There was a sharp chill in the early autumn air, normal for upper Montana, signaling the change of seasons in Whitefish, a small town nestled in the northwest part of the state, among national forests of the Rocky Mountains not far from the Canadian border. This change was not unwelcome for the hardy people living up here, it being a respite form the unrelenting heat of the short, but intense summer. The cool weather also signaled an annual alert to prepare for the oncoming winter, which brought on a rise in folks’ activity level not just from the cooler weather but as a reminder that not enough had been done; stored, cut, stacked, canned, or smoked for survival. Winters can be brutal for the unprepared up here.
J.T.’s mother, Mildred, tired from another sleepless night, stood hunched over the kitchen sink, staring out the window while absently peeling potatoes. She hadn’t gone to work since J.T. went missing three weeks ago. Her hair hung down in unkempt strings and knots, wearing the same clothes for days, she had lost any desire to care for herself. Every moment was spent going over the last hours of her time spent with her son before he disappeared. Of course she blamed herself, showing him off like a prize lamb at a 4H show, with no concern for his feelings. She thought herself selfish and inconsiderate, undeserving of such a fine son. She sank deeper into depression with every passing day.
She never hated his father for leaving; she knew it when she first met him. He was a rogue, a woodsman and an adventurer. Fondly she remember her courtship, short as it was, and her small marriage ceremony, no kin of his or hers out this way. Less than a year later she was blessed with a baby boy, and didn’t care whether the father ever came home again. She had what she wanted. The father, of mixed Indian and French heritage, stayed away for days, then weeks after the baby was born. Then he left for good. Mildred scarcely noticed.
What more could she do? The authorities and her neighbors searched for the missing boy for what seemed to be more than a reasonable time, but J.T. wasn't their boy, she would never quit hoping, praying. Eventually all the searchers went back to their homes, most stopping by her place to share a sincere hug and heartfelt well-wishes, such as they were, for the future. She was dazed, unbelieving, by the official end of the resue effort. If her son was gone forever, she didn’t want to live, but she hung on just in case Little Jonny would one day show up and need her.
Her appearance and her health declined to the point, that if anyone had seen her, they would have been shocked and immediately called for medical attention. Mildred never left the house, even as her food stocks ran low, her appetite long gone. The autumn turned to winter and she didn’t care. If her boy was out there, there was a slim chance he would ever survive a Montana winter alone. So, she didn’t want to either. If there was a heaven, she would meet him there, she thought.