Chapter 12.1

Sara sat half-dozing after her meal. She had prepared macaroni and cheese for the day that morning. She had not eaten much at breakfast, and she had made up for that at lunch. Sara made a cup of coffee, hoping the caffeine would wake her up a little. She nearly chugged the first cup before making a second. 

As Sara listened to the rain, a noise on one of the shelves caught her attention.  She watched it intently for movement, expecting to see a mouse. Instead of seeing a rodent, she heard the distinct sound of breaking glass.

Sara got up and cautiously made her way the short distance to the shelf. She began to peer into the wooden boxes and quickly discovered the sound had come from the jar that contained the willow bark shavings. It had inexplicably broken into several pieces.

Sara could feel her pulse quicken. There was nothing that could have caused that jar to break. She tried to be rational and think of a reason why it would, but she came up with nothing. It had been sitting in that box for nearly one hundred and fifty years. For the glass to break now made no sense.

Sara backed away from the shelves, never taking her eyes off of them. She was still trying to think of an explanation for how the glass could have broken. Her train of thought was disrupted when she bumped into the table. Sara sat in her chair and picked up the journal.

“Alright, gentlemen,” Sara said nervously. “Which one of you is trying to get my attention?”

A snort at the cabin door made Sara jump so hard she almost fell out of her chair. She whirled around to see the snout of a deer stuck in the opening as it sniffed the air inside the cabin.

“Ted!” Sara yelled. “You are so freaking lucky! I swear I’m going to take up hunting just so I can take you out and save everyone in the future from your craziness.”

Sara began to laugh about how anxious she had become, all because of a glass canning jar breaking and a deer being overly friendly. She took a drink of her coffee and opened the journal. After finding where she left off and looking around the cabin one last time, she went back to reading.

December 15, 1879

Jim has taken a turn for the worse. He is burning up with fever this morning. He is delirious and talking to people who are not here, often not in English. I think he is talking to people from his childhood and the village he lived in with his tribe. I wish I knew what he is saying so I could try to comfort him.

I have tried to get him to eat or drink something to no avail. I think he has given up. If he has, there is nothing that will help. I have seen healthy men waste away just because they gave up and wanted to die. 

December 15, 1879

Second entry. I tried to rouse Jim enough to drink some willow bark tea to help break his fever, and he fought me. Moving around and fighting me made him start coughing again. This time there was a lot of blood, and he passed out once more. 

I don’t know what else to do for him. I sit here listening to him struggling to breathe and thinking of what he told me about him being buried as soon as he passes. I cannot even do that for him. This blasted snow won’t let me. The last promise I made to him I will not be able to keep. I hope his soul can rest when this is over. I doubt mine will.

I am going to divide up what food we have left. There is not much. The only venison that is left is in the soup pot now. We still have a few potatoes left and a bit of the wild rice. We still have some flour and salt. The rations we have left won’t last the two of us long.

The traps and snares Jim took out and set are buried under a good two or three foot of snow now. Even if I can get out of here, I doubt I would be able to find them or anything caught by them. If this snow stops, I might be able to dig out and set new ones. That’s the only thing I can do.

December 15, 1879

Third entry. Jim woke up for a few minutes and seemed lucid when he did. He told me to not worry myself about what had happened to him, as it is his time to leave this world. This is his destiny. He said he understood that I won’t be able to carry out burying him as soon as he dies, and he is not worried. He knows his soul will rest.

Dear God, Sarah, what he said to me next chilled me to the bone. He told me that after he dies, he wants me to do whatever I have to do to keep going. Jim said, if I cannot get out to get food, I am to eat him. The thought of that turns my stomach and makes me want to retch. He told me to not fear the wendigo or the legend of it. That it would not bother me. I don’t know if he believes that or if he is saying it to make me feel better.

Sarah, I do not believe in some evil entity that will possess me if I eat human flesh. What I do believe in is that I cannot fathom butchering my brother like an animal. I think I would rather starve to death than cut him to bits.

December 15, 1879

Fourth entry. Jim woke delirious with fever again. He began screaming, terrified of something. He passed out again before I could even make it across the cabin to him. The sleep he had was fitful and full of incoherent mumbling. He is quiet now and lying still.

I keep thinking about what Jim said to me earlier and how awake and conscious of everything he was. It was like he was possessed by something. I am a little comforted by what he said. I hope that was why he said it, and he meant it.

December 16, 1879

Jim passed this morning. I heard him stop breathing in the early morning hours before dawn as he slept. I feel ashamed to say that I am relieved that he is no longer in pain and can now rest. 

My beautiful Sarah, I have not hurt or cried like this since the moment I was told I had lost you and Timothy. I have lost my brother. I could not protect him, and he is gone because he was trying to help me. I feel as guilty of his death as if I had put a bullet in his head. I have lost a part of myself.

Sara stopped reading to wipe the tears rolling down her cheeks. She could not imagine being in Herschel’s place, watching her best friend die, and feeling responsible for it. She heard sniffing at the door and turned to see the deer’s snout sticking in the cabin.

“Did you know I needed something to cheer me up, Ted?” Sara asked the deer as she wiped her eyes again. She got up and walked toward the door. “You’re not a bad guy, are you?” 

The deer replied with a soft snort. His nose was inside the cabin. The buck wiggled his nose in Sara’s direction as she approached him. 

Sara inched toward the deer until she could look at him through the crack in the door. She cautiously offered the back of her hand to him, allowing him to smell it. The deer nuzzled the back of her hand and licked it. She turned her hand over and scratched under the deer’s chin as it sniffed her palm.

“You’re a sweet boy, Ted,” Sara told him. “Thank you for doing this. I needed it. I know you don’t understand this, but I found a book someone wrote when they were living here. I feel like they are my friends, and one of them died. I’m sad and crying for someone I never met, yet feel like I know. Silly, huh?”

The buck raised his head, looking into her eyes. He lowered his head and closed his eyes as if he were showing respect for Jim's death. The deer opened his eyes and, while gazing into hers, placed his chin in her hand once again.

“I feel like you understand for some reason,” Sara said, wiping more tears. “I also feel like an idiot because I am talking to a deer, and I think he understands.”

The deer nudged the palm of her hand in response.

Sara giggled and said, “Okay, I get it. You do understand. Don’t move. I’m going to get you something.”

Sara gently pulled her hand away from the deer before going to her backpack. After a moment of digging, she pulled a honey and oat granola bar from it and went back to where the deer was waiting patiently.

“I’m not supposed to feed you, so don’t tell anyone, okay?” she softly told the deer. 

She unwrapped the bar, broke off a chunk of the granola bar, and offered the piece to the buck. The deer sniffed it tentatively before he began to nibble at it. She grinned broadly as the deer ate piece after piece from her hand. 

“You are a good boy, Ted. Now, you need to go be a deer for a while, and I need to get back to reading. Thank you for the distraction,” Sara told him as she rubbed under his chin one last time before the deer moved away from the door. Sara muttered as she went back to the table, “No one is going to believe that just happened.” 

Sara sat down at the table and looked at the journal lying in front of her. She felt her chest tighten from anxiety and anticipation of what she would read next. She took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly as she found her spot and continued reading.

-