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Formydaughters,GraceandAurora

“Wife,letusgointotheyardbehindandmakealittlesnowgirl;andperhapsshewillcomealive,andbealittledaughtertous.”

“Husband,”saystheoldwoman,“there’snoknowingwhatmaybe.Letusgointotheyardandmakealittlesnowgirl.”

—LittleDaughteroftheSnowbyArthurRansome

CHAPTER1

WolverineRiver,Alaska,1920Mabelhadknowntherewouldbesilence.Thatwasthepoint,afterall.Noinfantscooingorwailing.Noneighborchildrenplayfullyholleringdownthelane.Nopadofsmallfeetonwoodenstairswornsmooth by generations, or clackety-clack of toys along the kitchen floor.All those sounds of herfailureandregretwouldbeleftbehind,andintheirplacetherewouldbesilence.

She had imagined that in theAlaskawilderness silencewould be peaceful, like snow falling atnight,airfilledwithpromisebutnosound,butthatwasnotwhatshefound.Instead,whenshesweptthe plank floor, the broom bristles scritched like some sharp-toothed shrew nibbling at her heart.Whenshewashedthedishes,platesandbowlsclatteredasiftheywerebreakingtopieces.Theonlysoundnotofhermakingwasasudden“caw,cawww”fromoutside.Mabelwrungdishwaterfromaragandlookedoutthekitchenwindowintimetoseearavenflappingitswayfromoneleaflessbirchtree toanother.Nochildrenchasingeachother throughautumn leaves,callingeachother ’snames.Notevenasolitarychildonaswing.

Therehadbeen theone.A tiny thing,born still and silent.Tenyearspast, but evennowshe foundherselfreturningto thebirth to touchJack’sarm,stophim,reachout.Sheshouldhave.Sheshouldhavecuppedthebaby’sheadinthepalmofherhandandsnippedafewofitstinyhairstokeepinalocketatherthroat.Sheshouldhavelookedintoitssmallfaceandknownifitwasaboyoragirl,andthenstoodbesideJackasheburieditinthePennsylvaniawinterground.Sheshouldhavemarkeditsgrave.Sheshouldhaveallowedherselfthatgrief.

Itwasachild,afterall, although it lookedmore likea fairychangeling.Pinched face, tiny jaw,earsthatcametonarrowpoints;thatmuchshehadseenandweptoverbecausesheknewshecouldhaveloveditstill.

Mabelwastoolongatthewindow.Theravenhadsinceflownawayabovethetreetops.Thesunhadslippedbehindamountain,andthelighthadfallenflat.Thebrancheswerebare,thegrassyellowedgray.Not a single snowflake. Itwas as if everything fine andglitteringhadbeenground from theworldandsweptawayasdust.

Novemberwashere,anditfrightenedherbecausesheknewwhatitbrought—colduponthevalleylikeacomingdeath,glacialwindthroughthecracksbetweenthecabinlogs.Butmostofall,darkness.Darknesssocompleteeventhepale-lithourswouldbechoked.

Sheenteredlastwinterblind,notknowingwhattoexpectinthisnew,hardland.Nowsheknew.ByDecember,thesunwouldrisejustbeforenoonandskirtthemountaintopsforafewhoursoftwilightbefore sinking again. Mabel would move in and out of sleep as she sat in a chair beside thewoodstove.Shewouldnotpickupanyofherfavoritebooks;thepageswouldbelifeless.Shewouldnotdraw;whatwouldtherebe tocapture inhersketchbook?Dullskies,shadowycorners. Itwould

become harder and harder to leave the warm bed each morning. She would stumble about in awalkingsleep,scrapetogethermealsanddrapewetlaundryaroundthecabin.Jackwouldstruggletokeeptheanimalsalive.Thedayswouldruntogether,winter ’sstrangleholdtightening.

Allherlifeshehadbelievedinsomethingmore,inthemysterythatshape-shiftedattheedgeofhersenses.Itwastheflutterofmothwingsonglassandthepromiseofrivernymphsinthedappledcreekbeds.Itwasthesmellofoaktreesonthesummereveningshefell inlove,andthewaydawnthrewitselfacrossthecowpondandturnedthewatertolight.

Mabelcouldnotrememberthelasttimeshecaughtsuchaflicker.ShegatheredJack’sworkshirts andsatdown tomend.She triednot to lookout thewindow. If

onlyitwouldsnow.Maybethatwhitewouldsoftenthebleaklines.Perhapsitcouldcatchsomebitoflightandmirroritbackintohereyes.

But all afternoon the clouds remainedhigh and thin, thewind rippeddead leaves from the treebranches,anddaylightgutteredlikeacandle.Mabelthoughtoftheterriblecoldthatwouldtrapheralone in the cabin, and her breathing turned shallow and rapid. She stood to pace the floor. Shesilentlyrepeatedtoherself,“Icannotdothis.Icannotdothis.”

Therewereguns in thehouse,andshehad thoughtof thembefore.Thehuntingriflebeside thebookshelf, the shotgun over the doorway, and a revolver that Jack kept in the top drawer of thebureau.Shehadneverfiredthem,butthatwasn’twhatkepther.Itwastheviolenceandunseemlygoreofsuchanact,andtheblamethatwouldinevitablycomeinitswake.Peoplewouldsayshewasweakinmindorspirit,orJackwasapoorhusband.AndwhatofJack?Whatshameandangerwouldheharbor?

Theriver,though—thatwassomethingdifferent.Notasoultoblame,notevenherown.Itwouldbeanunfortunatemisstep.Peoplewouldsay,ifonlyshehadknowntheicewouldn’tholdher.Ifonlyshe’dknownitsdangers.

Afternoondescendedintodusk,andMabelleftthewindowtolightanoillamponthetable,asifshewasgoingtopreparedinnerandwaitforJack’sreturn,asifthisdaywouldendlikeanyother,butinhermind shewasalready following the trail through thewoods to theWolverineRiver.The lampburnedasshelacedherleatherboots,putherwintercoatonoverherhousedress,andsteppedoutside.Herhandsandheadwerebaretothewind.

Asshestrodethroughthenakedtrees,shewasbothexhilaratedandnumb,chilledbytheclarityofherpurpose.Shedidnotthinkofwhatsheleftbehind,butonlyofthismomentinasortofblack-and-whiteprecision.Thehardclunkofherbootsolesonthefrozenground.Theicybreezeinherhair.Herexpansivebreaths.Shewasstrangelypowerfulandsure.

Sheemergedfromtheforestandstoodonthebankofthefrozenriver.Itwascalmexceptfortheoccasionalgustofwindthatruffledherskirtagainstherwoolstockingsandswirledsiltacross theice.Fartherupstream, theglacier-fedvalleystretchedhalfamilewidewithgravelbars,driftwood,andbraidedshallowchannels,butheretheriverrannarrowanddeep.Mabelcouldseetheshalecliffonthefarsidethatfelloffintoblackice.Below,thewaterwouldbewelloverherhead.

Thecliffbecameherdestination,thoughsheexpectedtodrownbeforeshereachedit.Theicewasonly an inch or two thick, and even in the depths of winter no one would dare to cross at thistreacherouspoint.

Atfirstherbootscaughtonboulders,frozeninthesandyshore,butthenshestaggereddownthe

steepbankandcrosseda small rivuletwhere the icewas thin andbrittle.Shebroke througheveryothersteptohitdrysandbeneath.Thenshecrossedabarrenpatchofgravelandhikedupherskirttoclimboveradriftwoodlog,fadedbytheelements.

Whenshereachedtheriver ’smainchannel,wherewaterstillcourseddownthevalley,theicewasnolongerbrittleandwhitebut insteadblackandpliant,as if ithadonlysolidifiedthenightbefore.Sheslidherbootsolesontothesurfaceandnearlylaughedatherownabsurdity—tobecarefulnottoslipevenassheprayedtofallthrough.

Shewasseveralfeetfromsafegroundwhensheallowedherselftostopandpeerdownbetweenher boots. It was like walking on glass. She could see granite rocks beneath the moving, darkturquoisewater.A yellow leaf floated by, and she imagined herself swept alongside it and brieflylookingupthroughtheremarkablyclearice.Beforethewaterfilledherlungs,wouldshebeabletoseethesky?

Hereandthere,bubblesaslargeasherhandwerefrozeninwhitecircles,andinotherplaceslargecracksranthrough.Shewonderediftheicewasweakeratthosepoints,andifsheshouldseekthemoutoravoidthem.Shesethershoulders,facedstraightahead,andwalkedwithoutlookingdown.

Whenshecrossedtheheartofthechannel,theclifffacewasalmostwithinarm’slength,thewaterwasamuffled roar, and the icegave slightlybeneathher.Againstherwill, sheglanceddown,andwhat she saw terrifiedher.Nobubbles.Nocracks.Onlybottomlessblack, as if thenight skywereunderherboots.Sheshiftedherweighttotakeanothersteptowardthecliff,andtherewasacrack,adeep,resonantpoplikeamassiveChampagnebottlebeinguncorked.Mabelspreadherfeetwideandherknees trembled.Shewaitedfor the ice togiveway, forherbodytoplunge into theriver.Thentherewas another thud, awhoompf, and shewas certain the ice slumped beneath her boots, but inmillimeters,nearlyimperceptibleexceptfortheawfulsound.

Shewaitedandbreathed,andthewaterdidn’tcome.Theiceboreher.Sheslidherfeetslowly,firstone,thentheother,againandagain,aslowshuffleuntilshestoodwhereicemetcliff.Neverhadsheimaginedshewouldbehere,onthefarsideoftheriver.Sheputherbarepalmstothecoldshale,thenthe entire length of her body, until her foreheadwas pressed to it and she could smell the stone,ancientanddamp.

Itscoldbegantoseepintoher,sosheloweredherarmstohersides, turnedfromthecliffface,andbegan the journeyback theway shehad come.Herheart thudded inher throat.Her legswereunsteady.Shewonderedifnow,asshemadeherwayhome,shewouldbreakthroughtoherdeath.

Asshenearedsolidground,shewantedtoruntoit,buttheicewastooslickbeneathherboots,sosheslidasifice-skatingandthenstumbledupthebank.Shegaspedandcoughedandnearlylaughed,asifithadallbeenalark,amaddare.Thenshebentwithherhandsonherthighsandtriedtosteadyherself.

Whensheslowlystraightened, thelandwasvastbeforeher.Thesunwassettingdowntheriver,casting a cold pink hue along the white-capped mountains that framed both sides of the valley.Upriver,thewillowshrubsandgravelbars,thespruceforestsandlow-lyingpoplarstands,swelledtothemountainsinasteelyblue.Nofieldsorfences,homesorroads;notasinglelivingsoulasfarasshecouldseeinanydirection.Onlywilderness.

Itwasbeautiful,Mabelknew,but itwasabeautythatrippedyouopenandscouredyoucleansothatyouwerelefthelplessandexposed,ifyoulivedatall.Sheturnedherbacktotheriverandwalkedhome.

Thelanternwasstillburning;thekitchenwindowglowedassheapproachedthecabin,andwhensheopened the door and stepped inside, warmth and flickering light overcame her. Everything wasunfamiliarandgolden.Shehadnotexpectedtoreturnhere.

Itseemedshewasgonehours,butitwasnotyetsixintheevening,andJackhadn’tcomein.Shetookoffhercoatandwent to thewoodstove, letting theheatsinkpainfully intoherhandsandfeet.Once she could open and close her fingers, she took out pots and pans, marveling that she wasfulfilling such amundane task. She addedwood to the stove, cooked dinner, and then sat straight-backed at the rough-hewn table with her hands folded in her lap. A fewminutes later, Jack camethroughthedoor,stompedhisboots,anddustedstrawfromhiswoolcoat.

Certainhewouldsomehowknowwhat shehadsurvived, shewatchedandwaited.He rinsedhishandsinthebasin,satacrossfromher,andloweredhishead.

“Blessthisfood,Lord,”hemumbled.“Amen.”Shesetapotatooneachoftheirplatesbesideboiledcarrotsandredbeans.Neitherofthemspoke.

Therewasonlythescrapingofknivesandforksagainstplates.Shetriedtoeat,butcouldnotforceherself.Wordslaylikegranitebouldersinherlapandwhenatlastshespoke,eachonewasheavyandburdensomeandallshecouldmanage.

“Iwenttotherivertoday,”shesaid.Hedidnotlifthishead.Shewaitedforhimtoaskwhyshewoulddosuchathing.Maybethenshe

couldtellhim.Jackjabbedatthecarrotswithhisfork,thenswabbedthebeanswithasliceofbread.Hegaveno

indicationhehadheardher.“It’sfrozenallthewayacrosstothecliffs,”shesaidinanearwhisper.Hereyesdown,herbreath

shallow,shewaited,buttherewasonlyJack’schewing,hisforkathisplate.Mabellookedupandsawhiswindburnedhandsandfrayedcuffs,thecrow’sfeetthatspreadatthe

cornersofhisdownturnedeyes.Shecouldn’trememberthelasttimeshehadtouchedthatskin,andthethoughtachedlikelonelinessinherchest.Thenshespottedafewstrandsofsilverinhisreddish-brownbeard.Whenhadtheyappeared?Sohe,too,wasgraying.Eachofthemfadingawaywithouttheother ’snotice.

Shepushedfoodhereandtherewithherfork.Sheglancedatthelanternhangingfromtheceilingandsawshardsof lightstreamfromit.Shewascrying.Foramomentshesatand let the tears rundowneithersideofhernoseuntil theywereat thecornersofhermouth.Jackcontinuedtoeat,hisheaddown.Shestoodandtookherplateoffoodtothesmallkitchencounter.Turnedaway,shewipedherfacewithherapron.

“Thaticeisn’tsolidyet,”Jacksaidfromthetable.“Besttostayoffofit.”

Mabelswallowed,clearedherthroat.“Yes.Ofcourse,”shesaid.Shebusiedherselfatthecounteruntilhereyeswereclear,thenreturnedtothetableandspooned

morecarrotsontoJack’splate.“Howisthenewfield?”sheasked.“It’scoming.”Heforkedpotatointohismouth,thenwipeditwiththebackofhishand.“I’llgettherestofthetreescutandskiddedinthenextfewdays,”hesaid.“ThenI’llburnsome

moreofthestumpsout.”“Wouldyoulikemetocomeandhelp?Icouldtendthestumpfiresforyou.”“No,I’llmanage.”

Thatnightinbed,shehadaheightenedawarenessofhim,ofthescentofstrawandspruceboughsinhishairandbeard,theweightofhimonthecreakybed,thesoundofhisslow,tiredbreaths.Helayonhisside,turnedawayfromher.Shereachedout,thinkingtotouchhisshoulder,butinsteadloweredherarmandlayinthedarknessstaringathisback.

“Doyouthinkwe’llmakeitthroughwinter?”sheasked.Hedidn’tanswer.Perhapshewasasleep.Sherolledawayandfacedthelogwall.Whenhespoke,Mabelwonderedifitwasgrogginessoremotionthatmadehisvoicegravelly.“Wedon’thavemuchchoice,dowe?”

CHAPTER2

Themorningwassocold thatwhenJack first steppedoutsideandharnessed thehorse,his leatherbootsstayedstiffandhishandswouldn’tworkright.Anorthwindblewsteadilyoff theriver.He’dhavelikedtostayindoors,buthehadalreadystackedMabel’stowel-wrappedpiesinacratetotaketotown.Heslappedhimselfonthearmsandstompedhisfeettogetthebloodflowing.Itwasdamnedcold, andeven longunderwearbeneathdenimseemeda scantcotton sheet abouthis legs. Itwasn’teasy,leavingthecomfortofthewoodstovetofacethisalone.Thesunthreatenedtocomeupontheothersideoftheriver,butitslightwasweakandsilvery,andnotmuchcomfortatall.

