Waiting for Harvey (The Spirits of Maine) by Lydia North, Kim Scott Page A

the coyotes since that horrible night.  I preferred to believe that my silence would keep them away.  Thoughts of my next escape plan would remain my secret.
     
    *
     
    Christmas had definitely passed, I knew it with certainty.  I didn’t know the day of the month or the day of the week, but I knew that December was gone.  I noticed that the hours of daylight had increased by minutes each day.  I guessed that the shortest day of the year had been almost a month earlier.  It was likely the middle of January. 
    The weather improved somewhat and I ventured out for another wild turkey.  I needed to bring back the largest game I could get with the birdshot.  I would convince him that I meant to stay.  Early in the morning, I would take only what could be carried without raising suspicions.  I would take out the ATV and carry the shotgun.  I planned to go to the Lamoureaux Brothers work site first, to search for more fuel.  Then I would find my way to the main road.
    Feeling more hopeful, I ate gluttonously that evening.  I was content, but there was no excitement over the escape I had planned.  I could not allow the emotion to ruin it.  With my belly full, I stretched out on the couch and read my book until I fell asleep.  I slept better than I had since I first arrived at the cabin.  
    In the morning, I woke feeling rested.  Whistling cheerfully, I enjoyed a breakfast of turkey, canned corn, and kidney beans.  I didn’t dare pack food to take with me so I would need to eat well before I left.  Inside my head, I laughed at how I was outsmarting him at last.  He would never suspect what my plan was until I was too far away for him to reach me.  I would be beyond his influence and too far for the coyotes to stalk me.
    With the woodstove banked well, I grabbed the shotgun and made a big production of preparing to go out hunting for a tasty pheasant or quail.  I complained that I didn’t want to go out in the cold.  I grumbled about being worried that the weather would turn again and I might run short on food.  Talking louder than I needed to, I proposed a plan to make my own jerky from the pheasant and some of the remaining turkey.  I was secretly thrilled by my superior intellect and cunning.
    Bundled against the cold morning, I marched out to the shed.  I rolled the ATV out and I was eventually able to start it.  It sputtered and threatened to stall, but the low rumble didn’t fail.  Excitedly, I jumped onto the seat gunned the engine.  Wearing a Cheshire cat smile, I released the brake and rolled along the animal trail.
    Just a few feet along the path the tires spun.  I looked back, realizing for the first time that the tread on the tires was not designed for driving on snow and ice, it was meant for dirt roads.  They weren’t intended to turn on the smooth surface.  My smile vanished as I rocked the machine and eased it forward. 
    Frustrated by the repeated delays, I reached the fallen tree at last.  The snow that had drifted against it looked like a ramp.  I debated trying to use the makeshift ramp to launch the ATV over it, but I reconsidered and eased around the far end of it. 
    On the other side of the massive dead tree, the left rear tire dipped low.  Stuck again, I jumped up and down, trying to free it.  The back tires continued to spin with no forward movement.  For several minutes, I worked to free it with no luck.  At last, I climbed down and moved to the front of the machine.  My efforts seemed only to make the situation worse.
    My slow trip along the trail had wasted valuable fuel.  The time spent trying to maneuver around the end of the tree and up onto the road again, had squandered more of the gas.  I began to worry that I wouldn’t be able to make it all the way to the Lamoureaux Brothers job site again.  I would never find the main road without the ATV.
    Anxiously, I shut off the motor and moved down behind it.  An hour passed as I worked to free it only to