She'd walk it just like she had yesterday. 

            First she went into the storage area and found a long screwdriver like Matt had suggested.  He kept all his tools neatly stored in his large tool chest just inside the door. She poked through the drawers until she found the one containing nothing but screwdrivers. She extracted the longest one she could find. It looked new, shiny, with a clear yellow handle, good heft. She plunked in into her backpack and then headed off to the lodge.

            The dusty snow crunched before her as she picked her way carefully along the path once again. She noticed little tracks where birds and small animals had run before her through the otherwise unbroken trail ahead. The wind had eased somewhat and it was quiet, as if the lake shore was holding its breath.

It took her longer than usual to make her way to the lodge. The cold air chilled her breath and lungs as she strode along through the drifting powdery snow, and it stung her cheeks and ears, unprotected from the cold. Next time out she'd have to remember to wear a headband under her hat. 

            The lodge looked abandoned and shuttered, just like their cottage. The familiar "closed for the season" sign was nailed to the door. She tried the door handle. Locked, of course. She pounded on the door anyhow. The muffled noise her mittens made on the door were barely audibly. Nobody answered. The door was solid oak beams, thick and unyielding. Sidney wasn't sure how to go about breaking in. She got out her screwdriver. It suddenly looked rather pathetic against the oak barrier before her. 

            She stepped away from the building and began to walk around the back to the kitchen entrance. Perhaps the back door would be easier to open. She’d run her mittens under the railings to see if there was a key hanging there, like there was at their house.

Then she stopped. What was that sound? Something familiar, yet startling.  Like metal hitting against metal. Then nothing. She stopped by the side of the building, rooted, gripping the screwdriver. She crept up to the building and flattened herself against it and then slowly she peaked around the corner. Something was standing near the back entrance where the kitchen garbage cans were buried.

            She looked closer. A bear! It stood there, sniffing, brown fur shimmering in the misty air, its large beady eyes staring right at her, questioning. Just what are you doing here? This is my territory now! She felt her fear rising. She remembered the warnings she'd heard many times. Don't feed the bears. Don't frighten the bears. She'd forgotten just how scared she was of bears. Childhood fears crept back into her consciousness as she stood riveted in front of the huge brown menace. 

            It turned and raised a paw to her and growled. She could clearly see its claws, its sleek dark fur and its fat rippling as it moved. She wanted to scream, to turn and run, but she willed herself not to. Instead, she simply backed away out of sight again. Oh shit!

She pulled back and turned, and willing her feet to move, she started to run, faster, slipping as she did, heading once more for her now clearly-marked path back to the cottage. If the bear was following her, it could probably outrun her easily. She grabbed branches to steady her and gained speed as the cottage came into view. Only then did she turn and look over her shoulder. Nothing there yet. No bushes moving, no crashing underbrush, no heavy breathing except her own. She took the stairs two at a time and threw herself against the kitchen door.

            Matt heard Sidney. He'd been sitting and thinking, trying to stay awake, trying to plan a way to get out of the cottage, chastising both himself and Sidney for the predicament they were in.  He stirred and tried to stand as Sid threw open the front door.

            "Ahhhh," Sidney gasped, slamming the door solidly behind her. She panted her fear into the room, wild-eyed, scared. 

            "My God, Sidney. What's wrong?" Matt asked.

            "A bear." She yelled it. "I saw a goddamned bear." She flipped the deadbolt lock and then slowly, carefully, she pulled aside a tiny corner of the curtain that shielded the diamond-shaped glass panes on the upper half of the door. Her fingers shook as she put her eye to the window.

            "Well? Is it there?" Matt asked.

            She shook her head. "Can't see anything."

            "Did it follow you?"

            "I don't know. I didn't look." Sidney slowly backed away from the door. "Damn! I’m scared." She shook her head, fell into a chair. She took off her hat and unzipped her jacket and shrugged out of it. Snowflakes turned wet and slid onto the floor. Her boots were caked with crunchy snow that chunked off in dirty brownish lumps at her feet. She untied the laces with stiff fingers and kicked them off.

            "I haven't been that scared since I was a kid." She looked at Matt. Had she ever told him about her childhood fears, she wondered, remembering her screaming night terrors of being lost in the woods with bears all around her.

            "Jesus, Sid." Matt tried to sound sympathetic. "I’ll fetch us a drink. Some of that brandy, maybe. It'll help." He wasn't sure which of them needed it the most.