Jackclimbedupintotheopenwagonandshookthereins.Hedidnotlookbackoverhisshoulder,buthefeltthecabindwindleintothesprucetreesbehindhim.

Asthetrailpassedthroughafield,thehorseseemedtotriponitsownfeet,andthenittosseditshead.Jackslowedthewagontoastopandscannedthefieldanddistanttrees,butsawnothing.

Goddamnedhorse.He’dwantedanicemellowdraft,somethingslowandstrong.Buthorseswerescarcer thanhen’s teethuphere,andhedidn’thavemuchtochoosefrom—aswaybackedoldmarethat looked tobeonher last legs and thisone,youngandbarelybroken, better suited toprancingaroundaringthanworkingforaliving.Jackwasafraiditwouldbethedeathofhim.

Justtheotherdayhe’dbeenskiddinglogsoutofthenewfieldwhenthehorsespookedatabranchand knocked Jack to the ground.He barelymissed being crushed by the log as the horse chargedahead.Hisforearmsandshinswerestilltoreup,andhisbackpainedhimeverymorning.

Andtherelaytherealproblem.Notthenervoushorse,butthetiredoldman.Thetruthsquirmedinthepitofhis stomach likea thingdonewrong.Thiswas toomuchwork foramanofhisage.Hewasn’tmakingheadway,evenworkingeverydayaslongandhardashecould.Afteralongsummerandsnowlessautumn,hewasstillnowhereneardoneclearingenoughlandtoearnaliving.Hegotapitifullittlepotatoharvestoffonesmallfieldthisyear,anditscarcelydidmorethanbuyflourforthewinter.HefiguredhehadenoughmoneyleftfromsellinghisshareinthefarmBackEasttolastthemonemoreyear,butonlyifMabelkeptsellingpiesintown.

Thatwasn’trighteither,Mabelscrubbingherownrough-cutfloorsandsellingbakedgoodsontheside.Howdifferentherlifecouldhavebeen.Thedaughterofaliteratureprofessor,afamilyofprivilege, shecouldhavestudiedherbooksandartandspentherafternoonsconsortingwithotherfinewomen.Servantsandchinateacupsandpetitfoursbakedbysomeoneelse.

As he rode through the end of a half-cleared field, the horse jerked again, tossed its head andsnorted.Jackpulledbackonthereins.Hesquintedandstudiedthefallentreesaroundhimandbeyondthemthestandingbirches,spruce,andcottonwoods.Thewoodsweresilent,noteventhetwitterofabird.Thehorsestampedahoofonthehardgroundandthenwasstill.Jacktriedtoquiethisbreathingsohecouldseeandhear.

Somethingwaswatchinghim.It was a foolish thought.Who would be out here? He wondered not for the first time if wild

animalscouldgivethatfeeling.Dumbbeasts,likecowsandchickens,couldstareataman’sbackallday and not give a prickle on his neck.Butmaybewoodland creatureswere different.He tried topicture a bear shuffling through the forest, pacing back and forth and eyeing him and the horse.

Didn’tseemlikely,gettingthisclosetowinter.Theyshouldbelookingtodenup.Hiseyescaughtnowand thenona stumpora shadowyspotamong the trees.Shrug itoff,old

man,hetoldhimself.You’lldriveyourselfcrazylookingforsomethingthat’snotthere.Hewenttoshakethereins,butthenpeeredonelasttimeoverhisshoulderandsawit—aflashof

movement,asmudgeofbrownishred.Thehorsesnorted.Jackturnedslowlyinthewagonseat.Aredfoxdartedamongthefallentrees.Itdisappearedforaminutebutpoppedupagain,closerto

the forest, runningwith its fluffy tail held low to theground. It stopped and turned its head.For amomentitseyeslockedwithJack’s,andthere,initsnarrowinggoldenirises,hesawthesavageryoftheplace.Likehewasstaringwildernessitselfstraightintheeye.

Hefacedforwardin thewagon,shookthereins,andlet thehorsegather toa trot,bothof themeagertoputthefoxbehindthem.Forthenexthour,herodehunchedandcoldasthewagonbumpedalongthroughmilesofuntouchedforest.Ashenearedtown,thehorsepickedupitspace,andJackhadtoslowittokeepthecratefromspillingoutofthewagon.

Backhome,Alpinewouldn’t havebeen called a townat all. Itwasnothingmore than a fewdusty,false-fronted buildings perched between the train tracks and theWolverine River. Nearby, severalhomesteadershadstrippedthelandclearoftreesbeforeabandoningit.Somewentofftopangoldorworkfortherailroad,butmosthadhightailedithomewithnoplansofeverreturningtoAlaska.

Jackcarriedthecrateofpiesupthestepstothehotelrestaurant,wheretheowner ’swifeopenedthedoorforhim.Wellintohersixties,Bettyworeherhairshortandmannishandrantheplacelikeaone-womanshow.Herhusband,Roy,workedfortheterritorialgovernmentandwasrarelyabout.

“Goodmorning,Betty,”Jacksaid.“It’suglyasfarasIcansee.”Sheslammedthedoorbehindthem.“Colderthanhell,andnosignof

snow.Neverseenanythinglikeit.GotsomeofMabel’spies?”“Yes,ma’am.”Hesetthemonthecounterandunwrappedthemfromthetowels.“Thatwomansurecanbake,”shesaid.“Everybody’salwaysaskingafterthempies.”“Gladtohearit.”Shecountedafewbillsfromthetillandputthemonthecounterbesidethecrate.“So I know I’m risking losing a few customers, Jack, but I’m afraidwewon’t be needing any

moreaftertoday.Mysister ’scometolivewithus,andRoysaysshe’sgottoearnherkeepbydoingthebaking.”

Hepickedupthebillsandputtheminhiscoatpocketasifhehadn’theardwhatshe’dsaid.Thenitregistered.

“Nomorepies?Yousure?”“Sorry,Jack.Iknowit’spoortiming,withwintercomingon,but…”Hervoicetrailedoff,andshe

seemeduncharacteristicallyembarrassed.“Wecouldcuttheprice,ifthatwouldhelp,”hesaid.“Weneedeverypennywecanget.”“Iamsorry.CanIgetyouacupofcoffeeandsomebreakfast?”“Coffeewouldbefine.”Hechoseatablebyasmallwindowthatlookedoutovertheriver.“It’sonthehouse,”shesaidasshesetthecupinfrontofhim.Heneverstayedwhenhebroughtthepiesintotown,butthismorninghewasn’teagertogetback

tothehomestead.WhatwouldhetellMabel?Thattheyhadtopackupandgohomewiththeir tailsbetween their legs?Give up, like all those before him?He stirred some sugar into the coffee and

staredoutthewindow.Amanwithscuffedleatherbootsandthedust-beatenairofamountaincampwalked along the river ’s edge.Hewore a bedroll on his backpack, led a shaggy husky by a ropetetherandinhisotherhandcarriedahuntingrifle.PasthimJackcouldseeawhitehazeshroudingthepeaks.Itwassnowinginthemountains.Soonitwouldsnowhereinthevalley,too.

“Youknow,they’relookingforhelpupatthemine.”Bettyslidaplateofbaconandeggsinfrontofhim.“Youprobablywouldn’twanttomakeityourprofession,butitmightgetyouallthroughatightspot.”

“Thecoalmineupnorth?”“Yep.Pay’snotbad,andthey’llbeatitaslongastheycankeepthetracksclear.Theyfeedyouand

bunkyou,andsendyouhomewithalittleextramoneyinyourpocket.Justsomethingtothinkabout.”“Thanks.Andthanksforthis.”Hegesturedtowardtheplate.“Surething.”Agodforsaken job,coalmining.Farmerswereborn towork in the lightandair,not in tunnels

throughrock.Backhome,he’dseenthemenreturnfromthemineswiththeirfacesblackwithcoaldustandcoughingupdirtyblood.Evenifhehadthewillandstrength,itwouldmeanleavingMabelaloneatthehomesteadfordays,maybeweeks,atatime.

Cash money is what they needed, though. Just a month or two might be enough to pull themthroughnextharvest.Hecouldstandmostanythingforamonthortwo.HeatethelastbiteofbaconandwasreadytoheadoutwhenGeorgeBensoncamenoisilythroughtherestaurantdoor.

“Betty,Betty,Betty.Whathaveyougotformetoday?Anyofthosepies?”“They’refreshoffthehomestead,George.HaveaseatandI’llbringasliceover.”GeorgeturnedtowardthetablesandspottedJack.“Hellothere,neighbor!I’lltellyouwhat—yourwifebakesameanapplepie.”Hethrewhiscoat

overthebackofachairandpattedhisroundbelly.“MindifIjoinyou?”“Notatall.”Georgelivedabouttenmilestheothersideoftownwithhiswifeandthreeboys.Jackhadmethim

afewtimesatthegeneralstoreandhereattherestaurant.Heseemedagood-naturedsortandalwaysspokeasiftheywereconfirmedfriends.HeandGeorgewereaboutthesameage.

“How’sitcomingoutatyourplace?”Georgeaskedashesatacrossfromhim.“It’scoming.”“Yougotanyhelpoutthere?”“Nope.Justworkingawayonitmyself.Gotoneortwogoodfieldscleared.Alwaysmoretodo.

Youknowhowitgoes.”“Weshouldswapafewdayshereandthere—meandmyboyscomeovertoyourplacewithour

drafthorses,andthenyoulendahandourway.”“That’sagenerousoffer.”“Wecouldhelpyougetsomeworkdone,”Georgecontinued,“andyourwifecouldcomeover

andgetsomegirltimewithEsther,talkaboutbakingorsewingorwhateveritistheytalkabout.Shegetstiredofallusmen.She’dbethrilledtohaveyouallover.”

Jackdidn’tsayyesorno.“Yourkidsallgrownandgone?”Georgeasked.Jackhadn’tseenthatcoming.HeandMabelwerethatold,weren’tthey,thattheirchildrencouldbe

grownandhavingfamiliesoftheirown.Hewonderedifhelookedthewayhefelt,likesomeonehadstuckoutafootandtrippedhim.

“Nope.Neverhadany.”

“What’sthat?Neverhadany,yousay?”“Nope.”HewatchedGeorge.Ifyousaidyoudidn’thavechildren,itsoundedlikeachoice,andwhatkind

of crazinesswould that be? If you said you couldn’t, the conversation turned awkwardwhile theycontemplatedyourmanlinessoryourwife’shealth.Jackwaitedandswallowed.

“That’soneway togo, I suppose.”Georgeshookhisheadwithachuckle.“Heckofa lotmorequietaroundyourplace,I’llbet.Sometimesthoseboysofmineliketodrivemetodrink.Hasslingaboutthisorthat,draggingoutofbedinthemorninglikethepoxwasonthem.Gettingagoodday’sworkoutoftheyoungestoneisaboutaseasyaswrestlingahog.”

Jacklaughedandeased,dranksomeofhiscoffee.“Ihadabrotherlikethat.Itwasalmosteasiertojustlethimsleep.”

“Yep,that’showsomeofthemare,atleastuntilthey’vegotaplaceoftheirownandseewhatit’sallabout.”

BettycametothetablewithacupandsliceofpieforGeorge.“IwasjusttellingJackthey’relookingforhelpupatthemine,”shesaidasshepouredhotcoffee.

“Youknow,togetthemthroughthewinter.”George raised his eyebrows, then frowned, but didn’t speak until Betty had gone back into the

kitchen.“Youaren’t,areyou?”“Somethingtoconsider.”“Christ.You lost your ever-lovingmind?You and I—we’re no spring chickens, and those hell

holesareforyoungmen,ifanybodyatall.”Jacknodded,uncomfortablewiththeconversation.“I know it’s none ofmydamnedbusiness, but you seem like a good fellow,”Georgewent on.

“Youknowwhythey’relookingformen?”“Nope.”“They’ve had trouble keeping crews on since the fires a few years back. Fourteen, dead as

doornails.Someburnedupsobadyoucouldn’ttell’emapart.Ahalfdozentheyneverfoundatall.I’mtellingyou,Jack,it’snotworththepenniesthey’dpayyou.”

“Ihearyou.Ido,but…well,I’mbackedupagainstawall.I’mjustnotsurehowtoworkitout.”“Youneedtomakeitthroughuntilharvest?Yougotseedmoneyforthespring?”Jackgaveawrysmile.“Aslongaswedon’teatbetweennowandthen.”“You’vegotcarrotsandpotatoessackedaway,haven’tyou?”“Sure.”“Yougetyourselfamooseyet?”Jackshookhishead.“Neverbeenmuchofahunter.”“Well,seehere—that’sallyouneedtodo.Hangsomemeatinthebarn,andyouandthewifewill

besettillspring.Itwon’tbecakeandcaviar,butyouwon’tstarve.”Jacklookedintohisemptycoffeemug.“That’showitgoesforalotofus,”Georgesaid.“Thosefirstyearsarelean.I’mtellingyou,you

mightgetsickofmooseandpotatoes,butyou’llkeepyournecksafe.”“Trueenough.”Asifitwereallsettled,Georgefinishedoffhispieceofpieinafewhugebites,wipedhismouth

withthenapkin,andstood.HereachedahanddowntoJack.“Better get going. Estherwill accuseme of pissing the day away if I don’t get on home.”His

handshakewassteadyandfriendly.“Don’tforgetwhatIsaid,though.Andwhenitcomestogettingthosefieldscleared,we’dbegladtocomeoverandhelpyouout.Canmakethedaygofastertohavecompany.”

Jacknodded.“Iappreciatethat.”

Hesataloneatthetable.Maybeitwasamistakeisolatingthemselvesthewaytheyhad,Mabelwithoutasinglewomanfriendtotalkwith.George’swifecouldbeagodsend,especiallyifhewentnorthtoworkatthemineandMabelwasleftaloneatthehomestead.

Shewould sayotherwise.Hadn’t they left all thatbehind to start anew lifewith just the twoofthem? I need peace and quiet, she’d told himmore than once. She hadwithered and shrunk in onherself, and it beganwhen they lost that baby. She said she couldn’t bear to attend another familygathering with all the silly banter and gossip. But Jack remembered more. He remembered thepregnantwomensmilingastheystrokedtheirbellies,andthenewborninfantswailingastheywerepassedamongtherelatives.HerememberedthelittlegirlwhohadtuggedatMabel’sskirtsandcalledher“Mama,”mistakingherforanotherwoman,andMabellookingasifshehadbeenbackhanded.Heremembered,too,thathehadfailedher,hadgoneontalkingwithagroupofmenandpretendedhehadn’tseen.

The Bensons’ oldest son was about to be married, and soon enough there would be a babytoddling about the house. He thought of Mabel, that small, sad smile and the wince at the insidecornersofhereyesthatshouldhavemadetearsbutneverdid.

HenoddedatBettyashepickeduptheemptycrateandwalkedouttothewagon.

CHAPTER3

The leadenskyseemed tohold itsbreath.Decembergrewnear,andstill therewasnosnow in thevalley.Forseveraldays, the thermometersheldat twenty-fivebelowzero.WhenMabelwentout tofeedthechickens,shewasstunnedbythecold.Itcutthroughherskinandachedinherhipbonesandknuckles.Shewatchedafewdrysnowflakesfall,butitwasonlyadusting,andtheriverwindsweptitagainstexposedrocksandstumpsinsmall,dirtydrifts.Itwasdifficulttodiscernthescantsnowfromthefineglacialsilt,blowningustsfromtheriverbed,thatcoatedeverything.

