Rose sat calmly beside Robert, still holding him in her arms. In contrast to her tears of a few moments earlier, she now felt strangely calm. Inside, she could feel the grief and anguish, tearing against the thin walls of calmness, struggling to break free, but she didn’t give in to them just yet.
Slowly, Rose let go of Robert and covered his face with the bearskin, then got to her feet. Tripper whined pitifully, knowing that something was wrong, watching his mistress as she slowly, blankly walked around the tiny room.
Rose pulled her heavy fur coat from its peg on the wall. Still calm, she shrugged into it and laced it closed, then pulled on her mittens and pulled up her hood up around her head. None of the motions meant anything to her; it was just something to do.
Quietly, she untied the cords that held the canvas closed and stepped outside, hardly noticing the darkness or the bitter cold. After looking around for a moment, she turned and walked around the house, heading in the direction of the open tundra.
Tripper followed a short way, but Rose turned and ordered him to stay and watch over Robert. Silently, she walked away from the house and over the tundra.
Rose had gone about half a mile before the reality of what had happened hit her. Robert was dead. She had been happy with him, had known peace for the first time in years, and now he was gone. An accident, a strange twist of fate, had taken the second man she had loved from her. She was only nineteen years old, and she was a widow.
Suddenly overwhelmed, Rose fell to her knees in the snow, sobbing in anguish. Robert was gone. He would never hold her again, never speak to her again. She was alone again.
The wind blew around her, grabbing her hood and pulling it away from her head, and suddenly Rose couldn’t bear it. Struggling to her feet, she ran through the snow, racing over tundral hillocks and around clumps of frozen grass and brush. She didn’t know where she was going, and she didn’t care.
Rose’s frantic flight ended when she tripped over a slight ridge on one of the hillocks and tumbled to the ground on the other side. She lay there, the wind knocked out of her.
Rose lay her head in the snow, her tears freezing to her face. The snow was thick and deep—there had been another storm the day before, and the tundra was frozen solid again—and she half-buried her head in it, not wanting to get up, not wanting to move.
Why did tragedy seem to follow wherever she went? Was she cursed in some way, perhaps from the day of her birth? Sorrow had followed her all of her life. Her father, Jack, Alice, Robert...so many good people gone, lost to the world—and to her. And yet, she went on. She kept struggling, kept living, even when hope was gone. Maybe she was being punished in some way—for disobeying the laws of society, for abandoning her mother, for leaving Cal at the altar, for killing Marietta...she didn’t know.
It would be so easy, she thought, to just lay here and let the cold take me. Alone on the tundra, far from any other human being, she could almost forget the promise she had made nearly three years past. What did it matter, anyway? She had no one. No one would care if she lived or died. No one would miss her. Most likely, all anyone would ever find of her was a few scattered bones, if that, after the wild animals got through with her. No one knew exactly where she and Robert had gone. Alaska was a huge territory, and they would just be two more luckless travelers who had vanished into the wilderness, never to be heard from again.
Rose closed her eyes, the occasional tear still trickling from under her lashes, feeling the cold seep into her body. It would be very easy to just lie there, slowly freezing, and finally fall asleep, never to awaken, just as Jack had three years earlier. It didn’t matter. There were only so many promises a person could keep, and she had done the best she could.
Briefly, Rose opened her eyes, looking up at the sky above her. It was clear, the stars shining so brightly that they almost lit up the tundra. There was no moon. The stars, the cold...it brought her back to another night, long ago it seemed, when she had lain on a piece of wreckage somewhere in the bitterly cold North Atlantic while the man she loved froze to death so that she could live.
Promise me you’ll survive...
I can’t, Jack, she thought. I’ve tried. God knows I’ve tried. I’ve lived a lot in these past three years, but it’s over now. Everything I’ve done has ended in tragedy, and I can’t face anymore.
And never let go of that promise...
Rose could almost hear Jack’s voice on the wind, reminding her of her promise, condemning her for giving up. The wind suddenly seemed much colder, and Rose closed her eyes again, trying to shut out the past, the memories, the feeling of condemnation.
Rose felt the cold sinking deeper, penetrating her bones. It wouldn’t be long now.
Suddenly, a low whine sounded near her ears. She lay still, trying to ignore it. The creature whined again, lying against her, and a warm tongue licked her frozen face, lapping at the frozen tears. Rose opened her eyes to see Tripper curled against her, warming her and preventing her from freezing.
Slowly, she sat up, almost angry at the dog for disobeying her and following her into the night. If he hadn’t followed her, it would be over now. She would be free—free from pain, from sorrow, from the trials and tribulations of life. She would rejoin her loved ones.
The dog yelped, taking her hood in his teeth and pulling on it, as though intending to drag her back to the house. Rose pulled the hood away and fastened it back around her head, getting slowly to her feet.
Maybe it’s a sign, she thought. Maybe it was a sign that Tripper, always so obedient, had disobeyed her and followed her onto the tundra, saving her life. Maybe it wasn’t time for her to go yet. She didn’t know why she kept on living when others died, why she had survived so much, but she was still alive. Perhaps there was a reason, even if she didn’t know what it was.
In silence, Rose turned back toward the sod hut, following her trail back across the snow. Tripper trotted along beside her, never straying more than a few feet from her, as though herding her back to safety.
Rose slowed as she came into view of the snow-covered building, almost indistinguishable from the surrounding landscape. The river, frozen solid in the starlight, seemed to reflect back at her—a cold reflection of her sorrow, her grief, the pain of her loss.
Slowly, Rose turned away from the river, her footsteps crunching in the snow, as she headed for home.