Free Trapped in Ice by Eric Walters

this one,” said Captain Bartlett, pointing at the machine on the table beside him.
    â€œI’ve seen gramophones before, but nothing like yours.”
    â€œThis here is the fanciest they make. Got it down in New York. It’ll play for almost an hour each time I give it a wind. But ... before I go on any more ... ya didn’t come in here to ask me about my music, did ya?”
    â€œNo, sir.”
    â€œThen what can I do for ya, missy?”
    â€œWell ... it’s just I want to know about some things.”
    â€œThings? What sort of things do ya want ta know?”
    â€œI was just ... I don’t know ... I don’t know how to ask it,” I answered.
    â€œJust spit it out. Ask away.”
    â€œAre we going to sink?” I blurted out.
    â€œNot tonight,” he chuckled and then stopped. I think he could see how worried I was. “What makes ya think we might be goin’ under?”
    â€œIt’s just that the ice is getting thicker and thicker. And I remember you saying the ship wasn’t very strong. And you’re having them bring all the supplies up on the deck and onto the ice. And …” I felt my lower lip start to quiver and I knew I was close to tears.
    â€œBut don’t ya go worryin’. Things are all being taken care of,” he said reassuringly.
    â€œThen we’re not going to sink?”
    â€œI didn’t say that.”
    I couldn’t stop the tears any more and they ran down my cheeks.
    â€œNow, now, Helen.” Captain Bartlett took Figaro in his hands, stood up and gently placed the cat on the chair. He came over to my side and took a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to me.
    â€œThank you,” I said, taking it from him and dabbing away the tears while I fought hard to stop more from coming.
    â€œWe’ll stay afloat ... at least for a while.”
    â€œLong enough for Mr. Stefansson to return?” I asked hopefully. Somehow being on the ice with him seemed so much safer. I just knew he’d never let anything bad happen to any of us.
    The Captain walked to the far side of the cabin and sat down on a chair framed by two large bookshelves.
    â€œHe’s due back in a few days. Will we last that long?” I asked.
    â€œHelen, there’s no tellin’ how long things will stay tagether. The ship may stand up ta the ice for hours, or days, or weeks or even months. Maybe we can even stay frozen in till spring. Who knows?”
    â€œSpring? You mean we might be frozen in all winter?” I exclaimed.
    â€œWe’re not goin’ any other place till the ice leaves. Could be next May or even later, ’pending on the weather.”
    â€œBut Mr. Stefansson will come back and get us and help us get to Herschel Island even if the ship is frozen in. Right?”He opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it again without saying anything. He took a hand and started rubbing it against his thick beard, but he still didn’t speak. As he sat there Figaro crossed the floor and jumped back onto his lap and snuggled in again. His silence made me feel more uncertain. My stomach started churning and I was afraid of what he was going to say when he finally spoke.
    â€œHelen,” he said quietly, looking me squarely in the face. “The plate of ice that has us has been driftin’ since that first day we got grabbed. Thirty, sometimes forty or more miles every day. It just came inta shore fer a few days ... when Mr. Stefansson got off ... an’ now we’re drifting away again. There’s water, open water, ’tween us and the shore.”
    â€œThat’s a lie! Mr. Stefansson wouldn’t just leave us here! He’s coming back to get us!” I practically shouted. “He’s going to save us!”
    â€œNobody’s goin’ ta save us, save those that is with us.” “But ... but ... ” I stammered, feeling confused and scared and, most of all, alone. I