Jacksaidpeopleintownwererelievedthesnowhadn’tcome—thetraintrackswereclearandtheminewas running.Butothersworried thedeep freezewouldmeana latespringanda latestartonplanting.

Thedaysdiminished.Light lasted just sixhours, and itwasa feeble light.Mabelorganizedherhoursintopatterns—wash,mend,cook,wash,mend,cook—andtriednottoimaginefloatingbeneaththeicelikeayellowleaf.

Baking daywas a small gift, a reason to look forward.When it came, she rose early andwastakingoutthebinofflourandcanoflardwhenshefeltJack’shandonhershoulder.

“Noneed,”hesaid.“Whynot?”“Bettytoldmetoholdoffonthepies.”“Thisweek?”“Forgood.She’sgothersisterbakingforher.”“Oh,”Mabel said. She put the flour back on the shelf, andwas surprised at the strength of her

disappointment.Thepieshadbeenheronlyrealcontributiontothehousehold,ataskshetooksomepridein.Andtherewasthemoney.

“Willwehaveenough,Jack,withoutit?”“I’llworkitout.Don’tworryyourselfaboutit.”Mabelnowrecalledwakingtofindhissideofthebedempty.Hehadbeenatthekitchentablein

waveringcandlelight,papersspreadinfrontofhim.Shehadgonebacktosleep,notthinkingofitatthe time. But this morning, he looked so old and tired. He walked with a slight stoop, and as heclimbedoutofbedhehadgroanedandheldthesmallofhisback.WhenMabelaskedifhewasallright,hemumbledsomethingaboutthehorsebutsaidhewasfine.Shehadstartedtofussabouthim,buthewavedheroff.Leaveitbe,hesaid.Justleaveitbe.

Mabelbroughthimleftoverbiscuitsandahard-boiledeggforbreakfast.“GeorgeBensonandhisboysarecomingover later today tohelpmeskid logs,”hesaidashe

peeledtheegg.Hedidn’tseemtonoticeherstare.“GeorgeBenson?”sheasked.“AndwhoisGeorgeBenson?”“Hmm?What?”“I’venevermettheman.”“IknowI’vementionedhimbefore.”Hetookabiteofegg,andwithahalf-fullmouthsaid,“You

know,heandEstherlivejustdownriverfromtown.”“No.Ididnotknow.”

“They’ll be here in a few hours.Don’tworry about lunch—we’llwork on through.But figurethreeextraplatesfordinner.”

“Ithought…Didn’tweagree…Whyaretheycominghere?”Jackwasquiet,andthenhegotupfromthetableandpickeduphisleatherbootsfrombesidethe

door.Hesatbackinthechair,pulledthemontohisfeet,andlacedtheminquick,jabbingmotions.“WhatamIsupposedtosay,Mabel?Ineedthehelp.”Hekepthisheaddownandtuggedthelaces

tight.“It’sjustthatsimple.”Hegrabbedhiscoatfromthehook,buttoningashesteppedoutside,asifhecouldn’twaittogetoutthedoor.

GeorgeBensonandtwoofhissonsarrivedanhourorsolater.Theolderboylookedtobeeighteenortwenty,theyoungernotmuchmorethanthirteenorfourteen.Mabelwatchedthroughthewindowas theymet Jack at the barn. They shook hands all around, Jack nodding and grinning. Themengatheredtoolsandheadedtowardthefield,leadingtheteamofdrafthorsestheBensonshadbrought.Theynevercametothecabin.ShewaitedforJacktolookforherinthewindow,togiveawaveashesometimesdidinthemornings,buthedidn’t.

Eveningcame,andMabellitthelampsandcookedadinnerforthem.Whenthemencameinfromworking,shewouldtrytobegracious,butnotoverlyfriendly.Shedidn’twanttoencouragethis.Jackmightneedhelpthisparticularday,buttheywerenotinneedoffriendsorneighbors.Otherwise,whyhadtheycomehere?Theycouldhavestayedhome,wheretherewerepeopleenoughforanyone.No,thepointhadbeentofindsomesolaceontheirown.Hadn’tJackunderstoodthat?

Whenthemenreturned,theydidn’tgiveMabeltwoblinks.Theyweren’trude.GeorgeBensonandhisboysnoddedpolitelyandsaidthankyouandma’amandpleasepassthepotatoes,butwithouteverreallylookingather,andmostlytheytalkedloudlytooneanotheraboutworkhorsesandtheweatherand thecrops.They jokedaboutbroken toolsand thewholeblasted ideaof“homesteading” in thisgodforsaken place and George slapped his knee and asked pardon for his swear words and Jacklaughedoutloudandthetwoboysstuffedtheirmouthsfull.AllthewhileMabelstayedbythekitchencounter,justoutsideofthelightoftheoillamp.

Theyweregoingtobepartners,sheandJack.Thiswasgoingtobetheirnewlifetogether.Nowhesatlaughingwithstrangers,whenhehadn’tsmiledatherinyears.

Later,afterdinner,Georgedraggedhistiredboystotheirfeetandtoldthemitwastimetoheadhome.

“Yourmotherwillbewonderingwherethedevilwewentto,”hesaid.HenoddedatMabel.“Much

thanks for the great meal. You know, I told Jack here that you two ought to come over our waysometime.Esthersurewouldliketomeetyou.Mostofthehomesteadersaroundherearegrubbyoldbachelors.Shecouldstandtohavesomefemalecompanionship.”

Sheshouldthankthemforcomingtohelpandsayshe’dbeoveranydaynowtomeethiswife,butshesaidnothing.Shecouldseeherselfthroughtheireyes—anuptight,Back-Eastwoman.Shedidn’tlikewhatshesaw.

AfterGeorgeandhisboysleft,sheheatedwateronthewoodstoveandwashedtheplates,findingsome satisfaction in the clatter, but her angerwas deflatedwhen she saw that Jack had long sincefallenasleepinhischair.Shewasleftwithherownineffectivebustleandnoise.

Coveringherhandswithherapron,shepickedup thebasinofdirtydishwater,pushedopen thelatch on the doorwith an elbow, and stepped outside. She strode across the hard-packed yard andthrewthewaterintoasmallravinebehindthecabin.Steambillowedaroundherandslowlydissipated.Overheadthestarsglitteredmetallicanddistant,andthenightskyseemedcrueltoher.Sheletthecoldairfillhernostrilsandchillherskin.Herebythecabintheairwascalm,butshecouldhearthewindroardowntheWolverineRiver.

It was several days before Jack mentioned the Bensons again, but he broached the subject as ifhalfway into an ongoing conversation. “George said we should come by about noon onThanksgiving.Itoldhimyou’dmakeuponeofyourpies.He’smissingthemdownatthehotel.”

Mabeldidn’tagreeorprotestoraskquestions.ShewonderedhowJackcouldbesureshehadevenheardhim.

As she flipped through her recipe box, trying to decide what to bake, she thought ofThanksgivingsbackintheAlleghenyRivervalley,whereJack’saunts,uncles,cousins,grandparentsandgrandchildren,friendsandneighbors,gatheredatthefamilyfarmforthefeast.ThosedayshadbeentheworstforMabel.Evenasachildshewasuneasywithcrowds,butasshegotoldershefoundthe bantering and prying even more excruciating. While the men walked the orchards to discussbusiness, she was trapped in the women’s realm of births and deaths, neither of which she wascomfortableturningintoidlechat.Andjustbelowthesurfaceofthisprattlewastheinsinuationofherfailure,whisperedand thenhushedas sheenteredand left rooms.Perhaps, thewhisperswent, Jackshouldhavechosenaheartierwoman,awomanwhowasn’tafraidofhardworkandwhohadthehipsforchildbirth.Thosehighbrowsmightbeabletodiscusspoliticsandgreatliterature,butcouldtheybirthachild,forGod’ssake?Doyouseethewayshecarriesherself,likeshecouldn’tturnhernoseanyhigher?Backasstraightasastick.Anoh-so-delicateconstitution.Tooproudtotakeinanorphanchild.

Mabel would excuse herself to go out of doors for some fresh air, but that only attracted theattentionofanosygreat-auntorwell-meaningsister-in-lawwhowouldadviseher that if shewereonlymoreapproachable,morefriendly,thenperhapsshewouldgetonbetterwithJack’sfamily.

MaybeitwouldbethesamewiththeBensons.MaybetheywouldpresumeherunfittosurviveasahomesteaderinAlaskaorjudgeherbarrenandcoldandaburdentoJack.Alreadyapitofresentmentgrewinsideher.Shethoughtof tellingJackshewastooill togo.ButearlyThanksgivingmorningsherose,wellbeforeJack,putmorewoodinthestove,andbeganrollingoutthedough.Shewouldmakeawalnutpiewithhermother ’srecipe,andalsoadried-applepie.Wasitenough,twopies?Shehadwatched the boys eat, swallowing greatmouthfuls and cleaning plates effortlessly.Maybe she

shouldmakethree.Whatifthecrustsweretough,ortheydidn’tlikewalnutsorapples?Sheshouldn’tcare what the Bensons thought, and yet the pies were to represent her. She might be curt andungrateful,butbyGodshecouldbake.

Withthepiesinthewoodstoveoven,Mabelchoseaheavycottondressthatshehopedwouldbeappropriate. She heated the iron on the stovetop. She wanted to look presentable, but not like anoverdressedoutsider.Once shewas ready and thepiesweredone, shegatheredwool blankets andfacewrapsforherandJack.Itwouldbealong,coldrideintheopenwagon.

AfterJackhadfedandwateredtheanimalsandharnessedthehorse,Mabelsatbesidehimonthewagon seat, the still-warm pies wrapped in towels on her lap. She felt an unexpected shiver ofexcitement.WhateverhappenedattheBensons’,itwasgoodtobeoutofthecabin.Shehadnotleftthehomesteadforweeks.Jack,too,seemedmorechipper.Heclickedhistongueatthehorseand,astheyfollowedthetrailofftheirproperty,hepointedouttoMabelwherehehadbeenclearingandtoldherofhisideasforthespring.Hedescribedhowthehorsehadnearlykilledhimthatday,andhowithadspookedataredfox.

Mabelthreadedherarmintothecrookofhis.“You’veaccomplishedagreatdeal.”“Icouldn’thavedoneitwithouttheBensons.Thoseworkhorsesoftheirsaresomethingelse.Puts

thisbeasttoshame.”Hegavethereinsagentleshake.“Haveyoumethiswife?”“Nope.JustGeorgeandhissons.Georgeusedtobeagoldminer,whenhewasyounger,buthe

met Esther and they decided to settle down and have a family.” Jack hesitated, cleared his throat.“Anyways,heseemslikeagoodman.He’ssurebeenahelptous.”

“Yes.Hehas.”When theyarrivedat theBensons’, someonecameoutof thebarnhoistinga flapping,headless

turkey.ItwasGeorge,she thoughtat first,but thispersonwas tooshortandhada thickgraybraidhangingbelowawoolcap.

“MustbeEsther,”Jacksaid.“Doyouthinkso?”Thewomanraisedherchiningreeting,thenwrestledwiththehugedyingbirdinherarms.Blood

splatteredaboutherfeet.“Goonuptothehouse,”shecalledouttothem.“Theboys’llhelpyouwiththehorse.”In the cabin,Mabel sat alone at the cluttered kitchen table,while Jack disappeared outsidewith

Georgeandtheyoungerson.Withherhandsinherlap,herbackstraight,shewonderedwheretheywould eat.The tablewasheapedwith stacksof catalogs, rowsofwashed, empty jars, andbolts offabric.Thecabinsmelledstronglyofcabbageandsourwildcranberries.Itwasn’tmuchbiggerthanJackandMabel’s,exceptithadaloftwheresheassumedthebedswere.Thecabinwascatawampusinadizzyingway,with the floordipping toone sideand thecornersnot square.Rocksandbleachedanimalskullsanddriedwildflowerslinedthewindowsills.Mabeldidn’tmove,yetshepriedjustbyallowinghereyestowander.

Shejumpedwhenthedoorbangedopen.“Blastedbird.You’dthinkit’dknowenoughtojustgiveuptheghost.Butno,it’sgottoraisehell

whenitdoesn’tevenhaveaheadleftonitsbody.”“Oh.Ohdear.CanIdosomethingtohelp?”Thewomanstompedpastthetablewithoutremovingherdirtybootsandthrewtheturkeyontothe

crowdedcounter.Alardtinfellwithaclattertothefloor.EstherkickedatitandturnedtoMabel,who

stoodflusteredandslightlyfrightened.Esthergrinned,stretchedoutabloodstainedhand.“Mabel?Isn’tthatit?Mabel?”MabelnoddedandgaveherhandovertoEsther ’svigorousshake.“Esther.ButIsupposeyoualreadyfiguredthatout.Goodtohaveyououtherefinally.”Under herwool coat,Estherwore a flower-print shirt andmen’s denimoveralls.Her facewas

speckledwithblood.Shepulledoffherwoolhatandfuzzystandsofhairstoodonend.Sheswungherbraidoverherbackandbeganfillingalargepotwithwater.

“You’dthinkwithallthesemenaroundhereIcouldfindsomebodytokillandpluckaturkeyforme.Butnosuchluck.”

“Areyousurethere’snothingIcando?”PerhapsEstherwouldapologizeforherappearanceorforthedisarrayinthehouse.Maybetherewassomeexplanation,somereason.

“No.No.Justrelaxandmakeyourselfathome.Youcouldfixussometea,ifyou’dlike,whileIgetthisdamnedbirdintheoven.”

“Oh.Yes.Thankyou.”“You know what our youngest went and did? Here we raise a couple of turkeys for no other

reason than to cook on occasions such as these, and he goes out and shoots a dozen ptarmiganyesterday.Let’shavetheseforThanksgiving,hesays.WhatdoIneedwithadozendeadptarmiganonThanksgiving?Whyfeedturkeysifyou’regoingtoeatptarmigan?”

ShelookedatMabel,asifexpectingananswer.“I…Ihaven’tthefaintestidea.Ican’tsayI’veevereatenptarmiganbefore.”“Well,it’sgoodenough.ButThanksgiving,it’sturkeyasfarasI’mconcerned.”“Ibroughtpies.Fordessert.Isetthemonthatchair.Iwasn’tsurewhereelsetoputthem.”“Perfect!Ihadn’thadachancetoeventhinkaboutsweets.GeorgetellsmeBetty’safooltogive

upyourpies.Heravesaboutyourbaking.Notthatheneedsanyofit.Haveyouseenthegutonthatman?”

AgainshelookedtoMabelexpectantly.“Oh,Iwouldn’t—”Esther ’slaughwasaloud,startlingguffaw.“Ikeeptellinghimhe’ssingle-handedlysupportingthathotelrestaurant,andit’sstartingtoshow,”

shesaid.

Itwasas ifMabelhadfallenthroughahole intoanotherworld.Itwasnothinglikeherquiet,well-orderedworldofdarknessandlightandsadness.Thiswasanuntidyplace,butwelcomingandfulloflaughter.Georgeteasedthatthetwowomenwere“talkingabluestreak”ratherthancookingthemeal,anditwaswellintotheeveningbeforedinnerwasserved,butnooneseemedtomind.Theturkeywasdryontheoutsideandhalfrawontheinside.Theyallhadtopickandchoosetheircuts.Themashedpotatoeswerecreamyandperfect.Thegravywas lumpy.Esthermadenoapologies.Theyatewithplates balanced on their laps.No one said a blessing, butGeorge held up his glass and said, “Toneighbors.Andtogettingthroughanotherwinter.”Theyallraisedtheirglasses.

