Evergreen - Chapter 3

By the time he had ascertained that nobody was home at the small, dark cabin in the woods, and helped a very heavy and weak-kneed Scott inside, Johnny was about ready to collapse himself. He kicked the door closed behind him and eased Scott down to the floor so he could search for a lamp in the pitch black. There was one just inside the door and the matches in the box next to it were dry, so within a minute they had light.

Scott lay in a heap on a wooden floor, his eyes closed, but Johnny thought he was breathing normally, even if he appeared pale in the lamplight. "Gotta get you up, brother, and then I'll get a fire started." Scott moaned instead of talking, but his eyes were open and Johnny took that as a good sign. At least Scott was still conscious and they now had a roof over their heads. Things were looking up.

A quick glance around told Johnny that whoever lived there had taken care of the place. It was a home, not a hunting lodge, with good furniture and even a rug on the floor. Best of all there was a big, fieldstone fireplace with upholstered chairs on either side of it, and a stack of firewood at hand.

It took some dragging and heaving but Johnny finally got his brother into a chair in front of the cold hearth. "Rest easy," he said to Scott then set about lighting a fire. Johnny's fingers were swollen and felt like raw sausages but after three tries he was able to light a match. Once there was a fire going, he spread his hands in front of the flames and tried to defrost his fingers.

"Hurts like hell?" Scott asked in a hoarse whisper.

Johnny left the fire and hunkered down by his brother's side. "Feels like they're on fire," he said with a humorless laugh. His fingers ached so fiercely he held his breath rather than let out a groan.

Scott gave a slight smile. "Like they're being crushed by a burning skillet?"

Johnny nodded. After a few minutes he could wiggle his fingers, which was a great relief, and the pain subsided a bit. He helped Scott remove his gloves and inspected his raw, red fingers. "Do they hurt? That's a good sign, right?"

"Yeah. Blood's warming up," Scott replied between gritted teeth. He tried to remove the tarp that Johnny had covered him with, but had trouble undoing the tie.

"I thought you liked snow." Johnny brushed his hands out of the way. "Let me do that."

Scott snorted. "Just because I grew up with cold weather doesn't mean I like it."

Johnny finally got the knot undone but told Scott to keep the makeshift overcoat around his shoulders until the room warmed up a bit. The fireplace might not be enough to heat the room very much if the temperature continued to drop but it was far better than being outside. In the corner of the kitchen was a pot-bellied stove, used for cooking as well as for warmth, but upon inspection it seemed to be disused due to some mechanical problem. After a quick look at its exhaust mechanism Johnny realized it would take a while to repair it and now was not the time.

First off he rummaged around in the pantry and came up with some flour, some old potatoes, and a tin containing a few coffee beans, but not much else. They still had a little food in their saddlebags but it was mostly jerky and a handful of dried beans. When Johnny opened a door off the kitchen he discovered a bedroom - cold, dark and deserted. He'd go back later to get some bedding for Scott and they'd sleep near the fireplace.

Johnny opened the front door and scooped up a frying pan full of snow, then slammed the door shut on the freezing night. He shivered. While the snow was left to melt over the crackling fire, he jammed his hat down on his head and rushed back out. The horses were huddled close to the small cabin, trying to get out of the wind. Johnny led them into a shed, attached to the house, that was being used to store firewood. At least there was plenty of wood. It seemed secure and even though it was cramped, there was some hay for the animals. After stripping off their saddles, Johnny gave the horses a cursory rubdown with some sacking then took the saddlebags and guns into the house. He located a large bucket, filled it with snow and took in to set it beside the hearth.

Scott seemed to be asleep, but as soon as Johnny brought him a mug of hot coffee, he opened his eyes and sat up straight.

Johnny held a hand to his brother's forehead. "You're burning up."

Scott turned his head away from his brother's touch. "It's from the fire." Only when Johnny stepped away did Scott turn his attention to the hot drink. He rapidly drank the hot coffee but suddenly stopped when he was halfway through it as if was too much for him. After wiping his mouth with the back of his hand Scott put the mug aside. "No more." He closed his eyes and took a slow, deep breath.

