Ellie sighed again, “I’m just concerned about getting Lydie to help ASAP. Maybe you could keep your strides the same length, but take more steps?”
That made me mad. Usually Ellie doesn’t make me downright angry, but that last comment did. My face heated and I opened my mouth to give her a piece of my mind. I wasn’t sure just what would come out of my mouth, but I could not listen to her complain in this situation.
Suddenly, before I vented, in a sweet voice, Lydie said, “Ellie, I feel alright. I am comfortable for now, and I think it’s better if you four just keep up this pace. If you push the pace too much on empty stomachs, we’ll all need medical help.” Leave it to Lydie to settle the disagreement.
Lydie had spoken just in time to prevent me from really causing steam in the group. I silently thanked God for her timely comment. I made a mental note to tell Marshall later that I had nearly had an emotional outburst. It might be encouraging to him to know that it takes endless effort to keep my emotions in check.
I glanced at Marshall and he gave me a look that made me think he could read my mind. Without a word, he tilted his head toward Sawyer, and then shook his head with a frustrated look toward Ellie. He too was angered that Ellie suggested increasing our speed with Sawyer’s condition. He did seem to be traveling steadily, though. I figured it was taking substantial mental power to keep himself going.
My thoughts trailed to my mom. If she were here with us, I had no doubt that she would stay calm and keep the rest of us composed, too. It pained me to think of how terrified she must be, wondering about us. While we kids certainly have had an adventure, thinking about Mom made me regret going on this excursion. Last night while lying beneath the glittery stars, I decided I was glad to have agreed to join the others on this hike. But suddenly, the realization that our parents would have been distressed for over 24 hours made me feel sick and ashamed at my decision.
Perhaps the most disquieting thought was that if we had asked permission to go on our trek, our dads probably would have accompanied us rather than not allowing us to go at all. In my mind’s eye I could see Dad and Caleb hiking with us now, evacuating Lydie together. Dad would be so gentle with Lydie, and he would clap Sawyer on the back and bump Marshall’s shoulder, telling us that we are going to be just fine. He always knows just how to handle Ellie’s emotions. He gives her space when she needs space, and he hugs her when he senses that she needs him close. He would give me that smile that reassures me – the same smile he gave me after I fell off a horse at my riding lesson. Dad’s smile silently tells me that God is my strength.
I began to tear up thinking about my wonderful parents. Suddenly a tear slipped down my cheek, but because I was holding onto the rope that supported Lydie’s stretcher with both hands, I was unable to wipe the tear. As I rubbed my cheek on my shoulder, I noticed Marshall giving me a look of concern. I forced a smile, hoping he wouldn’t ask what was wrong – at least not in front of the group.
I mouthed, “I’m okay,” to him, and he nodded. He probably figured out that some girls cry pretty easily – especially tired, hungry, lost, and hurt girls. That was fine with me. For now, I’d distract myself with thoughts other than my parents. When I was back in their arms, and we knew Lydie was on the road to recovery, I could let my tears flow. But while enroute to help, I had to be strong. God, please give me strength.
That’s when I noticed a bird chirping. If we were home in the Midwest, a singing bird wouldn’t normally grab my attention. But above tree line? Wait a minute. Looking around me, I became aware of the scattered trees right next to us. And they grew thicker up ahead. I realized that we were no longer crunching on packed snow. Instead, we were on a dry covering of dirt and pine needles. How had I not noticed our entrance back to tree line? The lack of nourishment was definitely affecting me and affecting all of us. At least we were plenty hydrated. Above tree line, we had boiled many liters of water, enough for each person to have three whole water bottles. It made for lots of weight to carry, but like Dad always reminds us, water is life. Even so, I knew enough that if we didn’t take in some nourishment, especially electrolytes, we would all wilt quickly. We’d been weakening for a day already. From here out, we’d get worse much faster.
My thoughts jolted when Sawyer stumbled. One moment we were moving right along, and the next, Sawyer was on his knees and Lydie’s foot end of the stretcher was planted on the ground.
“Whoa!” Wind rushed out of Lydie’s mouth, surprised as all of us. Thankfully, Ellie reached back and prevented her hurt leg from hitting the ground.
“Sorry,” Sawyer murmured as he struggled to stand.
“We should take a break anyway,” I offered. Obviously Sawyer needed one. We might as well stop since we already were.
Ellie whipped around, her eyes brimming with tears. I was shocked to see her crying. I expected her to be mad.
