Chapter 3: Through the Ice

The morning light came thin and pale, filtering through frost-stained windows. Joel had already been up for an hour, stoking the fire, melting snow for water. Ellie stirred on her cot, burrowed deep in a sleeping bag that smelled of mildew and pine. “Coffee’s ready,” he said, holding out a tin cup. It was ersatz—ground chicory he’d hoarded from a gas station—but she took it without complaint, wrapping her fingers around the warmth. “What’s on the menu today?” she asked, still half-asleep. “Fish. If you’re willing to learn.” She perked up. “Real fishing? With a rod and everything?” “We’ll make do.” He nodded toward the door. “Lake’s frozen solid. Gotta cut through.” They bundled up—two coats each, scarves, gloves. Joel carried a hand auger from the station’s storage, its blades rust-pitted but sharp enough. Ellie carried a roll of nylon line and a small tackle box he’d pieced together over the years. The walk was quiet, boots crunching on the crusted snow. The lake was a white plain, unbroken, ringed by skeletal trees. Joel picked a spot near the shore where the ice looked thick—dark, not cloudy. He knelt and began to cut. The auger bit into the ice with a rhythmic grating sound, shavings piling up like sugar. Ellie watched, hands shoved deep in her pockets. “How do you know where the fish are?” “Don’t. That’s the game.” He pulled out the auger and chipped at the edges with a small hatchet until a dark circle of water appeared, breathing cold mist. “They’re down there, waiting. Just gotta be patient.” He showed her how to tie a hook—a simple clinch knot—and bait it with a chunk of cured meat from a jar. Then he demonstrated dropping the line, letting it sink, then a gentle jig to attract attention. He handed her the rod, a makeshift branch with a guide taped on. “Now we wait.” For a long while, nothing. The wind picked up, skimming snow across the ice. Ellie shivered. “This is boring.” “Survival usually is.” Joel sat on a fallen log, pulling out a knife and a piece of wood to whittle. “Boredom means nothin’s tryin’ to kill you. Enjoy it.” She snorted but kept her eyes on the hole. After ten more minutes, the line twitched. Then tugged. “Joel—” “Slow. Don’t yank. Let it run a little, then set the hook.” Her hands trembled with cold and excitement. The line pulled, she gave a short, firm jerk. The rod bent. “Got it!” It was a trout, maybe two pounds, thrashing silver on the ice. Joel took it off the hook with a quick, practiced motion and laid it in the snow. “Good job, kiddo.” Ellie’s grin was wide and genuine, the kind he rarely saw. She knelt beside the fish, touching its scales. “It’s beautiful.” “Taste better than it looks. Let’s get a couple more, then head back.” They caught two more over the next hour, Ellie handling the line without guidance. By the time they packed up, the sun was past its zenith, the light soft and blue-gold. On the walk back, she trudged close to him, their breath mingling in the still air. “Joel?” “Mm?” “When you were teaching me with the guitar… you said your daughter taught you that song?” He didn’t answer right away. His jaw tightened, but his steps didn’t slow. “Yeah.” “What was her name?” He stopped. Turned to look at her, snow dusting his grey curls. For a moment she thought he might shut down, wall it off. But he said, quiet, “Sarah.” Ellie nodded. She didn’t push. Instead, she reached out and touched his arm, lightly. “I’m glad you showed me.” He gave a single nod, then started walking again. But he stayed close, close enough that their shoulders brushed. Neither said the word. Neither needed to. The snow kept falling, silent and white, wrapping the ranger station in a hush that felt almost like home.