“Andhere’stoeatingptarmigannextyear,”Esthersaid,andeveryonelaughed.Afterdinnerandpie,theBensonsbegantotellstoriesoftheirtimeonthehomestead,ofhowthe

snowoncepiledsodeepthehorsescouldwalkoverthefencewhenevertheypleased,ofweathersocoldthedishwaterturnedtoiceintheairwhenyoutosseditout.

“Iwouldn’t live anywhere else in theworld, though,” Esther said. “What about you?You bothcomefromfarmsdownsouth?”

“No.Well,Jack’sfamilyownsafarmalongtheAlleghenyRiver,inPennsylvania.”“Whatdotheyraisebackthere?”Georgeasked.“Applesandhay,mostly,”Jacksaid.“Whataboutyou?”EstherturnedtoMabel.“I suppose I’m the black sheep.Noone else inmy familywould think of living on a farm, or

movingtoAlaska.MyfatherwasaliteratureprofessorattheUniversityofPennsylvania.”“And you left all that to come here?What in God’s namewere you thinking?” Esther shoved

Mabel’sarmplayfully.“Hetalkedyouintoit,didn’the?That’showitoftenis.Thesemendragtheirpoorwomenalong,takingthemtotheFarNorthforadventure,whenalltheywantisahotbathandahousekeeper.”

“No.No.It’snot likethat.”Alleyeswereonher,evenJack’s.Shehesitated,but thenwenton.“Iwantedtocomehere.Jackdid,too,butwhenwedid,itwasatmyurging.Idon’tknowwhy,precisely.I believewewere inneedof a change.Weneeded todo things for ourselves.Does thatmake anysense?Tobreakyour ownground andknow it’s yours, free and clear.Nothing taken for granted.Alaskaseemedliketheplaceforafreshstart.”

Esthergrinned.“Youdidn’t fare toobadlywith thisone,didyou, Jack?Don’t letwordgetout.Therearen’tmanylikeher.”

Thoughshedidn’tlookup,MabelknewJackwaswatchingherandthathercheekswereflushed.Shesorarelyspokelikethisinmixedcompany.Maybeshehadsaidtoomuch.

Then,astheconversationbegantoturnaroundher,shewonderedifshehadtoldthetruth.Wasthatwhy theyhad comenorth—tobuild a life?Ordid feardriveher?Fearof thegray, not just in thestrandsofherhairandherwiltingcheeks,butthegraythatrandeeper,tothebone,sothatshethoughtshemightturnintoafinedustandsimplysiftawayinthewind.

Mabelrecalledtheafternoon,lessthantwoyearsago.Sunnyandbrilliant.Thesmelloftheorchardintheair.Jackwassittingontheporchswingofhisparents’house,hiseyesshadedfromthesun.Itwasafamilypicnic,buttheywerealoneforthemoment.Shehadreachedintoherdresspocketandpulledoutthefoldedhandbill—“June1918.Alaska,OurNewestHomeland.”

Theyshouldgo,shehadsaid.Home?heasked.No,shesaid,andhelduptheadvertisement.North,shesaid.The federal governmentwas looking for farmers to homestead along the territory’s new train

route.TheAlaskaRailroadandasteamshipcompanyoffereddiscountedratesforthosebraveenough

tomakethejourney.Shehadtriedtokeephertoneeven,tonotletdesperationbreakhervoice.Jackwaswaryofher

newfoundenthusiasm.Theywerebothnearingfiftyyearsold.ItwastruethatasayoungmanhehaddreamedofgoingtoAlaska,oftestinghimselfinaplacesowildandgrand,butwasn’tittoolateforallthat?

Jacksurelyhadsuchdoubts,buthedidnotspeakthem.Hesoldhisshareinthelandandbusinesstohisbrothers.Shepacked the trunkswithdishesandpansandasmanybooksas theycouldhold.Theytraveledbytrain to theWestCoast, thenbysteamshipfromSeattle toSeward,Alaska,andbytrain again toAlpine.Withoutwarningor signsof civilization, the trainwould stop and a solitarymanwoulddisembark,shoulderhispacks,anddisappearintothesprucetreesandcreekvalleys.ShehadreachedoutandputherhandonJack’sarm,buthestaredout the trainwindow,hisexpressionunreadable.

Shehadimaginedthetwoofthemworkingingreenfieldsframedbymountainsastallandsnowyas theSwissAlps.Theairwouldbecleanandcold, theskyvastandblue.Sidebyside,sweatyandtired,theywouldsmileateachotherthewaytheyhadasyounglovers.Itwouldbeahardlife,butitwouldbe theirsalone.Hereat theworld’sedge, far fromeverythingfamiliarandsafe, theywouldbuildanewhome in thewildernessanddo it aspartners,out fromunder the shadowofcultivatedorchardsandexpectantgenerations.

But here theywere, never together in the fields, speaking to each other less and less. The firstsummerhehadherstay in townat thedingyhotelwhilehebuilt thecabinandbarn.Sittingon theedgeof thenarrowmattress thathadcertainlybeddedmoreminersand trappers thanPennsylvaniawomen,Mabelconsideredwriting toher sister.Shewasalone.Theceaselesssunnevergaveheramoment’srest.Everythingbeforeher—thelacecurtainsatthewindow,theclapboardsiding,herownaginghands—was leachedofcolor.Whenshe leftherhotel room,shefoundonlyasinglemuddy,deeply rutted trailbeside the railroad tracks. Itbegan in treesandended in trees.Nosidewalks.Nocafesorbookshops.JustBetty,wearinghermen’sshirtsandworkpantsandissuingendlessadviceabouthowtojarsauerkrautandmoosemeat,howtotaketheitchoutofmosquitobiteswithvinegar,howtowardoffbearswithablowhorn.

Mabelwantedtowritetohersisterbutcouldnotadmitshehadbeenwrong.EveryonehadwarnedhertheTerritoryofAlaskawasforlostmenandunsavorywomen,thattherewouldbenoplaceforherinthewilderness.Sheclutchedtheadvertisementpromisinganewhomelandanddidnotwriteanyletters.

WhenatlastJackbroughthertothehomestead,shehadwantedtobelieve.SothiswasAlaska—raw,austere.Acabinoffreshlypeeledlogscutfromtheland,apatchofdirtandstumpsforayard,mountainsthatserratedthesky.Eachdaysheasked,CanIcomewithyoutothefields?buthesaidno,you should stay.He returned in the eveningsbent at theback andwoundedwithbruises and insectbites.Shecookedandcleaned,andcookedandcleaned,andfoundherself furtherconsumedby thegray,untilevenhervisionwasmutedandtheworldaroundherdrainedofcolor.

Mabelsmoothedherhandsacrossherlap,chasingthewrinklesinthefabricagainandagain,untilherearscaughtafewofthewordsaroundher.Somethingabouttheminenorthoftown.

“I’mtellingyou,Jack.Don’tgiveitanotherthought,”Georgewassaying.“That’saquickwaytoleavethisworld.”

Mabelkeptherselfcalmandseated.“Didyousayacoalmine?”sheasked.“Iknowtimesaretough,Mabel,butthat’snothingtobeashamedof,”Georgesaidandwinkedat

her.“Youjustkeepyourmanathomeandhanginthere.It’llallworkout.”WhenGeorgeandhissonsbegantotalkaboutthemanygruesomewaysamancanbemaimedand

killedunderground,MabelturnedtoJackandwhisperedfiercely,“Youwerethinkingofleavingmetoworkinthemine?”

“We’lltalkofitlater,”hesaid.“All you folks have got to do is get amoose in your barn and save yourmoney for spring,”

Georgesaid.Mabelfrowned,notcomprehending.“Amoose?”sheasked.“Inourbarn?”Estherlaughed.“Notaliveone,dear,”shesaid.“Meat.Just tokeepyoufed.We’vedoneityearspastourselves.

You getmighty sick ofmashed potatoes, fried potatoes, boiledmeat, friedmeat, but it’ll get youthrough.”

“Prettylateintheyearformoose,”theyoungestboymumbledfromwherehestoodinthekitchen,hishandsshovedinhispockets.“He’dbeenbetteroffgettingonejustbeforetherut.”

“They’restilloutthere,Garrett,”Georgesaid.“He’lljusthavetoworkabithardertofindone.”Theboyshruggeddoubtfully.“Don’tmindhim,”Esther said, thumbing in theboy’sdirection.“He thinkshe’s thenextDaniel

Boone.”Oneoftheoldersonslaughedandpunchedhiminthearm.Theyoungerboyclenchedhisfistsand

thenshovedhisolderbrotherhardenoughtocausehimtobumpintothekitchentable.Anoisyscufflecommenced,andMabelwasalarmed,untilshesawGeorgeandEsthertakingnonotice.Finally,whentheruckusbecametoomuchevenfortheBensons,Estherhollered,“That’senough,boys!”andtheysettleddownagain.

“Garrettmightbetoobigforhisbritches,butItellyou,Jack,heisahandwitharifle.”Georgejuttedhischinproudlytowardtheyoungestboy.“Heshothisfirstmoosewhenhewasten.Hebringshomemoregamethanalltherestofus.”

EstherleanedtowardMabelandsaid,“Includingallthoseblessedptarmigan.”Mabeltriedtosmile,butherthoughtswereunspooling.Hewasgoingtoabandonher.Leaveher

aloneinthatsmall,darkcabin.Nowthemenwerealltalkingofhuntingmoose,andonceagainshehadtheunsettlingsensethat

theyhadallconversedonthistopicbefore,and,onceagain,shewastheignorantstranger.“Yougottocarryyourriflewithyou,evenwhenyou’rejustworkinginthefields,”sheheardthe

youngestsontellJack.“Getupinthefoothills.Mosttimes,thesnow’dalreadypushed’emdowntotheriver.Butit’slateincoming,sothey’restilluphigh,eatingbirchandaspen.”

Theboybarelymanaged to conceal hisdisdain for Jack. “Toobadyoudidn’t shootone in thefall,” he said. “You’re going to have to hunt hard. Moose only herd up during the rut. They’redifferent then.Bullsgocrazy through thewoods.Knock theirbloodyantlers into the trees.Roll intheirownpiss.Bawlforcows.”

“Iheardsomething,monthorsoback,”Jacksaid.“Iwasoutsplittingwood,andsomethingstartedgruntingatmeoutofthewoods.Then‘Thwack.Thwack.’Likesomebodyelsewaschoppingwood.”

“Bull moose. Calling to you, smacking his antlers against a tree. He wanted to fight you. Hethoughtyouwereanotherbull.”Theboyalmost smirked,as if Jackwere far from thestatureofa

moose.EsthersawMabel’sdiscomfortbutmisunderstoodit.“Don’tworry,dear.You’llgetusedtomoosemeat.Itcanrunalittletothetough,gamysidethis

timeofyear,butit’llkeepyoufed.”Mabelgaveaweaksmile.

Whenitcametimetoleave,theBensonstriedtoinsistonJackandMabelstayingthenight,butJacksaidtheyneededtogethometocarefortheanimals,andMabelsaidthankyoubutshesleptbetterinherownbed.

“It’scoldouttheretonight,”EsthersaidasshehelpedMabelintohercoat.“We’llbeallright.Thankyou,though.”EsthertuckedajarinsideMabel’scoat,buttoneditforherasifshewereachild,andstraightened

the collar. “Keep that sourdough starter warm on the way home or you’ll kill it for sure. AndrememberwhatIsaidaboutaddingabitofflournowandthen.”

MabelhuggedthecooljaragainstherselfandthankedEstheragain.Itwasclearandwindy.Themoonlittherutsofthetrailandturnedthelandandtreestoblues.As

theyrodeaway,MabellookedbacktothelightedwindowsoftheBensonhome,andthenshepushedherfacedownintoherscarf.Jackclearedhisthroat.Mabelexpectedhimtosaysomethingabouthisplantogotothemine.Shewaspreparedtoberighteousinheranger.

“They’requitethefamily,aren’tthey?”hesaid.Shedidn’tspeakatfirst.“Yes,”shesaidfinally.“Theycertainlyare.”“Esthertookalikingtoyou.Whatalldidyoutwotalkabout?”“Oh…everything,Isuppose.”Mabelwasquiet,thensaid,“Sheaskedwhyweneverhadchildren.”“And?”“Shesaidwecanhavetheirboysanytimewewantthem.”Jackchuckled,andMabelsmiledintoherscarfdespiteherself.

CHAPTER4

The next evening, the snow fell with dusk. The first flakes clumped together as they twirled andflutteredtotheground.Firstjustafewhereandthere,andthentheairwasfilledwithfallingsnow,caughtinthelightofthewindowindreamyswirls.ItbroughttoMabel’smindhowitwastobealittlegirl,kneelingonasofaatthewindowtowatchwinter ’sfirstsnowflakesfilterthroughthestreetlights.

Whenshereturnedtothekitchenwindowlater,shesawJackemergefromthewoodsandmovethroughthesnow.Hishunthadbeenunsuccessful;sheknewbyhislowheadandshuffle.

Shewent back topreparingdinner.Sheopened the calico curtainsover thekitchen shelves andtookouttwoplates.Shespreadthetablecloth.ShethoughtoftheBensons’clutteredcabinandsmiledtoherself.Esther inhermen’soveralls—howconfidently she strode into thekitchenand flung thedead turkeyonto the counter.Mabel hadnevermet awoman like her. Shedid not quietly take herleaveorfeignhelplessnessorcloakheropinionsinniceties.

Last night, George had told the story of how Esther shot a nine-foot grizzly bear in the yardseveral summers ago. She was home alone when she heard a loud thumping. When she lookedoutside,shesawabeartryingtobreakintothebarn.Thegrizzlystoodonhishindlegsandslammedhismassivepawsagainandagainintothewoodendoor.Thenhedroppedtoallfours,paced,andputhissnouttothelogsandsnuffled.Mabelwouldhavebeenterrified,butnotEsther.Shewasspittingmad.Nobearwasgoingtogethercows.Shecalmlywalkedinsideandgotarifle,steppedbackintotheyard,andpromptlyshotthebear.Mabelcouldseeherperfectly—Estherstandinginthedirt,herfeetslightlyapart,heraimsteady.Neveronetohesitateorworryherselfwithdecorum.

Mabelwasatthewindowagain.Thesnowfellfasterandthicker.Asshewatched,Jackwalkedoutofthebarncarryingalantern,andthesnoweddiedaroundhiminthecircleoflight.Heturnedhishead,asifhehadsensedhereyesonhim,andthetwoofthemlookedateachotheracrossthedistance,eachintheirpocketoflight,snowlikeafallingveilbetweenthem.Mabelcouldn’trememberthelasttimetheyhadsodeliberatelygazedateachother,andthemomentwaslikethesnow,slowanddrifting.

WhenshefirstfellinlovewithJack,shehaddreamedshecouldfly,thatonawarm,inkyblacknightshehadpushedoffthegrasswithherbarefeettofloatamongtheleafytreetopsandstarsinhernightgown.Thesensationhadreturned.

Through thewindow, thenightairappeareddense,eachsnowflakeslowed in its long, tumblingfall through theblack. Itwas thekindofsnowthatbroughtchildrenrunningout theirdoors,madethemturntheirfacesskyward,andspinincircleswiththeirarmsoutstretched.

Shestoodspellboundinherapron,awashraginherhand.Perhapsitwastherecollectionofthatdream,orthehypnoticnatureofthespinningsnow.MaybeitwasEstherinheroverallsandfloweredblouse,shootingbearsandlaughingoutloud.

Mabelsetdowntheraganduntiedherapron.Sheslippedher feet intoherboots,putononeofJack’swoolcoats,andfoundahatandsomemittens.

