Avalanche Dance (3 page)

Her dance. The thrusting arm movement that she’d done last night in the snow came back to her. Tossing her quilt back on her bed, she rolled up her rug and pushed it aside. She raised her arm again, then slowly uncurled the other one until it too reached for the ceiling. Letting her head float up, she looked up, up, past her stretched fingertips. She rose onto her toes, taller, higher, then swept her arms down and across her body to the left, following them into a turn, circling her left leg in a fan kick, tracing a curve that echoed the surge of Thor Falls over the ledge.

The fan kick flowed into a contraction, knees bent, elbows tucked in, back curled over. Gwen exploded out of it into a jump, feet pointed down, arms upflung. Yes, the jump felt right. The lift, the length, the vertical line.

She stepped into an arabesque, leg lifted behind, arms in fourth position. No, that was too pretty, too balletic, she decided, looking in her dresser mirror. Something Janelle would do. Nothing wrong with it, but it wasn’t right for this dance. Thor Falls was all about power, and her dance had to capture that raw force. The crashing spray, the wall of water, the vertical drop.

She drew her leg into her body, knee bent, then pushed it back behind her, foot flexed as if kicking something away, arms shooting forward. Yeah,
that
was the feeling she wanted. Percussion. Strength.

The dance was going to be good. She could feel it. She was discovering the movements, big and bold, the feeling of earth and water and stone. She’d find just the right music, saxophone and drums and electric guitar. And she’d get in.

Oh, please
, she thought, pausing in her movements and snatching up the flyer again.
Please, please, please
, she prayed, not knowing who she was praying to – God or her dad or the people who would judge the auditions or the muse of dance itself.

Ten minutes later, the basics of the dance in place, Gwen headed downstairs. It was ridiculous to be up so early the first morning of spring break, but she was too wired now to go back to sleep.

She came through the kitchen door.

“Dad! What are you doing up?”

“What are
you?”

They grinned at each other across the kitchen, her father, a short, stocky, red-bearded man in a flannel shirt and jeans, cradling a steaming mug in his hands; Gwen, slender and wiry, her hair in tangles from sleep.

“Couldn’t sleep,” they both said at once, and laughed.

“The snow, I guess,” her father added, sipping coffee. “Too quiet. You know how it’s so quiet you can hear it?”

Gwen nodded, thinking how they often shared the same thoughts, how it was so much easier to get along with him than with her mom.

Well, here he was. She touched the flyer in her bathrobe pocket for luck. “Um, Dad –”

“Gwennie, let’s go up Odin!”

“What?”

“Let’s ski on Odin. The snow’ll be great. You want to?”

“Sure!” she said. The whole family had taken up telemark skiing recently, but she and her dad were the craziest about it; they loved skiing up rugged switchbacks and then soaring down. Usually they had to travel to find snow, but not this year. “When do you want to go?”

“Now!”

“Dad, it’s five-thirty in the morning.”

He waved his hand. “By the time we get there, it’ll be light. I want to get on the mountain early. It’s supposed to warm up later. I want to ski that powder before it turns to slop.”

“Okay. What about Mom and Percy?”

“Let ‘em sleep.” He put an arm around Gwen’s shoulder. “It’ll be our adventure.”

“Father-daughter bonding time,” Gwen said drily.

He laughed. And Gwen realized this was perfect. She’d wait till they got up on the mountain. He’d be in a great mood. He’d agree to anything.

Gwen and her dad climbed out of the truck at the first bench. The snow was half a foot deep here, though Gwen knew it would be deeper up higher. It had stopped snowing for now,
but the dampness in the air hinted that there was more to come.

Gwen fastened her cable bindings around her ski boots and slung her pack on her back.

“Here.” Her father handed her an avalanche beeper, a small orange contraption about the size of a cell phone; it hung from a leather strap.

“There’s not
that
much snow, Dad.”

“Enough.”

Gwen rolled her eyes. “You’ve been watching too many action movies, Dad.”

“Put it on.”

“Okay, okay.” She hung the strap around her neck.

“Now make sure it’s turned to
transmit.”

Gwen looked down. The words
transmit
and
receive
were printed on top. A little arrow pointed to
transmit
. “It is.”

“Okay. Now, don’t turn it off.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Daddy. An avalanche might come down and bury me.”

“That’d shut you up, at least.”

Gwen giggled. “I’ll break trail,” she said, grabbing her poles.

