Family Trees (21 page)

“You have to hold on! Of course I'll help them, but they won't need me—you'll be back on the farm tonight,” Ryan insisted, restraining the sound of panic in his voice. They were now roughly thirty feet apart and the ability to hear one another's words was lessening.

Ryan had already lost feeling in his fingers and now the biting pain in his feet was fading into numbing warmth. He could see the shape of Olen's limp body on the ice and knew that he, too, was losing strength. Turning toward the Bayfield shoreline, he looked for any sign of help.

“Can you see those lights?” From Ryan's vantage point, he couldn't determine if the lights were coming from an approaching boat, or if the sweeping winds were blurring the town's distant skyline and creating the illusion of a rescue. He wouldn't share his doubt with Olen.

“Olen?!” Ryan willed Olen's body to move. It didn't. “Can you hear me?”

Nothing.

“Please say something. . . .”

There was no answer but for the ghostly moans beneath the unforgiving ice. “Help is on the way!” He said it for Olen as much as he did for himself. “Help is on the way,” he repeated quietly.

He tried to sit up, squinting against the snow to find the lights again, when a powerful wave filled with the debris of broken ice shards hit his slab with such force that he was knocked off balance. His ice slab was now listing slightly to the left, causing Ryan to slide toward the black water.

Although it happened in an instant, time seemed to slow down and Ryan moved his feet and hands quickly across the slick surface, trying to feel for any crack or impression to hold on to and stop his slide. His fingers desperately clawed at the ice. Slipping. Grasping. Then, feeling a deep crevice to his right, Ryan jammed as much of his hand into the narrow crack as he could, just as he felt water seeping into his left boot, which was now dangling off the edge of the ice and taking in water. With a rush of adrenaline, Ryan yelled into the storm and used all of his remaining strength to pull himself back to the center of the ice floe and away from the water. With his energy spent, he clung to the ice like a child holding on to his mother.

“Olen?” Ryan called out again, weaker this time. He didn't lift his head or look in Olen's direction. He simply listened for a reply. Hearing nothing, Ryan continued on, hoping that Olen was able to hear him. Praying that Olen was still alive.

“I'm in love with Shelby.” He had been stubborn—a fool to have kept those feelings to himself. But in that moment, captive by the storm, Ryan was inspired to confess his love to the one man who knew her best. Although he was covered in frost and snow and his boot was beginning to ice over, Ryan was beginning to feel warm again. The pain was leaving his body.

“I love her!” he cried out weakly, one last time, declaring his love to the wind, to the ghosts of French explorers, Ojibwa spirits, and lost sailors whose ships had been consumed by these superior waters.

“Make her happy,” came Olen's feeble but determined voice. Ryan wasn't sure if it was real or an imagined whisper carried on a whirl of snow.

“It's going to be okay!” Ryan's voice cracked.
He's alive. Thank God he's alive
.

And then, once again, Ryan was left alone in silence.

Before long, two lights appeared in a blur of snow that swirled around a vehicle that skimmed over churning water and unstable ice.

“They're coming—they're coming . . .” he whispered hoarsely, knowing that Olen couldn't hear him.

The lights flashed more clearly now—red-orange, red-orange—luminating the snow like a warm fire. A spotlight then shone directly on Ryan. He heard the muffled shouts of several men over the roar of whirling fans. It took all of his strength to raise his head. He tried to make out the vehicles. A boat. No, a wind sled. His vision blurred. But he was alive. He would hold her again. He would make it right.
I'm here,
he thought.
I'm here.

C
HAPTER
26

W
hile Shelby and Ginny waited anxiously for Olen and Ryan's return, the storm raged on. Snow continued to build up around the Meyerses' farmhouse. It clung heavily from the limbs of apple trees, causing branches to snap and fall to the ground. The snow drifted over their driveway in deep, wave-like formations that were whipped and sculpted by the howling winds.

Aside from the creaks, rattles, and bangs of an old house standing up to the weather, everything was quiet. Shelby paced the kitchen floor, often stopping to look out the frosted window. Ginny sat silently at the kitchen table with her hands clasped beside a lukewarm cup of tea. The men were late.

An hour earlier, they had been nervously making excuses for Ryan and Olen's delay.

“They're probably warming up down at Captain's before driving home,” Ginny had said.

“I'm sure they're conjuring up some excuse about why they didn't catch a single fish,” Shelby had teased.

By now, however, too much time had passed and they were genuinely worried.

They had confidence in Olen, of course. His knowledge of the lake and storms was unsurpassed. Nonetheless, here they were, with their hopes deteriorating as quickly as the weather. As a precaution, Ginny had called the Coast Guard's office and spoken with Marty Hudson, who was manning the phones. “I understand. Thank you for checking,” Ginny said into the receiver. Shelby watched her grandmother closely, hoping to see a glimmer of good news expressed in her eyes. “Thank you again, Marty. Yes, please call if you hear anything. Good-bye.”

