White Ribbon by Aleatha Romig
Julia
The monologue in my head lost its ferocity. My self-absorbed determination to leave my life behind became more morose as I contemplated the possibility that I had facilitated that very goal—leaving my life, not by choice but by death.
Despite my gloved hand protecting my face, my cheeks ached from the cold. My fingers and toes were numb as I trudged forward. During the hours of my drive, I’d seen only a half dozen other vehicles, and yet as I moved forward, that was what I yearned to see.
The snow glistened as I imagined white light dancing on the newly fallen accumulation.
Looking back, I hoped to see a car, a truck, or maybe a snowplow.
I’d read about igloos. The thought came and went as I imagined digging into the growing drifts. It still seemed as if it would be cold, but at least I’d be out of the wind.
The howl of the blowing wind played tricks as I searched again for a vehicle.
Nothing.
Time lost meaning as my thoughts went to my parents. I couldn’t imagine their disappointment at my behavior, at leaving the city before the holiday and two weeks before my wedding. And yet I loved them and I knew they loved me. We would work this out...unless I never returned.
I spun again at the sound of something over the howling wind.
Do mirages only appear in deserts?
Two headlights pierced the snow-filled darkness, growing bigger and brighter.
Is this real?
My heart beat faster, my circulation returning and delivering pain to my extremities.
Tears threatened to freeze on my cheeks as through the darkness, a black snow-covered truck appeared.
Waving my arms with what little energy remained, I felt my knees give out as the truck came to a stop, and I fell to the snow. A face appeared before me. The air filled with small vapors as a man spoke.
“Jesus, lady, are you all right?”
Piercing green eyes stared down at me from below a bright orange hat and above a heavy brown coat.
“Cold.” It was all I could articulate with my frozen lips.
“Fuck,” the man muttered as he reached for my hand.
“Ouch,” I called out as pain radiated from my fingers.
The man’s head shook as he reached beneath me. “Can you lift your arms?” His deep voice rumbled through my freezing mind, cracking the ice and infiltrating it with warmth.
I wasn’t sure if I answered, nodded, or spoke. My concentration was on doing as he asked and lifting my arms around his neck. Strong arms lifted me from the snow and pulled me toward his coat-covered chest. I tucked my cheek against him. As I inhaled against the warm material, the scent of a campfire such as those from real wood filled my senses.
“What are you doing out here?”
My teeth chattered as I tried to speak.
Holding me with one arm, he opened the door to his truck and placed me on the seat. “I’m going to get you someplace warm.”
Strapping the seatbelt over me, he inclined the seat. Marvelous warmth blew from the vents as I closed my eyes. The scent of burning wood brought back a happier time. I remembered sitting by the hearth in my grandparents’ cottage. It was on a lake with a real wood-burning fireplace.
I fought to keep my eyes open. After all, this man was a stranger. My battle was in vain. With my energy depleted, the warmer world faded to unconsciousness.
* * *
I snuggled against the softness of the warm blanket moments before my eyelids fluttered open.
Before me was a raging fire, flames jumped as damp logs snapped and crackled. The fireplace was made of sandstone, much like the one at my grandparents’.
Panic bubbled within me at the prospect that maybe this was heaven, a place of comfort in my memory. Maybe there weren’t clouds, harps, streets of gold, and pearly gates. Instead, the afterlife was one of comfort. My stomach twisted in hunger.
I shouldn’t be hungry in heaven.
Raking my fingers through my disheveled hair, I began to look around. The only illumination was from the fire and a small kerosene lamp setting on a table. Sitting up, I wrapped the quilt tighter around me. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed my clothes lying over the footboard of the bed, stretched out to dry. Peeking under the quilt, I confirmed that I was only wearing my bra and panties.
Wiggling my fingers and toes, I could feel them ache. The skin was red. My cheeks felt sunburnt, and my hair was unkempt.
Quickly, I turned from side to side, wondering who I’d see, who was with me, and who took off my clothes.
The cabin where I found myself was rustic like my grandparents’ place but smaller.
“Hello?” I called.
The only answer came from the fire’s sounds and the wind beyond the cabin walls. Through the windows the night sky was still filled with falling snow. It wasn’t difficult to tell that I was alone. There was nowhere to hide in one room.
Faint memories of a man came to mind. Green eyes, an orange hat, and a deep voice.
With my feet bare yet warmed, I stood; the aftereffects of the cold sent pins and needles to the soles. Tentatively, I walked around, admiring the quaintness of the furnishings. In the warm firelight, I ran my hand over each piece. Most appeared handmade, a table and two chairs, a bed with a wooden head- and footboard, and a wooden sofa with long cushions.