“You will?” Usually he did.

“I’ve got energy today.”

The road climbed for a ways, then leveled out. The snow was slushier than she’d expected, so each stride was work. But her muscles felt good, and the reward, she knew, would come later, on the downhill ride.

At first, Thor Falls was out of sight around a curve. Then Gwen rounded the bend, and there it was: an endless stream of water like an upended river, churning over the ledge, arching outward and down, down, down. To her right, beyond the beach, the ocean glinted gray under a cloudy sky.

Gwen skied to the middle of the trestle bridge that crossed above the falls. Here the noise was so loud she felt as though she’d dived into an ocean of sound. She could feel the force of the water through the wooden beams of the bridge. Her whole body vibrated, and she suddenly felt unsteady, afraid she might topple over and be swept away by the surging stream.

Quickly she skied off the bridge, onto solid ground, then immediately felt silly. Swept away by Thor Falls. Yeah, right.

Her dad skied up behind her, pulled off his hat. His hair was curly with sweat. “Skis sticking?” he yelled above the water’s roar.

She shook her head.

“Mine are.” He tapped the bottom of one ski with his pole. “Seems to be getting warmer.”

Now that he mentioned it, Gwen realized that she did feel warm. She unzipped her jacket, drank from her water bottle, offered it to her dad. He drank, then gave it back to her with a smile.

Now, while he’s in a good mood
, she thought. Then,
No, it was too noisy here. Better wait till we get away from the falls
.

“I’ll break trail,” her father shouted, and he went ahead.
Gwen followed, grateful for his tracks to glide in. He skied around a switchback and disappeared up the next ridge. When she came around the curve, he was standing on a ledge above the bridge, his skis and poles sticking up out of the snow. She skied up beside him, glad for the rest.

“Dad –” she started, but he plopped down on the snow. “What are you doing?”

“Eating,” he said, unzipping his pack. “Here. I made sandwiches.” He handed her one.

“But Dad –”

“Sit down, Gwen. You need energy.”

“I know, but –”

“But nothing. Eat.”

Gwen took off her skis and sat beside him. Mmm … peanut butter and honey on his homemade bread. She hadn’t realized she was hungry. Well, as soon as they’d eaten, she’d tell him. Ask him. Beg him.

They ate in silence, watching the ocean waves roll in, listening to the plop of snow as the cedar boughs shed their loads. After a while, Gwen felt a few flakes on her face and realized it had begun to snow lightly. She glanced at her father. Good: he was finished. They put their skis back on.

“Daddy –”

“Sh.”

“What?”

He cocked his head, listening for something.

“I don’t hear –”

But then she did. A rumbling noise coming from below. She looked, but she could see nothing. The noise drew nearer, grew louder, more like a whining drone. Gwen glimpsed a flash of silver through the trees below. The drone rumbled louder, then a snowmobile sped around the switchback and pulled up behind them. The engine died and there was sudden silence again.

“Hey, Simon,” Gwen and her dad said together.

Simon and his wife, Sally, were Gwen’s parents’ closest friends and an honorary aunt and uncle to Gwen and Percy. They lived on the property next to Gwen’s family and were the first people her parents had met when, greenhorns from the city, they’d moved to Thor Falls. They’d helped Andrew and Bridget build the old cabin, showed them how to garden, how to dry blueberries for winter desserts, how to find the juiciest clams on the beach. Gwen often babysat their three young kids.

“Andrew, Gwennie,” Simon said. He lifted his goggles and wiped the damp, black hair from his forehead with a sleeve. “How’s the skiing?”

“Sticky. Seems to be warming up.”

“Yeah, it’s been heavy going,” Simon said.

“So get out and ski.”

“Too much work,” Simon said, and they all laughed.

“How’re the boys?” Gwen asked. Paul, Simon’s older son, had caught the chicken pox in his kindergarten class and, after a miserable week, passed it on to his little brother, Jasper.

Simon rolled his eyes. “Paul’s pretty much done, just a few scabs left, but Jasper’s driving us nuts. Keeping us up half the night. To tell the truth, I don’t think he’s itching so bad, he just loves the attention.” Gwen and her dad laughed. “At least Tanya seems to be spared. She’s got that baby immunity.”

Gwen smiled, thinking of Tanya. Her black baby hair stuck straight up in the air, and her eyes were like two shiny black pebbles.