            "Thanks, but I’ll get it." Sidney pushed herself up onto her still shaky legs and walked to the pantry under the stairway and pulled open the door. She reached for the string that flipped on the overhead light and stared into the shadowy recesses. Several liquor bottles were shoved into one corner of the uppermost shelf, just as she'd arranged them yesterday afternoon. She examined labels: bourbon, vodka, rum, and then finally brandy. She remembered the squat bottle that she’d poured drinks  from last night.

            She crossed the plank floor to the cupboard, picked out two small glasses and then headed back to Matt. She set the glasses down on the coffee table and commenced pulling at the cork. It felt stubborn inside the bottle but she knew it was just the jitters. She applied more muscle to the cork and it finally loosened its grip on the bottle with a little pop and the boozy fumes reached out to her.

            "Umm." She poured out the amber liquid. "Here."

            Matt, propped on one elbow, took his glass with shaky fingers and gulped it down all at once. Then he lowered himself back onto his pillow and sighed. She filled his glass again as he held it carefully in front of himself, watching the liquid refill the small tumbler. She took a sip from hers and felt the familiar burning sensation as it slid down her throat.

            "Tell me what happened," Matt said, sipping his refill.

            She shook her head. "I -- well, I walked over to the lodge, just like yesterday. I got to the front door, but this time it was locked, of course.  The shutters were over the windows too. I knocked anyhow, just in case. But nobody came to the door. Oh, and the sign said the lodge was closed. I stood there a few minutes trying to figure what to do next. Then I heard a noise around back. I started around the side of the building and that's when I ran into the bear."

            Matt nodded. "At the back door? By the garbage cans?"

            "Uh-huh. That's right. It stood up when it heard me. You know how big they are when they rise up. This one was huge. Its fur was actually glowing and its fat rolled and twitched as it stared at me."

            "Yeah?" He raised his eyebrows.

            "Well, I just froze. I wanted to scream, but I didn't. I just stood there staring at him." She took another sip of brandy. "The bear was watching me, and then finally it turned back to whatever it was doing. Messing with the garbage, I guess. I just stepped back out of sight and then I turned and ran."

            "You did exactly the right thing, Sid. If you'd have screamed, it might have charged after you. You know, like if you scared it. Otherwise, it would leave you alone. It must have figured out how to get into those garbage cans."

            "Uh-huh. That's where it was. Do you think they forgot the garbage when they closed up?"

            "Nah. Bear probably was just sniffing out the empty containers. You know how the garbage smell lingers around. He was just making the rounds. He'll probably go off to hibernate when he can't find anything more to eat."

            "Will he come over here too, do you think?"

            "Maybe. Just be careful not to put any garbage outside. He'll probably move off soon enough." She knew that too. Matt was trying to minimize the threat. Bears sometimes broke into cars if they smelled food. Sometimes they came up onto porches if they smelled garbage, or if food was left outside, like after a barbecue. Resident cabin owners didn't have much trouble. Mostly it was the weekend vacationers that had the problems with bears. The ones that didn't know any better. She shivered.

            "How are you feeling, Matt? Any better?"

            "This brandy's helping, I think," he said, reaching out for another refill.

            "Are you sure you should have more?" Sidney asked, looking at the bottle. It was down to half now. “It isn’t even lunchtime yet and we’ve got those chores to do.”

            "Just pour it, Sid. I know what I'm doing."

            "Okay, okay. Whatever you say." Let sleeping bears lie, she thought. She could hear the boozy edge to his voice already.

            "Want me to take a look at your leg?" she asked, watching his eyelids droop.

            "No. Just leave me alone for awhile, will you? I'll just rest a little while" His sudden irritation knifed through her, reminding her again of his knack for making her feel guilty, even when she couldn't fathom what it was she should feel guilty about. She tried to shake off her edginess, glancing around their cottage. Its homely familiarity had a calming effect. 

            She got up carefully so as not to disturb Matt as he drifted off. It was just a few steps to the kitchen and the food piled on the counters. She reached for the switch that turned on the overhead florescent light. As it buzzed and blinked to life it threw a shadow into the living room. Matt mumbled something.

            She glanced through the food she'd piled on the counter, trying to figure were to start.  She began with the soup, tomato and cream of mushroom, vegetable, two cans of chicken noodle, her favorite. She smiled as she placed them in the back of the cupboard next to the sink. She slid the others in front of them. Next she placed cans of stewed tomatoes, tiny cans of peas, beans and corn and the little peeled potatoes that Matt liked for breakfast. Those were the only canned vegetables she could tolerate, so they always had those on hand. She remembered the cans were lined up exactly that way at home too. Was it just yesterday morning that she'd emptied these same shelves and wiped them clean, she wondered. It seemed so long ago.

