Angels in the Snow Read Online Free

continuing beyond the footbridge and seriously considered following them. But to where? And that’s when she noticed that a thick band of clouds had rolled in, beginning to blot out the sunlight. These clouds were quickly filling the sky and were probably full of snow. But how could she not keep following the mysterious footprints? What if? She walked a short distance before she noticed that snowflakes were already tumbling from the sky. Not timid flakes, but large, heavy ones.
    Shielding her eyes from the spinning flakes, she looked ahead but saw no sign of any living thing. She could barely discern the trail now washed in a swirling blur of white. These recently made tracks would soon be obscured by the rapidly falling snow—and yet . . . glancing over her shoulder, she looked at the trail behind her, only to see that it too was fading fast. Her heart pounded in her temples, echoing loudly in her ears. Whether it was exertion or fear, she wasn’t sure. Perhaps both. She took a few more steps forward, knowing full well that she was making a foolhardy decision—or perhaps she was just slightly crazed—then she froze in her steps. Just whom was she following, really? She looked up to the moving mass of white above her and tried, once again, to pray. Raising both gloved fists into the air, she raged at God for her losses. Then, several minutes later, humbled by her own audacity, she meekly pleaded for his help. But this time her prayer was more than just a few words. Partially unintelligible perhaps, but it was an honest cry from the heart.
    Finally she turned around and trudged back across the bridge and down what she hoped was the trail. The falling flakes abated slightly, and she was barely able to retrace the three sets of footprints, but by the time she reached the place in the clearing where the snow angels had been, she was disappointed to see that they had been nearly obliterated by the new snow. Taking advantage of this brief lull in the storm, and before she lost her trail completely, she jogged all the way back to the cabin.
    Warm from her exertion, Claire paused on the cabin’s covered porch to catch her breath as she peered out onthe falling snow. It was coming down fast again, and the wind had picked up and was now swirling the flakes into moving walls that obscured all vision beyond twenty feet. As she shook off her snow-coated jacket and hat and gloves, she realized with chilling clarity how close she’d actually come to being out there in what appeared to be turning into something of a blizzard. “Thank you, God.” She spoke the words aloud, almost startled at the sound of her own voice against the backdrop of the snow-muffled wind.
    She stoked the fire and glanced up at the clock. It wasn’t even two yet. She still had several hours to fill before the day would mercifully come to an end. Walking over to the window, Claire stared out onto the drape of whiteness that enclosed her. She could feel the canvas right next to her, still situated on its easel. It felt as if it were pulling her, tugging her toward it like a magnet. Could she?
    Claire went over to the card table and looked at yesterday’s pallet still stained with the stark unforgiving shade of cobalt blue. After setting it aside, she picked up a fresh white pallet, then looked blankly at the rainbow circle of paint tubes arranged so neatly on the card table. But it was as if the colors frightened or maybe just intimidated her, and finally, as if in surrender, she picked up a tube of titanium white. She held the tube in her hand, gently squeezing it, feeling it give beneath her fingers. Then she opened the cap and bravely pushed a small mound of paint onto the pallet. She stared at the stark white paint—barely distinguishable from the white pallet—then glanced up.
    Peering out the window again, Claire studied the swirling, whirling whiteness before her. But it wasn’t really pure white, she observed. She squinted her eyes as if to