Free Flickering Hope by Naomi Kinsman
Authors: Naomi Kinsman
tracks.” Andrew stood up and tightened his snowshoes.
I caught the back of his jacket. “But what if we just lead them to her?”
“If he’s headed to Patch’s den with a shotgun, Sadie, I want to be there to meet him. He can’t shoot a hibernating bear if there are witnesses. The DNR would be all over him.”
“Maybe they didn’t find her,” Ruth said again. “We’ll hide our tracks the best we can, but I agree with Andrew. We have to know.”
I followed, my hands fluttering like birds that couldn’t find a place to rest. Every time I caught them and tried to hold them together, they launched into motion again with minds of their own.
Please, let Patch be safe.
We took a wide, rambling path to the den, using pine branches to muss the snow both where we had walked and also where we had not walked. Finally, we came to Patch’s hillside, and we scanned the snow for tracks. Nothing.
“Stay here.” Andrew cut a wide circle around the hillside, looking for footprints, checking for broken branches or leaves swept clean of snow.
He finally walked back, shaking his head. “No one has been here.”
“Let’s make a mess,” Ruth said. “We’ll track up the snow and totally confuse them.”
Andrew and I nodded and we all took off, leaving trails leading to nowhere in every direction, mussing our prints so it appeared we had been trying to cover our tracks. Finally, after about an hour, we turned back for home.
The hike back was long and even colder than the hike out to the shack. None of us said much until we reached the bushes that edged the research cabin’s property line.
Andrew, who was a few yards ahead, stopped and turned back to us.
“You want to look at glass for ornaments, right? Let’s go talk in the garage.”
One bare lightbulb hung from the ceiling in the research cabin’s garage, casting dim light over a jumble of boxes and bins. Andrew led me and Ruth past stacks of empty bins to cardboard boxes filled with glass bottles and jars. Since the cabin had no recycling service, Helen and Andrew saved bottles until they had a truckload of them and then took them into town.
Andrew unwound his scarf and took off his gloves so he could rub his red cheeks. “I don’t know how you’re going to make these ornaments. But we have plenty of glass.”
I opened a box full of green, brownish red, clear, and even a few blue bottles. “Perfect.”
“Who would have promised that family the shack if they find the bear?” Andrew asked.
“The land company?” Ruth blew into her hands. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“Could it be Jim?” I sat down on a box. Everything was impossible and so terribly wrong. The little girl, hopeful and desperate, believing an old shack could be a home. Patch, in danger of being shot in her den. Jim, sure Patch was dangerous, willing to go to huge lengths to kill her.
“Maybe,” Andrew said. “But no one has found Patch yet, and that’s a good sign. Maybe we just wait it out. Soon the big snowstorms will come, and it will be even harder to find the den.”
“Oh! Frankie,” Ruth said. “Maybe we can get answers from her. You think she knows?”
Andrew flipped around to stare at us. “Frankie?”
“She’s back. And something weird is up with her.” Ruth sat down on the box next to me. “Her friends are all mad at her, and she keeps hanging out with us.”
“Because she’s trying to find Patch?” Andrew asked.
Andrew’s question made anger rush to my cheeks unexpectedly. “Frankie and her dad are not the same person. Maybe she just …”
“Just what?” Andrew asked, when I didn’t finish my sentence.
I couldn’t look at him. “Maybe she just needs a friend.”
Chapter 15
Listening is Love
“W e’ve talked a lot about noticing God in our everyday lives.” Doug rubbed his hands together then leaned forward, hands on knees. I had seen him do this enough to know that he was truly excited about whatever would come next.
Andrew sat
I caught the back of his jacket. “But what if we just lead them to her?”
“If he’s headed to Patch’s den with a shotgun, Sadie, I want to be there to meet him. He can’t shoot a hibernating bear if there are witnesses. The DNR would be all over him.”
“Maybe they didn’t find her,” Ruth said again. “We’ll hide our tracks the best we can, but I agree with Andrew. We have to know.”
I followed, my hands fluttering like birds that couldn’t find a place to rest. Every time I caught them and tried to hold them together, they launched into motion again with minds of their own.
Please, let Patch be safe.
We took a wide, rambling path to the den, using pine branches to muss the snow both where we had walked and also where we had not walked. Finally, we came to Patch’s hillside, and we scanned the snow for tracks. Nothing.
“Stay here.” Andrew cut a wide circle around the hillside, looking for footprints, checking for broken branches or leaves swept clean of snow.
He finally walked back, shaking his head. “No one has been here.”
“Let’s make a mess,” Ruth said. “We’ll track up the snow and totally confuse them.”
Andrew and I nodded and we all took off, leaving trails leading to nowhere in every direction, mussing our prints so it appeared we had been trying to cover our tracks. Finally, after about an hour, we turned back for home.
The hike back was long and even colder than the hike out to the shack. None of us said much until we reached the bushes that edged the research cabin’s property line.
Andrew, who was a few yards ahead, stopped and turned back to us.
“You want to look at glass for ornaments, right? Let’s go talk in the garage.”
One bare lightbulb hung from the ceiling in the research cabin’s garage, casting dim light over a jumble of boxes and bins. Andrew led me and Ruth past stacks of empty bins to cardboard boxes filled with glass bottles and jars. Since the cabin had no recycling service, Helen and Andrew saved bottles until they had a truckload of them and then took them into town.
Andrew unwound his scarf and took off his gloves so he could rub his red cheeks. “I don’t know how you’re going to make these ornaments. But we have plenty of glass.”
I opened a box full of green, brownish red, clear, and even a few blue bottles. “Perfect.”
“Who would have promised that family the shack if they find the bear?” Andrew asked.
“The land company?” Ruth blew into her hands. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“Could it be Jim?” I sat down on a box. Everything was impossible and so terribly wrong. The little girl, hopeful and desperate, believing an old shack could be a home. Patch, in danger of being shot in her den. Jim, sure Patch was dangerous, willing to go to huge lengths to kill her.
“Maybe,” Andrew said. “But no one has found Patch yet, and that’s a good sign. Maybe we just wait it out. Soon the big snowstorms will come, and it will be even harder to find the den.”
“Oh! Frankie,” Ruth said. “Maybe we can get answers from her. You think she knows?”
Andrew flipped around to stare at us. “Frankie?”
“She’s back. And something weird is up with her.” Ruth sat down on the box next to me. “Her friends are all mad at her, and she keeps hanging out with us.”
“Because she’s trying to find Patch?” Andrew asked.
Andrew’s question made anger rush to my cheeks unexpectedly. “Frankie and her dad are not the same person. Maybe she just …”
“Just what?” Andrew asked, when I didn’t finish my sentence.
I couldn’t look at him. “Maybe she just needs a friend.”
Chapter 15
Listening is Love
“W e’ve talked a lot about noticing God in our everyday lives.” Doug rubbed his hands together then leaned forward, hands on knees. I had seen him do this enough to know that he was truly excited about whatever would come next.
Andrew sat