Ginny set the phone receiver back into its cradle, before turning to face Shelby. “They'll be fine, dear. You know your grandfather,” she said with forced optimism that reminded Shelby of all the times in the past when Ginny had made excuses for Jackie's failures. “He always gets himself in the middle of things. I'm sure they'll have quite a story to tell.”

“And retell.” Shelby tried to smile.

“And then retell again,” Ginny said with assurance. Ginny extended her arms to Shelby and pulled her in close, giving her a kiss on the cheek just as she had when Shelby was a child.

 

Shelby stopped pacing the kitchen floor and took a seat across from her grandmother. And, since there was nothing left to do, she placed her elbows on the table, rested her chin upon her clasped hands, and closed her eyes.
Dear God, please let them be okay.

The telephone rang.

Ginny rushed to pick up the phone before the second ring. “Marty,” she said calmly, clenching the receiver tightly in her hand. As she listened to the man on the other end of the line, Ginny kept her eyes locked on Shelby's. “I understand . . . No, we can make it out—a neighbor plowed out our driveway a short while ago.... We're on our way.” With a quick nod to Shelby, they rushed to the front hall closet, leaving the wall phone receiver hanging from its tangled cord.

“What did he say?” Shelby asked as the women threw on mismatched mittens, hats, and scarves—whatever they could grab quickly.

“I'll tell you in the car—let's go!” Ginny insisted as they shoved their feet into boots. “That damn truck better start,” was the last thing Ginny said as she slammed the front door shut.

Thankfully, the driveway had been cleared. But the truck was still half-buried in snow. “Damn it!” Shelby cursed the storm. “Hang on, Gran—I have to grab a shovel,” she called out as she lurched through the deep snow toward the barn.

“Right behind you!” her grandmother called back while trudging into the storm.

 

Arriving at the marina, Shelby slammed on her brakes and fishtailed to a stop.

“Go ahead—I'll catch up,” Ginny said, with urgency, holding tightly on to the handrail.

Shelby set the emergency brakes, jumped out of the cab, and raced toward a nearby ambulance with its bright lights flashing color into the torrent of snow. Realizing it was a mistake to leave her grandmother, Shelby turned back to rejoin her. But, to Shelby's surprise, Ginny had been right on her heels and now passed her.

“Come on!” Ginny called out, breathing hard and rushing ahead.

The women surveyed the scene. The Coast Guard boat, emergency workers, blinking lights, fishermen, trucks with their headlines turned on to spotlight the rescue area, and no sign of their men except for Ryan's car, left abandoned and snow-covered in the parking lot. Shelby hadn't taken the time to zip her coat or lace her boots, and now her coat flapped like an unfurled sail, the cold air whipping through her.

They held on to each other as they made their way toward the commotion, trying not to slip on the icy road. A fireman appeared to help Ginny with her footing. “Come with me,” he said, escorting them to the ambulance just as several EMTs arrived with a man wrapped in blankets and lying flat on a stretcher.

“Ryan!” Shelby gasped.

“Go to him,” Ginny insisted, giving Shelby's hand an encouraging squeeze before letting go.

Shelby rushed to the stretcher and peered down at Ryan. His eyes were closed and his warm complexion was unnaturally pale. Tufts of hair stuck out from beneath his hat, stiff with frost. And the lips she had kissed so many times, always soft and inviting, were now blue and trembling.

“Hey,” he whispered hoarsely. She noticed his hand move slightly beneath the blanket.

“Shh.” She rested her hand carefully over his.

“You with him?” came the abrupt voice of the paramedic inside the ambulance. Shelby nodded and stepped out of their way so they could move Ryan into the vehicle.

Ginny joined Shelby and watched as the EMTs secured Ryan's stretcher in place. “Oh, thank God he's safe.” Ginny put her arm around Shelby's waist. “Now go. He needs you, honey.”

“But what about you? And Grandpa?” Shelby spun around, squinting her eyes against the blowing snow to spot another stretcher. Another rescue. There was nothing.

“Now, don't you go worrying about us,” Ginny said, giving Shelby a nudge. “I'll find him, and then I'll find you.”

“Miss, if you're coming, we need to go
now,
” one of the paramedics insisted.

Driving away with Ryan meant abandoning her family, and she found it impossible to make that split-second decision. Until another man raced up to them, out of breath, and made the decision for her.

“Shelby, go ahead,” John insisted. “I just heard they're bringing in Olen. I'll take care of Ginny.”

“I know you will,” she sighed, raising her gloved hand in thanks and feeling undeserving of such a good friend. She had paid little attention to him since Ryan moved to Bayfield, and yet, here he was, coming to her rescue again.

“I hope he'll be okay,” John replied solemnly, looking into the ambulance at Ryan. And then, like a gentleman, he turned to accompany Ginny down toward the marina entrance where more emergency lights could be seen flashing through the falling snow.

An EMT took Shelby's hand and led her into the back of the ambulance. As she slid into the seat at Ryan's side, Shelby heard him quietly sobbing. She instinctively held his listless hands in hers, willing his body temperature to rise. “Everything is going to be fine,” she assured him as the paramedics worked to stabilize Ryan's vitals and administer a sedative.