Near the bed was a table with an old-fashioned pitcher and washbasin. Above the old china set was a cloudy oval mirror. The reflection in it wasn’t of the heir to Wade Pharmaceutical or the future Mrs. Butler.
My long blond hair was wavy from the snow and drying by the fire. Any makeup I’d applied was gone, yet Mother Nature had left her mark. My cheeks and lips were pink. I ran my tongue over the bottom lip and then the top, bringing a bit of moisture.
A quick check confirmed that my clothes were still too wet to be worn.
The kitchen area, separated by the small table, consisted of a sink with an old pump, the kind that needed priming, a counter, some shelves, cupboards, and a stove that also used wood as fuel to create heat. Upon the two metal burners were an old coffeepot and a pan filled with water.
I turned off the burner under the water as it was beginning to boil. Using a small towel, I held onto the coffeepot’s handle and lifted, pleased to find it heavy. Dark drops percolated within the glass top on the lid as the aroma of coffee joined the scent of the fire.
While coffee would be good, my empty stomach hoped for more. I opened a cupboard to find a few cans of soup. By the way it looked beyond the windows, sending for Uber Eats was out of the question. That thought led me to thoughts of my phone. I found it on the table near the bed, without any signal and with a very low battery.
There was nothing to suggest this cabin had electricity. Charging my phone or anything else was out of the question.
The cool cement floor beneath my feet was covered with an array of rugs of all sizes. The wood walls gave the feel of a real log cabin. The farther I moved away from the fireplace, the cooler the air became.
It was as I settled back on the thick blanket where I’d awakened and wrapped the quilt around me that the door to my side opened wide. A gust of cold wind filled with snow preceded the man from my memory. His arms were filled with logs. After giving me a quick glance, he kicked the door closed with his long leg. When he stood erect, he was tall, taller than me.
I obviously didn’t know this man or anything about him other than he’d saved my life and apparently disrobed me, yet without a word, my pulse increased and my cheeks felt flush.
His green eyes came my way before setting the logs in a round holder near the fireplace. Wiping his gloved hands one over the other, he dusted the snow, bark, and dirt to the floor. One by one, he pulled the gloves away from his long fingers, and still his gaze stayed glued on me.
I tugged on the quilt, suddenly reminded that this had been the man who removed my clothes. By looking at him, it was impossible to judge his age in the firelight. He wasn’t old or young and yet something about him held my attention.
The ends of his lips twitched, perhaps humored by my unease.
Unzipping the front of his brown coat, he shrugged it off, shaking the snow to the floor. Next, he removed his stocking cap, revealing a crown of messy dark hair. Finally breaking his stare, he turned to hang the coat and his stocking cap upon a peg near the door. The shirt under it was flannel and unbuttoned over a thermal shirt beneath.
Survival 101 came to mind with his layering.
Without glancing at my clothes, I knew I’d failed that test.
I worked my way to my feet and when he turned back, I spoke, “Thank you.”
He lifted his chin. “Not exactly a good night for a walk.” His gaze went to the window as white swirled in the darkness. “Of course, you’re welcome to leave if you want.”
I shook my head. “I don’t want that, not now.”
Nodding, the man walked to the stove and pulled two metal mugs from a shelf. Without asking, he filled both with hot coffee and brought one to me.
His lips curled into a smile as he scanned the quilt and handed me the mug. “I usually try to introduce myself before I take off a lady’s clothes.”
“Usually?”
He nodded. “Usually. As with any rule, there are exceptions.”
I placed the mug of coffee on the hearth and extended my hand. “Thank you for saving me. I’m Julia.”
The flames reflected in his eyes like glowing embers. As I stepped closer, the aroma of the outdoors surrounded us, fresh and cool. Although he’d been outside, as his fingers encased my hand, his touch wasn’t cold. It was the opposite, as if there was energy within him flowing from him to me. Our connection was a jolt like I had never before experienced. It shot through me, electrifying my skin and sending sparks to my insides.
Pulling my hand away, I stared down at it, wondering if he’d felt the same thing.
What was it?
Maybe it was from the near frostbite.
As I lifted my chin, he began to speak. “Are you sure?”
“Am I sure?”
“Julia, perhaps you should reconsider your gratitude.” He looked around. “You’re in a remote cabin in a blizzard in northern Wisconsin without a way to contact civilization. Does that sound like you were saved?” Small lines formed around his vibrant green eyes as he grinned. “Or are you perhaps captured?”