"Do you need a bucket?"

Scott just shook his head curtly without looking up.

Johnny eyed him suspiciously but didn't quarrel with Scott over how sick he was. He was pale with bright pink spots on his cheeks, and when he slowly opened his eyes again, they were lackluster. With the minimum of fuss Johnny removed his brother's boots, then replaced Scott's wet socks with the last pair of dry ones he pulled from his saddlebag.

Scott blinked heavily but roused himself when he saw what Johnny had done. "Hey, what about you? Your feet are wet, too."

Johnny hung the wet socks by the fire and said, "I'm fine for now. You rest 'cause I'm gonna get us set up for the night and see if I can rustle up some grub." His feet weren't blocks of ice any more and though they were sore they weren't hurting that bad. He shucked his sheepskin outer coat but kept his suede jacket on. After lighting another lamp he started making a meal. By the time he'd put together some hot food, Scott appeared to be asleep again, slumped in the chair, his head resting on one hand.

~ • ~

With a gentle shake Johnny roused his brother and offered him the soup he'd made. "It ain't much but at least it's hot." The fireplace had an iron crane over which to hang a cook pot and he'd found a Dutch oven in the kitchen, so until he got the pot-bellied stove working, he would cook over the open fire.

Scott sniffed and asked, "What is it?"

"Mostly hot water," Johnny admitted. "I boiled some beef jerky and potato and added something that looked like dried onion." When Scott looked with suspicion at the offering, Johnny said, "It won't kill you. I already sampled it." While he watched Scott taste the soup, Johnny said, "If we're gonna be here for a few days I'll have to go out and find something more for grub. There's a few taters and some flour but not much else. I'm hoping there are some other folks living hereabouts we can trade with or buy some supplies from."

"Maybe you should put your rabbit-snaring skills to use," Scott suggested with a straight face. He spooned the soup into his mouth as if it was a chore.

Johnny smiled and pulled the other upholstered chair close to the fire. He ladled out some steaming soup for himself and ate it in record time. When the hot food hit his belly Johnny sighed with pleasure. He looked around the cabin and thought how finding it had been lucky. He didn't want to think about what would have happened to his brother if they'd been forced to camp out in the frigid, snowy night.

Scott slowly finished his meal and slumped in his chair, eyes closed, so Johnny took the empty bowl from his brother's lax fingers and quietly went about his chores. After taking the bucket of now-melted snow out to the horses, Johnny had a better look around the bedroom.

It had a big bed as well as a single one, plus plenty of blankets and comforters. For a husband and wife and probably a child, he guessed. It looked like whoever lived there had simply taken off. Maybe they had gone visiting somewhere and couldn't make it back because of the snowstorm. No matter, he intended to take full advantage of the contents of the house and make Scott as comfortable as he could until he was able to travel again.

Johnny began by stripping a couple of worn but serviceable comforters off the beds. As he dumped them near where Scott was resting, there was a sudden loud banging on the front door. Johnny was over to it like a shot, gun drawn. He flattened himself to one side of the door and shouted, "Who is it?"

There was no reply. Johnny cautiously opened the door. The wind drove fine snow right into his face and it was too dark out to see much of anything. Then it cleared enough for him to make out a small figure backing away - a boy, he realized, bundled up against the elements. Johnny was about to call out to ask what his business was when a big, hairy dog came out of nowhere and barreled straight at him. Before Johnny could get out of the way, the shaggy creature knocked him off his feet and bounded past him into the cabin.

The boy was right behind the dog, yelling at him to stop. Johnny scrambled up, holstered his gun and reached out, yelling, "Whoa." But the boy slipped past, intent on retrieving his runaway pet.

Scott, startled, was doing his best to fend off the animal that was pawing at him and barking in his face while its young owner pulled at the snowy creature's collar. Johnny hauled the dog off his brother, and with the other hand grabbed the boy by the scruff of his neck. He demanded, "What the heck is going on?"

***tbc