Outside,theairwascleanandcoolagainstherface,andshecouldsmellthewoodsmokefromthechimney.Sheletthesnowfloataroundher,andthenMabeldidwhatshehadasachild—turnedher

face to the sky and stuck out her tongue.The swirl overheadwas dizzying, and she began to spinslowlyinplace.Thesnowflakeslandedonhercheeksandeyelids,wetherskin.Thenshestoppedandwatched the snow settle on the armsof her coat. For amoment she studied the pattern of a singlestarryflakebeforeitmeltedintothewool.Here,andthengone.

Around her feet the snow deepened. She kicked at it lightly, and it clumped, wet and heavy.Snowballsnow.Sheclenchedafistful inherbarehand.Thesnowcompactedandheldtheshapeofherfingers.Shepulledonhermittensandballedsomesnowtogether,pattingandformingit.

SheheardJack’sfootstepsandlookeduptoseehimcomingtowardthecabin.Hesquintedather.Shesorarelycameoutside,andneveratnight.Hisreactionspurredinheranunpredictable,childishdesire.Shepattedthesnowballafewmoretimes,watchedJackandwaited.Asheneared,shethrewitat him, and even as the snowball left her hand, she knew itwas an outlandish thing to do and shewonderedwhatwouldhappennext.Thesnowballthumpedintohislegjustabovethetopofhisboot.

Hestopped,lookedatthecircleofsnowonhispantlegandthenupatMabel,amixofirritationandconfusiononhisface,andthenevenashisbrowstayedfurrowed,asmallsmileappearedatthecornerofhislips.Hebentandcarefullylodgedthelanterninthesnowbesidehim,thensmackedhisgloved hand across the pant leg, dusting away the snow.Mabel held her breath.He remained bentover,hishanddownbyhisboots,andthen,quickerthanMabelcouldreact,hescoopedupahandfulof snow and tossed a perfectly formed snowball at her. It smacked her in the forehead. She stoodmotionlesswithherarmsathersides.Neitherofthemspoke.Thesnowfellaroundthem,onthetopsof theirheadsand their shoulders.Mabelwiped thewet snowfromher foreheadandsawJack,hismouthopen.

“I…that’snot…Ihadn’tmeantto—”Andshe laughed.Meltingsnowdrippeddownher temples, snowflakes landedonhereyelashes.

Shelaughedandlaugheduntilshewasdoubledover,andthenshegrabbedanotherhandfulofsnowandthrewitatJack,andhethrewoneback,andthesnowballslobbedthroughtheair.Mostofthemfellateachother ’sfeet,butsometimestheysoftlythumpedintoshouldersandchests.Laughing,theychasedeachotheraroundthecabin,dodgingbehindthe logcornersandpeekingout in timetoseeanother snowball coming.The hemofMabel’s long skirt dragged in the snow. Jack chased her, asnowballineachhand.Shetrippedandfell,andasherantohersheflungloosesnowathim,allthetimelaughing,andhegentlytossedthesnowballsdownather.Thenheputhishandstohisknees,bentatthebackandbreathingloudly.

“We’retoooldforthis,”hesaid.“Arewe?”HereacheddownandpulledMabeltoherfeetuntiltheystoodchesttochest,pantingandsmiling

andcoveredinsnow.Mabelpressedherfaceintohisdampcollarandhewrappedhisarms,thickwithhiswoolcoat,aroundhershoulders.Theystoodthatwayforawhile,lettingthesnowfalldownuponthem.

ThenJackpulledaway,brushedsnowfromhiswethair,andreachedforthelantern.“Wait,”shesaid.“Let’smakeasnowman.”“What?”“Asnowman.It’sperfect.Perfectsnowforasnowman.”Hehesitated.Hewastired.Itwaslate.Theyweretoooldforsuchnonsense.Therewereadozen

reasonsnotto,Mabelknew,butinsteadhesetthelanternbackinthesnow.“All right,” he said.Therewas reluctance in thehangof his head, but hepulledoff his leather

workgloves.Hetookhercheekinhisbarehand,andwithhisthumbwipedmeltedsnowfrombeneath

hereye.“Allright.”

Thesnowwasperfect.Itstuckinthicklayersastheyrolleditintoballsalongtheground.Mabelmadethelast,smallestoneforthehead,andJackstackedthemoneatoptheother.Thefigurebarelystoodabovehiswaist.

“It’skindofsmall,”hesaid.Shesteppedbackandinspecteditfromadistance.“It’sjustfine,”shesaid.They patted snow into the cracks between the snowballs, smoothed the edges.Hewalked away

fromthe lightof the lanternandcabinwindow, intoastandof trees.Hecamebackwith twobirchbranches,andhestuckoneintoeachsideoftheircreation.Nowithadarms.

“Agirl.Let’smakeitalittlegirl,”shesaid.“Allright.”Shekneltandbeganshapingthebottomintoaskirtthatspreadoutfromthesnowgirl.Sheslidher

hands upward, shaving away the snow and narrowing the outline until it looked like a little child.Whenshestoodup,shesawJackatworkwithapocketknife.

“There,”hesaid.Hesteppedback.Sculpted in thewhitesnowwereperfect, lovelyeyes,anose,andsmall,whitelips.Sheeventhoughtshecouldseecheekbonesandalittlechin.

“Oh.”“Youdon’tlikeit?”Hesoundeddisappointed.“No.Ohno.She’sbeautiful.Ijustdidn’tknow…”How could she speak her surprise? Such delicate features, formed by his calloused hands, a

glimpseathis longing.Surelyhe, too,hadwantedchildren.Theyhadtalkedaboutitsooftenwhentheyfirstmarried,jokingtheywouldhaveabaker ’sdozenbutreallyplanningononlythreeorfour.WhatfunChristmaswouldbewithahouseholdfulloflittleones,theytoldeachothertheirfirstquietwintertogether.Therewasanairofsolemnityastheyopenedeachother ’spresents,buttheybelievedsomeday their Christmas mornings would reel with running children and squeals of delight. Shesewedasmallstockingfortheirfirstbornandhesketchedplansforarockinghorsehewouldbuild.Maybethefirstwouldbeagirl,orwoulditbeaboy?Howcouldtheyhaveknownthattwentyyearslatertheywouldstillbechildless,justanoldmanandanoldwomanaloneinthewilderness?

Astheystoodtogether,thesnowfellheavierandfaster,makingitdifficulttoseemorethanafewfeet.

“Sheneedssomehair,”hesaid.

“Oh.I’vethoughtofsomething,too.”Jackwenttowardthebarn,Mabeltothecabin.“Heretheyare,”shecalledacrosstheyardwhenshecamebackout.“Mittensandascarfforthe

littlegirl.”Hereturnedwithabundleofyellowgrassfromnearthebarn.Hestuckindividualstrandsintothe

snow,creatingwild,yellowhair,andshewrappedthescarfarounditsneckandplacedthemittensontheendsofthebirchbranches,theredstringthatjoinedthemacrossthesnowchild’sback.Hersisterhadknittedtheminredwool,andthescarfwasastitchMabelhadneverseenbefore—dewdroplace,hersistercalledit.Throughthebroadpattern,Mabelcouldseewhitesnow.

Sherantoacornerof thecabinwhereawildcranberrybushgrew.Shepickedahandfulof thefrozenberries, returned to the snowgirl, andcarefully squeezed the juiceontoher lips.The snowthereturnedagentlered.

SheandJackstoodsidebysideandgazedattheircreation.“She’sbeautiful,”shesaid.“Don’tyouthink?She’sbeautiful.”“Shedidturnout,didn’tshe?”Standingstill,shebecameawareofthecoldthroughherdampclothesandtrembled.“Chilled?”Sheshookherhead.“Let’sgoinandwarmup.”Mabel didn’t want it to end. The quiet snow, the closeness. But her teeth began to chatter. She

nodded.Inside,Jackaddedseveralbirchlogstothewoodstoveandthefirecrackled.Mabelstoodasclose

as she dared and peeled offwetmittens, hat, coat.He did the same.Clumps of snow fell onto thestovetopandsizzled.Herdresshungheavyandwetagainstherskin,andsheunbuttoneditandsteppedoutofit.Heunlacedhisbootsandpulledhisdampshirtoffoverhishead.Soontheywerenakedandshiveringbesideeachother.Shewasunawareoftheirbareskinuntilhesteppedcloserandshefelthisroughhandatthesmallofherback.

“Better?”heasked.“Yes.”Shereachedupoverhisshoulderswherehisskinwasstillcooltothetouch,andwhenshepressed

hernoseintothecrookofhisneck,meltedsnowclungindropletstohisbeard.“Let’sgotobed,”Jacksaid.Afteralltheseyears,stillaspotwithinherflutteredathistouch,andhisvoice,throatyandhushed

in her ear, tickled along her spine. Naked, they walked to the bedroom. Beneath the covers, theyfumbled with each other ’s bodies, arms and legs, backbones and hip bones, until they found thefamiliar,tenderlineslikethecreasesinanoldmapthathasbeenfoldedandrefoldedovertheyears.

After,theylaytogether,Mabel’scheekagainsthischest.“Youwon’treallygotothemine,willyou?”Heputhislipstothetopofherhead.“Idon’tknow,Mabel,”hewhisperedintoherhair.“I’mdoingthebestIcan.”

CHAPTER5

Jackwoketothecold.Inthefewhourshe’dslepttheweatherhadchanged.Hecouldsmellitandfeelitinhisarthritichands.Heproppedhimselfonanelbowandgrabbedatthenightstanduntilhefoundamatchandlitthecandle.Hisbackandshoulderswerestiffasheeasedhislegsoverthesideofthebed.Hesatontheedgeofthemattressuntilthecoldwasunbearable.NotfarfromthepillowwhereMabel slept, frostcreptbetween the logswith its featherycrystals.Hesworequietlyandpulled thequiltupoverhershoulder.Awarm,securehome—hecouldn’tevengiveherthatmuch.Hecarriedthecandleholderintothemainroom.Theheavymetaldooronthewoodstoveclangednoisilyasheopenedit.Afewcoalssmolderedintheash.

Ashereachedforhisboots,throughthewindowhesawaflicker.Hestoodatthefrost-edgedglassandpeeredout.

Freshsnowblanketedthegroundandglitteredandglowedsilverinthemoonlight.Thebarnandtreesbeyondweremutedoutlines.There,attheedgeoftheforest,hesawitagain.Aflashofblueandred.Hewasgroggywithsleep.Heclosedhiseyesslowly,openedthemagain,andtriedtofocus.

Thereitwas.Alittlefiguredashedthroughthetrees.Wasthataskirtaboutthelegs?Aredscarfattheneck,andwhitehairtrailingdowntheback.Slight.Quick.Alittlegirl.Runningattheedgeoftheforest.Thendisappearingintothetrees.

Jackrubbedhiseyeswiththeheelsofhishands.Notenoughsleep—thathadtobeit.Toomanylongdays.Heleftthewindowandsteppedintohisboots,leavingthelacesuntied.Heopenedthedoor,andthechillairsuckedthebreathoutofhim.Thesnowcrunchedbeneathhisbootsashewalkedtothewoodpile.Itwasonlyashewasreturningwithanarmloadofsplitbirchthathenoticedtheirlittlesnowgirl.Hesetthewoodonthegroundandwithemptyarmswenttowhereithadstood.Initsplacewasasmall,brokenheapofsnow.Themittensandscarfweregone.

Hepushedatthesnowwiththetoeofhisboot.Ananimal.Maybeamoosehadstumbledthrough.Butthescarfandmittens?Aravenorawhiskey

jack,maybe.Wildbirdshadbeenknowntosnatchthings.Asheturnedaway,hecaughtsightofthetracks.Moonlightfellinthehollows.Theprintsranthroughthesnow,awayfromthecabinandintothe trees. He bent over them. The silvery blue light was weak, so at first he didn’t trust his eyes.Coyote,ormaybelynx.Somethingotherthanthis.Hebentcloserandtouchedthetrackwiththetipsofhisbarefingers.Humanfootprints.Small.Thesizeofachild’s.

Jackshivered.Hisskinprickledwithgoosebumps,andhisbaretoesachedcoldinsidehisboots.He left the tracksand thepileof snow, stacked thewood in thecrookofhisarm,andwent inside,quicklyclosingthedoorbehindhim.Asheshovedeachpieceofwoodintothestove,hewonderediftheracketwouldwakeMabel.Justhiseyesplayingtricks.Itwouldcometosenseinthemorning.Hestayedbesidethewoodstoveuntilthefireroaredagain,andthenheclosedthedamper.

HeeasedhimselfbeneaththequiltandagainstMabel’swarmbody,andshemoanedsoftlyinhersleepbutdidnotwake.Jacklaybesideher,hiseyeswideandhisbrainspinninguntilfinallyhedriftedintoakindofsleep thatwasn’tmuchdifferent thanwakefulness,amystifying, restlesssleepwheredreamsfellandmeltedlikesnowflakes,wherechildrenransoft-footedthroughthetrees,andscarvesflappedbetweenblackravenbeaks.

WhenJackwokeagainitwaslatemorning,thesunwasup,andMabelwasinthekitchen.Hisbodywastiredandstiff,asifhehadneversleptatallbutinsteadspentthenightsplittingwoodorbuckinghaybales.Hedressedandinsockedfeetmadehiswaytothetable.Hesmelledfreshcoffeeandhotpancakes.

“Ithinkitworked,Jack.”“What?”“ThesourdoughstarterEsthergaveme.Here,trythem.”Mabelsetaplateofpancakesonthetable.“Didyousleepallright?”sheasked.“Youlookpositivelywornout.”Withahandonhisshoulder,

shereachedoverhimtopourcoffeefromtheblueenamelpotintohiscup.Hepickedupthecup,helditwarmbetweenhishands.

“Idon’tknow.Iguessnot.”“It’ssocoldout,isn’tit?Butbeautiful.Allthatwhitesnow.It’ssobright.”“You’vebeenoutside?”“No.NotsinceIdashedtotheouthouseinthemiddleofthenight.”Hegotupfromthetable.“Aren’tyougoingtoeatbreakfast?”sheasked.“Justgoingtogetsomewood.Nearlyletthefiregoout.”He put on his coat this time, and some gloves, before opening the door. The snow reflected

sunlightsobrilliantlyhesquinted.Hewalkedtothewoodpile,thenturnedbacktothecabinandsawthesnowchild,orwhatwasleftofit.Stilljustashapelesspileofsnow.Noscarf.Nomittens.Justasithadbeenlastnight,butnowexposedastruthinthelightofday.Andthefootprintsstillranthroughthesnow,acrosstheyardandintothetrees.Thenhesawthedeadsnowshoeharebesidethedoorstep.Hesteppedpastwithoutpausing.Inside,heletthewoodfalltothefloorbesidethestoveinaclamor,thenstaredwithoutseeing.

“Haveyounoticedanything?”hefinallysaid.“Youmeanthecoldsnap?”“No.Imeananythingoutoftheordinary.”“Likewhat?”“IthoughtIheardsomethinglastnight.Probablynothing.”

AfterbreakfastJacklefttofeedtheanimals.Onthewaytothebarn,hescoopedupthedeadhareandhelditclosetohisside,soMabelwouldn’tnoticeoutthewindow.Onceinthebarn,helookedatitclosely.Hecouldseewhereithadbeenstrangled,mostlikelywithathinsnarethatcutintoitswhitecoatandsoftunderfur.Itwasfrozenstiff.Later,afterhehadtakencareoftheanimals,hewentbehindthebarnandthrewthedeadhareasfarashecouldintothetrees.

Whenhereturnedtothecabin,Mabelwasheatingwatertowash.“Didyouseethetracks?”shecalledoverhershoulder.“Whattracks?”Shepointedoutthewindow.“Those?”heasked.“Musthavebeenafox.”“Arethechickenssafe?”

“Fine.They’reallfine.”

