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by Dianne Kochenburg
 

            Sidney sat at the kitchen table wrapped in a quilt drinking Maggie's coffee by the glow of the kerosene lamp. Even though she had removed the shutters from her kitchen, bathroom and living room windows, it was still dim and gloomy in the cottage during the short daylight hours. By late afternoon the mountain darkness crept up on them and they'd have to light the candles and stoke the fire for light as well as heat. It had been a long two days since the power had gone out.

            She had finally unpacked her travel bag, the one she'd meant for their cruise. She had shoved it into the stairwell when she unloaded the jeep. It sat there forgotten until this morning. Inside were the things she thought she'd need for long hours at sea: paperbacks, notes and cards, a small sketchbook and some watercolor supplies, pens and pencils, that sort of thing. She reached into the outside zipper pocket to check if she'd forgotten anything. Inside she found the travel journal her daughter Lynne had given her. 

            She turned the book over in her hand. It was small, maybe four by six inches, just barely the size of a snapshot, and it was slim and unimposing. It had a hard cover and a red ribbon attached to its spine for a bookmark. It was lined, and every page contained a quote from a famous writer. She remembered when Lynne handed it to her, smiling and whispering that maybe she'd find time to start a journal.

            Sidney had barely acknowledged the small gift. She hadn't even opened it. Only now did she realize that her daughter had chosen it carefully, knowing that Sidney would probably prefer to start journal-writing slowly, if at all. The notion had never appealed to her. After all, who was supposed to read it? Who would care about what she wrote? And more importantly, what was she supposed to write in it? Her personal thoughts? Not on your life. A summary of what she'd done the previous day? How boring.

            It might be useful now, she decided, even if she only used it for lists. She kept losing things. If she wrote the lists in the journal, she'd always be able to find them later. Making lists was her lifeline. If she wrote things down she felt more organized -- the familiar To Do lists she and Matt always made on Saturday mornings now were even more important. She remembered how she always made shopping lists, and chore lists when Lynne was little. She had even made a list of places she wanted to visit some time. Where was that list? Her thoughts drifted as the coffee cooled and the blank pages stared at her.

            Just how does a person start a journal, she wondered. She looked at the blank book's cover which stated that it was a personal travel journal. She opened it and its newness crackled. She spread open the first page it stayed that way without a prop. 

            So she'd start off with the date. She glanced at the calendar:  Sunday, November 4th, a.m.  Sunday again. It’s been a week now. Maybe the weather. She looked out the window. She hadn't even checked it yet. Dark, gray boiling clouds. Looked like snow. What else? She wrote that down. What next? How about copying the list she'd made of the food she'd brought over from Maggie's. Yes, that was a good idea.  Then she'd know what she'd have to buy to repay her. She wrote: 

 From Maggie Clausen, Saturday, November 3rd
Flour, 5 lbs.
Sugar, 5 lbs.
Folgers, 2 lb. can
Navy beans, a canister full
Pasta:  macaroni, vermicelli, l box each
Lipton Soup mix, 6 envelopes
Lots of canned goods, soup, beans, veggies

            Halfway down the page was a Steinbeck quote from his book, Travels with Charley.  She'd read that book. He'd gone on a trip around the country and took his dog, a poodle named Charley. He said he always felt an urge to be someplace else, and that his friends consoled him by saying that eventually he'd be cured of that urge. When he grew old, he'd be calm and cranky and won’t want to move off the front porch. But move he did, with his faithful dog he toured the country in a small camper. It had been quite an adventure.

            Sidney's urge to be somewhere else was great too, so great she wanted to scream. She stifled it as she felt her tears of frustration begin to blur the half-filled page. She wiped her eyes and tried to continue writing.

