Christopher's Journey: Sometimes it takes being lost to find yourself
Chapter 16
The chill of the January air could be heard as it howled past Chris' tiny, dugout hut. It rattled the window and shook the door. Chris sat at his small table waiting for his coffee to be ready, it seemed to be taking longer than usual.
No matter to him, however, since he was lost in thought. It had almost been a month since he'd proposed to Hanna and the strong feelings he had for her seemed to consume him. How could his life had changed so drastically in just nine months. The thought of how easy it struck him every time it crossed through his brain. All he needed was a new environment with genuine people to show him love and give him the tools and drive to discover who he could be and who he wanted to be.
Chris felt foolish for all the times he fought to get back to 1998. What was there for him? Friends and family? A good, honest job and living?
A chill swept over him with that thought because he would never, in a million years, ever want to go back to that old life. His life was here, in 1868.. well, now 1869. He was home.
Another chill ran over Chris even after he'd snapped out of his gaze. He reached over and tapped his coffee pot, faster then slower until he was gripping the whole thing. Cold.
"No wonder I'm chilled, the stinkin' fire is out!" Chris said aloud. He had just wanted to make a bit of coffee and sit back until he was picked up for church by the Browley family.
When Chris opened the door, it blew out of his hand and swung open with a bang. He had to fight it to get it closed again behind him. He wondered why he’d not brought more wood in from his box to be ready for such a situation. The answer to that question made Chris’ stomach drop. The box was empty.
The Browley’s were not to arrive for another two hours, so it would have been simple for Chris to trudge to their house and have Mr. Browley haul over another load of wood. Chris felt uneasy about that plan. How would it look to his future father in law if he cannot even keep his own wood box full? How would that make him feel about Chris’ ability to care for his daughter once they were married?
Chris also remembered Mr. Browley’s comments and concerns about not having enough wood to get through the entire winter. How could Chris go and take from their supply putting their entire family in jeopardy?
Chris went back into the sod house, dragged his tool belt out from under the bed, grabbed a piece of linen that lay neatly folded on the chair and put on his heaviest clothing and boots and headed out the door. The sun was shining but there was a dark, snow cloud coming in from the West. It didn’t appear to be moving too quickly so no worries crossed Chris’ mind.
He headed East to the tree line. He’d hoped to at least get enough to fill the linen so that he could drag it home. He could always get more later. He hoped that Mrs. Browley would not be angry with him for messing up her hard work in washing these linens but he hoped more that Mr. Browley would be proud and impressed with him for his independent and responsible decision to care for himself.
The wind seemed to blow Chris forward. It was easy to move since it was on his back, almost pushing him to take each step. On the way back, however, dragging a heavy sheet of wood, he would be going against the wind.
He shook off that thought and moved on. He only had a little while left before the family was going to pick him up and he wanted to be back and ready to go.
His first priority, once he reached the woods was to collect any logs he could find already on the ground. It seemed to be plentiful what he could find sticking up out of the snow and old leaves. His sheet was actually quite full but Chris decided to get a bit more. He took out his ax and began chopping and tearing down small to medium sized saplings that were already dead and dried out. Without kindling, starting a fire is near impossible.
As his pile grew, Chris kept thinking that he had enough but just wanted a little more. As the wind picked up and snow flakes began to fly, he decided to head back home.
He walked with one more armload to the pile waiting for him on top of the sheet just on the edge of the tree line. He dropped the last load down, going around picking up what had slipped off the top. He picked up the two front corners of the sheet and began to drag it across the field.
It was heavier than he’d expected. His grunts and moans howled out as he continued dragging, turning himself around from the wind and lugging the load backwards.
The snow began flying harder and heavier. Chris looked behind him to see if he could see the outhouse behind the sod. It took several blinks to get snowflakes from his eyes in order for him to focus. Instead of seeing the outhouse in the distance, he saw a wall of white. The snow became heavier and flew sideways with rage. Chris knew he wouldn’t make it back home before it hit as it seemed the storm was already over his house. With quick motion, he began unloading the large pieces to lighten the sheet. He didn’t want to unload too much because now he didn’t know how long the storm would last and he may be stranded in his dugout for days. He needed at least two days worth, he figured.