Jacktookhisshotgundownfromoverthedoorandtoldherhewouldgoafterthefox.Heknewnowwhatunsettledhimaboutthetracks.Thetrailbeganattheheapofsnowandledinonlyonedirection—awayandintothewoods.Therewerenoprintscomingintotheyard.

The trail wove among the birch trees, over fallen logs and around bare, thorny wild rosebranches.Jackfollowedtheloopsandturns.Theydidn’tseemlikethetracksofalostchild.Morelikeawildanimal,afoxorermine.Dashinghereandthere,runningacrossthetopofthesnow,circlingbackandarounduntilJackwasn’tsureifhewasstillfollowingtheoriginaltrail.Ifshewerelost,whyhadn’t she come to the door?Why didn’t she ask for help?And the tracks did not lead down thewagon trail, toward the south, toward townandotherhomesteads. Instead, theymoved through thetreeswithoutdirection,butwhenhelookedbackoverhisshoulder,hecouldnolongerseethecabin,andheunderstoodthatthetrailwaswindingnorth,towardthemountains.Thebootprintswerejoinedhere and there by another, different set of tracks. Fox, crisscrossing the child’s footprints, thenslippingaway.Hecontinuedtofollowthechild’strail.Whywouldafoxstalkalittlegirlthroughthetrees?He lookeddown from time to time, thendoubtedhimself.Maybe thegirlwas following thefox.Maybethatwaswhyhertrailwassoerratic.

Jackstoppedatafallencottonwood,leanedbackagainstitsthicktrunk.Hemusthavegottenoffthe trail.Hewiped sweat fromhis forehead. Itwas cold,but the airwasdryandcalm, andhewasoverheating. Hewondered if he hadn’t looked closely enough.Maybe he had been following foxtracksthisentiretime.Hereturnedtotheprintsandstoopeddownnexttothem,halfexpectingtoseepadandclawprint.Butno,theywerestillthesmooth,child-sizedfootprints.

Hefollowedthetrailforawhilelonger,untilitmeandereddownintoasmallravineandadenseforestofblackspruce.Hecouldnoteasilyfitthroughthosetrees.Hehadbeengoneforsometimenow. He turned back and felt a momentary rush of panic—so intently had he stared down at thefootprintsashefollowedthem,hehadpaidlittleattentiontothelandscape.Thetreesandsnowwerethesameinalldirections.Thenherememberedhisownboottracksinthesnow.Itwouldbealong,loopingwayhome,butitwouldgethimthere.

Mabelwasanxiousat thedoorwhenhereturned.Shewipedherhandsonherapronandhelpedhimtakeoffhiscoat.

“Iwasbeginningtoworry.”Jackwarmedhishandsatthewoodstove.“Well?Didyoufindthefox?”“No,justmoretracks,allovertheplaceoutthere.”Hewouldn’ttellheraboutthechild,orthedeadhareontheirdoorstep.Somehow,hethoughtthey

mightupsether.

CHAPTER6

Mabelnervouslyeyedthetrailacrossthesnowasshereturnedfromtheouthouse.Neverbeforehada fox come so close to their cabin. She knew they were small creatures, but all the same theyfrightenedher.Shesteppedoverthetracks,butthentheirsmooth,oblongshapecaughthereye.Theyweren’tanimaltracksatall.Eachwasaperfectprintofthesoleofasmallboot.ShebroughtherheadupandwithhereyesfollowedthetrailbacktothesnowchildsheandJackhadbuiltthenightbefore.Itwasgone.

Shehurriedbreathlessintothecabin.“Jack?Someone’sruinedoursnowchild.Someone’sbeeninouryard.”Hewasatthecounter,sharpeninghispocketknifeonasteel.“Iknow.”“Ithoughtyousaiditwasafox.”“Therearefoxtracks,too,inthewoods.”“Butthoseoutthere?”“Achild’s.”“Howcanyouknow?”“Thesizeofthetracks.AndI’mprettysureIsawher.Lastnight.Runningthroughthetrees.”“Her?Who?”“Alittlegirl.Shewaswearingyourredscarf.”“What?Whydidn’tyoutellme?Didyougoafterher?”“Thismorning,whenItoldyouIwasgoingtolookforthefox,Itriedtoseewhereshewent,butI

lostthetrail.”“Lastnight…therewasalittlegirlaloneoutsideinthefreezingwinterandyoudidn’tseeifshe

neededhelp?Shemusthavewanderedawayfromsomebody’scabin.”“Idon’tknow,Mabel.”Shewentbackoutsideandstaredatthelittletracks.Justonetrail,leadingacrossthesnow,away

fromtheircabinandintothetrees.

Duringthenextseveraldaystheskiescleared,adeepcoldsettledonthevalley,andthechild’stracks

became edged in frost. They trailed sparkling and delicate throughMabel’s thoughts, and left herfeelingasifshehadforgottensomething.

One evening shewent to the shelfwhere a dozen of her favorite bookswere held in place bymahoganybookends—EmilyDickinson’sPoems,HenryDavidThoreau’sWalking,FrancesHodgsonBurnett’sQueenSilver-Bell.Assheabsentmindedlyranherfingersacrossthespines,shethoughtofafairytaleherfatherhadoftenreadtoher.Sherememberedthewornblueleatherofthecoverandthegoldenhueoftheillustrations.Inonepicture,sherecalled,achildreachedwithhermittenedhandsdowntotheoldmanandwomanwhokneltbeforeher,theoldmanandwomanwhohadformedherfromsnow.

ThenextdaywhenMabelwenttofeedthechickensinthebarn,shepassedthelittlebootprints.

Shewoketoasilentcabinandsensedthechangebeforeshelookedoutawindoworopenedthedoor.Itwasamuffledquiet,adensecoldpressingatthecabinwalls,thoughitwaswarminside.Jackhadleft her a crackling fire before going to huntmoose again.Her senseswere confirmedwhen shelookedoutthewindowandsawashiningnewlandscape.Thesnowhadcomeagain,andthistimeitwas a fine, driving snow that had accumulated quickly overnight and blanketed the cabin andoutbuildings.Ittransformedbouldersandstumpsintosoft,whitelumps.Itgatheredindeeppillowsonspruceboughs,ithungheavilyoverthecabin’seaves,andithaderasedthetracksacrosstheiryard.

Shecarriedabasketofbreadcrumbsanddriedapplebitsleftoverfromapietothebarnforthechickens.Thehenscomfortedher,thewaytheyroostedalongtheirsprucepole,theirfeathersruffledagainst the cold.When she came in, they hopped to the straw-strewn ground and clucked like oldwomenwelcoming aneighbor.Theybustled and stretched theirwings.Oneof theblack-and-whitehenspeckedascrapfromMabel’sfingers,andshestrokeditsfeatheredbackasitwaddledaway.Shereachedintoeachnestingbox.Finally,beneaththesoftbellyofaredhen,shefoundtwowarmeggs.

Mabelput them inherbasket as she left thebarn.When she turned topull thedoorclosed, sheglimpsedblue in thesnow-ladenspruce treesbeyondtheyard.Shestrainedhereyesandnolongersawblue,but instead red fur.Blue fabric.Red fur.Achild, slightandquick inabluecoat,passingthroughthetrees.Ablink,andthelittlecoatwasgoneandtherewasslinkingfur,anditwasliketheflippingblack-and-whitepicturesshehadseeninacoin-operatedilluminatedboxinNewYorkCity.Appearinganddisappearingmotion,childandwoodlandcreatureeachapassingflicker.

Mabelwalkedtowardtheforest,slowlyatfirstandthenmorequickly.Shewatchedforthegirlbuthadlostsightofher.

Whenshenearedtheedgeofthewoodsandpeeredthroughthesnowyboughs,shewasstartledtoseethechildonlyahundredyardsorsoaway.Thegirlwascrouched,herbacktoMabel,white-blondhairfanneddownherbluewoolcoat.Wonderingifsheshouldcallout,Mabelclearedherthroat,andthesoundstartledthechild.Thegirlstood,snatchedasmallsackfromthesnow,andsprintedaway.As shedisappearedaroundoneof the largest spruce trees, she lookedbackoverher shoulder andMabelsawherglancingblueeyesandsmall,impishface.Shewasnomorethaneightornineyearsold.

Mabelfollowed,strugglingthroughtheknee-deepsnowandbendingtocrawlbeneaththeboughs.Snowtoppledontoherknithatandtrickleddownthecollarofhercoat,butshepushedthroughthebranches.Whensheemergedandwipedthesnowfromherface,shediscoveredaredfoxwherethechildhadbeen.Itsmuzzlewaspressedintothesnowanditsbackwashunched,likeacatlickingmilk

fromabowl. It jerked its head to the side and tore somethingwith its teeth.Mabelwas transfixed.Neverhadshebeensoclose toawildanimal.Afewstridesandshecouldhave touched theblack-tipped,auburnfur.

Thecreature lookedupather, itsheadstill low, its longblackwhiskersbrushedbackalongthetaperedsnout.ThenMabelsawthebloodandfoughttheurgetogag.Itwaseatingsomedeadthing,andbloodsplatteredthesnowandsmearedthefox’smuzzle.

“No!Youget!Yougetoutofhere!”Mabelwavedherarmsatthefoxandthen,feelingangryandbrave,movedtowardit.Theanimalhesitated,perhapsunwillingtoabandonitsmeal,butthenturnedandtrottedalongthegirl’spathintothetrees.

Mabelwenttotheplaceinthesnowandsawwhatshehopedshewouldn’t.Ahorrifyinguncoiling—silveryintestines,tinybones,bloodandfeathers.

Shehadnotcountedthechickensthismorning.Shelookedmorecloselyandsawitwasn’toneofherhensafterall,butinsteadawildbirdofsomekindwithmottledbrownfeathersanditsheadsmallandtornaway.

Sheleftthehalf-eatenthingandfollowedthetangleofchildandfoxfootprintsintothetrees.Asshewalked,agustofwindknockedsnowfromthebranchesandblewcoldintoMabel’sface.Itmadebreathing difficult, so she turned her head and went on into the woods. The wind flurried again,churning snow from the ground and trees into the air. Then it began to blow steadily, andMabelleanedintoit,hereyesdowncast,butshecouldnolongerseewhereshewasgoing.Asmallblizzardwhippedoutofnothing.Mabelturnedherbacktothewindandsnowandsetoutforhome.Shewasn’tdressedforsuchanexpedition,andsurelythegirlwastoofarawaynow.Evenasshenearedthebarn,theblowingsnowfilledinhertracks,andthoseofthechildandfox.Shedidnotseethedeadbirdorflecksofbloodasshepassedby—theyhadvanishedaswell.

“Isawthechild,”MabeltoldJackwhenhecameinfordinner.“Thegirlyoudescribedfromtheothernight—Isawherbehindthebarn.”

“Yousure?”“Yes.Yes.Therewasafoxfollowingher,andIthoughtithadkilledoneofourchickens,butitwas

somethingelse,awildbird.”Jacksquinted,asifcross.“Ididseeher,Jack.”Henoddedandhunghiscoatonthehookbesidethedoor.“Haveyouheardanythingaboutsomeonemissingachild?”sheasked.“Whenyouwereintown

yesterday,didyouhearanynews?”“No.Nothingatall.”“Didyouask?Didyoutellanybodyabouther?”“No. I didn’t seemuch point. I figured she’d gone home or theywould have gotten together a

searchparty.”“Butshewashereagaintoday.Rightnearourbarn.Whywouldshecomehere?Ifsheislostor

needshelp,whydoesn’tshejustcometothedoor?”Henoddedsympathetically,butthenchangedthesubject.Hesaidhehadn’tspottedanythingbuta

cowmoosewithacalf.Theywouldhavetokillthechickensassoonasthesackoffeedranout;theyhadn’tenoughmoneytobuymore.Thegoodnews,hewenton,wasthathe’drunintoGeorgeatthe

hotelrestaurantyesterdayandhadinvitedtheBensonstodinnerthecomingSunday.Itwasn’tuntilthislastpartthatMabellistenedattentively.ShewasgladtheBensonswerecoming.

CertainlyEsther could tell her something about the child; she knew the families in the valley, andmaybeshewouldknowwhyalittlegirlwouldbewanderingalonethroughtheforest.

CHAPTER7

At nightwhen Jack closed his eyes to sleep, tree branches andgame trails and snowy cliffswereimprintedonhiseyelidssothatsleepmergedwithhislongdaysspenthunting.Fordaysnowhehadrisenmostmorningsbeforelightandgoneoutwithhisrifleandpacktolookformoose,feelinglikeanimpostereverytime.Hewastedmostofoneafternoonstalkingwhatturnedouttobeaporcupinechewingonalow-hangingbranch.He’dhikedupanddowntheWolverineRiver,intothemountains,backandforthoverthefoothills,andhewassicktodeathofit.

Helayinbedlongerthanusualandconsiderednotgettingupatall.ButGeorgewasright—ifhemanagedtogetamoose,heandMabelcouldliveoffmeatandpotatoesuntilharvest.They’drunoutofcoffee,sugar,driedapples,powderedmilk,lard.They’dhavetokillthechickensandletthehorsegothin.Therewouldbenoboltsofnewfabricorlittletrinketsfromtown.Itwouldbeamiserablewinter,buttheywouldn’tstarve.

Hegotupanddressedanddecidedthattomorrowhewouldgototowntoinquireabouttheminingjob.Itmightbehardonhisoldbody,butatleasthewouldhavesomethingtoshowforitattheendoftheday.Despitethesnow,Bettyhadtoldhim,thetrainwasrunningandtheminewasopen.TheNavyhaduppeditscoalorder,andtherailroadhadhiredacrewofmentokeepthetracksclear.Nooneknewhowlongtheworkwouldlast,butfornowtheywerestillhiring.

TownwascloseduponSundays,though,sohemightaswellthrowanotherdaytothewoods.Hehaduntil afternoon,when theBensonswouldarrive fordinner.He left thecabinwithhis rifle andpackandwalkedthewagontrailtowardthefarfield.Thesnowwaswelloverthetopsofhisboots.Hehadnointentionofhikinguptowardthemountains,whereitwouldbeevendeeper.He’dstickclosetohomeandhopethesnowhadforcedtheanimalsdownalongtheriver.

Theskywasovercastandleaden,andJackwasweigheddownbyit.Hewalkedthroughthefield,thesnowslowinghisway,andenteredthewoods,buthisheartwasnotinit.

Hehadneverthoughthimselfacityboy.He’dworkedhardallhislifeonthefamilyfarmintheAlleghenyRivervalley.Heknewhowtohandletoolsandworkanimalsandplowtheearth.Butbackhomethelandhadbeenfarmedforgenerations,anditshowedinitssoftcurvesandstatelytrees.Eventhe deerwere half tamed, lazy andwell fed as they grazed in the fallow fields. As a boy, he hadstrolledalongthecreekdownbythefamilyorchard.Hepickedstalksofgrassandchewedontheirtender ends.Thevery air had a soft greenness to it, not too cold, not too hot, a gentle breeze.Heclimbedthefriendlybranchesofoaksandwanderedalongthebacksofgrassyknolls.Thoseaimlesswalksasachildwereamonghismostpeacefulmemories.

Thiswasnothinglikebackhome.Hedidn’tenjoyhissolitudeinthesewoodsbutinsteadwasself-consciousandalert,fearingmostofallhisownineptness.Whenheworkedtheground,hestumbledoversprawlingroots,axedtreeaftertreetoextendhisclearingbyafewfeet,anduncoveredboulderssolargehehadtousethehorsetodragthemfromthefield.Howcouldthislandeverbefarmed?

