Breath Beneath the Snow

A snowdrift blocked the spruce trail one mile below the timberline. Halfway up the bank, a dark mound broke the crust where nothing belonged.

Elias dropped his pack into the powder.

A woman lay curled on her side in three layers of felted wool. Wagon ruts cut through the brush forty yards south, already filling with windblown powder; the team had turned back toward the valley less than two hours ago.

He hauled back the stiff outer wrap. Pinned tight against her ribs, two bundles shifted.

One infant was silent, skin pale as tallow. The other gave a dry, reedy rasp that cut through the wind.

He had marked all three for dead. Then the silent child flinched under his thumb.

Elias opened his shearling coat and ripped the buttons of his wool shirt down to the belt. He pulled the damp cloth away from the infants, gathered both bodies into his palms, and tucked them against his bare chest.

His skin stung where their frost met his heat. With two fingers, he rubbed the spine of the silent girl in hard circles until her ribs jerked and a thin cough broke in her throat.

She took air. The other nestled into his ribs.

He pulled the shearling coat tight across his front, buttoning the hem and leaving only their faces open to the warmth under his chin.

The mother did not stir. Dark crust stiffened the cloth across her back, blood from whip cuts freezing black against the wool. Her pulse beat faint under his thumb at the hollow of her jaw.

Eleven years ago, he had buried his wife and infant son in frozen valley ground. He had climbed to this ridge to live in silence, far from graves he could not prevent.

Elias hoisted the woman into his arms, locking his elbows under her shoulders and knees.

The mile to the cabin took forty minutes of unbroken drifts. His boots punched through the crust along the creek bed, the cold air burning his throat with every stride.

He reached the porch and kicked open the plank door as a wolf howled long and thin beyond the trees.

The iron pot clanged against the hearth chain. Steam rose off the melted snow within minutes, smelling of tin and soot.

Elias dumped pine kindling onto the flagstones with a hollow crash. He wiped the bottom of the wooden crate with his sleeve, then folded two gray wool blankets into four layers to pad the rough pine. He lifted the two swaddled girls from his shearling jacket and placed them side by side in the box near the coals. Their chests rose and fell under the wool.

He turned to the cot where the woman lay shivering under three heavy pelts.

Her outer shawls peeled away stiff with ice, revealing a linen shift soaked in dark rust. Elias cut the seam up her spine with his pocketknife. Five purple lines crossed her shoulder blades, swollen and crusted with dirt from some wagon bed. He dipped a rag into the hot pot and pressed it against the torn flesh. Ara groaned into the straw tick, her fingers clawing at the rough hemp sheet, but her eyes stayed shut.

He washed each cut down to clean skin, then spread mutton tallow over the raw edges.

A thin cry rose from the kindling box.

Elias poured goat milk into a tin cup and set it near the embers. When the chill left the cup, he dipped the corner of a clean linen rag into the milk. He lifted the smaller infant into the crook of his forearm and pressed the wet cloth to her gray lips.

The milk ran down her chin and soaked her collar.

The child turned her head away, coughing on the thin stream. Elias wiped her throat with his thumb. He waited three breaths, dipped the cloth again, and slipped the soaked linen between her gums.

The infant paused. Her mouth clamped shut, and her tiny jaw worked with sudden rhythm. She sucked the cloth dry until her stomach puffed out beneath the wraps. He repeated the work with the second twin until both bellies were round.

A harsh rattle came from the cot.

Ara’s head rolled on the pillow, her face flushed red with fever. Her hand rose from beneath the pelts, reaching blindly toward the sound of the wooden box.

“My babies,” she whispered.

Her knuckles strained toward the floorboards, but her strength broke, and her arm dropped back into dead sleep.