Free The Haunted Igloo by Bonnie Turner Page B

flannel
longjohns, thick wool longjohns, a plaid wool shirt, and his
heaviest mackinaw pants. Three pairs of scratchy wool socks filled
his size-fourteen boots, leaving barely enough room for
toe-wiggles. He was ready for any weather—if he could still
walk.
    He closed his parka
securely and pulled the fur-lined hood over his head, snugging it
at his throat. He then turned to Lise. “I’m as worried as you are,”
he said. “But I’ll find him!”
    Suddenly, Lise ran over and
got her own parka. “I’m going with you,” she stated
matter-of-factly.
    Cordell gently took the
coat from his wife and hung it back on the peg. He took her by the
shoulders and looked into her frantic eyes. His voice was husky
with emotion. “Now, I know how you feel.”
    “ No…”
    “ Yes, yes I do. But think of it this
way, that someone should be here in case Jean-Paul comes
home.”
    Lise’s eyes misted as she
thought about that. “Well, of course,” she agreed after a moment.
“I suppose you’re right.”
    Cordell gave her a
reassuring hug. “I’ll probably find the little stinker down at the
trading post, messing around with those friends of his.”
    “ Please be careful,” Lise said. “I’ll
make a pot of coffee for when you get back.”
    At that moment the huskies
began barking and howling. The couple turned to the door
together.
    “ Aha!” shouted Cordell with a slap on
his thigh. He threw back his hood. “The wandering boy has come
home!” He stepped quickly to the door and flung it open. He peered
out into the storm. “Can’t see anything ... wait. Someone’s out
there.”
    “ Is—is it Jean-Paul?”
    “ I can’t tell.”
    The wind battered the door.
Great swirls of snow blew into the room. Cordell slammed the door
against the force of the wind. The dogs kept howling. Cordell gave
Lise a puzzled look as the voices of strange dogs mingled with
those of his own. “Someone’s coming to visit in a blizzard? Oh, of
course, they must be bringing Jean-Paul home.”
    Heavy footfalls sounded on
the porch, then a loud banging at the door. Cordell threw it open.
Standing there were two snow-covered figures—a short, stocky man
and a boy. Cordell quickly motioned them inside and shoved the door
shut.
    Cordell stepped back as the
man pushed off his shaggy fur hood and shook his head like a dog,
spraying the room with flakes that melted instantly on hitting the
warm floor. The man seemed strangely familiar as he motioned to the
boy, who stood a little way behind him.
    “ Chinook!” the man cried in a deep
voice.
    Cordell looked from one of
them to the other. “What?”
    “ Chinook, you tell!” The man shook a
fist at the boy.
    Chinook stepped back, his
eyes filled with fear. The man grabbed him by the back of his hood
and dragged him forward. “Chinook, you tell!”
    Cordell could take no more.
He held up his hand. “Wait a minute, Monsieur ! What’s going on here? Who
are you and what do you want?”
    The man pushed Chinook, who
almost fell at Cordell’s feet. “Chinook, you tell!” roared the
stranger again. Then he spoke some Inuit words Cordell couldn’t
understand.
    Chinook peered from beneath
the hood of his parka, his eyes darting from one man to the other
like a frightened fox. Cordell recognized him as Jean-Paul’s
schoolmate.
    “ He doesn’t speak good French, Monsieur Ardoin,” said
Chinook in a small voice.
    “ Is this man your father?” Cordell
asked Chinook.
    Lise came up to them. She started to speak,
then closed her mouth and looked down at the boy.
    Chinook glanced shyly at
Jean-Paul’s mother, then turned to Cordell. “He’s my father, yes.”
He looked at his father from the corner of his eye. “His name is
Taguk, and he can’t talk French, just Inuktitut .”
    “ Ah, yes, I do believe we met once
before.”
    Cordell motioned to a
chair, meaning for Taguk to sit. But the man was upset and anxious.
He shook his head, then spoke to his son. Chinook’s face turned
dark