            She looked at the spice rack lined the inside door, all nicely alphabetized. Celery salt and cinnamon, nutmeg and oregano. She wondered vaguely if there was any nutritional value in dried spices as she tried to decide what to place next on the shelves. There were several packets of dried spaghetti sauce mix and gravy mixes in envelopes. Matt liked gravy. She wondered where the spaghetti sauce came from. She never used it, always thinking it tasted too salty. She read the packet carefully now. She glanced over at the pasta. There was lots of that too, long cylinders of spaghetti, who knows how long it had been hanging around. She placed it in the cupboard with the envelopes. 

            Next she picked up the boxed mixes. Bisquick and pancake mix. There was even a box of powdered milk. And flour in the canister. She hefted it, trying to determine its weight. Must be at least five pounds. Only yesterday she'd looked carefully at it to see if it had gotten buggy over the summer. She'd almost pitched it just to be safe, but at the last minute she'd decided the flour was okay. Now she was happy she'd given it a reprieve. Better here than in the landfill. She pushed it to the back of the counter, where it usually stood all summer, and next to it she placed the sugar canister, also quite heavy. She chuckled to herself as she put away the boxed macaroni and cheese. Her daughter had brought it up to the cottage, saying it reminded her of college. She'd bought six boxes, saying it was a bargain at three for a dollar. There were five boxes left, which she lined up side by side. 

            Sidney remembered the day they fixed the mac and cheese. Lynn had been kidding around that Saturday afternoon. She sat at the kitchen table, her laptop plugged in, working as usual. Sidney asked her if she was hungry. 

            "Uh-huh," she said, "You know what I'd really love?"

            "What?" Sidney asked.

            "Some of that mac and cheese. Nobody makes it like you do."

            "You're kidding," Sidney said.

            "I'm serious, Mom. Whenever I made it at school, I always thought of you. Mine never tasted as good as yours." She smiled and her blue eyes lit up through her glasses.

            "Okay, okay. But I just follow the directions on the back. I think you're just working me." 

            "Huh-uh, no kidding. Your mac and cheese is the best, Mom."

            Sidney had made the stuff according to the directions like she always did, and they had eaten it right out of the pan together sitting right there at the kitchen table. Now Sidney looked at the box and then over at the kitchen table. She could almost feel Lynn's presence. She felt a slight shiver of dread flow through her. How long would it be before Lynn realized they didn't make it to the dock?  

            She went back to work. She sorted through the remnants of food still littering the counters. Her jam jars went back into the cupboard too. The liquidy marmalade was her favorite.  She made several batches every year, even though she was the only one who liked it. Matt preferred strawberry. She's always told him that it was quite unimaginative of him to actually admit that strawberry jam was his favorite. There was one jar of strawberry left. She shoved it to the back of the cupboard and hid it behind the marmalade. Maybe it would make a good surprise.  The half jarful of peanut butter went into the cupboard beside the jam.

            There were several bottles of cooking oil:  olive and canola, even peanut oil. She put them back into their corner, the slightly sticky space on the lower shelf nearest the stove. Next to them she placed the bottle of ketchup and the mustard, soy sauce, salt and pepper shakers. She stood back and looked at the cupboards. They looked so bare. What was it that filled them up so well every summer? She remembered never having enough space for all the food they usually stocked. Loaves of bread and rolls usually sat on the lower shelf, now bare. Oh, and packages of potato chips and pretzels, cans of nuts, and raisins. Now the refrigerator was nearly empty, no juices and sodas, no summer produce and no leftovers.

            She looked around the room. Where had she put that sack of stuff from the lodge?  Weren't there some raisins in that sack, and nuts too? She spotted the plastic bag, lying on the floor near the cooler. She'd unpacked the food that needed refrigerating last night. The rest of it was still in the sack, the can of nuts, the raisins, and the candy bars. She placed them on the shelf too. There was food enough, maybe for a couple of weeks or longer, if they were careful and ate sparingly.  This storm would be over by then. The sun would come out and melt the snow and she’d laugh at herself for thinking such negative thoughts.

