She shook her head. The little alcove where Quillan had found candles held nothing but some rotted sacking. Her gaze fell on the litter. “What about the poles? Could you poke through with them?” She pointed.
Quillan blew his breath sharply. “We should be so lucky.” He set his candle on the floor and pulled the litter from the wall. “With so little light showing through, there must be more than six feet of snow piled out there. But . . .” He started untying the corner of the litter.
Father Antoine handed her his candle and joined Quillan. “How can I help?”
Quillan handed him the other end. They worked at it together. Carina held both candles to give them light. Once they had the poles free, Quillan plowed through the snow that had settled inside. He thrust the pole into the center of the opening. When he drew it out a cascade of powder erased the hole. He tried again, higher, but the same thing happened.
Carina stood the candles on the floor, then tugged the blankets out from under the falling snow and shook them out. Father Antoine and Quillan tried again and again to poke through the snow mass. She folded the blankets and laid them atop the wooly mat and canvas tarp. She tugged Quillan’s pack loose and set it beside the other things. There was also the empty sacking in which he’d brought the horses’ fodder. She tucked it along the wall where it would be less obvious.
Quillan banged his pole on the floor. “It’s no use. Until the snow packs, we’re rearranging powder.”
If it was only powder, maybe the horses were all right. How much damage could powder do? Then she imagined the depth and mass of it. Their six-foot poles made no difference at all. What if it were twelve or twenty feet deep? No horse could survive that.
Quillan laid his pole against the wall. “We’ll have to wait until it melts and freezes. Then it’ll clump when we dig.”
She nodded. “How long will that take?”
“If it’s clear outside and the sun works on it deeply enough, maybe a day, maybe two.”
“Two days! Madonna mia!” The walls closed in. Two days in the dark? Had they candles enough? Had they food? Water?
Quillan walked over, pulled out his pack. “I had Mae pack us some lunch. Not much for several meals, but better than nothing.”
Carina sank down onto the mat. Just now she didn’t feel hungry, she felt trapped. Oh, Signore, there must be some way. “Tomorrow, or the next day, then you can dig through?”
“With a pole? Maybe.” Quillan unwrapped the paper from a slab of stewed beef between two thick slices of brown bread. “If we divide this three ways . . .”
Why was he insisting on food? Wasn’t there something else to be doing?
“Cut it two ways,” Father Antoine said. “I’m used to going without.”
Quillan glanced up. “You’ll need strength to help me dig.”
But the priest only waved his hand. “God will give me strength.”
“Oh, sì!” Carina jolted. “We must pray!”
She folded her hands at chin level, head tipped back. “Signore! You have promised where two or more are gathered, you are there, too.” That thought brought comfort. “Help us now. Help us know what to do. Help us do it.” She hoped no one but God heard her rising panic.
Father Antoine said, “Lord God, you ordained that we should have dominion of the earth. Give us courage and wisdom.”
Father Antoine had heard. Why else pray for courage? She must not show her fear. It would only add to their burden.
Quillan had bowed his head, but he stayed silent so long Carina thought he would say nothing. Then he did. “Help my poor beasts. Amen.”
Quillan unsheathed the knife that hung at his belt and sliced the sandwich in two. She wasn’t hungry, but Carina took her half. It mattered to Quillan. Maybe he believed they would be out soon. Maybe he needed to act as though they would.
She bit into the crumbly bread and stiff meat. It brought Mae so vividly to mind. Would she worry? Would she send help? Did she know where the mine was? She’d lived in upper Placerville once. Surely she’d remember. But could anyone get through the snow?
Carina chewed reflectively. They must make the most of what food they had. And water? Snow, she supposed. But Quillan drew a canteen from the pack. He offered it, and she drank. Father Antoine, also. Then Quillan drank deeply. He’d worked up a thirst, no doubt. It would be hardest for those who worked. She would do what she could, but what would that be?
When she finished eating, she lay down on the woolly mat, pillowing her cheek with her arm. Quillan covered her with a blanket and sat down at her head. His palm rested there, warm and comforting. He no longer shook. He was in control. He would do what he could.
Father Antoine also sat against the wall. “At least we have air. Many’s the miner caught below ground without air. I wouldn’t want to go that way. Unless it were God’s will.”
Quillan looked at him. “Feels a bit tight, though.”
Carina looked at her husband, a man so accustomed to the road he preferred it to house and hearth. Well, here was a test. Like her climbing up to the mine time after time when she first discovered it to conquer her fear of heights. How would being closed in work on Quillan’s mind? It wasn’t doing too well with hers.
His fingers sank into her hair, cupping the back of her skull. “Ever played crambo?”
She raised her head. “What?”
Father Antoine smiled. “A rhyming game. But we haven’t any paper.”
Quillan shrugged. “We’ll do it without. You ask the question, Father; Carina, give a noun.”
Father Antoine cocked his head, then said, “Do you wear pomade?”
Carina sat up straighter. “Any noun at all?”
Quillan smiled. “Whatever comes to mind.”
“Toad.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Now I’ll make four lines of rhyme that answer the question using your . . . interesting noun.”
“You said anything.”
“Mm-hmm.” He sat for a few moments. “If with something sweet and smelly, I should coat my hair with a jelly, when I took me down the road, dust would coat me like a toad.”
Carina clapped her hands and laughed. “That’s why you never wore your hair like Mr. Beck.”
“That, Carina, is not the only reason.”
She sat up fully, locked her arms around her knees, and leaned the small of her back to the wall. “Now Father takes a turn. I’ll name the question.”
They sat and played until her stomach told her dinnertime had come. She said nothing, though, and when neither man mentioned food, she guessed they would need it more tomorrow. Per piacere, Signore, let us get out tomorrow.
Quillan got up and extinguished all but one of the candles. “Need to save what we have.” They talked in the near dark, Father Antoine telling about Placerville and other camps in the early days of his wandering. Carina grew weary and lay down again on the mat.