            She'd repay Maggie. She thought about that idea for a minute. Of course, she'd repay her.  But when? Why next spring, of course. She'd go over there with a bag of groceries and knock on the door. Maggie would look at her in a puzzled sort of way and then Sidney would just explain what happened:  Well, you see, Maggie, we got stuck here. We spent (she'd have to fill that in later, say, maybe two weeks or so) snowbound last fall and I had to break into your place when we ran out of food. Well, we didn’t actually break in. The door was unlocked. So we just went to your pantry and helped ourselves. We were so happy to find these things at your place. Here's what we took. And by the way, thanks so much. We really needed the food. No problem, Maggie would say. That's what neighbors are for. Maybe she'd invite Sidney in and they'd sit at her kitchen table and have coffee, maybe a cinnamon bun. They'd laugh at their adventure. Maybe Maggie would explain why they kept so much food on hand, and why they didn't lock their front door.

            Why did they, Sidney wondered, as she took another sip of the cold coffee. Did they come up to their place during the winter? After all, there was the little sled. Maybe they'd just show up one afternoon. Roar up on their snow mobile. Wouldn't that be something. Did they have a snow mobile?

            She looked at her opening page. Just another list. There was more to say. Maybe she should write down what had happened to them so that when they got out -- she refused to use the word rescued. After all, who would rescue them?  Who knew they needed to be rescued. Nobody. When they got out, they'd need to explain what happened to them. Even Lynne would be amazed. Yes, she'd write it all down. Not in great detail, or anything, just the facts. So she'd remember it later. 

            And so she began. By first looking at the calendar, she remembered that Sunday, October 28th was to be their get-away day, and that was the day the jeep slipped into the fire pit.

            She worked steadily, trying to string the words together. Get the story straight. Try not to sound too much like she was blaming Matt. But wait, wasn't it all his fault? After all... 

            Hammering interrupted her train of thought. It was coming from the cellar where Matt was working. She vaguely wondered what he was doing down there. He'd been gone quite a while, she suddenly realized. It was brighter than before and colder because the fire was dying. She looked at the clock on the wall. Ten o'clock already. She'd been writing for two hours. She looked back over the pages she'd filled in the journal, both sides, cramped writing, pressed hard on paper. She could actually feel the words pressed into it. But there was more to say, much more. 

            She got up and threw another couple logs on the fire and stirred the coals under them. Then she put on her jacket, gloves and her cap. She'd go down and see what he was up to now.

            Matt got up early that morning. Sidney was still asleep when he pulled on his clothes and fumbled for his shoes. He hadn't slept well that night. Too many things to think about, and worse yet, nothing to drink. He had polished off everything, including those sweet after dinner bottles that had been hanging around forever. He tossed and turned, his leg still aching with every move he made when he tried to get to sleep. Booze helped with the pain, but it was all gone now. 

            He wanted coffee but not bad enough to make it himself. He gripped the counter and stared at the pot. He wanted to throw something, anything -- the coffeepot through the window maybe. He turned toward the living room. Sidney was curled up with the cat, still asleep, barely visible across the room in the daybed. He hated this place. He never liked it, ever, he realized. This was Sidney's place. Her summer home. He was just the visitor. And summer after summer over the years he'd traveled from their real home to this retreat, every god-damned weekend. He rarely missed one. After all, Sidney wanted to be here. But why?

            What did she see in this place? It was too far from home, away from everything:  stores, entertainment, their friends, people they knew. For him it was a habit. He never analyzed how he felt about this place until this very minute. He shook his head. Stuck here, snowbound, a rat in a trap. She probably didn't even mind it as much as he did. And not only were they trapped here, it was probably his fault, and add to it, his leg still hurt. Punishment?

Cold crept under his jacket as he limped out and down to the side of the cottage. He pried open the swinging door under the house. The gray light of daybreak illuminated the interior just enough so he could make out the makeshift workbench. He had to leave the door open for light but it didn’t give off enough to see well down here. He shivered. It seemed colder than outside. He'd have to keep moving just to stay warm. He’d make a little wooden box to attach to the sled. Then he could make a run to Ben’s place and see what he could find, load up the sled and haul it home. He’d bring the screwdriver and maybe small hatchet too.

