Where is Susan and Shevta?(Part two of the fleeing in Winter series)

                Elizabeth hardly remembered the trek through the heavy snow. They all wore snow shoes, which made it somewhat easier, but still it was one foot ahead of the other, one foot ahead of the other on and on, and higher and higher. They took turns carrying Mariekin who was cold and somewhat fussy. As far as the eye could see were Waldenses, before her and behind. Where, oh where was her dear friend Susan?

                “Will we get there soon?” John asked. Elizabeth noticed that he looked pale and exhausted although he never complained, not once. Mama must have noticed to, because she hoisted him up into the cart and tucked blankets around him. She pointed higher up the mountain. “See where the first ones are disappearing? They are entering the cave where we will find shelter, and then we can eat!”

  Elizabeth kept looking back. Surely Susan was just behind them. How will her Grandmother ever be doing? She was much too old and feeble for such a long trek, but oh, she wished they could hurry!

                Suddenly a stalwart young man came jogging pass them. Without pausing he shouted; “Run, run, the soldier was catching up! Run! Run!” He kept running, kept shouting the message every few yards.
                Elizabeth half expected pandemonium to break loose, but it didn’t. Some threw off unnecessary belongings as they quickened their pace, someone started singing  heartening songs (canticles) and everyone that could, tried to run, but the snow was deep, so deep, and the path narrow.

                They heard screams and crying behind them which just pressured them to go faster. Suddenly Papa was beside them, his hair disheveled, eyes blood shot. He was running—and carrying something large and awkward.

                “Susan!” Elizabeth screamed, “Susan!”  Someone pushed her from behind; they had reached the door of the cave. Someone pulled her from before. They were there; they were safe; they were safe but Susan, Susan. Whatever had happened to Susan?

                All the women and children were lined up against the rocky walls of the inner cave with the animals in adjoining caves. Mama set to work caring for Susan who seemed to be in some sort of shock or stupor, and instructed Elizabeth to feed the children. Elizabeth opened the cauldron which she had been carrying the whole way. Delicious aromas wafted into the frosty air. She saw that all around her others were removing lids from their heavy cast iron pots and an almost festive air permeated the atmosphere, but only for a moment.

The last of the stragglers had made it in, but they carried bad news. The soldiers had overtaken those just behind them, and some were killed, yes, some were killed. Susan’s Grandmother was among them.

                Susan was coming to, and Elizabeth rushed to comfort her.

                “Hush,” Mama cautioned, “Don’t say a word. She may have forgotten.”

                Susan looked around bewilderedly. “Where am I?” she murmured. “Grandma? Where is Grandma?”

     Mama knelt beside her and stroked her flaxen hair off her forehead. “She went to be with the Lord,”
                “W-was the trek too hard for her?"

  Mama didn’t answer directly. “She is in a better place, little one. The angels have carried her home.”
                Susan started to cry brokenly and several ladies gathered around to comfort her. Elizabeth woodenly spooned cold, congealed pudding into Mariekin’s waiting mouth but she felt numb, chilled just like the pudding.

                In whispers the word was passed around of others who didn’t make it. Everyone was sad but not grief stricken. It was their lot in life. Everyone knew that to be a Waldensene often meant to suffer and even die for their faith, but it was worth it, it was truly worth it, they knew in their hearts.

                Someone started up a hymn and others joined in. There was nothing quite like hearing 3000 voices lifted in praise and supplication to soothe and comfort her spirits.  Elizabeth sat with one arm around Susan who had her fingers pressed into her eyes while her shiny braids fell across her chest.

                Elizabeth sang, her mother sang, even John’s warbling voice joined in as they watched their father and others weaving from group to group administering comfort and council wherever needed.

To be continued