“Olen . . .” Ryan's voice cracked.

“Gran and John are with him.” She stroked his hand and peered out the window, wishing she could see what was happening down at the marina. “He's so cold,” she said with concern to the paramedic who was adjusting Ryan's hypothermia blanket.

“Don't worry, he's going to come out of this just fine,” the man said with such composure amid chaos that Shelby believed him. “He's very lucky.”

“I'm so sorry, Shel,” came Ryan's anguished voice.

“Shh . . . you have nothing to be sorry about,” Shelby said soothingly, leaning in as close as she could. “Just rest.”

“I couldn't . . . There wasn't enough time . . .” He winced and closed his eyes.

“Time for what?” she asked gently.

The other paramedic, a broad-shouldered man with a ruddy, chapped complexion and heavy brows, told Ryan to do his best to stay calm. He held Ryan's wrist to check his pulse and watched the monitor. “Try to breathe deeply for me,” he said. “That's it . . . Nice deep breaths.”

It was clear to Shelby that Ryan wouldn't relax until he told her something about the accident. She delicately wiped the melted snow from the corners of his eyes.

“I couldn't reach him,” he choked with a cry that came from somewhere deep in his chest. She looked at him wide-eyed as the sedative began to take effect. “I'm so, so sorry.” His cries softened, and then, mercifully, his anguished expression became peaceful and Ryan fell asleep.

A female EMT in the driver's seat called out an “all clear.” Her ponytail whipped from side to side as she checked the road before shifting the ambulance into gear.

“Buckle up, we're heading out,” said the paramedic, who remained admirably calm. Shelby heard the tires spin on the ice and then, taking hold, propel the ambulance forward with a jolt. She fell back into her seat as they bounced hard over a snowdrift and sped out of town, sirens screaming.

 

In the days that followed, time wasn't measured by the hands that turned around a clock or the dates on a calendar. Time was a series of moments, some remembered and some forgotten, all blurred by grief. For Shelby, the only part of the day that had clarity was at dawn, when the sun forced its way through the narrow slit between her drawn bedroom curtains. Like a long finger, the light reached through the dimly lit room and touched her face. She would get out of bed, nudged by the light. It wasn't a dream. It happened. He was gone. Carry on.

Her beloved grandfather had died.

In some ways, the time spent with Ryan in the hospital just after the accident was easier than being home. In the stark environment of the hospital, Shelby could take her mind off of her own life by focusing on Ryan's. She kept busy—she would speak with his medical team about hypothermia and minor frostbite, manage his pain, make him comfortable, keep him from seeing the news headlines that linked his name to the words “ice,” “tragic,” and “fatality.” And, despite Ryan's protest, she'd call his parents periodically to update them on his recovery.

After Ryan was released from the hospital, everything seemed more difficult at the farmhouse. It was her new reality. Every time she passed by the barn or glanced at her grandfather's empty chair in the living room, she imagined his final moments on the lake. Like a bone-chilling film clip, her imagining of the scene kept playing in her head.

Olen had slipped into the water just as rescuers reached him that day, but it was too late. They found his lifeless body pinned beneath the ice. If there was any mercy, it was that the lake—known for keeping the dead—took her grandfather's life, but gave up his body.

Shelby and her grandmother planned Olen's cremation and memorial service and even her mother flew up from California to help. For once, Jackie placed others' needs before her own. Ryan stayed at the house, too, sleeping on the couch and doing what he could to take care of the Meyers women. No one wanted to be alone, so they needed to put aside their differences so they could grieve. There was a blessed truce during their time of sorrow.

As they carried out the tasks that families do—accepting meals and visits by friends, reviewing wills and legal documents, preparing a service, and offering each other comfort—Ryan and others praised the women for their strength. Particularly Shelby's.

But at the end of each day, lying alone at night, she was exhausted. Grief came over her again and again, like rolling waves hitting the shore. Strong, forceful, and unyielding, they continued to knock her down. She clung to her pillow, wet with tears, curled up, gasping for breath, trying to survive the waves that battered her with each bittersweet memory. And with every regret that there would be no more tomorrows.

It was on one of those nights, long after she thought the others had gone to sleep, that she heard a gentle rapping at her door. Left unanswered, the door creaked open. Shelby didn't have the strength to lift her head. She heard the floorboards squeak beneath Ryan's weight as he quietly made his way to her bedside. Without a word, he carefully lifted up an end of her blanket and lay down beside her. She welcomed Ryan's warmth as he spooned his body around hers and wrapped his arm across her waist. “I love you, Shelby,” he whispered, lightly kissing her behind the ear. She knew he was hurting, too. Shelby took his hand and gave it a kiss, before pulling it to her chest and curling into his embrace. “I love you so much. I'm sorry it took so long for me to say it.”

“I love you, too, Ryan,” she whispered. For the first time since her grandfather's death, Shelby fell into a restful sleep.