            Next job, she told herself, picking up the to-do list they'd worked on earlier. She went into the bathroom and set the faucet to drip and then taped a Let-it-drip note to the bathroom mirror. The room felt warm. The small hot water heater sat in the corner. Next to it stood her stacked washer and dryer. She remembered the hot summers when she'd always try to get the washing done early in the morning so the bathroom wouldn't get so hot in the afternoon. She felt the water heater. It was warm to the touch. She dragged their luggage into the bathroom and unpacked their clothes into the dresser that usually held linens. She picked out a set of towels for each of them and stacked the rest of the towels on the stairs. She placed their tooth brushes back in the medicine cabinet. Just temporary, she thought, but they might as well be as comfortable as possible while they were stuck.

            The next item on the list read Close off the stairs. The stairs leading to the loft were just outside the bathroom at the end of the kitchen. She started slowly up the steps trying figure out just how to do it. Maybe she could just tack a blanket across the narrowest part of the stairwell.  She stretched her arms across the narrow side-to-side opening. A blanket might work. 

            At the top of the stairs was a small landing area and the door to their bedroom. It was a simple knotty pine board partition that didn't extend to the ceiling. The v-shaped opening over the door provided cross-ventilation for the loft. The door to their room stood open. She peered into it. Their queen bed with its down comforter greeted her. Just the sight of it made her eyelids droop. She was tired, her bones felt weary, her feet hurt. She hadn’t slept well last night, only a couple hours at best. Don’t think about that now.

If she closed off the loft, they'd have to sleep in the living room. She could drag down the comforter and use it herself on the daybed in the far corner. Matt could stay on the couch next to the heater. She opened the small trunk next to the bed and pulled out two sets of sheets and threw them onto the comforter. She looked around the small room. Anything else? She gathered up the corners of the comforter, the sheets and the bed pillows and took them downstairs, treading carefully so she wouldn't trip over their bulk.

              Then she went back upstairs. Lynn's sleeping area was at the other end of the loft. Matt had fixed it up like a ship's cabin. Her bunk was built in under the window. It had drawers under the bedframe and built-in cubbies for her clothes and books. There was even a small night stand at her head with a lantern-light for reading. She remembered how Lynn loved it.  Her bunk was made up with her comforter. Her sleeping bag stood at the foot of the bed. Sidney pulled off the comforter and threw it and the sleeping bag over the side rail and down the stairs. There was an old tightly woven wool blanket under Lynn's bed. It would work okay to close off the upstairs.  Sidney pulled it out and tossed it over too. Then she slammed shut the floor registers. There was nothing else up here they'd need, she decided. Just some old clothes in the closets and other odds and ends, a few worn paperbacks hat she had already read.

            Downstairs again she tiptoed through the living area with comforters and pillows and then rummaged in the kitchen for tacks and a small hammer. She pounded the tacks through the silky ends of the blanket into the knotty pine board and then let the blanket fall to the stairs. She tucked it in so that all the air holes were covered. She thought of the hundreds of times she'd run up and down those stairs over the years. She'd never before even considered that one day she'd have to close off the stairs to her bedroom. Finally, she took the sleeping bag into the bathroom and wrapped it around the water heater, securing it with the ties.

            She poured herself a cup of coffee and sat at the small kitchen table going over the list.  There were a couple of chores left. She'd have to check on the cat's litter box. She figured the cat would go downstairs under the house as long as she could get down there. Maybe she could prop the door open for the cat. As long as the opening didn't create too big a draught it would be okay. She'd bring up some wood while she was down there too. She heard Matt snoring softly as she headed downstairs.

            The space under the cottage was like a cellar. Half of it was dug into the hillside, the other end faced the lake and you could walk under the deck and go directly inside it. She flicked on the light switch and started down the steep stairs. They kept their fishing boat under the house. Every spring they'd drag it down to the water's edge and launch it, when the water level was good and high. Now it lay there tipped up against the far wall, along with their little kayaks, waiting for spring. The rest of the cellar was used as storage. Matt had enclosed it so that small animals, rats and squirrels mainly, couldn't get in. His wood pile was stacked behind the stairway and his tool bench was jammed against the far wall. The small motor, the paddles, life jackets, patio furniture, and fishing gear were stowed in cabinets and shelves on the other side of the boat. The walls were concrete blocks and the floor was hard-packed dirt. It was dry and cleanly swept. A thin film of dust was just visible here and there. She moved it slightly and a cloud of dust rose. She sneezed. Toast meowed a blessing and rubbed her leg. The cat liked it down here.

