Memory House - Part I

The wind tugged roughly at her jacket as she climbed above the house, mouth open and breathing hard. She was almost to the top of the first northern ridge. Clouds boiled towards her in slow motion, heavy and thick, and she could smell the snow. But the roaring air stayed empty.

Taking a deep breath, she stomped up the mountainside away from Dad cooking dinner, and away from the stack of boarding school scholarship applications sitting in a neat pile on her desk. Every step was familiar and worn smooth by her feet. It had been Mom’s path. Now it was hers.

The calm morning Mom first showed her the path, weak rays of sun filtered through the trees. She had followed Mom’s bare feet, grabbing the soft white of her skirt more than once to keep her balance. The memory of her first serviceberry brought a smile to her face. Tart and a little like a blueberry, they were still her favorite.

The scream of a hawk pierced the wind and jerked her face up. Wings stiff, it spiraled towards the mountains. She stared at the peaks hanging silently above her. Smith Peak was the highest mountain in the northern range. It cut a rough triangle in the clouds pouring across the sky. A ray of the setting sun touched the summit. She shivered. Dad said they’d climb it for Christmas – her first winter backpacking trip. Maybe her last, if he sent her away. She scowled. Homeschooling had worked out fine so far. Dad was really smart, and a good teacher. Her test scores proved it. But at breakfast he had given her the boarding school applications. He had said something stupid about “needing friends her age.”

He just wanted her out of the house – Mom’s house. She kicked a loose stone on the path, sending it skittering into a juniper bush.

A jackrabbit exploded out the foliage, startling a smile out of her. She paused to listen, marveling at the pounding drumbeat of its heavy paws fleeing across the slope. The light was fading and she forced herself into a muscle-burning jog, hoping to make it to the meadow before the deer.

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He stood over the gas range, humming softly to himself. Cumin, onions, and chunks of venison sizzled in a cast iron skillet. He sniffed, added a pinch of cinnamon, turned off the burner, and grabbed the oven mitts he’d left on the counter. He picked up the skillet and walked across the kitchen to the wood stove. A pot of spiced rice was already sitting on the scarred black surface, and he nudged it closer to the stovepipe to make room. A timer dinged. He ran back to the range and opened the oven door, releasing a billowing wave of sweet cardamom and serviceberry. Inside were two golden pies with smiley faces cut into the crusts. He grinned, imagining her laugh, and pulled them out.

“Anna! It’s ready! Come set the table!” No response. He put the pies on the range, checked to make sure all the burners were off, then turned the oven off. She had been mad at breakfast, but during lunch she seemed calm and focused on her homework. She had even asked a few questions about Latin.

“Anna! Get your head out of the books and come eat!” He walked into the hallway and frowned.

“Anna?”

Ten feet away, her bedroom door stayed shut.

She staggered to a stop at the end of the path. The gray light filtering through the clouds was deepening to a blue alpenglow that tinged the tall pines around her with shades of cobalt. She grimaced and leaned over, bracing her hands on her knees and panting. Between her feet, the grass and herbs of the meadow were a trampled gray-brown mass, losing what little color they had as the light faded. The barbs of a dead thistle nudged her toe and something small in her chest whispered home. She moved her foot.

A branch snapped and she froze. The deer were here. As slowly as she could, she swiveled her head up to watch. Shadows in the trees drifted closer, solidifying as they came into the open. The wind carried the musk of earth and fur and buffeted her tense body. Ears bigger than both her hands swiveled from side to side, searching. She held her breath. They stepped closer. The lead doe stopped and stared straight at her. She tried to push the bubble of excitement back down her throat and thought as hard as she could about being a bush. The doe took another step. Now she could hear the heavy whuffing of its nostrils. It couldn’t smell her. She was still sweating from the run up the mountain, but the wind was stripping her scent away. The doe stepped closer. She imagined the puzzlement in the doe’s small brain as it tried to figure out what she was. She tried desperately to control the giggles. The doe whuffed one last time and walked right past her, into the stream of rushing air that carried her sweaty human scent.

In one tremendous leap the doe vanished over the lip of the meadow. The rest of the herd snapped their heads up and stared at her. She burst out laughing and they scattered, crashing into the underbrush. After a few moments of panicked chaos, she could hear them changing direction to follow the lead doe down the mountain. She straightened, still giggling, and headed back home.

Tension gripped his stomach as he knotted the laces of his boots. The sun had gone down an hour ago and the alpenglow was fading fast into full dark. Anna knew the rules. Rule one was always come home by sunset. Rule two was always tell him where she was going. Hundreds of miles of wilderness stretched to the north, south, and west. Town and the nearest neighbor were fifty miles east, through the canyon.

He pulled on his parka. She could be anywhere, hurt, scared, alone. He yanked a wool hat over his ears, pulled the hood of the parka up and cinched it tight. She could be lying out in the cold with a sprained ankle or worse. Probably worse. Anna was tough. She’d have hobbled home by now. Unless she was in the canyon. He shuddered, remembering three months ago when she had strolled into the kitchen covered in bruises and nursing a sprained wrist. She told him she had climbed the southern cliff. Free soloing. She’d left all the gear he gave her for her birthday in the garage.

He grabbed his mittens, stuffed them into the pockets of the parka, and shouldered the emergency backpack. It held everything he’d need, if he could find her. He picked up the Maglite by the front door and stepped outside. Gusts pummeled him to a halt. He frowned, thinking.

Mary’s path. She took Mary’s path whenever she was really upset. He walked around the house, past the garage, and started hiking north, flashlight bobbing in the darkness.

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To be continued...