He followed the trail to the pines, where it veered to the right. The snow was coming down more rapidly now, filling the holes. He had to hurry. He checked the direction on the compass and snapped off a few branches so he could find his way back.
On the other side of the pines, the trail seemed to vanish. He almost thought he’d deduced incorrectly, when he spotted a foot-tall sapling mashed to the ground. Something had stepped on it. It had to be her.
“Darcy,” he called out.
Nothing.
Her path meandered around rotting stumps and fallen trees. It avoided hollows and low mounds. A creek crossed the route. He scoured each bank until he located the holes on the other side. Sometimes there were no holes. Other places the holes punctured the earth in tight circles.
Then they stopped.
Jack broke a branch as a marker and glanced back at where he’d come. He might have made a wrong decision, taken the wrong path. His throat was hoarse from calling her name, but he did so again. The snow was falling steadily now, sifting through the branches overhead, and he could barely see his tracks. He saw none of hers.
He had failed. He couldn’t find her. And if he didn’t she’d die. What else could he do? He turned in a circle, looking for some clue.
Nothing.
His empty gut ached so bad he had to lean over, but the pain didn’t come from hunger. It came from fear. He couldn’t lose Darcy. He couldn’t. He loved her. Not liked or cared about. Loved.
He had to find her. A rush of wind sent snow cascading down on him. The heavy blobs hit the ground. Wet snow. It would soak through her sweaters and chill her faster. Not much better than dropping into the North Atlantic. Cold and blue, eyebrows frosted white, eyes lifeless.
“Help,” he screamed to the silent trees.
Not even the birds answered. He had nowhere to turn, nowhere but… What had she said? That God hears everyone’s prayers? He’d once thought that, had believed it with every ounce of his ten-year-old soul, but when those prayers went unanswered he swore he’d never pray again.
He thought he could solve everything himself, but now he knew he couldn’t. To save Darcy, he needed bigger help. He needed God.
Jack dropped to his knees. The words came awkwardly, little better than his boyhood plea. “God, if You’re listening like Darcy says, she needs You. I guess even I need You. But her mostly. I don’t deserve Your help after the way I’ve been, but she believes in You. You have to save her. Please.”
He powered ahead against the welling emotion. “I prayed to You once, long ago, but You didn’t answer. I don’t blame You. You were probably too busy to listen to a little boy. I’m sorry I was angry with You. I’m sorry for everything. You can hold it against me, but please don’t hold it against Darcy. Please let her live.”
The words tore out of him with an anguish he hadn’t felt since his mother died. He’d blamed himself for Sissy’s illness. He’d blamed his father for not taking care of Mom. He even blamed Mom for giving up. But he shouldn’t have blamed God. He’d messed up, but he didn’t know if claiming it before God would be enough. Yet it had to be. He had nothing else to offer.
Gradually, calm came over him and his jumbled thoughts began to clear. Before him stood a long ridge. An injured Darcy would have gone around it, but he saw no breaks in the elevation. She couldn’t have climbed it, could she? He walked in both directions, hoping to find her huddled at the bottom.
Nothing.
He could barely see twenty feet ahead. The snow had piled to his ankles. Soon it would be dark. The flashlight wouldn’t last long.
He turned it on.
Nothing.
He shook it, tried repeatedly, but it wouldn’t light. The dry cells must be too cold. He tucked the icy cylinder next to his body under sweater and jacket. If it warmed, it might work. Might. In the meantime, dusk was falling quickly. He had to find her now.
The melting snow ran into his eyes. His trousers were soaked through and he began to ache from the cold.
“Darcy,” he called out.
The forest gave back only silence.
He could have been wrong all along. He thought she made the holes, but it might have been something else, something natural, and she’d gone another direction entirely.
Please, God.
Once again, God wasn’t answering. He remembered his mother gasping for breath, asking him to come near. She’d pressed the ring, his grandmother’s ring, into his hand and told him she was going home to Jesus. He’d cried and begged her to stay with him, but in the dark hours before dawn she died.
Jack pulled out the ring. He’d almost given it to Darcy. He’d almost proposed, but he’d been too afraid. Then he let foolish pride stand between them. They didn’t need to fly on Sunday, but he’d been too pigheaded to listen. He should have. He should have answered every invitation. He should have talked to God sooner.
He should have asked her to marry him. If he had, they’d be together now, not lost in the Canadian wilderness.
“Help me,” he called out to God.
He had no idea where to turn.