Page 14 of To Ride the Wind

She unpacked her load, laying it across their large wooden table. Her mother made several pleased sounds as she began to sort the delicacy, muttering to herself about what dishes she would make. Watching her made both Charlotte and her father smile.

“You turned back soon enough,” he said. “All is well. And now we may enjoy a few snug hours together.” He beamed, looking delighted at the prospect. While he never shirked the endless list of tasks waiting for him and seemed to genuinely love the valley, his favorite moments were ones like this, where the weather trapped them all together inside their cozy home.

Charlotte tried to feel the same enthusiasm. A few months ago, she would have at least been glad for the extra time with her father. But her sisters’ frosty reception—they still hadn’t even greeted her—reminded her that the painstaking ground she had won with them had all been lost, and her home was no longer a comfortable place.

Thoughts of her relationship with her sisters reminded her of her conversation with the bear. She knew she should tell her father about it, but she couldn’t bring herself to speak of the strange meeting. Better her sisters be silent than speak up in ridicule.

She moved toward her mother, intending to help her with her food preparation, but Elizabeth leaped in before she could get there. Odelia followed with a contemptuous look at Charlotte, as if she had been lazing about all day instead of working hard like them.

Something bubbled up in Charlotte, and for once she wanted to speak up to defend herself, even knowing it would do no good. But her mother threw her a sympathetic look, clearly pleading with her to keep the peace, and Charlotte subsided, remembering they were all stuck inside together for the foreseeable future. As much as she would have liked to hear her mother defend her aloud for once, she was probably right that it wouldn’t be worth it.

Sighing, Charlotte turned to the sewing basket instead. At least she had enjoyed her solitary wanderings, so maybe she really had enjoyed a nicer day than her sisters. She took a seat by the fire and was soon joined by her father, a block of wood and a carving knife in his hands.

He smiled at her, the quiet scene clearly filling him with contented joy. And glancing from him to the three women working in harmony on the other side of the large room, Charlotte could understand his feelings. She only wished she could share them. But while her father seemed not to have noticed the divide that had returned to his family, Charlotte felt it as a constant ache inside, a reminder of the pain of her childhood and their current isolation.

The sound of the wind grew, an eerie note to go with her melancholy thoughts. Her father had already fastened the shutters, but it was obvious the sky had darkened further. Night truly had come early, and the thunder of raindrops against the roof soon joined the wind. She usually enjoyed the sound of rain—as long as she was safely inside, preferably tucked in her bed—but the intensity of the storm turned the comforting noise into an assault. She kept glancing at the roof, wondering if it would hold.

“Don’t worry, daughter,” her father said softly, drawing her eyes. “It was stoutly made and will hold against storms worse than this.”

She managed a tight smile and a nod. Her mind knew he was right, but deeper instincts couldn’t help responding to the ferocity of the storm. She was glad now that she had taken the extra time to harvest the wild mushrooms. Even if she could have found the spot again, who knew if they would have survived the downpour. It might be many days before she found anything worth harvesting now.

Her mother and sisters were just laying out the completed meal on the table when a sound made all five of them look up.

“What was that?” Elizabeth asked, sounding afraid.

“Probably nothing,” her mother said quickly, but her voice was uneasy.

“It sounded like a knock,” Odelia said doubtfully. “But it must have been a loud one to be heard above the storm.”

“How could there be someone out there in this?” Elizabeth snapped, clearly wanting to believe her own words but struggling to do so.

“We shall have to look before they beat the door down,” her father said, cheerfully. He stood, and Charlotte couldn’t tell if he was really unbothered or if he was just pretending in order to reassure the rest of them.

She stood as well, and since she was closer to the door than he was, she moved toward it. Whatever her misgivings, she wanted to prove to herself that she wasn’t like her sisters. She wouldn’t give way to fear.

Taking a deep breath, she threw open the door in one smooth movement. A hard sheet of rain angled through the opening, carrying a gust of freezing wind with it. She gasped at the sudden assault, and before she could recover herself, her father leaped forward, thrusting her behind him.

Grimacing at her poor exhibition, she stepped to the side, looking past the rain to what stood outside. She gasped again.

Standing in the doorway, apparently impervious to the rain and wind, was the White Bear.

Her father raised the staff that had somehow appeared in his hand, his expression no longer calm. He looked equal parts afraid and determined, his gaze wavering only once, when his eyes flicked to his wife and daughters and then to his bow, still hanging to one side of the door.

“No!” Charlotte cried. “He isn’t dangerous!”

“Not dangerous?” Elizabeth shouted in a half-scream. “It’s a bear!”

“Quick, Father! Kill him!” Odelia called from where she was cowering behind their mother.

Charlotte leaped forward, placing herself between her father and the doorway, arms outstretched to hold him back. It was a futile gesture if he was truly determined. She was much too small to physically restrain her tall father. But surely he would turn away from any rash action once he heard the truth about the bear.

She stood with her back to her father, her face toward the doorway. Her eyes immediately locked with the bear’s, and the expression on his face was hard to read. At least he didn’t look angry at the outburst of her sisters. If anything, he looked…pleased.

“He isn’t an ordinary bear,” she said, the words tumbling out. She twisted her head to look back at her father. “He can speak.”

“Speak?” Elizabeth’s shrill cry was laden with disbelief. “You’ve lost your mind, Charlotte! Bears can’t speak.”

“This one can,” she said stubbornly, keeping her eyes on her father. “We had a conversation in the woods this morning, and he showed no aggression toward me.”

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