Chapter 12: A Visitor

The snowmobile came across the lake ice, and its headlight swept the cabin window.

I pulled on my jeans and flannel, and my hands would not do the buttons right.

"It's Christmas morning," I said. "Who comes out on Christmas?"

"Someone who wants to catch me before I can get ready," Astrid said.

She stood at the window with her back straight and her arms folded over her undershirt.

Her face had gone calm, the way it did when she was most afraid.

The engine cut off in the yard, and a boot hit the porch steps.

Someone knocked three times, brisk and polite.

Astrid glanced at me, at the bunk with its tangled green bag, and at the two sets of boots by the stove.

"I'll get it," I said.

"No."

"You're not dressed. Let me."

I smoothed my hair, which was a hopeless tangle, and opened the door.

A tall man in a clean green parka stood on the porch with frost in his beard.

He was about forty and broad through the shoulders, with a rough kind face.

The ranger-service patch on his sleeve still had its creases from the box.

"Morning," he said. "I'm Tom Halvorsen. I'm the new district ranger for this side of the forest."

"Bea Lindqvist," I said. "I'm stranded."

"I heard." He smiled. "A truck at mile four, abandoned, with a half-frozen bag of dog food."

"The county flagged it yesterday."

"I walked here in the storm."

"Smart of you." He looked past me into the cabin. "Is Astrid Dahlberg in?"

"I'm here," Astrid said.

She had put on her flannel and her green jacket, and she stood in the middle of the room with her chin up.

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