            The litter box stood beside the wood pile and a big sack of litter leaned against the wall.  Matt usually took care of it. She was glad to note that the cat's needs would be well taken care of.    She checked the door that led outside from under the deck. It was locked and secure. They could put their garbage down here. She figured they’d have to make sure it was in tightly sealed garbage bags. She didn’t want to run into any more bears. She picked up the wood carrier and placed a few logs on it, pulled the handles together and headed up the stairs with it, an awkward bundle that banged against her legs and the stairs as she climbed.

            "What were you doing down there?" She heard Matt's groggy voice as she headed up the stairs.

            "I'm bringing up some wood for the fire."

            "Oh. Is everything okay down there?"

            "Sure. Why wouldn't it be?" she asked, trying to keep her tone even. She hefted the load up and dropped it onto the floor. Then she climbed out of the cellar and picked up the wood again. 

            "Wish I could help with that," Matt offered.

             
             Later that afternoon Matt opened the kitchen door and hobbled out onto the deck. The still whiteness was breath-taking. He looked across the driveway that they shared with the Bentley cabin, their nearest neighbor. It was just visible through the pines. No sign of life there. Old Professor Ben Bentley spent most of the summer at the lake, reading and working at his rickety table out on his deck, mostly keeping to himself. Their situations were similar, but reversed. Bentley's wife worked during the week and commuted back and forth most weekends, while Bentley stayed on week after week over the summer, just like Sidney. Matt and Bentley weren't close friends. They'd nod and exchange a few words, usually about cottage maintenance problems, how's the fishing, small talk. They didn't get together much for dinner or drinks. Now he wondered why they hadn't. 

            He'd sure welcome Ben’s company now. He looked around the lake. Nothing moved.  The stillness was maddening. He wanted to scream out Is anyone there? But he'd feel foolish and there'd be no answer. 

            He backed off the deck and hobbled into the cottage. A pleasant smell drifted toward him.

            "What's that you're cooking, Sid?" The smell made him smile. It was so familiar, so homey.

            "Oh, you know me. When I get antsy, I like to bake. So, I'm making cookies."

            "Cookies?"

            "Yup, oatmeal-raisin cookies. There's plenty of stuff for cookies. I figured we'd enjoy them more than just eating a couple bowls of oatmeal in the morning."

            "You got that right." He felt better all of a sudden. Maybe things would be all right. After all, how bad could it be if they were having homemade cookies? Then he noticed a pot simmering on the stove. "What's in the pot."

            "Spaghetti sauce." Sidney smiled. "We're not going to starve, not for a couple of weeks or so, anyhow."

            "Um. Smells good. I'm going to plug in the TV. See if I can get the local news."

            Sidney nodded.

            The TV was a source of friction between them. She wanted to get away from city things when she was at the cottage. She didn't like TV, except for movies. He'd wanted to get a satellite dish so he could keep up with sports, just like at home, but she vetoed it. As a result the TV just had an antenna and could only pull in the local station, and that was only when the weather was good. Sometimes the reception would be so poor, he'd pound it and kick the floor, knowing that it wasn't the TV's fault, but getting satisfaction out of the violent protest. They had a DVD player. He'd rent movies and then bring them up to watch on weekends. He also had a collection of their favorites that they would sometimes watch, if the spirit moved.

            He plugged it in and picked up the remote control. The TV was tuned to the local station. Commercials were in progress, which eventually gave way to the early evening news. He surfed through the few channels they occasionally received, but only one was getting through to the cottage today. He settled in, took another sip of brandy, and then pulled the comforter up to his chin. He just needed to rest a little more.

            Sidney baked off the last of the cookies and stirred the spaghetti as she listened to the TV.  Its familiar sound felt reassuring as she puttered around in the kitchen. The cookies were lined up on the kitchen table, lots of them in uniform rows. She made big ones so they wouldn't be tempted to eat more than one at a time. She'd put lots of raisins in them and their skins broke through their brown crusty shells. She liked them crunchy on the outside and just slightly moist on the inside. These were perfect.

            Finally she overheard a station break and weather report. She stepped into the living room and stood at the back of the couch to watch the TV reporter. More snow expected tonight and then clearing tomorrow. Maybe as much as six inches more, the forecaster guessed. That would make a total of nearly two feet, a record for this early in the season. The reporter speculated that the weather would return to a more normal pattern later in the week. Sidney sighed. A few days snowbound at the cottage wasn't such a bad thing. They'd be out of here next weekend at the latest.

Go to: Day 5

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