Lightening the load didn’t seem to help as the wind pushed Chris to his knees. He had to make the decision if he wanted wood and no shelter or shelter with no wood. If he was in his home, he’d be cold but protected from the wind, fury and snow.
Still on his knees, he decided to try to head back to the soddy without the wood. His struggle to stay on his feet seemed too hard to handle. Chris looked to what he thought was the West but he didn’t even know which way was up, anymore. He was surrounded by white, nothing but white. Above him, below him and every direction around him. If he ventured into the direction he thought home was, he wasn’t sure if it was the correct one.
The whipping snowflakes stung his already numb face, his fingertips began to burn and no longer could function. The only option left was to try to find any sort of shelter and try to ride this storm out.
Chris looked around again. White, nothing but white. The only faded thing he could see was the wood piled onto the sheet. The sheet! It was Chris’ only hope. He took what was left of his strength and hand function and began pushing and kicking the pile off of the sheet. He ran around each edge of the now dirty and wet rag, putting the thickest logs around three of the edges. Grabbing one more large log, he climbed underneath the open side, pulling the edge in with him and securing it with the log.
The wind howled above, the raging snow penetrated his shelter. Chris had a hard time controlling his shivers as his body shook trying to regain any warmth. The sheet flipped and rippled out of control above him as Chris prayed for the logs to remain where he’d placed them.
“Lord..” Chris screamed through the intense roar. “I need you to protect me. Please keep my shelter in tact, calm the winds so that I can make it home. Keep my body whole and warm. I need you Lord, please hear this prayer!”
All went silent but the storm had not ceased.
Chris stumbled back into consciousness feeling warm and comfortable. Had he not made it through the storm? Was this Heaven? Had he dreamed of the storm and he was still in his own bed?
Just then a beautiful, angel-like voice filled his ears. “Christopher?”
He pried his eyes open to see that he was in a familiar bed, in a familiar room with a familiar face staring at him. “Hanna?” he barely squeaked out.
“Shh, save your strength.” She lovingly stroked his hair back. “I’ve been so scared that I was going to lose you.” she stated with tears choking her words.
“What happened?”
“We all just assumed that when the storm hit, you’d stay home and ride it out. When it calmed down, pa went to check on you and you were gone. It took half the day to find you. When pa found the sod house cold and the wood box empty, he headed toward the woods. That’s when he found the sheet and wood with you underneath. Oh, Chris... you were barely alive. If pa hadn’t found you when he did...” Hanna began crying again.
Chris tried to free a hand from the blanket to comfort
his fiancé, but didn’t have the strength to lift even one finger.
With his strained attempt, he felt his chest tighten and clog as he began choking and coughing. It was forced out of him without any effort.
Hanna stood and grabbed a glass of water from the bedside table, lifted Chris’ head and touched the glass to his lips. Chris spit and sputtered on the cool liquid the moment it touched his throat.
A knock sounded on the door as it opened. Chris had laid back and closed his eyes. “How’s he doing? I heard him coughing.” a vaguely familiar voice said.
“He’s still very weak and has been coughing but the fever seems to have gone down, Doctor.” Hanna whispered.
Chris felt a cool hand touch his forehead and tried to open his eyes but couldn’t quite make it past a tiny slit. Through his fuzzy vision, he recognized the doctor that had stayed with them taking care of Priscilla the September before.
“How are you feeling, Chris?” Dr. James Blake asked in a low tone.
“tired..” Chris attempted to say but it only came out as a light, drawn out breath.
“You get some rest then. I’ll be back up in a little while, Hanna. You may stay if you wish but make sure he gets plenty of rest. Do not attempt to converse with him or keep him awake.”
“Yes, doctor.” she replied.
Chris woke up again with the sensation that his neck and head were on fire. The heat radiated from the top of his head down to his legs but his feet felt ice cold. His legs felt twisted and wretched with pain. He wanted to stretch them out and pull them up to him at the same time. Either movement was impossible, for the weakness inside and out had taken him over.