“Lydie, are you okay if we set you down?” Marshall asked. Lydie nodded, looking worriedly at Sawyer.
On the count of three, Marshall and I eased her head down. When the rope relaxed on my shoulders, I breathed a huge breath. I suddenly felt weightless – almost how I had felt when Marshall first dug me out of the snow.
I glanced toward Sawyer, but decided to give him a minute with his brother. Ellie had walked off the trail about ten feet and buried her head in her gloved hands.
“Hey, El,” I gently said. Without looking up, she held out an arm for me to join her. Resting a hand on her shoulder, I squatted down beside her, my thigh muscles burning. Dad always says hiking downhill is harder than hiking uphill.
Ellie sighed and, as if reading my mind, said, “We need Mom and Dad.”
I nodded, tears once again filling my eyes. “Soon,” I stated as the tears started to drip onto my face.
Ellie hugged me and, to my surprise, said, “You have been so strong on this adventure. I’m proud of you, Marlee.”
I hugged her too and held back a sob. Her praise meant tons to me. Sometimes I feel like Marshall when he said he feels that he’ll never be as accomplished as Sawyer. When Ellie called me strong and showed pride in me, I felt rejuvenated – I mean, still hungry and weak, but stronger mentally, at least. And sometimes mental strength is the most crucial part of survival.
I grinned and quietly said, “Let’s go check on your–,” I caught myself, “Sawyer.”
Ellie gave a shy smile and nodded.
“By the way,” I added, “Kudos to you too, Ellie. You’ve been pretty great on the trip.”
Walking back to the trail, we saw Lydie sitting up, sipping water from her bottle. Marshall was holding a water bottle for Sawyer as he slowly crunched the very last of our gorp supply. The last precious handful of calories. Maybe we could dig up some roots like the ancient Native Americans. When we approached, Marshall backed up and handed the water bottle to Ellie, intuitively knowing that she would want to take a turn helping Sawyer.
“You mind helping him while I grab some water for myself?” Marshall asked Ellie. She smiled and took the bottle. Squatting down, she looked into Sawyer’s face. I held back, unsure what to do. Deciding to observe my sister and Sawyer for a minute before taking a drink myself, I quietly acted casual about five feet away. I think we were all secretly spying on Sawyer and Ellie.
“My leg just stopped,” Sawyer quietly said.
Ellie cocked her head, inquiring for more information.
“It feels like pain is radiating every direction from this spot,” he pointed to a spot on his mid-shin, “but I’ve been able to hike through it. But just now, it simply wouldn’t go. My mind couldn’t make my leg go,” he shook his head, sounding scared and disappointed in himself.
Ellie rested a hand on his shoulder, maybe to keep them both calm. I fretfully wondered what was wrong with his leg. What if Sawyer’s leg was broken too?
“Let’s prop your leg up while we rest here,” Ellie diplomatically said as she reached for a couple backpacks. “Lean against this log, and we’ll support your leg above your heart.” She helped him to the nearby downed log, and I joined her to arrange the packs to make a comfy foot rest for him.
Ellie frowned, “Let’s take your boots off, too.”
Now it was Sawyer’s turn to cock his head in inquiry. Ellie looked serious, so he shrugged and untied the laces, cringing as he pulled the boot off his right foot. Ellie is super interested in human anatomy and physiology, and I know that she reads about health stuff all the time. She wants to work in the medical field, and she even job shadows with our local vet, so even though she is only seventeen, with all the research she has done, I knew she had a reason for asking Sawyer to take off his boot.
“What else have you been doing this summer, Sawyer?” she politely inquired.
Sawyer studied her face and after a moment answered, “Preparing for this trip.”
Ellie smiled. “I should’ve said it this way: what kind of physical training have you been doing lately? Running? Lifting weights?”
“Uh,” he hesitated, as if embarrassed, “I’ve been running with a weighted pack up and down the bleachers at the football field. And pushups and stuff. I’ve been trying to climb the ladder on my neighbor’s silo with just my arms.”
Ellie nodded, obviously impressed. I was pretty much floored. Sawyer had been training much more vigorously than any of us girls had. I mean, we went on walks and slow runs and hiked up and down a large hill with packs. But running up and down bleachers? Pulling his body weight up a sixty-foot ladder with his arms? That was hard core! He must be totally ripped – probably like the cement-pouring construction guys.