            Sidney peeked her head around the door. “What’s going on down here? She asked.

            Matt was nearly finished with the sled. “Ta-da,” he said, showing it to her.

“Hey, that’s good.” She turned and looked away from him. “God, look at all this snow. We’re beginning to lose sight of the lake, it’s piling up so high.”

            “Yeah. I remember people down at the lodge telling stories about big snow falls. Snow actually higher than the house in some years. Never saw it myself. Sure hope this isn’t one of those years.”

            “You got that right. We're getting a good start on a big pile of snow,” Sidney stared at him. She didn’t remember hearing those stories. Seemed unlikely to her, but then, if this never melted off and more snow came down, who knew, maybe it wasn’t all that unusual.

            “Well, anything’s possible.” She changed the subject. “So how’s the knee today? I see you’re getting around better now.”

            “It’s still a little stiff, but it gets better when I limber it up.” He said.

            Sidney felt the wind whip around her legs. “I’m going back inside.”

            “Okay, Sid. I’ll just be a little longer. Then maybe we should stack up some more wood for the fire.”

            Matt turned back to his project. Discussing huge snowdrifts gave him the creeps. If it got much higher he wouldn’t be able to get around at all. He remembered how hard it was to walk through drifted snow when he was a boy back in Wisconsin. He’d tried to walk on top of the crusted snowpack, but his weight would cause him to fall into it, burying him sometimes to his knees in the softer stuff underneath the crust. What if the snow was six feet deep and crusted on top? He shivered inside his jacket.

            The sled finished, he headed off toward Ben’s place. He could just make out its roofline through the pine trees that separated their cabins. He started out under the trees, where he figured he could skirt some of the drifted snow, pulling the sled with one hand. Suddenly he slipped. He staggered and then managed to grab a low-hanging branch. He heard a faint rustle. Then a thump as a heavy pile of snow dropped down around him. Stupid! He looked around. The sled was buried.

            He looked back at their cabin. Sidney hadn’t seen him. Would she even know where to look if he’d been covered with snow and couldn’t dig his way free of it? He tugged on the little sled. Keep moving, he told himself. Out from under the trees now he tried to move quickly to the cabin. He waded through it and looked back at his trail behind him. At least the return trip would be easier. He finally reached the back porch. Like theirs, Ben's cabin was built on a sloping lot. The back porch was just a few steps, leading into a small eave that protected the door. The steps were covered up. He’d have to leave the sled and feel his way up the steps. 

            Hard work. He didn’t have anything with him to clear a path so he brushed away the accumulated snow with his hands. He finally reached the door and stopped for an instant to try the knob. His fingers were stiff, and his gloves were slippery with icy snow. No luck. The door had several small window panes on the upper half. He tapped the small glass closest to the door knob with his stick and it shattered and tinkled to the floor. He broke out the rest of the glass with his screw driver and then pulled off his glove before reaching inside. He found the inside knob. It was cold and it wouldn’t turn in his hand. He fumbled for the lock in the knob. It finally turned.  He leaned against the door and it slowly creaked open.

            It was dark and cold inside. He’d never been inside this cabin before. He got out his little flashlight and turned it on. The beam produced a shaft of light that barely illuminated the space just in front of him. He stood still for a moment until his eyes adjusted to the darkness, while the icy cold invaded his jacket and settled in his bones. Finally he was able to make out the kitchen cupboards, the sink, a stove, refrigerator. He moved to the cupboard and opened the doors. Nothing much, just some boxes, cereal, rice mix, salt. He’d tell Sidney about that. Where would Ben keep his liquor, he wondered, as he shifted his light beam toward doorway just ahead of him. He moved toward the living area. Musty couch and recliner. Looked like the same decorator they used, probably some secondhand store. A small hutch stood on an inside wall facing the couch. Its glass-covered shelves were filled with books. Matt hobbled over to it for a closer inspection. Books on every shelf.  He didn’t stop to check out the titles. Maybe later.

