Visibility was such that following the river was impossible from any altitude that would avoid the obstacles. Peters stayed a few meters above the water, rising to go over the fallen bridges, which were fairly frequent. He’d never been familiar with the view from water level, so he had to stop and lift up occasionally to check for signs and landmarks. It was over an hour, and seemed much longer, before a group of bridges jogged his recollections, and he rose, looked the area over, and grunted, “Janie.”
“What?” Ander asked, tone alarmed.
“This small group of buildings is called ‘Janie’,” he explained. “The little stream is Elk Run. We go that way.” He lifted the dli over the trestle and started up the smaller valley, staying above the snow-covered feature that had to be the railroad, because Elk Run was too narrow to follow at water level. “We’re almost there.”
“I hope so,” Ander said worriedly. “At this rate, it won’t be long before it’s too dark to see.”
Peters thought it must be about four o’clock. “Only a few minutes… oops.” The wire had loomed up without warning. It scraped across the top of the dli, caught on the vertical fin, and separated with a twang and a jerk. It would have been more worrying if it had been the first one. “There it is.”
The hills opened out to the right, and on the far side of the little valley a house sat on a partly natural, partly artificial bench fifty meters or so above the banks of Elk Run. It was dark enough now for a porch light to be visible in the brief lull in the blizzard, the first artificial light they’d seen since entering the main valley. A cluster of buildings backed by a steep cut stood far enough back from the road to leave an open space, once a parking area for coal trucks. Peters brought the dli to rest and gestured. “Be glad of your suits,” he said with a twisted grin. “From here we walk.”
“It looks impossible,” Ander said dubiously.
“It isn’t impossible, but it will be difficult. It’s good your pregnancies aren’t more advanced. A zul from now you probably wouldn’t be able to make this climb, even without snow.” Both women nodded acknowledgement of that.
A path had been shoveled up the narrow road that climbed the hill, but that had been earlier in the day; it was now choked. Peters and Dzheenis strapped on backpacks and took the lead, breaking trail, with the three women following, floundering in the fresh snow. It took them half an hour to reach the switchback, but from there the driveway was clear, and a man, swaddled and muffled in heavy cold-weather gear, stood leaning on a shovel where the cleared path met the road. “I figured you’d keep at it,” was his greeting. “Damnfool stunt.”
“It’s good to see you, too, Granpap. I see you got my letter.”
“Came yesterday. I spent the first forty years of my life cussing the Postal Service, but by God I think it’s the only thing in this Godforsaken country that still works.”
The two men embraced, awkwardly but sincerely, then broke apart to look one another over. “You’re lookin’ good,” Peters offered.
“Hunh. As if you could tell in this getup. Let’s get in the house before we do the introductions. You don’t act like you’re freezing to death, but you look like you ought to be, and I sure as Hell am.”
The swing-up garage door hadn’t been opened in Peters’s memory; the old man opened the smaller door beside it and gestured. “Lead the way, I’m sure you remember.” He stood aside while the others trooped in and up the stairs to the main floor, glancing at the cloth-shrouded ‘21 Corvette that had occupied the garage since forever. A coal-fired furnace sat in the far corner, producing cheerful warmth in defiance of EPA regulations, and a miscellany of tools and junk lurked in the back corners, beyond the reach of the single bulb.
The living area of the house was pleasantly warm and smelled of something good simmering. “I’ve got enough gas to run the generator tonight and part of tomorrow,” Granpap announced as he emerged from the stairway behind Dzheenis, stripping off outerwear and hanging it on pegs. “Can’t have space people living like pioneers.” He had white hair and a lined face, but his movements were lithe and confident, and the hair was a thick ruff that curled a bit at his temples.
“You might be surprised. Granpap, this is Ander, and this is Alper. We’re—” he hesitated a moment “—I reckon ‘married’ is the best way to put it, leastways that’s how I feel about it.”
“I’m charmed to meet you,” the old man said with a smile, and took one woman’s hand in each of his own. “Welcome to my home. I hope you’ll consider it your own.”
“Thank you,” said Alper. “We’re pleased to meet you at last. John’s heritage is clear in your face.” Ander murmured something, seeming shy, and the two responded to the elder Peters’s gentle tug, at first a little reluctant, then molding themselves to him the way they did to the younger one.
“It would appear that the ceremony took place about six months ago,” the old man commented as he released them.
“You might say that… this here’s Khurs. She’s—” he hesitated “—it’s hard to explain, but she’s part of the family, besides bein’ a crackerjack translator and secretary, and about twice as smart as I am, maybe three times.”
“Charmed,” said the old man a little hesitantly, and took her hand.
Khurs was having none of that. “Don’t I get a hug too?” she asked in her surprising baritone, and slipped inside the reach of his arms to clasp him tightly. His arms went around her more or less by reflex. “You remind me of someone I knew and liked a lot,” she said, her voice muffled by his clothing. “You’re not used to looking at Grallt, are you? We’ll have to work on that.”
Peters grinned at the old man’s expression. “Last, but not least in any sense, this here’s Dzheenis, who’s also a member of the family in the same way Khurs is.”
“I’ll forego the hug for the time being,” said the big Grallt as he extended his hand. “Pleased to know you.”
“And I you,” said the old man, sounding a little dazed.
“Everybody, this is Donald Peters, my grandfather. Don’t call him Don, he don’t like it. He’s the one raised me from the time I was three.” Peters smiled. “Anything you don’t like about the way I act, you can blame it on Granpap here.”
“Now just a damned minute,” Donald snapped. “I’m not taking the blame for all of it, certainly not for the way you talk. That was our redneck neighbors, especially those no-account Wisenant boys.”
“And girl,” Peters put in with a grin. “Don’t forget Faye.”
“Hunh. As if I could forget Faye Wisenant. Or her mother… although Janice had her moments.”
“Yep. She hollered pretty loud when they come up, if I recall.”
The old man didn’t respond to that, but his eyes twinkled. “Sit down, everybody,” he suggested, and began to gently detach Khurs from his waist. “How long have you been—” he stopped, shook his head, and smiled. “I was about to say ‘on the road’, but that’s just showing my age. How long have you been traveling?”