Even through the intense heat that radiated from him, Chris was consumed with uncontrollable shivers. His body seized up with every shake as he placed his tongue in between his chattering teeth stopping them from banging together.
"Doctor!" he heard a faint shout but it sounded as if it was a mile away being yelled through a tunnel.
The next thing he knew, he was being surrounded by several people. "Get the covers off of his feet and start rubbing them. We need to get the fever down from his head. Ruth, go get some pots full of snow, it won't last long on his burning body but it will help."
Without even realizing the time lapse, he felt a cold sensation on his neck, armpits and groin. The snow melted and seemed to even evaporate the moment it touched his body.
The doctor flung off Chris' blanket and crumpled up the sheet in his hand, reaching it out to Mrs. Browley. "Soak this with water and bring it back up immediately, if you have one extra sheet, soak that one too so that we can switch them when needed."
Chris could feel hands vigorously rubbing his feet. He could tell they were small, soft hands but they felt like they were covered in tiny needles as the motions prickled and stung.
One right after another, a cold wet sheet was placed over his shivering but burning body. He felt more miserable than when he’d first woken up. He wanted everyone to just leave him alone. Another coughing attack took over his body, seizing it up. No matter how hard he coughed, nothing seemed to extract from his lungs.
This was worse than the tornado. That storm had left him physically harmed but whatever possessed him now was inside and twisting the life out of every organ in his body.
‘Lord, I can’t handle this anymore, take me home!’ Chris thought but then immediately regretted even allowing it to pass through his mind. He had something now. He had a home, he had a family, he had his own two hands to work not only for God but for himself, for survival and for the one he truly loved. Hanna.
“Hanna?” He said aloud as he thought it. It came out as a tiny whisper but she heard for she was by his side.
“Christopher.” she said, the sound of sobbing apparent in her voice. “Just try to relax. I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.”
Christopher. The name was so sweet. How could he ever have imagined that he would long to hear the word. The word so full of caring and adoration. He knew he had something to live for. His newfound mother and father, his brother and sister, all of the friends he had made in Coar. His future wife who he wanted to start a family with, to start a life with and to finish his life with. How could he do that if he was wishing to die now?
‘Lord, I’m sorry for wanting my life to end, now. Please spare me so that I may live out the rest of my life for you, serving you and all the others that I have grown to love and cherish here.’
Chris felt a rush go through him. It was almost electrifying, pulsating and surging through his body, from his head down to his feet. It was not painful or shocking but energizing. He was being given the strength to fight out these demons. He was, now, ready to fight.
The pale morning light danced across Chris’ face. It warmed his soul as much as it did his body. He fought open his eyes and struggled to focus them to remember where he was. The room was glowing a soft pink and the windows were encrusted with thick frost. He was in Hanna’s room. Everyone was gone, the family, the doctor, Hanna. “Hanna?“ He called out so softly that he wondered if he’d even said it out loud. He then realized that it did not take as much effort as from before. Another look around, he observed the sheets and snow and pain were gone, as well. He still felt weak but was able to move his hands and his feet which now felt snuggly warm under the quilt. He was not burning or shivering or shaking or sweating. He felt tired but okay.
His insides were drained and he could tell he hadn’t had sufficient food or water for days. Maybe just something to eat or drink and he could be on his feet again.
His mind and soul felt completely energized, however, like he wanted to jump out of the bed and run around the house. He was so thankful that the pain and agonizing fever and the coughing were gone.
“Thank you, God!” Chris said louder than anticipated as he felt his strength flooding back into his worn and tattered body. He didn’t care how loud he said it, however. He was thankful that his Lord had gotten him through this ordeal. He was glad that God had not taken his life like he’d originally asked for. He knew from his grandma, from the Browley’s and from the church of Coar that God takes you when He wants you, when He feels you’ve completed the work He’s given you on this Earth. Chris knew he could have begged and pleaded with God, all he wanted, to die but if God wasn’t ready for Chris to come home, He wasn’t going to take him.
Chris looked up to the ceiling and with his heart, looked through it to the Heavens. He closed his eyes and gave a small nod. Another thank you to God that he did not have to say out loud. God heard him for He was now in Chris’ heart.