If...

By the Tahoe Ladies 

She found it in a box of odds and ends that had come from the old barn her neighbors were taking down. Delicately, she opened the front cover of the book and found the page there blank then opened it to the center, curious. The lined pages she saw as she flipped through them were all blank save a few at the back. There, in an uneven and uncertain penciled writing, she read the words... 

I don't really know just exactly what happened but it don't matter none cause I'm here now and I can't do nothin about it. One minute the stage was creepin along slow like then the next thing I know, it's upside down. I can see out the window some and there isn't much daylight left and my head hurts somethin awful….

That was yesterday. Today, I am a little more clear-headed so maybe this will make more sense. The stage out of Placerville that I was on was running late because of the weather. Down there, it was raining really hard and getting colder too. The driver said they had to go because they had mail onboard. I was welcome to chance it. I thought a while about those high passes and this weather. Winter's just about over was the main thing I thought, forgettin that sometimes our worst storms come in late winter. Like now. Mostly, I wanted to get home, what with Adam's birthday coming on and all. Too, I been gone from home a good little bit. Looks like now it'll be a lot later than I thought. 

I'm sorry that I'm using your birthday present, Adam. I got this fancy journal book for you down in Frisco cause I knew you'd like the leather bindings and the smooth paper for writing your thoughts and all. I'll get you another one iffen I get out of this mess. Til then, I'm gonna put down some stuff. I know that I should be minding my spellings and such but I just can't. Not right now. I'm just doin this so I won't feel lonely. 

Like I said, the stage was running late so they were headed out at a pretty good clip. Then they slowed down. I recall lookin out the window and seeing snow falling. Most times, snow is pretty to watch but it weren't this time. It was comin down so fast and hard that I couldn't see where the road's edge was, and where it wasn't. I figure that's what got things like they are now.

I've tried movin this crushed part of the stage off of my leg but I can't. My leg hurts pretty bad, so I figure that I must've busted it. My head hurts too, but I'm gonna pretend that it's because I am writin this. Sure wish I had someone to talk with, but I've shouted until I'm hoarse and no one's answered me so I'm on my own.

By golly, I am hungry. Cold too…

Couple of times today I've tried to get loose. I've done what I notioned you'd have done, Adam, yet there just don't seem to be any way to it. Seems to be that most of the front of the stage broke inwards and wound up on my right leg. I've looked for something to help me pry it up so I can scoot from under it. Still, even if that worked, where could I go? I know the leg's busted, so if I managed to get out of the coach, how could I get any place? One good thing, the way things seem to be situated, the wind is blocked. It is still snowin' though. And I am still cold. Go ahead and tease me cause you know I don't like bein cold. Never have and never will. And I am hungry too.

Tried shooting my gun off after I found it in the wreckage. Thought it would get somebody here to help me. Then I was afraid that it would cause an avalanche so I quit. Realized then how quiet it was.

I have managed to build me a little fire. Using parts of the stage floor that's now part of my busted roof for fuel. Got some snow dug out from where the window is pushin into the snowbank and ate it, melting it in my mouth. Tasted right good, it did but I would still rather have some of Hop Sing's coffee. Shoot, I'd even drink your coffee, Joe!

It's morning again. Far as I know, I been here two days. I tried to stay awake last night cause I heard wolves a'howlin. No, Pa, I'm not afraid of wolves. You know that, except I figured if they were carrying on so, then the weather was changing. I was right. This morning the sun is bright and the air is so still and so crisp I'd really enjoy it if I wasn't here like one of them wolves in a trap.

With all this light, I can see the predicament I'm in and, even though you may be a wizard with things mechanical, Adam, I can tell you right up front that there is no way I can get out on my own. The whole front of the stage is bashed in. Between the seat and what's the driver's bench, there's a hole I can see out. Wish I hadn't, since I can see what's left of one of the horses and it ain't pretty. And it is all uphill of me. Some how or 'nother, we got twisted around and upside down too.

I checked what I could of my leg. I was right. It's broken. It ain't bleeding so I guess that is one good thing but I can't get it loose. Don't know what good it would do me if I could. I sure would feel better about things though

Another good thing that came this morning was that I found some food and a canteen. Must've been the driver's. Whoever made him that fried chicken I'm gonna thank heartily, let me tell you! It was hard, but I didn't eat all the pieces in that basket since I don't know how long I'm gonna be here. The canteen, I filled with what snow I could reach and sat it beside my little fire.

I've pulled the coverin' off the other seat and am using it for a blanket because it is still cold. I'm glad I took my heavy coat, only I've lost a glove. I can hear you fussin now, Pa. I always have been one for losing gloves, ain't I? Just can't seem to remember to slip it back on when I take it off.

Now I'm feelin silly. Real silly. Worrying about a missing glove when I should be worrying about dyin' up here.

No, I ain't gonna even think them thoughts. Pretty soon, the stage company is gonna send out a search party. They'll find this here wreck and things will be just fine. Well, except for my leg but Doc Martin can fix it up in no time at all. Hop Sing and Pa will be a fussin' and a fuming over me somethin awful. Joe, you'll have to do my chores while I heal up and, Adam, like I said, I'll get you another journal. This one….this one, I'll throw away.

The wind is rising. Clouds are goin over the face of the sun. It's getting colder. . . .

A noise woke me up. It was good thing too since my fire was about out. I fed it up then listened. What I heard made me glad it was too dark for me to see. It's the wolves. They've found the dead horse - might be more than one horse out there dead for all I know. I just hope that they'll be content to scavenge off them. Don't know what I would do if I saw them goin after the driver's remains. I know he died in the accident. He wouldn't have left me alone like this.

