A Year on Ladybug Farm - Donna Ball [122]
“What do you mean, she’s not here?” Cici’s voice was tight with alarm. “She didn’t come in?”
“Came in,” replied Ida Mae, not looking around, “put on her boots, went out again. Looking for that dog.”
The annoyance faded from Lindsay’s face as she looked at Cici, and then at Ida Mae. “How long ago?” she demanded.
Ida Mae shrugged, carefully transferring the pies, one by one, to a cooling rack. “Fifteen, twenty minutes ago.”
Cici looked out the window, but saw only her own tense, scared features reflected back against the black windowpane. “Did she take a flashlight?”
Ida Mae turned to look at them, and understanding slowly began to kindle in her eyes. “Not that I saw,” she said.
Lindsay turned without a word and left the room.
When she returned, bundled in her hooded parka, knit cap, Burberry scarf, fleece-lined boots and gloves, and carrying a heavy flashlight, Cici was similarly attired, holding a flashlight of her own. Lindsay said, “Cici, stay here. It’s starting to snow. You could fall. I’ll find her.”
“If you think I’m going to sit here and wait you’re crazy,” Cici replied curtly. “And the longer we stand here arguing about it the longer Bridget’s out there in the cold. No one goes alone. Are you ready?”
So they plunged out into the cold, holding onto each other for support against the icy, gusting wind, following the path their crisscrossing flashlight beams traced across the yard. They reached the fence of the sheep meadow and shouted, “Bridget!”
They tasted snow on their tongues, and felt it pelting their faces. Their flashlights picked up fat, swirling flakes against the stark night landscape.
Cici leaned close to Lindsay and gestured with her flashlight. Lindsay nodded, huddled down inside her downy jacket, and plodded onward, following the fence line, shouting for Bridget.
The snow fell harder, slanting in sheets, then whirling and spinning in the vortex formed by their flashlights, blinding and disorienting them. It drifted across the ground with the vicious wind, dragging down their boots. To get their bearings, they had to stop frequently and look back at the house, which glowed like a beacon through the fog of snow. Cici’s half-healed ribs stung with the effort of every gasping breath, and the clumsiness of her plaster-encased arm made the constant struggle for balance even more difficult. She cursed her infirmity even as she felt a thread of panic begin to wind itself through her. What if they couldn’t find Bridget? What if she were hurt, lying broken at the bottom of a ravine somewhere? What if she couldn’t even hear them call? What if . . .
“Wait!” Lindsay clutched her arm and stood still. “Listen!”
The snow had a voice, spinning and hissing and spitting in their faces. The wind had a voice, low and rumbling. Even the trees had a voice as they groaned in the storm. And yet, intermingled with all these voices, almost but not quite a part of them, was another voice: small, distant, half swallowed by the night. And it was human.
“Bridget!” screamed Cici, and Lindsay joined in with all the power in her lungs. “Bridget!!!”
Another sound, words indistinguishable, whipped by the wind, seeming to come from the depths of the woods.
“We’re here!” Cici cried. “We’re coming!”
Lindsay caught hold of Cici’s jacket, pulling her forward, and they stumbled into the woodline. The scant shelter offered by the trees buffered the wind and offered a measure of relief from the driving snow, and this time when they called out they could hear the reply, faint but definitely Bridget’s voice. Lindsay wanted to surge forward but Cici held her still.
“Wait!” she cried, clearing the snow from her lashes with a swipe of her hand. “Stand still, keep calling. We don’t know where she is, but she can see our flashlights. Bridget!” she shouted, and held her flashlight straight out into the darkness. “Follow our lights! We’re here!”
And still faint, but now distinguishable, “Stay there! I see you!”
They stood still, clinging to each other,