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CHAPTER 3

Angels or Fairies?

When I peeked out from Blizzard's fur, I saw Erik hitch the cord around Dad's waist. Then Dad disappeared into the chute and down its treacherous trail.

Erik called out every so often, "Are you okay, Dad?"

"I'm fine," came the echoing answer.

I sat shivering next to Blizzard. The only sounds were the wind and occasionally Raven's soft whinny. After ten or fifteen minutes I went to her and put a rug on her back. "Stay warm, Raven," I whispered, patting her nose. "You must be cold just standing here." She snuggled her head against my jacket and whinnied gently.

"Raven has a long fur coat. I'm the one who's about to freeze," Erik complained. "Flat on my belly in the cold snow, ready to fall headlong into an icy abyss." He crept closer to the edge and hollered, "Dad! What's happening?" "We're coming up the chute," Dad yelled. "There are two of us. Keep watch and hang on to that rope."

Erik stood up. "Stay close to me, Jessie. Let's haul the rope around that tree," he said, pointing. "It will give us leverage if they fall."

We circled the rope around the tree, and then I stood behind him, bracing my legs as we grasped the thick cable.

"Just hold on. If you feel a big yank, you'll know they're falling. That's when we'll have to pull hard," Erik warned.

Holding our breath, we clung to the rope as it tugged under the weight below. Then, to our relief, Dad's head appeared over the rim of the gorge. He had lost his hat, and he was panting. An elderly man, struggling on the slippery rocks, emerged after him. I could see that the rope was attached to the man and not to Dad.

"Take Mr. Blair home right away, Jessie," Dad ordered breathlessly.

Erik and Dad helped the stumbling, frail man onto the sled where he collapsed. I covered him with a rug, then climbed on Raven's back. "How badly is he hurt?"

"Hard to tell," Dad said. "At least he was able to make it up the chute. We'll know more when he gets to the house. Hurry, Jessie, and then get back here the once." Dad slapped my horse's flank. "Home, Raven!"

Raven tugged forward and then carefully made her way through the snow. It was almost daylight now, and I could see the smoke from our chimney curling upward where the morning star still glistened. "We're almost home!" I yelled to the injured man on the sled. There was no answer. Was he still alive?

Mom must have heard the jingles from the bells on Raven's harness, as she threw open the door. "This man needs help!" I called as I slid off Raven's back.

Mom and I helped Mr. Blair to sit up. He was bleary-eyed and shivering as we half carried him into the house and then practically dragged him to the settle Mom had set up near the stove.

"Once we get you warmed up and some hot tea into you," Mom said, "you'll be fine in no time, Mr...."

"Blair," I said. "He's Mr. Blair."

"Pull his boots off, Jessie," Mom said, "and his jacket. I hope your dad didn't go down the chute. Did he?"

I avoided her gaze and concentrated on the knotted leather ties on Mr. Blair's boots. Mr. Blair smiled weakly as I pulled them off and removed his jacket.

"Jessie, get a cup of tea for this pitiful soul," Mom ordered.

"Before long you'll be too hot, next to this fire," I told him as I poured tea into a mug.

He smiled at me, and his blue eyes crinkled. "Here you are, Mr. Blair," I said. "Be careful now. We don't want you to burn yourself." I lifted him up and held the cup of tea to his lips. "Mom has some good beef stew warmin' up for you."

Mr. Blair sipped on the tea, and then he spoke for the first time to my hearing. "Thank you all for your goodness, especially your little girl here."

Little girl! I was nearly fourteen!

"We're thankful to the good Lord that Jessie found you," Mom said as she spooned a plate of stew from the pot simmering on the back burner.

Mr. Blair looked at me. "Jessie, I do believe you must be an angel, or perhaps one of the little folk -- the fairies." His voice trailed off.

Angels? Fairies? Mr. Blair must be a bit bewildered from his experience in the chute, I decided. "I've got to get back to Dad. He'll need me." I got up but stopped before I got to the door. As silently as a phantom my grandmother had appeared, her shiny jet-black hair flowing over the shoulders of her white nightgown.

"Who is this?" she asked, gesturing at our guest.

I knew that if Gran didn't approve of Mr. Blair, she'd make him feel as comfortable as a fish in a net.

"This is Mr. Blair," I said briefly. "Mom will explain everything, Gran. But I've been gone a half hour, and they need me out at the chute." I headed for the door as fast as I could.

Copyright © 2009 by Joan Hiatt Harlow