The Children's Blizzard(37)

Enid nodded, but looked terrified. With so much chaos swirling about, this bridge—it barely deserved the name, for in the summertime the children could leap over the creek, skip across the planks, it would be a lark, a game. But now it seemed a bridge to eternity itself; the far side was missing, the destination appearing to vanish into the angry heavens.

“Go slowly, Enid. Just put one foot in front of the other.”

Enid took a big breath, and she put one tiny foot on the edge of the board; a gust of wind nearly pushed her over but Raina grabbed her just in time, snatching the little girl back. These little ones couldn’t do it, they wouldn’t make it. She and Tor would have to carry each of them across.

    Raina untied the apron string from her waist, shouted for the others to do the same. Tor came huffing up, Sofia clinging to his back, Rosa in his arms. He set the girls down.

“How far is it once we get over the bridge?” Raina asked, struggling for breath. All of a sudden, she felt as if she couldn’t get enough oxygen inside her lungs; she was dizzy in an already-swirling landscape. She reached out for something to steady her, and Tor grabbed her arms so she didn’t topple over.

They both stood that way, gasping for breath, linked together, for a moment that was both too brief and too long; there was not a second to be spared. The storm—the withering cold, the gravelly, icy snow, the exertion it had taken to get this far—was taking its toll on them all. Especially the children.

“It’s about twenty yards,” Tor said. “But we have to be careful; there’s a gap between the barn and the house and if we miss either of them, we’re back out on the prairie.”

“I saw the lights in all the windows, back there. Hopefully we’ll be able to see them again once we’re closer. But we have to carry the little ones across the bridge, they’re just too weak to do it on their own.”

Tor nodded, picked up Sofia, who flung her arms about his neck and buried her face in his shoulder. “I’ll go first.”

He started across the bridge, one foot carefully feeling for the board. It was only about five feet across but once he got in the middle, an enormous gust pummeled him and he began to sway; Raina cried out.

    But he bent his head down and remained upright; through the curtain of weather, Raina could just barely see that he scooted toward the end of the bridge and quickly set Sofia down on the other side, instructing her to remain where she was, not to move an inch. Then he was back across the bridge, reaching for Rosa, who shook her head and started to cry.

“No, no, no!” she screamed, and the poor thing was so tired, so disoriented, she tried to fight Tor off. But the young man patiently picked her up anyway and started back over the bridge on wobbly legs. Raina held her breath, but a taunting gust of wind blew up more snow that obscured him; she couldn’t see if he made it, she could only wait. It seemed to her she didn’t breathe at all until he was back. His eyes were tearing up and he had to keep rubbing them so they wouldn’t freeze. His ears—uncovered since he’d given his scarf to Sofia—were dangerously purple, and Raina worried that there would be permanent damage. He was reaching out to get Enid when Raina stopped him; he had to rest.

“I’ll take her,” she said, and she picked up the child, who latched her arms about Raina’s neck.

Suddenly Raina was aware of her skirts; heavy with snow and ice, they felt like an anchor about her legs. On the prairie, on solid ground, she’d rejoiced in their protection. But with one foot on the edge of a piece of wood ten inches wide, hovering above a pit of deadly snow and ice, even if it was only about three feet below, she panicked. She wanted to give the girl back to Tor but she had to do her part, she had to pull through with him; he couldn’t do it all.

“Papa, Papa, I need you,” she whispered. Because it was Papa who had always encouraged her to try harder, work harder, run faster, test her muscles to the limit; Mama might say he pushed her, pushed both girls, too hard, and maybe he had. But only out of necessity.

    What she would do to have him here now, coaxing her, smiling down at her with his proud eyes, never for a moment entertaining the notion that she might not succeed. She could never let him down. Neither she nor Gerda could; it was a pact they’d made when they were smaller. They could never let their papa down.

So Raina took the first step onto the bridge; she tensed against the onslaught of the wind, the girl in her arms stirred enough to surprise her off her balance, and she tottered for a moment. Her skirts wrapped around her ankles in a sodden, frigid clump. But she fought them, took the next step, eyes open as far as they could be in the punishing wind, desperate to see something, anything, to help her stay balanced, stay on the right path.

Another step. Another. She heard sobbing right in front of her, and she knew the other girls were there, waiting miserably as Tor had told them; she was almost upon them. And then one more step, and she was bending down to deposit Enid when she heard a muffled cry, and a squishy thump, below.

In the creek. Someone had fallen in the creek.

“Enid? Sofia? Rosa?”

“It’s Rosa,” Sofia cried. “She fell down!”

“Tor! Tor?” Raina shouted, but she didn’t know if he could hear her.

“Teacher, Teacher!” Rosa cried weakly, then she sobbed.

“Stay right there, Rosa! Don’t move, I’m coming for you.”