Outskirts Press, INC.

Kirsten Thorne is recently divorced and looking to escape the holiday merriment with well meaning friends. She heads to her mountain retreat of Squire Creek to be alone and reflect on the direction of her life. The solitude she was seeking turns out to be more than she could have conceived. The town is buried in an avalanche and the trials and tribulations that she experiences, along with her

childhood friend Joe Hackett help her to overcome a lifelong fear and find a new direction and purpose to her life.

It was December once again. A light snow was falling outside. I knew that because I was walking down a snow packed, gravel road from my house in it. I tipped my head back to catch snowflakes on my out stretched tongue. They melted instantly and I smiled at myself and my adolescent action. The wind was pushing me along at my back and blowing my long auburn hair in front of my face. I pulled it back and secured it as I pulled the fur-trimmed hood of my white nylon jacket over my head. I was walking to the store in the center of this small town. When I say small town, the store was the town. There was, of course, a white steeple church on the corner, and a post office that was attached to a two-room, two-story, log built store. But this was the sum of which made up the town of Murray Falls. The town rested along the Oswaga River and was nestled at the bottom of Cat Mountain. It was settled one hundred years ago as a logging town. Outside of the store, set a green wooden bench on the covered front porch that ran the length of the store and post office. Here the locals could sit and catch up on the current gossip, but this day, the bench was empty. In the summer the bench was usually occupied. I taught kindergarten in an elementary school in Lawrence, North Dacota and I came here for the summer for its solitude and slower pace. The scenery was spectacular too. Many people came to these mountains for the winter skiing, but I preferred the summer hiking and boating.

The storekeeper was a large, dark-bearded, lumberjack looking man named Ben. “Gentle Ben,” I called him to myself. I had known him for twenty-six years. That is how long I had been coming to this little mountain town. My Father built an A-frame home at the top of Fifth Street the summer after my mother died. Here, the streets were named only by numbers. My father left the home to me in his will when he died three years ago. I continued to come for the summers, or whenever I needed to escape the latest conflict in my life. Ben knew that if I was here at this time of year, I must have been escaping something. He was right. I left school early for the Christmas break. I had just come through another divorce and needed to find a new direction for my life. Ben would never pry, but he always made me feel at home. I walked through the door, as the little bell above it rang. I inhaled the familiar scent of wood from the log walls as I removed my wool mittens and stuffed them into my coat pocket. Ben sat behind the U-shaped counter in the center of the large room. My Ugg boots were silent on the wooden floor as I made my way to the coffee machine in the corner.

“Hey, Ben. How are you today?” I put the coffee pod in the machine to brew a single serving of fresh Irish Cream.

“I’m fine.” Ben spoke few words.” Warm enough up there for ya?” he asked in his deep, husky voice. The room almost vibrated when he spoke.

“Yes, I just got another cord of wood delivered. I stacked it in the shed to keep it dry.” I stirred the creamer into my cup and sat down at the counter to visit with my dear friend.

“Planning on staying long?” He put another piece of wood into the wood stove that helped to warm the store.

Ben lived upstairs with his wife, Annette. Their two sons still lived in town and worked as forest rangers. Ben Jr., the oldest at thirty-five, was married to his high school girlfriend, Bridget. We all called him Benny. Joe was younger, thirty and single, and still lived at home. We three spent our summers having adventure after adventure. We never seemed to run out of harrowing things to do here in the mountains. We hiked and fished, took the boats or canoes on the river, and rode on trails with ATV's or snowmobiles in the winter. So much to do and so little summer to do it in. My father was a college professor, which meant we had to go home the middle of August. I was thirty-two and sandwiched between them in age. Boy, did we have some fun! I smiled to myself at some of the memories that came to mind just then.

“I’m not sure, Ben.” I sipped my coffee. “Not many folks left in town during the winter. I’d forgotten how quiet it is, not being here at this time of year that often.”

“Nope, pretty quiet.” He busied himself straightening the newspapers on a bottom shelf by the door.

“I think I’ll drive into Bear Lake this afternoon and get some supplies just in case I decide to stay for a while. Can I pick anything up for you, Ben?” We all looked out for one another here.

“A couple bottles of lamp oil would be nice. I had to give my last bottle to old lady Amy last time the power went out.” Ben rolled up his sleeves to reveal two hairy, tree trunk looking forearms.

“ It’s not a problem Ben. The coffee is delicious today, as always.” I drank the rest from my paper cup and tossed it into the trash bin. “I’ll just pick up my mail and head out before we get too much more snow. I’ll stop in this evening before you close with that oil.” I left some money on the counter for the coffee. An inch of fresh snow had fallen while I had been inside, covering my previous footprints on the road. I was thinking that I was glad I had driven up here from Lawrence in the four-wheel drive Ford Explorer. It would be indispensable on these snow covered, mountain roads. I got to my driveway at the top of the gravel road and brushed the light snow cover from my vehicle, then I started the engine. I had made a list of supplies the night before, after taking careful inventory of what was here and what I might need. Not knowing how long I would be staying, I planned on stocking up on all the necessities. Ben’s store carried most of the day-to-day supplies like milk, bread, eggs and a limited supply of canned goods.