Read Online Solomon's Decision by Judith B. Glad - Free Book Online
Authors: Judith B. Glad
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the creek, come hell or
high water, no matter how strongly he'd insisted she not follow him. She watched as he
stood and took a couple of testing steps back the way she'd come. She noticed he only put
his weight on tussocks of the harsh, grass-like stuff that grew everywhere on this side of
the creek.
"What's the matter?"
"I'm checking to see if it's stable. I don't want to fall in again."
"I didn't have any trouble. It didn't even feel wet."
"You lead then. Any route's better than the one I took." He stood aside and let her
lead him back to the creek.
Madeline didn't even bother trying the log. She had always had a problem keeping
her balance on things like logs and railroad tracks. She would rather get wet by choice than
make a fool of herself falling off again. Get wetter, that was. She waded through the creek,
splashing great sheets of the icy water on either side of her. Perhaps if she moved
energetically, she'd be warmer. Right now she felt like a refugee from an ice cream
factory.
She was warmer by the time they reached the spot where the helicopter was to
pick them up, but at the cost of every bit of stamina she had. Erik had walked in a straight
line between the scene of their wetting and the landing area and let nothing stop him. He
didn't slow down once, despite the rough walking, the numerous creeklets they had to
jump, or the nettle patch they traversed, bare hands held high to protect them. He didn't
even limp or otherwise favor his bare foot. Right then, she hated him.
The sky was completely overcast and the wind had quickened. Erik slipped out of
his knapsack and began picking up branches and twigs.
"What are you doing?" The words came out almost unintelligible. Her teeth were
chattering and shudders shook her frame.
"Help me," he commanded. "We've got to get warm. No telling how soon the
helicopter will get here."
She picked up a few twigs, but her hands seemed incapable of grasping. Most of
them slipped through icy cold, nerveless fingers. She finally sat on a rotting log, too cold
and too defeated to keep trying.
"Get up!" Erik was on his knees, blowing on a pile of tinder in the midst of a
pitifully small collection of wood. "Keep moving."
"I-I-I c-c-c-can't-t-t-t." The shudders wracked her with greater force and her teeth
clacked together until they hurt.
Wisps of smoke rose from the wood. Erik kept blowing, until at last he was
rewarded with a few tongues of flame. When it seemed as if the fire would maintain itself,
he came to her and pulled her roughly to her feet.
His arms went around her and his hands moved hard and fast up and down her
back. The friction and the pressure seemed to help, but her body still shivered
uncontrollably. Finally he pulled her to her knees and held her, back to his chest, close to
the fire. Its warmth soothed her icy cheeks, but barely penetrated her sodden sweatshirt and
clammy blue jeans.
Madeline was beyond caring. She grabbed the bottom of the sweatshirt and pulled
it--or tried to--over her head. "Help m-m-me," she whimpered when its wet folds wrapped
around her head and shoulders.
Her shirt was just as cold, just as clammy. She tried to unbutton it, but her fingers
refused to manipulate the tiny buttons. Again Erik helped her, until, with relief, she felt the
wind, warm by comparison, on her bare skin. "My jeans," she gasped, warmer now the
shirts no longer robbed her upper body of precious heat, but still shivering and fighting an
urge to just quit, wrap her arms around herself, and give in to the cold.
Erik wrapped his wool shirt around her, scratchy against her bare shoulders and
through the lace of her bra. Then he attacked her boots.
Even her socks were wet. No wonder she'd squished when she walked. With relief
she rolled from side to side as Erik peeled her tight jeans down, thinking how much
warmer the grass in the clearing felt than she did. Perhaps she could just lie here
and....
"Turn your back on the fire," Erik said. Madeline was amazed to
high water, no matter how strongly he'd insisted she not follow him. She watched as he
stood and took a couple of testing steps back the way she'd come. She noticed he only put
his weight on tussocks of the harsh, grass-like stuff that grew everywhere on this side of
the creek.
"What's the matter?"
"I'm checking to see if it's stable. I don't want to fall in again."
"I didn't have any trouble. It didn't even feel wet."
"You lead then. Any route's better than the one I took." He stood aside and let her
lead him back to the creek.
Madeline didn't even bother trying the log. She had always had a problem keeping
her balance on things like logs and railroad tracks. She would rather get wet by choice than
make a fool of herself falling off again. Get wetter, that was. She waded through the creek,
splashing great sheets of the icy water on either side of her. Perhaps if she moved
energetically, she'd be warmer. Right now she felt like a refugee from an ice cream
factory.
She was warmer by the time they reached the spot where the helicopter was to
pick them up, but at the cost of every bit of stamina she had. Erik had walked in a straight
line between the scene of their wetting and the landing area and let nothing stop him. He
didn't slow down once, despite the rough walking, the numerous creeklets they had to
jump, or the nettle patch they traversed, bare hands held high to protect them. He didn't
even limp or otherwise favor his bare foot. Right then, she hated him.
The sky was completely overcast and the wind had quickened. Erik slipped out of
his knapsack and began picking up branches and twigs.
"What are you doing?" The words came out almost unintelligible. Her teeth were
chattering and shudders shook her frame.
"Help me," he commanded. "We've got to get warm. No telling how soon the
helicopter will get here."
She picked up a few twigs, but her hands seemed incapable of grasping. Most of
them slipped through icy cold, nerveless fingers. She finally sat on a rotting log, too cold
and too defeated to keep trying.
"Get up!" Erik was on his knees, blowing on a pile of tinder in the midst of a
pitifully small collection of wood. "Keep moving."
"I-I-I c-c-c-can't-t-t-t." The shudders wracked her with greater force and her teeth
clacked together until they hurt.
Wisps of smoke rose from the wood. Erik kept blowing, until at last he was
rewarded with a few tongues of flame. When it seemed as if the fire would maintain itself,
he came to her and pulled her roughly to her feet.
His arms went around her and his hands moved hard and fast up and down her
back. The friction and the pressure seemed to help, but her body still shivered
uncontrollably. Finally he pulled her to her knees and held her, back to his chest, close to
the fire. Its warmth soothed her icy cheeks, but barely penetrated her sodden sweatshirt and
clammy blue jeans.
Madeline was beyond caring. She grabbed the bottom of the sweatshirt and pulled
it--or tried to--over her head. "Help m-m-me," she whimpered when its wet folds wrapped
around her head and shoulders.
Her shirt was just as cold, just as clammy. She tried to unbutton it, but her fingers
refused to manipulate the tiny buttons. Again Erik helped her, until, with relief, she felt the
wind, warm by comparison, on her bare skin. "My jeans," she gasped, warmer now the
shirts no longer robbed her upper body of precious heat, but still shivering and fighting an
urge to just quit, wrap her arms around herself, and give in to the cold.
Erik wrapped his wool shirt around her, scratchy against her bare shoulders and
through the lace of her bra. Then he attacked her boots.
Even her socks were wet. No wonder she'd squished when she walked. With relief
she rolled from side to side as Erik peeled her tight jeans down, thinking how much
warmer the grass in the clearing felt than she did. Perhaps she could just lie here
and....
"Turn your back on the fire," Erik said. Madeline was amazed to
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