            He aimed the flashlight downward. Drawers under the shelves and small doors below them. He yanked on the pull and the door creaked open. Inside he found wine glasses, highball glasses, small brandy snifters. He was getting closer. He reached over and opened the other cupboard door. Bottles. He lifted one out and inspected it. Port. Why not? He opened the cork and took a swig. The sweet syrupy liquid felt hot in his mouth. Ahhh. He pulled out another one. This bottle was rounder, squatter. Ben’s brandy. Yes, he’d take that too. There were others. More brandy, a bottle of scotch, some smaller bottles with strange sounding names. 

            He’d take what he could, as much as possible. He’d load up the sled with the stuff and then come back for the rest another day. He trotted out through the kitchen with a bottle in one hand and another under his arm. Slow work, back and forth, carefully stacking the bottles into the sled. He nearly cleaned old Ben out of booze. He placed small bottle in each pocket.    

When he finally loaded the sled with bottles he took another look around. In the closet he found a couple of jackets and on the floor was a cardboard box that might contain wine. He checked. Yes, half full of wine bottles. He’d come back for that.

Maybe he should bring something home for Sidney. He peered into the book case. Philosophy books, science texts. Nothing caught his eye until he got to the bottom shelf. Paperbacks, mysteries, dog-eared page turners. Maybe Sidney would like some of those. He grabbed up a few and stuffed them inside his jacket. As he made his last trip through the kitchen he paused for a minute. Sidney might be angry at him for not taking home the food. He pulled up at the kitchen cupboard and reached for the rice mix. He stuffed it into his jacket too. That ought to do it.

            He’d tell her to come over and take a look for herself. She could figure out if there was anything else they could use. He pulled the door shut behind him and slowly made his way back home, carefully pulling the tipsy sled behind him.
 

            Sid sat over her journal well into the morning, gripping her mug to keep her fingers warm as she filled the small pages. Once she got the hang of it, the words came easily. She retraced the events of their past week. Every so often she’d refill her mug with hot water poured over the sodden teabag. There wasn’t much taste left but it didn’t matter. It was warm. She'd switched to tea after the coffee grew stale. Tea went better with cookies anyhow.

            The popping sound she heard coming from the living area distracted her for only a moment. The fireplace again, she reflected, turning back to her small book. Then another well- remembered sound filtered through her memory. The refrigerator motor. She looked up from her notes. The refrigerator? She turned and looked at it. When did it start running, she wondered?

            She stood up and walked over to it, felt it with her hands, put her ear to it. Yes, it was running. She opened the door. The refrigerator light was on. Quickly she flipped the overhead switch. The room brightened. The electricity was on again. She ran into the living room and tried the lamp. It went on, immediately brightening the room.

Everything was working again. Thank god, how lovely. Oh, the possibilities. Maybe everything would be okay now. Glorious electricity and with it the warmth and light they always took for granted. Never again would she have to stop and smell the roses in order to gain perspective on the world. All she’d have to do was flip the switch and give thanks. Hah. 

            She ran to the door and hollered, “Matt, Matt. Come up here.” No answer. She stood on the porch and looked for him. She spotted something moving through the trees. It was him heading her way, making his way through the snow, pulling the little sled behind him. He waved at her as she jumped up and down motioning him, “Come, quick!” She pulled on her coat and went out to meet him.

            “I’ve got something for you,” he said, before she got a close look at the sled.

            She barely heard him. She was so eager to tell him the good news.

            “Look what I’ve got,” he said, patting his jacket with his walking stick.

            She peered at him and then at the sled. “What’s all this?” The bottles tinkled their greeting. 

            “Oh, that stuff’s from Ben’s cabin. Wasn’t any food, nothing much, anyhow.”

            She looked quickly at the little sled and then back at him.

            “Come on in, Matt. Good news. We’ve got electricity again.” She took the sled rope with one hand and hooked her other arm through his. He sighed and let her help him to the steps. It was then that she noticed just how much booze Matt was packing.