A gust of wind blew a swirl of snowflakes around them.

“Getting thicker,” Simon said.

“I know,” Gwen’s father agreed, a note of uneasiness in his voice.

Gwen noticed that it was snowing more heavily. What had, just a few minutes ago, been a light sprinkling was now a swirl of wet flakes that melted as soon as they touched your face. The ocean had disappeared behind a wall of white.

“I wouldn’t stay up too long,” Simon said.

“We’re not,” Gwen’s dad said.

Simon turned the key and the snowmobile roared back to life. Smelly blue fumes clouded up around them. He waved, then droned on up the trail.

Gwen brushed the melting snow off her face. Now was her chance. “Dad –”

“We really should start heading down,” he said.

“But –”

“Simon’s right. Snow conditions are changing –”

“Dad, would you listen!”

He turned to her with a surprised look. Suddenly she had no words to say. She reached into her pack and thrust the Dancemakers flyer into his hands.

“What’s this?”

“Read it.”

As his eyes scanned the paper, she waited to see his enthusiastic smile. But when he looked back up at Gwen, there was only a frown.

“Can I go?”

“You know we don’t have that kind of money, Gwen.”

That wasn’t what he was supposed to say
. “I know, but … I’ll get it.”

“You will? How?”

Gwen thought wildly. “I don’t know. Babysit. Mow lawns. Walk dogs. It doesn’t matter, I will somehow –”

He shook his head. “You’ll never raise enough. And Mom and I just can’t make up the difference.”

“But –”

“And it’s three weeks alone in the city. You’re just a kid, Gwen.”

“I am not! I’ll be fourteen by then. I can take care of myself.”

He shook his head again. “You don’t know city life, Gwen.

It’s not like Thor Falls. There’s crime. It’s dangerous.”

“I’m not going to be walking the streets alone at night!”

He patted her shoulder. “Wait a year or two. You’ll be older.
Maybe we’ll have more money –”

“There
is
no next year! It’s now! It may never come again. Oh, Daddy, I’ve got to go, don’t you see?”

He didn’t answer.

Gwen felt everything going wrong. Desperately, she asked, “Can I go – yes or no?”

“Let’s go down, Gwen,” he said gently. “I don’t like the look of this snow. We’ll talk about it at home.”

She planted her feet. “Yes or no.”

“I can’t say, Gwen. I’ve got to talk it over with Mom.”

“Oh, great. She’ll say no, of course.”

“You’re being unfair. Mom’s not –”

“Unfair? You’re the one who’s being unfair!”

“Gwen, try and understand –”

“I understand, all right. You don’t care about me –”

“Gwen –”

“Or what I want –”

“Gwen –”

“Or that I’ll die if I don’t go –”

“Gwennie –”

“I hate you!” Snatching the flyer from his hand and thrusting it into her jacket pocket, she turned away, dug her poles into the deep snow, and pushed off.

“Gwen, where are you going?”

She didn’t answer. Didn’t know. Just away. Her dream was dead. She skied away, uphill.

“Gwen, come back! We’ve got to go down.”

“No!” She forced her skis through the wet, heavy snow. Her thigh muscles burned.

“Gwen, get back here!”

She ignored him, pushing herself harder, gulping deep breaths of air. The light was strangely flat; everything seemed to merge into a blur, and it was hard to see the path. She didn’t care. She pushed on.

She became aware of a noise, a rumbling sound. She stopped and listened. Thor Falls? No, it seemed to be coming from above, not below. The noise got louder, closer. Was it the snowmobile? She looked around for Simon. No sign of him.

Louder now, roaring. Then a wind from high on the mountain, a wall of air that slammed against her.

“Ski, Gwen!” her father shouted from behind her.

Gwen stood there, not understanding. How could she ski with this wind pushing at her so hard that she had to struggle even to stand?

“Ski!” His voice was nearly lost in the roar that now was as loud as if they’d been standing right under Thor Falls.

Then she saw. Above her the mountain was moving. A wall of snow was tumbling downward, toward her. A fine layer floated above the churning mass, like a swirling cloud of flour. Beneath, white mounds tumbled over and over, gaining speed.

I’m going to die
, she thought, frozen.

She made her legs move. Half-carried by the cold blast of air,
she skied forward, slid off the trail, down the mountain. Propelled by wind and terror, she looked over her shoulder. The wall of snow was closer now, sliding unchecked. It was nearly on her father.