I can't see the moon so I can't write much even though my little fire is bright and cheery. My fingers are cold on the pencil. I'm gonna have another piece of fried chicken, a drink and then see if I can sleep out the rest of the night. . . .

When I woke up this morning, I tried to figure out what day it was. Time seems to have run together on me. I think this is the right day. Happy birthday, Adam. I'll remember this one for a long time, that's for sure. For the rest of my life, even. Wish we could be together but we ain't unless you come riding over the hill yourself. Iffen you come, you better bring me somethin warm to wrap up in and somethin hot to drink. And somethin to eat. I'd even eat cheese right now if I had it.

The wind has picked up a right fair bit. The clouds overhead seem to be backing up. Looks like I am in for another storm right soon. I need to put aside this writing, comfortin as it is, and see about breakin up some more firewood.

I found the body of the driver. I was right. The accident killed him right off. Somehow, he wound up tangled in the wheels. When I was yanking some of the busted flooring loose for firewood…I can't write it down. I'm sorry for the man. He was doin his job and he died for it. I don't even know what his name was, didn't say more than a half dozen words to him and now…….

Ate the last of the fried chicken. Told myself it was Adam's birthday feast. I toasted you, big brother, with a drink from the canteen. Been thinkin about the times we've spent together as a family round the table. Eating. Talking. Laughing. That sort of foolishness. Funny, what a man thinks of at times like this. Now that I know there is death up here with me. Death and silence. And loneliness. That's the worst part of all, that loneliness.

I got to feed my fire up some and get some sleep. Maybe when I wake up, I'll find that this has all been a dream and I'm home. . .  .

My fire went out. While I was asleep, it went out. I woke up and it was so dark that I was afraid I'd died. I did my best and tried not to panic. I did any way. It made the coach slide down a little and that made me scared even more. I hollered real loud and hit everything I could but this little wooden box of a stagecoach I'm trapped in didn't care. I had to wait until daylight to find my matches - got one more- and make me a little fire again.

My canteen is gone. I can't find it. What with the sliding and me tryin to tear things up, it's a wonder I could find this here journal and my pencil. Kind of felt like I'd found salvation when I found them. But the canteen, I need it more than I do this writing.

That's what I tell myself, least ways. . . .

By my figurings, this is the fifth day. It was cold yesterday. Colder than it has been and today seems to be followin right in yesterday's tracks. Because the coach shifted, I can't see the sky no more. Just a sliver of the woods a little ways away from me. Caught a glimpse of movement that I figure was the wolves come back for some more horsemeat.

I didn't write anything yesterday. Couldn't make myself, you understand. Came to grips with some understandin about things. Important things, you know? Mainly about dying. I understand now that I am gonna die right here. I kind of hope it is the cold what does it since I heard tell that when a person dies of the cold, he just gets real sleepy then he goes to sleep and don't wake up. No pain, nothin like that. I sure hope that it ain't that I starve to death. That takes a while and I don't want to spend all that time without no purpose.

Speaking of purpose, I come to one big conclusion. This here writing I been doin, well, it ain't for me. It's so when they find the remains here they know who I was and who my folks . . . were. It's so that my family knows that I thought about them right up until I couldn't think no more. So that folks know I died like a man. Still and all, I seen women die with a lot more dignity than I feel right now so what does it mean to die like a man? I can't figure that out. 

Adam, Joe, you all and me, we been more than brothers. We've been friends. I been thinking about how we built snowforts when we were boys, Adam. Recall a couple of snowball fights too but mostly I just remember goin and doin things with you both. Ridin herd. Cutting timber. Much as I want to think about doin it again,  the plain truth is that we won't, most likely. Do me a favor will you both? When you do them things without me, think about me, okay?

Pa, don't mind the splotches here on this page. Tell yourself that it was because the snow was melting even though it ain't. I remember you telling me once that big boys don't cry and I've been a big boy for a long time. All my life, I guess. What I really want to say is that you've been a good pa. You understood me better than I did myself most times and as confused as I'd get, you could always straighten me out. Those times when I was the most lost, you were the candle in the window, leading me home. Now, it's gettin dark and colder still. I've burnt all the wood I dare and my fire is dwindling down to just coals. I see the light, the candle in the window. I just can't get to it. Thanks for remembering to light it for me. 

I can't write no more. The pencil's bout done and my hand  - I can't make my fingers work. Maybe tomorrow.. . .

Slept most of yesterday. Think it was yesterday. Days runnin together on me. I thought I heard someone shouting, hollerin. That's what woke me. Don't hear nothin now. Too cold, just too cold.

Then, the writing changed, becoming more bold, more sure of itself and she read...........

When they came, I slipped this here book in my jacket, figuring that I would burn it when the chance came. It came, all right, except I found I couldn't do it. Couldn't say nothing to anyone either. Like how it felt, up there, trapped, alone, maybe dying. Much as I wanted to throw this away, I can't. So I'll take it out to the barn and put it somewhere...somewhere I can go to, pull it out and read it again some warm summer day and remember what if..... 

The journal of one man's survival ended there, the next pages were all blank. Frantic, she flipped through them, yet found nothing more. As she closed the book, the dry-rotted bindings gave way and they crumbled in her hands, leaving her with only dust, fragments, and the memory of what she had read. 

Yes, she murmured, what if? 

finis 

Irish, Tahoe Lady

June 2004