Wherevertheworkstopped,thewildernesswasthere,older,fiercer,strongerthananymancouldever hope to be. The spindly black spruce were so dense in places you couldn’t squeeze an armbetween them, and every living thing seemed barbed and hostile—devil’s club thorns that leftfesteringwounds,stingingnettlesthatraisedwelts,andattimesswarmsofmosquitoessothickhehad

to fightpanic. In thespringwhenhe firstbeganfelling treesand turningover thesoil,mosquitoesrose from the disturbed earth in clouds.Hewore a head net; itwas hard to see, butwithout it hecouldn’thaveendured.Whenhewipedthehorse’sflankwithhishand,hispalmcameawaybloodywithengorgedinsects.

That was one blessing—it was too cold for mosquitoes now. Gone, too, was the lushness ofsummer, the thick green of cottonwood boughs, the broad leaves of cow parsnip, the flare offireweed. Bare of foliage, the snowy benches and ravines rose to the mountains like a weather-bleached backbone. Jack watched through the naked trees and saw no sign of life. Nomoose, nosquirrels,notasinglesongbird.Amangyravenpassedoverhead,butitflewsteadilyonasifseekingrichergrounds.

WhenJacktoldhisbrothershewasmovingtoAlaska,theyenviedhim.God’scountry,they’dsaid.The land ofmilk and honey.Moose, caribou, and bears—game so thick youwon’t knowwhat toshootfirst.Andthestreamssofullofsalmon,youcanwalkacrosstheirbackstotheotherside.

Whatadifferenttruthhefound.Alaskagaveupnothingeasily.Itwasleanandwildandindifferenttoaman’sstruggle,andhehadseenitintheeyesofthatredfox.

Jackcametoalogandmadeahalfheartedattempttobrushthesnowawaybeforesittingonit.Helaidtherifleacrosshisknees,tookoffhiswoolhat,andranhisfingersthroughhishair.Forsometimehesatbentover,hiselbowsontherifle,headinhishands.Doubtcrouchedoverhisshoulder,readytotakehimbythethroat,whisperinginhisear,Youareanoldman.Anold,oldman.

Ifheweretofalldeadinthesewoods,nothingwouldrushtohisaid.Thenorthwindwouldblowdownfromtheglacier,thegroundwouldstayfrozen,andaredfoxliketheonehehadlookedintheeyemight be the first to sniff at his dead body and take a nibble here and there. The ravens andmagpieswouldcometotearawayathisfrozenflesh,maybeapackofwolveswouldeventuallyfinditswaytohiscarcass,andsoonhe’dbenothingbutastrewnpileofbones.HisonlyhopewouldbeMabel,butthenhethoughtofherstrugglingunderhisdeadweight.Hestoodandshoulderedhisrifle.

Hehadonlycriedafewtimesinhisadultlife—whenhismotherdied,andwhenheandMabellostthatlittlebaby.Hewouldn’tlethimselfnow.Heputonefootinfrontoftheotherandwalkedwithoutseeingorfeeling.

Itwasthequietthatpulledhimoutofhisgloom.Aquietfullofpresence.Hebroughthisheadup.

Itwasthechild.Shewasbeforehim,justafewyardsaway.Shestoodatopthesnow,armsather

sides,thehintofasmileatherpalelips.Whitefurtrimmedhercoatandleatherboots.Herfacewasframedbythevelvetybrownofasablehat,andsheworeMabel’sredscarfandmittens.Thechildwasdusted in crystalsof ice, as if shehad justwalked througha snowstormor spent abrilliantly coldnightoutdoors.

Jack would have spoken to her, but her eyes—the broken blue of river ice, glacial crevasses,moonlight—heldhim.Sheblinked,herblondlashesglitteringwithfrost,anddartedaway.

“Wait!”hecalledout.Hestumbledafterher.“Wait!Don’tbeafraid!”Hewasclumsy,trippingoverhisownbootsandkickingupsnow.Shesprintedahead,butstopped

oftentolookbackathim.“Please,”hecalledagain.“Wait!”AsoundcametoJack’searslikewindstirringdriedleavesorsnowblowingacrossice,ormaybe

awhisperfromfaraway.Shhhhh.Hedidnotcalloutagain.Heduckedbeneathtreebranchesandwadedthroughthesnowasthegirl

ledhimfartherandfarther into theforest.Hehad towatchhis feet tokeepfromtripping,buteachtimehelookedup,shewaswaiting.

Andthenshewasn’t.Hestopped,squinted,andscannedthesnowforhertracks.Hesawnosign.Onceagainhebecameawareofthequiet,thestrangecalmoftheforest.

Frombehindhimcameahigh,chirpywhistlelikeachickadee’scall,andheturned,expectingtosee a bird, ormaybe the child. Instead, a bullmoose stood not fifty yards away. It raised its headslowly, as if themassive,many-pointed antlerswere a ponderous burden. Snow sprinkled its longnose and brown hackles. It swayed its antlers slowly side to side. Never had Jack seen such amagnificentanimal.Onlankylegs,itmusthavestoodmorethansevenfeetatthewithers,anditsneckwasasstoutasatreetrunk.

Inhiswonder,Jacknearlyoverlookedtheobvious—thiswashisquarry.Hehadhuntedonlyafewtimesasaboy,mostlyrabbitsandpheasants,althoughhehadavaguememoryofdeerhuntingwithhis cousins one cold, wet morning. This was different, though. This wasn’t sport or boyhoodadventure.Thiswaslivelihood,andyethewassoillprepared.Hecouldn’tremembermuchof thatdeerhunt,butheknewhehadnevertakenashot.

Heexpectedtheanimaltospookashechamberedacartridgeintherifle,butitwasonlymildlyinterestedandwentbacktoeatingthetipsofwillowbranches.

Jackrestedhischeekagainstthewoodenstockandtriedtosteadyhisgrip.Hisexhalationsroseassteaminthecoldairandcloudedhisvision,soheheldhisbreath,aimedforthemoose’sheart,andpulled the trigger.Heneverheard theexplosionorregisteredtherifle’srecoil.Therewasonly themomentofimpact,theanimalstaggeringasifagreatweighthadcomecrashingdownuponit,andthenitsfall.

He lowered the rifle to his side and took a few steps toward themoose. It kicked its legs andtwisteditsneckatamiserableangle.Hechamberedanotherround.Themooseflailedinthesnow,andfor a second Jack looked into its rolling, wild eyes. He raised the rifle and shot a bullet into theanimal’sskull.Itdidnotmoveagain.

Jack’skneeswereunsteadyasheleanedhisrifleagainstatreeandwenttothedeadmoose.Heputhishandsonitsstill-warmsideandatlastunderstooditssize.ItsantlerscouldhaveheldJacklikeacradle, and his arms could not have circled its barrel chest. It had toweighmore than a thousandpounds,andthatmeanthundredsofpoundsofgood,freshmeat.

He’ddoneit.Theyhadfoodforthewinter.Hewouldnotgotothemine.Hewantedtojumpupandwhoop and holler. Hewanted to kissMabel hard on the lips. Hewanted someone likeGeorge to

smackhimonthebackandtellhimwelldone.Hewantedtocelebrate,buthewasalone.Thewoodshadasolemnair,andbeneaththethrillinhis

ownchest,therewassomethingelse.Itwasn’tguiltorregret.Itwastrickier.Hegrabbedthebaseofeachantlertorepositionthehead.Itwasheavy,butbyleaningintotheantlershewasabletojostletheheadandneckaround.Thenhetookhisknifeoutofhispackandsharpeneditonasteel,allthewhileconsideringthefeelinginhisgut.Atlastheknew—itwasthesenseofadebtowed.

He’dtakenalife,asignificantlifejudgingbytheanimallaidoutbeforehim.Hewasobligedtotakecareofthemeatandbringithomeingratitude.

Butitwassomethingaboutthechild,too.Withouther,heneverwouldhaveseenthemoose.Sheledhimhereandalertedhimwhen,likeaclod,hehadpassedbytheanimal.Shemovedthroughtheforestwiththegraceofawildcreature.Sheknewthesnow,anditcarriedhergently.Sheknewthesprucetrees,howtoslipamongtheirlimbs,andsheknewtheanimals,thefoxandermine,themooseandsongbirds.Sheknewthislandbyheart.

As Jack knelt in the bloody snow, he wondered if that was how aman held up his end of thebargain,bylearningandtakingintohisheartthisstrangewilderness—guardedandnaked,violentandmeek,tremulousinitsgreatness.

TheworkwasbeyondJack’sstrengthandexperience.Hehadcarvedupchickensandafewsidesofbeef,butthiswasn’tthesame.Thiswasacolossal,fullyintactwildanimalsprawledinitsownbloodinthemiddleofthewoods.Hisshothadbeengood,throughthefrontshouldersandlungs.Heneededtoopentheguttoletthevisceraandheatescapebeforethemeatspoiled,butitwouldbenoeasytask.Themoose’slegs,eachweighingmorethanahundredpounds,werecumbersomeandintheway.Hetriedtolodgehisshoulderbeneathahindlegtoexposethebelly,butitwastoounwieldy.Hetookasectionofropefromhispackandwrappeditaroundthemoose’shindankle.Usingallhisstrength,hepulleditupandaway,andthentiedtheropetoatreebehindthemoose.Thisexposedtheabdomen,thoughJackfearedthatiftheropegaveway,thelegcoulddeliverquiteablowtothebackofhishead.

Hesharpenedhisknifeagain,onlybecausehewasn’tsurehowtobegin.Daylightwaswasting,sohe plunged his knife into the belly, remembered he didn’t want to puncture the gut sack andcontaminatethemeat,andpulledhisknifebackoutslightlybeforecuttingfromstemtostern.

Hewasuptohiselbowsinbloodandbowelswhenheheardsomethingapproachingthroughtheforest. He thought it might be the child, but then he recalled how silently she traveled. A horsenickered.Jackstood,stretchedhisback,andwipedhisknifeonhispants.

ItwasGarrettBenson,walkingahorsethroughthetrees.“Hellothere,”Jackcalledtohim.“Iheardshots.Yougotonedown?”“Yep.”“Abull?”Jacknodded.Theboytiedthehorsetoanearbytree.Asheneared,hiseyeswidened.“HolyMoses!That’sonebigmoose.”Garrettwent to theantlers, tried tostretchhisarmsfrom

onesidetotheotherandfailed.“Ho-lyMoses,”hesaidagain,moresoftly.“Ishebig?”“Hellyeah.”Aboytryingoutaman’slanguage.“Hellyeah!”

“Ididn’tknow.ThisisthefirstbullI’veseenupclose.”Garretttookoffhisgloveandheldouthishand.“Congratulations!He’sadandy!”Jackwipedsomeofthebloodontohispantlegsandtooktheboy’shand.“Thanks,Garrett.Iappreciatethat.Ihavetosay,Iwasn’texpectingthis.”“Nokidding.Imean,he’sajim-dandy!”This was an aspect of Garrett he hadn’t seen. The sulky smirk was gone, and his boyish face

beamed.“Iwasridingtheriver,lookingforplacestoputouttraps,whenIheardyourrifle,”Garrettsaid.

“Bam. Bam. Two shots. That’s always a good sign. I figured you had something down. But boyhowdy,Isuredidn’tthinkitwouldbesomethinglikethis.”

“Heseemedgood-sizedtome,”Jacksaid.Theboywasquiet,reverentasheranahanddowntheantlerbone.“It’sbiggerthananyI’veeverseen,”hesaid.“SurebiggerthananythingI’veevershot.”HisopinionofGarrett improved.Notmany thirteen-year-oldboyscouldwinawrestlingmatch

withenvy.“GuessI’vegotmyworkcutoutforme,”Jacksaid.“It’salot.Butwithtwoofus,it’llgoallright.”“Don’tfeelyou’reunderanyobligationtolendahand.”Theboytookaknifefromasheathathisbelt.“I’dliketo.”“Well, it’d bemuch appreciated.Maybe you can just giveme a fewpointers,walkme through

someofit.Thetruthis,I’minovermyhead.”“Looks like you’re starting fine, pulling those guts out.” And the boy drew back the hide and

peeredinsidetheribcage.“Yeah,seethere?Youcanjustcutthatawayandit’llallcomeoutslick.”Whentheyslicedawaytheheartandliver,eachbroaderthanadinnerplate,Jackslidthemstillwet

intoagunnysack.

Forthenextseveralhours,Jackandtheboyworkedatthemoose.Itwaswearying.Jack’shandswerecoldandnumb,andseveral timeshenickedhimselfwith theknife.Hisbackandkneespainedhim.The sun slithered through the trees, the air cooled, the dead animal stiffened, but they kept at it.SometimesGarrettofferedadviceaboutwheretomakeacutorhowtoseparateajoint.Heheldthelegs inplaceorpulledback thehidesoJackcouldworkmoreeasily.They jokedsomeand talkedsome,butmostlyjustworked,anditwascomfortable.

When they had cut away the legs and ribs, the tenderloin and backstrap and neckmeat,Garrettfetchedahandsawfromhissaddlebagsandtheysawedtheantlersfromtheskull.

“You’vegottobringthesebacktonight,”Garrettsaid,“sowecanshoweverybody.They’llneverbelieveitifwejusttellthem.”

Jackwould have rather left the antlers and hauledmore of themeat home, but he decided thequarters would be safe enough hanging in the trees until he could come backwith the horse andwagoninthemorning.Hehatedtodisappointtheboyafterallhe’ddonetohelp,sotheystrappedtheantlers,vitalorgans,andsomeofthefinestcutsofmeattoGarrett’ssaddle.

“That’s a good horse you got there,” Jack said as they secured the load. “Doesn’t balk atmeatbeingstrappedon.”

“I bought himmyself from aminerwho used him for packing. I’m going tomake him into a

trappinghorse.”Bloodyandtired,theymadetheirwaythroughthetrees,Garrettleadingthehorsebyarope.Jack

hadn’t realizedhowclosehewas tohis field,and from there they followed thewagon trail. Itwasnearingdarkastheycameintotheyard.

“Isureamgratefulforyourhelp,”Jacksaid.“I’dstillbeouttherehackingawaybymyself.”“Sure.Sure,”Garrettsaid.“WaittillMomandDadseeit.”WithJackhobblingafterhim,Garrettrushedahead.“Looks likeyour folksbeatyouhere,” Jackcalledoutwhenhe saw the sleigh in theyard. Just

then,Georgeandhistwooldersonscameoutofthebarn.“You’renotgoingtobelievethis!”Garretthollered.“Jackshotthebiggestdamnmooseyouever

saw!”

CHAPTER8

AsshepreparedthatmorningfortheBensons’arrival,MabelremindedherselfofhowithadbeenattheirhouseforThanksgiving.Shewouldnotfretaboutthestainsonthetableclothortherough-plankfloorthatcouldneverbescrubbedclean.Dinnerwouldbewellmade,butnotsomuchthatitseemedshewastryingtoshowthemup.Shedidn’townanymen’soverallsandneverintendedto.Herlongskirtandformalsleevesmightbeoverdone,buttheywereallshehad.

Bylatemorning, thecabinwascleanandthetableset.Shespentanhourorsofussingwithherhairandrearrangingtheplacesettings.ShewasrelievedwhenduskcameandtheBensonsarrivedonasleighpulledbyoneoftheirdrafthorses.Georgeandthetwoolderboystookthehorsetothebarn,whileEsther unloaded some things from the sleigh and came to the door.Therewas no knockoropportunitytoinviteherinasEstherpushedpastMabel.

“ThankGod,we’re finallyhere.”She tossedadustygrain sackon the table,nearlyknockingaplatetothefloor.“Ithoughtyoucouldusesomeonions.Weendedupwithmorethanweneed.”