            “Jesus Christ, Matt. What’s all this stuff? You mean you went all the way over there and this is all you brought back with you?”

            “Oh, no. Let me show you. Just wait a minute until I get inside.” He started up the stairs. She tried lifting the sled. It was too heavy. They’d have to haul the bottles up the stairs a few at a time. Once they got the bottles inside and lined up on the counter, Matt pulled off his gloves and stood by the fire rubbing his hands together. “God, it’s cold out there.” He smiled at her.  “This feels good. Want to pour us a drink, Sid? We should celebrate.”

            “Right, we’ve got electricity and booze. All is right with the world today, huh?”

            “Oh, come on, Sid. A little brandy to get the heart started?”

            “No, thanks. I’ll pass.” She saw his frown, and then said, "Oh, all right. Just a sip for me.”

            "Here, it'll do you good." He offered her the glass. 

            “Look, Sid.” He’d unpacked the dog-eared paperbacks and placed them on the kitchen table together with the rice mix he’d found.

             “Is this it?”

            “Yeah. I couldn’t find much of anything else. Maybe you should go, have a look-see. I left the door unlocked.”

“Yeah, maybe I will.”

 He headed for the couch with the brandy and picked up the remote control.

            Sidney smiled and lifted her tumbler at him. He was content with his booze and his TV. There was so much to fear, so much to talk about. She wondered for the thousandth time if they’d ever get out. 

            The rice boiled on top of the stove. She stirred it half-heartedly. It would be easier to heat up Maggie's canned goods now that the stove would work. And she could use the oven, she’d be able to make some biscuits. They would be nice with jam. A special treat tonight.

            Matt was settled in and the TV’s familiar sound filled the silence between them. He clicked between the channels, as if somehow, there would be more options, and sipped his brandy. He seemed calm, content, as though it was just another day and nothing was amiss. 

            She turned off the burner and dished some rice into two bowls. She found two clean spoons and placed one in each bowl and then walked over to him and silently handed him his dinner. He took it and nodded thanks.

             “The news is coming up. Want to watch it?”

            She sat down in her chair. Why not?

            There’d been a big storm throughout the entire west coast. Power had finally been restored to the last remaining fringes. Film of the wind and rain filled the screen, trees down, power poles sagging, mud slides, authorities commenting on the destruction. So other people were suffering too. Somehow she couldn’t feel much sorrow. What about us, she wanted to cry out? Nobody knew about Matt and Sidney. She vaguely wondered how many others might be stuck too in some out-of-the-way place, trying to figure out how to get back to civilization.

            “Wow! We’ve sure been out of it, huh, Sid?” He seemed almost pleased with himself. “Those poor bastards.”

            “You’re too much, Matt. What about us? What about our family? Are they okay? Don’t you care? Aren’t you worried?”

            He blinked at her. “Well, Sid. Of course, I am. You’ll see, Lynne and the kids are fine.”

            “What do you mean, I’ll see. What am I going to see? How will we know for sure?”         

“You’re right. What can I say to reassure you, Sid? Aren’t we doing everything we can? We’re safe, we’re warm, we’ve got us a good strong cabin. We’ll get out of here one of these days.”

            “I wish I had your confidence. Who knows how long the power will last. And the food. And the wood for the fire. We’ve been burning it pretty fast. Seems like every few hours I’m tossing on another log. Seems like there’s so much to worry about.”

            He sighed.  “Look, Sid. We’ve just got to take this one day at a time. There are lots of cabins here. We’ll check them all out. Who knows what we’ll find next.”

            She shrugged and then nodded. There was nothing else to say, so she gathered the dishes and left him to the television. She cleaned up the kitchen, saving the leftover rice for tomorrow. Then she retreated to the bathroom with her book. Now at least, she could run a bathtub full of bubbles and relax. She could spend an hour in the tub if she felt like it. And, there was some new reading material, a dog eared paperback that smelled like Ben.   

           Go to: Day 8

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