Snow Blind - Lori G. Armstrong [26]
I didn’t encounter a single vehicle in that fivemile stretch of road, which was good because I drove straight down the middle. Most people were smart enough not to venture out during a storm. Usually I was one of those smart people.
The wind whistled through the ventilation system and shook my three-quarter-ton truck like a Yugo. I kept an eye on the odometer since none of the natural landmarks were visible. I’d always bragged I could drive this gravel road with my eyes closed. Well, my 87
eyes were wide open and I couldn’t see shit. I eased the truck to the left side and tried to make out the big elm trees lining the driveway, marking the turnoff to the ranch. I swiped fog from the windshield with my gloved hand. A momentary break in the wind and swirling snow showed the familiar skeletal trees. I braked, turned, and busted through two-foot-high drifts. The shelterbelt surrounding the ranch buildings did what it was designed for, providing a modicum of protection. The amount of snow accumulation was the same as on the road and in the fields, but the trees blocked some of the wind gusts. I pulled up to the front of the house rather than my usual spot by the machine shed.
A grim feeling spread in me when I noticed my dad’s pickup wasn’t around. I left my truck running and ran up the snow-covered porch steps and into the foyer.
“Dad?”
I hadn’t expected him to answer; the house had that empty feel. I checked every room upstairs, downstairs—even the cellar. Nothing. And I couldn’t tell if he’d been here earlier in the morning. No coffee cup sat on the dining room table or dishes were left drying on the dish rack.
Next stop was the barn. The snowdrifts were knee-high in front of the big doors. I snagged the shovel out of the back of my truck and managed to get the side door open far enough to sneak inside. The barn was hot, dark, and smelly in the summer, 88
and cold, dark, and smelly in the winter.
“Dad? You in here? It’s Julie.” I wandered past the darkened stalls and tack room to the largest section with the hayloft. Little hay, no sign of Dad, his hired man, cattle, or newborn calves. The horse stalls were empty, too.
I didn’t know what to do next. A blizzard raged. Windchills were probably in the zero range. Skin could freeze in seconds. It’d be stupid to venture out and risk my safety. Not only didn’t I have the basic winter wear; I had no idea what direction he’d gone. Highly doubtful I’d see his tire tracks. What could I do even if by some miracle I found him? Especially if he was injured? Or worse?
I don’t think you really want him dead.
Did I? Could I walk away?
No. My subconscious called me a pussy when I entered the tack room looking for extra clothing. Dad never threw anything away, so I found an extra pair of old Carhartt overalls hanging on a peg in the back. In addition to being stained, faded, and ripped in spots, they were ginormous on me. I cinched them as tight as I could, put my outerwear back on, and grabbed two pairs of leather work gloves. I added three nylon ropes, and four heavy saddle blankets to my pile, hoping like hell the wind wouldn’t rip them from my arms before I made it back to the truck.
Once I was safely inside the cab and my face unfroze so I could move my lips, I redialed Trish’s 89
number. No answer. I tried again. Nothing. Looked like the phone outages were on this end.
Since it was calving season it surprised me the cattle weren’t close to the barn. Meant chances were good Dad was at the cattle shelter and not out on the frozen prairie. If I followed the fence line I’d practically run into it. If I didn’t get stuck in a snowdrift first.
I opened the gate and drove through.
The uneven terrain made for a bumpy ride even when I inched along. The driver’s side window continually iced over, forcing me to roll it down to keep the fence line in view. Flakes swirled inside the cab. My nose was frozen. The sunglasses offered some protection from the wind, but I still had to squint to see through the snow squalls.