Under the Northern Lights(30)

It took a lot of time to cut the log into manageable circles and even more time to load the circles onto our makeshift sled and pull them home. Four solid days, to be exact. But once we were done, it was clear we would have enough wood to last quite some time, possibly a couple of months. Of course, it still needed to be split and stacked so it could dry.

Michael resumed his trapping while I resumed my water gathering and wood splitting. Now that I was mostly healed—my ankle was back to normal, the scar on my thigh was a beautiful pink color, and my ribs were no longer wrapped—my strenuous daily chores were much easier. I was a heck of a lot stronger, too, and I could generally split a log in one swipe now . . . instead of my previous three. It gave me a surprising amount of satisfaction to see the physical results of my labor. I might suffer from homesickness on occasion out here, but I was also in the best shape of my life; my pants were even starting to get a little loose. There was something to be said for living an extremely simple life. I was still buying Michael a chainsaw, though.

My conversation with him rang through my ears while I worked. You saved my life. The very least I can do is make yours a touch easier.

You already have.

You already have . . . Whenever I found myself getting down about the upcoming holiday season, those three words gave me a tremendous amount of lift. There was power in that short, sweet sentiment, power derived from the mysterious, reclusive man who had said them. Michael was self-sufficient, didn’t need or want anybody. But in one simple phrase, he’d cracked open a door for me, a window inside himself. And he was clearly uncomfortable with that fact. It had taken him a solid twenty-four hours to look me in the eyes again. He wanted to remain a fortress, cold, hard, able to weather any storm. And that made me wonder . . . once I was gone, would those internal cracks weaken him? Or would he simply plaster over them and move on? Either solution made me sad. He’d done so much for me; I didn’t want him scarred in any way because of me.

Exhausted, I loaded up the last stack of split wood and put away the ax. I’d just had a bath the other night, but maybe I could take one again. I felt like a cesspool of dirt and sweat. At the very least, I would need to wash my clothes. That could be done in cold water, though, so it wasn’t quite as much of a hassle. It just meant I’d need to collect even more water tomorrow; the cycle of responsibility never ended out here.

Trudging up to the cabin, I stomped my boots to get them clean of snow and wood chips. The scent of freshly cut wood was so strong on me that I still smelled it when I stepped inside the cabin. Definitely a bath night.

Michael was already home, a rarity when he was checking his traps. I smiled at seeing him here, then frowned. “Hey, I know I just had a bath, but I really need another one, so you’re going to have to occupy yourself outside. Hopefully our curious bear friend doesn’t get you . . . I’d feel really bad about that.”

I expected him to scoff at my never-ending bear phobia, but he didn’t stop grinning. He looked like a man with a secret, and I was instantly on guard. “Why are you . . . ?”

He stepped to the side, and I instantly knew why he was wearing a Cheshirelike smile. The scent of wood I’d been smelling wasn’t coming from me. Tucked in a corner of the room was a four-foot-tall evergreen tree stuffed in one of our five-gallon buckets. It was barren of any type of decorations, but it was clearly meant to be a Christmas tree.

“Oh my God . . . you . . . ?” My hands flew to my mouth, and my eyes instantly started watering.

Michael’s smile softened, and his eyes began to shimmer. “I know you’re far from home, far from your holidays . . . but I thought since you had to be here . . . with me . . . then maybe we could have our own holiday.” He glanced back at the tree and frowned. “We’ll just have to be more creative about it.”

The tears were dripping down my cheeks now. “Oh my God, this is amazing! Thank you, Michael. Thank you so much.” I felt like I was about to start sobbing. Christmas was my favorite holiday, and I really thought I’d have to give it up this year. It hadn’t occurred to me that I could have all the same festivities here, with Michael. “This is perfect . . . just perfect.”

Needing to seal the thank-you with a hug, I took a step toward him. Like he could sense my intentions, Michael turned and grabbed a towel. He handed it to me, both doing me a favor and subtly deflecting my approach. Knowing he wanted space, I took the towel and thanked him again.

He frowned, but it was a playful grimace. “You keep saying thank you . . . I’m going to have to ban those words soon. But you’re welcome. I just . . . I want this to be as easy on you as possible.”

His comment echoed the sentiment behind the phrase that had been swirling in my mind all day. I wanted to make his life easier, and he wanted the same for me. It was the basic building blocks of friendship that we were creating, and I cherished the fact that we were forming them. With every day that passed, bonds were being strengthened. Michael was quickly becoming much more than just my savior and my salvation, and I was sure the same could be said of me to him.

Running an awkward hand through his hair, Michael indicated our tub basin. “Want me to get the water started for your bath?”

I smiled as I wiped my tears. “I’d love that, Michael. Thank you.” He gave me a warning look, since I’d used his banned words, and I laughed. Seeing my humor made him relax, and he laughed, too, before moving to the stove to grab the pot. Yes, bonds were definitely forming. Things were definitely changing.