Moose Tracks (Fesler-Lampert Minnesota Heritage) by Casanova Mary

Author:Casanova, Mary [Casanova, Mary]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: University of Minnesota Press
Published: 2013-07-31T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER NINE

“Fifteen miles per hour!” Mom said, gripping the steering wheel. “At this rate, it’s going to take us all night to get home.”

Seth thought about the wounded moose calf. Was it smart enough to find shelter? Could it survive in weather like this? Was Dad still out trying to find the poachers?

“That happened to me once, Seth,” Mom said.

“What?”

“Fainted.”

“Oh, that,” Seth said, feeling pretty stupid.

“I was watching my little brother, your uncle Peter, have an IV needle put in his arm. He had pneumonia, and they couldn’t find his vein. They kept poking around for it, and I kept watching. Next thing I knew, I was on the floor in a heap,” she said. “It happens to lots of people.”

“Yeah,” he answered. He knew she was trying to make him feel better. But drawing attention to it didn’t help. The fact was, he’d fainted over nothing.

It seemed he’d been more scared in this one day than he’d been in a lifetime. More than the time he’d run into a bear and her cub in the apple orchard. More than before any horse show. More than when he took out the shotgun with Matt. But guys shouldn’t faint when they get a few stitches or when they look at a medical poster.

Snow blew hard across the road, hiding the dividing line and pelting the windshield. The wipers pulsed back and forth, unable to keep up with the snow. A gust of wind sideswiped the car.

“This is terrible,” Mom said, and hunched toward the windshield. “What a night.…”

The wipers ticked back and forth.

When they hit a patch of ice, the car fishtailed sharply back and forth. Seth felt his stomach rise to his throat. He grabbed the armrest.

“Oh Lord,” Mom cried out. “Hang on.…”

The car jolted off the smooth pavement toward the ditch. His mom swerved the car back on the road again, but this time too far to the other side. They were in the opposite traffic lane.

Car lights loomed toward them through the white-speckled blackness.

“Hit the brakes!” Seth yelled. He closed his eyes and grabbed the armrest more tightly.

Just as the oncoming car came closer, his mom regained control of the station wagon and eased back into the right lane, slowing the car to a crawl.

“Thank God we didn’t get hurt,” Mom said. “That was too close.” She let out a long breath.

“Why didn’t you hit the brakes?”

“If I’d slammed on the brakes,” she said, “it would have put the car into a spin. I’ll feel better when we get home and stay there. No more hospital visits tonight, okay?”

“Promise,” Seth said, scratching lightly at the tape around his bandage.

For a while, they didn’t speak.

Seth thought of what his mom had said: biological father’s background unknown. It sounded so cold. Incomplete. Seth reached in his pocket. He turned the paw around and pressed the sharp toenails of the rabbit’s foot into his palm until it hurt.

“My real dad,” he blurted out. “I want to know about my real dad.” There.

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