Penny turned the plan over in her mind, saying nothing about it to Mrs. Downey. It seemed to her that the best way would be to wait for a few hours until Peter Jasko had been given an opportunity to get over his anger.
The afternoon dragged on slowly. Toward nightfall, finding confinement intolerable, Penny ventured out-of-doors to try her skis. She was thrilled to discover that she could use them without too much discomfort.
Going to the kitchen window, she called to Mrs. Downey that she intended to do a little skiing and might be late for dinner.
“Oh, Penny, you’re not able,” the woman protested, raising the sash. “It’s only your determination which drives you on.”
“I’m feeling much better,” insisted Penny. “I want to go down the mountain and see Sara.”
“It will be a hard climb back,” warned Mrs. Downey. “And the radio reported another bad storm coming.”
“That’s why I want to go now,” answered Penny. “We may be snowbound by tomorrow.”
“Well, if you must go, don’t overtax your strength,” cautioned Mrs. Downey.
Penny wrapped a woolen scarf tightly about her neck as a protection against the biting wind. Cautiously, she skied down the trail, finding its frozen surface treacherous, and scarcely familiar. In the rapidly gathering dusk nothing looked exactly the same as by daylight. Trees towered like unfriendly giants, obscuring the path.
Before Penny had covered half the distance to Jasko’s cabin, snowflakes, soft and damp, began to fall. They came faster and faster, the wind whirling them directly into her face. She kept her head down and wished that she had remained by the crackling log fire at the Downey lodge.