The pond was indeed in a secluded area. Caity thought it must be very pretty in the spring. But her hesitations were returning as they prepared to go out on the ice.
"You're—you're sure of this?" she said haltingly. Her gloved hands gripped the log she was sitting on with amazing force. Peter gently took them and helped her stand up.
"It'll be fine, I promise. The ice is still thick enough to support us. Just start with stepping on the ice; no movement, just step. There, now slide one foot forward…now the other…keep going, slowly—oops, careful." He caught her as her feet flew out.
Peter skated backwards so as to lead her around by the hands. It was slow at first, but Caity prided herself in being a quick and attentive student. Soon she only needed one hand for balance, allowing Peter to skate forward, and as the sun began to set, she was skating the length of the pond by herself. Smiling and laughing, she whizzed past Peter like a five-year-old showing her father, "Look what I can do!" It was a freeing sensation to let go of the constraints of adulthood, even if temporarily.
"See, I told you you'd get it," he said as she passed him again. "So do you still think it was a waste of time?"
"Would I still be here if I did?" she called back. It was her fastest crossing yet, maybe a little too fast. Caity coasted for awhile, tried to turn, and fell with a thud—and a loud crack. Then the ice was outfrom under her, plunging her into the freezing water.
"Aiiee—help!"
Peter was at her side, lying on his stomach, carefully inching her out of the hole. It seemed like an eternity before they were back on land.
"Get as many wet things off as possible," Peter ordered. Already he had his own coat, gloves, and scarf off.
Caity was trembling so violently from cold and shock that she could barely wring the water out of her skirt. I can't believe I'm half-undressing in front of a boy I hardly know… Peter wrapped her in his dry things, wrung out her wet ones, and started for the back gate, which was closest.
"Try to keep moving until we get home," he said, putting his free arm around her shoulders and rubbing them vigorously. By sheer miracle, they arrived at the house to find Dr. Miller hadn't returned yet.
"Well th-that was an-n-n adventure, I m-must say," Caity said through her chattering teeth.
"Yeah," muttered Peter, who looked nervous. "I just hope your dad doesn't kill me for it. Get some dry clothes and a towel for your hair. I'll gather blankets in the armchair and get some tea going."
Caity could only nod, and took the stairs slowly. Her socks and underskirt were a little icy, but everything else was just damp under Peter's coat. Once in her room, she caught sight of a white-faced, blue-lipped ghost in her mirror. She had to get warm. It took several desperate attempts to get her stiff fingers to work the buttons and ties. Finally, however, she managed it and headed back downstairs.
Peter was waiting with a blanket, which he placed snugly around her before sitting her down. More layers followed, topped by a steaming cup of tea for each of them. They sipped in silence for a minute.
"So…feeling
better?"
"Yes, thank you," Caity replied. "And I still
had a wonderful time. You mustn't think it your fault that this
happened. We'll just have to go earlier in the season next year."
"You're not mad at me? I thought surely you would use it to prove your point—that it was a useless and dangerous waste of time."
"But you also proved your point. I haven't had that sort of fun in ages. True, falling through the ice was not fun. I wouldn't say it ruined the whole day, though."
"Well, for that I'm glad, then," declared Peter.
The conversation drifted over lessons and homework, until, at nearly ten 'til eight, Dr. Miller stepped through the front door.
"I apologize for my lateness, there was a man from the relief effort come in with a crushed foot. I had to try to set the thing, and—oh, what's all this for?" He gazed around the sitting room arrangement (the wet clothes had been left to dry in front of the radiator), then peered further into the kitchen.
Caity was fixing some type of stew, still wrapped in a quilt, Peter assisting her when she required help.
"What happened?" her father asked in a strangled tone.
Caity took a deep breath. "I went ice skating, Father. And I fell through some thin ice. But it was fun while lasted."
It took Dr. Miller a minute or so to absorb this. Finally, he turned to Peter and said, in a level tone, "Would you give us a few minutes, please?"
Peter nodded and retreated to the blanket-laden chair in the sitting room, though the only partially-closed door didn't prevent him from still hearing the conversation.
"You did what?"
"Ice skating. I can't go on ignoring Peter forever. He lives in this house for the time being and is kind enough to try to include me in activities."
"You could have caught your death—"
"But he was there with me and knew exactly what to do!"
"This can't continue and you know it, Caitlyn. If your mother was alive—"
"She would have said it's a sorry shame that I haven't been living life while I can. I still can't believe how blind I've been."
"You can't live without limits.
"I don't know them; you don't know them. Peter certainly doesn't know them, and I'm not going to walk on eggshells the whole time simply because we don't."
Dr. Miller's voice went suddenly quiet. "You need to tell him. I won't have you taking such rash chances, Caitlyn. If it were manifest itself now…we can't afford it. I couldn't face it again. Do you understand me?"
"Father, the last thing I need is someone else to treat me like a fragile baby—"
"Do you or do you not understand me?"
There was a pause. "Yes, Father, I understand." Caity had never expressed such open defiance to any living being in Peter's memory.
"Thank you. Now—where are you going?"
Part of the quilt appeared in the doorway. "I'm not hungry anymore, so I think I'll go to bed. Just don't tell him about it behind my back, please? Good night." Caity turned and marched through the sitting room, not looking at Peter. After a few seconds' pause, Dr. Miller peered around the doorway.
"Well, if anyone's still interested in supper, it's ready," he said tonelessly.
Caity didn't like returning to her old habits. She had experienced a taste of something more exciting, more intriguing, than grooming herself to be a perfectly-manicured adult. But how to tell Peter? The argument had made him a little quieter as well, and Caity was afraid he would say no if she asked to do anything else. The whole situation was uncomfortable. Finally, she just couldn't stand it anymore.
"I'm not as delicate as Father makes me out to be," she said as they walked home from school. Peter didn't answer immediately.
"Just tell me one thing. Did I walk blindly into this situation of yours?"
"What?"
"Were you sick or something before I came?"
"No! It's just really complicated." Caity couldn't keep the disappointment from her face and voice. "I'm perfectly healthy, and you've given me a chance to learn how to have fun again. I don't want to lose that." She sighed heavily, unsure why she felt so desperate.
"What are you afraid of?" Peter asked after a pause. His familiar, big-brother manner was surfacing again. Caity bit her lip.
"Father has everyone treating me like some kind of ticking time bomb. Even I bought into it, though I wished everyone else would back off. It wasn't until you came along that I realized what a self-fulfilling prophesy I'd become. I want to see life as you do. Given that, I think there there'll be no need to worry in the first place. But you have to help me learn to do that."
Peter thought hard. "Your father's a doctor. He's sure there's nothing wrong right now?"
"Yes, he's just worked himself into this mindset because of Mother and because keeping me under a microscope has started to affect me. I'm indoors all the time. I'm not allowed any substantial physical exertion. It's taken me years to see this lurking outside the interests he'd placed in front of me. I think that if I started doing better, he might change his mind."
"How?"
"We'd start with the little things, like you said—taking walks, socializing, just being out and around people. You've set something in motion, and I want to keep it going."
Peter stared at the ground. "I don't want to end up making things worse for you…"
"Some days yield success, and others are failures. Yet the days still move forward. It's all part of progress, as long as we allow it to be." Caity touched his hand, turning so she could look into his eyes. "Please?"
She could see the thoughts working out in his head. He didn't want to aggravate any real problems, especially now that adults were involved. But part of him also recognized the victory of getting her this far. And that part wasn't ready to quit.
"Okay," he finally answered, nodding. "We'll start small. The warmer weather should help too, when it comes."