She opened her coat and unloaded Mason jars from her oversized pockets. “This one here’srhubarbjam.Terrificonsourdoughpancakes.Didyougetthatsourdoughtotake?You’vegottobabyitsome.Don’tletitgettoohotortoocold.Oh,thisonehereisblueberry-raspberry,Ithink.Mighthave somecurrants in there.Hard to tell.Sure itwill begood, though.Oh, andhere’s some spicypickledpeas.George’sfavorite.Don’ttellhimIsnuckyousome.”

Shetookoffhercoatandthrewitacrossthebackofachair.“Ifearedthoseweregoingtofreezeon thewayover. Ihad tokeep themupnext tome, just tobe sure.”She laughedand lookedupatMabelasiffinallytakingnoticeofher.SheflungherarmsaroundMabel’sshoulders,squeezedhertightly,andpressedhercoldcheekupagainstMabel’s.

“Oh,it’ssogoodtoseeyou.I’vebeenafterGeorgeeversinceThanksgivingtogetusoverhere.It’snogoodbeingawomaninthiscountry,isit?Toomanymen,inmyopinion.AndofcourseIgooffandhaveallboysmyself,asifthereweren’tenoughalready.”Estherlaughedandshookoutherlongbraid.ThenshelookedaroundthecabinandMabelfeltamixtureofprideandshyness,surethatEstherwasinspectingthecurtainsandcleankitchenandassessingherskillsasahomemaker.

“Nicetightcabinyou’vegothere.Georgesaysyou’vegotsomeproblemswiththefrostcomingthrough,butthathappenstousallonthosecolddays.Justcrankupthefire,Isay.Lookslikeyou’vegotasturdywoodstove.Thatmakesallthedifference.”

EstherstoodnexttothestovemuchthewayJackdid,withherhandsspreadwidetotheheat.Mabelrealizedshehadneverreallystudiedthestovebefore,justassheknewthatEstherhadyettonoticethecarefully set table or the few photographs hanging on the walls. It was as if she were seeing adifferentcabinaltogether.

“Jackhasn’tcomehomeyet.Heshouldbehereanytime,andthenwecanhavedinner.Wouldyoulikesometea?Iputsomewateron.”

“Oh,thatwouldbeterrific.I’mcoldanddampfromtherideover.I’mnotcomplaining,though.I’vealwayslikedthesnow.”

“Idoknowwhatyoumean.OratleastIcansayIamfinallygettingaccustomedtoit.There’sbeenalottogetusedtohere.”

Estherlaughed.“Isn’tthatthetruth.Idon’tknowifyouevergetusedtoitreally.Itjustgetsinyourbloodsothatyoucan’tstandtobeanywhereelse.”

Thewomensatatthetable,MabelsippingherteaandEsthertalking.Mabelwaitedforachancetoaskaboutthechild,butEstherneverseemedtotakeabreath.

“IknowI’mgoing to talkyourear rightoff tonight. It’s just sogood tohaveawoman tovisitwith.Thoseboys,theydotheirbest,butreallythey’rehappierifIkeepquiet.Aroundthedinnertableit’salwaysgrunt,harrumph,givemesomemoreofthisandthat.Me,Iliketohaveagoodsit-downandtalk.That’saboutallIreallymissabouttownsometimes.Justagoodconversationnowandthen.Idon’tevencaretoomuchwhatwetalkabout.”

She then went on to talk about last year ’s crops and the railroad’s plans to expand, how thebigwigsfrombackinWashingtonhadcomeallthewaytotheTerritorytoinspectthetracksandposefor photographs, and how all of this mining and expansion would mean more demand for farmgoods. Then she talked about the wolves that were running the river and how their younger sonwantedtotrapafewforthebountymoney.

“Thatboyofminehasn’tshowedupyet,hashe?He’ssupposedtomeetushere,comingbyhorseontheriver.”

ThenEstheraskedaboutthefoxJackhadseeninthefields.“They’llsnatchyourchickensassoonastheygetachance,”shesaid.“Yououghttoshoothimnexttimeyouseehim.”

NeverinherlifehadanyonesuggestedMabelshootsomething.Shedidn’tmentionshehadneverpickedupagun.ItseemedanembarrassingfactinfrontofEsther.

“Oh.Yes,”shesaid.“Isupposeso.”Shewaspreparingtosaythatshehadindeedseenthefox,withalittlegirl,rightneartheirbarn,butjustthenthedoorburstopen.

“Well,callitbeginner ’sluck,”Georgesaid.“Jack’sgoneandshotthebiggestmooseintheentirevalley.Gals,you’vegottocomeandseethis.”

MabeltriedtoimaginewhatshewouldseeinthebarnasshefollowedGeorgeandEstherthroughthesnow.Sheexpectedanentireanimal,stillinitsskinandfur,stillamoose.Whenshesteppedintothelanternlightandsawthedisembodiedantlersatoptheirbloodystump,shedrewinabreath.

“HolyMoses!”Esthersaid.“That’sexactlywhatIsaid,Mom.Isn’tit?”andtheboyturnedtoJack.“Ho-lyMoses.”Hisexcited,

youthfulvoicestartledMabelnearlyasmuchasthescenebeforeher.“Thoseantlersgottogoseventyinchesacross,”Garrettsaid,posingbehindthemlikeanAfrican

hunterwithhistrophy.SuddenlyJackgrabbedheraboutthewaistfrombehind,swungheraroundtofacehim,andfora

secondliftedheroffherfeet.“Idid it, love. Igotourmoose!”Hekissedherquickandhardon theneck, likehewasamuch

youngerman, and she ayoungerwoman.He smelledofwild animal andmoonshine, andhis eyestwinkledfromdrink.Whenhesetherbackdownonthestrawfloor,shewasdisoriented.

“Oh,”wasallshecouldmanage.ThebarnwasagarbleoftalkandcheerswhileJacktoldhowhehadheardsomethingbehindhim,

turnedaround,andherewasthisbullmoosejustafewstridesfromhisownfield,andhehadshotit,andthenGarrettcamealongandhecouldn’thavedoneitwithouthim.Abottlewaspassednonetoodiscreetlyamongthemenandthetwooldersons,andeachhelditupandcalledout“Cheers!”while

Garrettbeggedinvainforaswig.“Not just yet, sprout,” Esther said, and then she took a drink herself, and themen all laughed.

Mabelkeptquietlytoherself.ButEstherturnedtoherandheldoutthebottle.“Oh come, come,” she said playfully. “Drink a toast to your hunter!” So Mabel took the

moonshineandheldthecoldglasstohermouth.Thevaporalonewasenoughtomakehercough,butshetippeditbackandlettheicy-hotliquidsplashagainstherlips,andthenshecoughedandcoughedandhandedthebottlebackwhileeveryonelaughedmerrily.

“Sonocoalmineforyouthisyear,eh,Jack?”Georgeasked.“Supposenot.Iguesswe’llhaveanold-fashionedAlaskanwinter—mooseandpotatoesuntilwe

canstandthemnomore.”MabelsmiledupatJackandknewsheshouldbeglad,butshecouldn’tridhermindofthesawed

edgeofskullboneatherfeet.Justwhenherhandsweregoingnumbwithcold, everyonedecided togoback to the cabin for

dinner. Jack took the lantern down from its hook on a beam andwrapped an arm aroundMabel’sshoulders as they walked through the snow. Suddenly she was married to a northern hunter, awoodsman who gutted moose and toasted moonshine in a barn. Everything was topsy-turvy andunfamiliar.

The raucouspartymade itsway into thecabin,allof them talkingatonceandshakingsnowfromtheirclothes.WhenJacktookoffhiscoat,hisarmswereplasteredwithcracked,driedblood,anditwas smeared across his shirt and pants.No one else noticed, but he looked atMabel and down athimself.“SupposeIshouldwashupbeforedinner.”

Garrett brought in a gunnysack and set it on the kitchen counter. From itEsther took a veined,roundedmusclethesizeofabreadloafandMabelrealizeditwastheanimal’sheart.Estherbegantosliceitthinlywithaknife.

“Heatupapan,dear,”shesaidoverhershouldertoMabel.“We’llhavesomeofthiswithdinner.Freshlikethis,there’snothingbetterthanmooseheart.”

BeforeMabelcouldthinkormove,Estherhadacast-ironpanheatingonthewoodstove.“Handmeoneofthoseonions,willyou?I’llcutoneuptothrowinthepan.”

ThenexthourwasablurtoMabel,herheadswimminginthesmelloffryingmeatandonionsandthenoiseofboisteroustalking.Someonemusthavemashedtheboiledpotatoes.Someonemusthaveputoutthebreadandslicedcarrotsandopenedajarofonionrelish.Beforesheunderstoodallthathadhappened,theywerecrowdedatthetable,Garrettwithhisplateonhislap,andMabelwascuttingapieceofmooseheartwithasteakknifeandtakingherfirstbite.

“Tasty,isn’tit?”Estherasked.Mabelnoddedandchewedandtriednottothinkaboutthemusclecontractingandbeatinginsidea

moose’s rib cage.She tasted seared flesh andblood like copper, and itwasn’t as awful as shehadfeared.

As the talkdwindledandeveryonefinished theirmeals,Esther lookedacross the tableandsaid,“Weren’tyougettingreadytotellmesomething?WhenGeorgecamebustingthroughthedoor?”

“Oh,Ican’trecalljustnow.”“Weweresayingsomethingaboutthefox…”Mabelwasflustered.“Ididmeantoaskyou…butitcanwaituntillater,”shesaid.“Oh,noone’spayinganyattention.Outwith it, then.”Estherwaved impatiently.Mabel sawshe

wasright,themenweretellinghuntingstoriesandoblivioustothem.“Well,Ididmeantoask—doyouknowifthere’salittlegirllivinganywherenearourplace?A

littleblondegirl?”“A little girl?Letme think.There are only a few families in the valley right now.Most of the

homesteadsarerunbysinglemenwhostruckoutwithgoldandsuch.TheWrightshaveacoupleofgirls, but they’re redheads.Curly red hair, and cheeks like little apples.And they’re nowhere nearhere.They’remoretheothersideofus.Outyourwayhere,well,thereareacoupleofIndiancampsup the river, but they’re usually there only in the summer,when the salmon are running.And, ofcourse,there’snotasingleblondeamongthem.”

Estherroseandbegangatheringthedishesandstackingthemonthetable.Themenpausedintheirconversationtohandhersilverwareandknives,butwentbacktotheirtalk.

“ThereasonIask,”Mabelsaid,leaningtowardEstherandspeakingquietly,“iswehadachildonourplace theothernight. Jackgotup in themiddleof thenightandhe sawagirl run through thetrees.Thenextmorning—wehadbuilt this little snowman,well, a little snowgirl, actually—and itwasknockedoverandthescarfandmittensweregone.Itsoundssilly,butIthinkthechildmusthavedone it. It’snot that Imind, really. Iwouldhavegiven them toher if sheneeded themso. I’m justworriedshewaslostorsomething.Imagine,alittlegirloutinthewoodsinwinterlikethat.”

Estherstoppedgathering thedishesandfocusedonMabel.“Here,atyourplace,you’resaying?Yousawalittleblondechildjustsprintingabout?”

“Yes.Isn’tthatodd?”“You’resureaboutthat?Sureitwasn’tjustananimalorsomething?”“No,I’mcertain.Weevensawhertracks.Jacktriedtofollowthemforawhile,buttheyjustwent

aroundandaroundinthewoods.ThentheotherdayIsawher,inthetreesbeyondthebarn.”“That’sthedardnestthing.Imeanthere’stheWrightgirls,butthat’sagoodtenmilesoff,probably

more…”Esther ’s voice trailedoff as she sat down.Then she looked across the table intoMabel’seyesandsmiledgently.

“Idon’tmeantospeakoutofturn,Mabel,butthisisn’taneasyplacetogetalong.Thewintersarelong,andsometimesitstartstogettoyou.Aroundhere,theycallitcabinfever.Yougetdowninthedumps,everything’soffkilterandsometimesyourmindstartsplayingtricksonyou.”EstherreachedacrossthetableandputahandoverMabel’s.“Youstartseeingthingsthatyou’reafraidof…orthingsyou’vealwayswishedfor.”

MabelletEstherholdherhandforamoment,butthenpulledaway.“No,youdon’tunderstand.Wesawher.Andwebothsawthetracks,andthemittensandscarfare

gone.”

“Maybeitwasananimal,orthewind.Allsortsofexplanations.”Themenhadstoppedtalking.Theywerealllookingather.“It’strue.Isn’tit,Jack?Wesawher.Inherlittlebluecoat.”Jackshiftedinhischairandshrugged.“Itcouldhavebeenanything,”hesaid.“No.No.”Mabelwasangry.“Itwasalittlegirl.Yousawher,too.Andtherewereherfootprintsin

thesnow.”“Well,maybeyoucouldshowusthetracks,”Esthersaid.“Garretthereisagoodtracker.He’dbe

abletotellsomething.”Mabelwantedtoyellorcry,butshespokeeachwordcarefully.“Thetracksaregone.Theblizzardlastweekcoveredthemall.”“Blizzard?Ithasn’tsnowedin—”Estherstoppedandpinchedherlipstogether.Mabelstoodandtookthedishestothecounter,gladtobefreeofthetable.Jackavoidedhereyes

as he went to the woodstove and added another log. She busied herself with dessert—sourdoughbiscuitstoppedwithEsther ’shomemadejam.AsMabelworked,Esthercameupbehindherandgentlysqueezedherelbow.Itwasanexpressionoffriendshipandsympathy,butitleftMabelmiserable.

Soonthecabinwasagainfulloflightheartedtalkabouttheseasons,workingtheland,andstoringfoodforthewinter.GeorgeandEstherhadJackandtheboyslaughingwiththeirwildstoriesofill-manneredblackbears,outhousepranks,andstubbornhorses.Noonetalkedaboutthelittlegirl,orthefootprintsthathadvanishedinthesnow.

Darkness settled around the cabin, and Mabel glanced out the window occasionally with thethoughtthatshemightseethechild,buttherewasonlyherownreflectioninthelamplight.

CHAPTER9

Jackstartedwithabiscuit,oneofMabel’ssourdoughbiscuits.Hehadrisenearlytohaulthemeathomeinthewagon,andafterhe’dhungitfromabeaminthe

barnandputawaythehorse,hewentinforlunch.WhenMabelwasn’twatching,heslippedabiscuitinhispocketand toldherhewasgoingout towork in thebarn. Insteadhewent to theedgeof thewoods.

Itseemedwrongtobaitachildthisway.Asaboyhehadenticeddeerandraccoonswithmorselsoffood,andhislongpatienceoftenpaidoff.Heoncehadadoetakeacarrotrightfromhisfingersbeforeitfledtothetrees.Heneverforgotthemoment,afterwhatseemedlikehoursofcrouchingandwaiting,whenthedoebentherlongneckdowntohimandtookthecarrot.He’dfeltthetouchofhersoftmuzzleonhisfingers.

Hedustedthesnowfromastumpandset thebiscuitdown,wonderingif thesamecuriositywasdrivinghim.Thechildwasnotaraccoontobaitandtrap.Heworriedabouther.He’dfeltfoolishtoadmititinfrontoftheBensons,butthelittlegirlhadcomeagainandagaintotheirhomestead,andhedidnotknowwhatbroughther.Maybeshewasinneedbuttooshyortoofrightenedtoknockontheirdoor. Perhaps she was lonely and sought only companionship, butmaybe it was somethingmoreurgent.Shelter.Clothing.Food.Helpofsomekind.Thethoughtpreoccupiedhim,andsohereachedout to her the onlywayhe knewhow.For the next several hours, Jackworked outdoors, stackingwoodandshovelingpaths.Allthewhilehewatchedoutofthecornerofhiseye,butthebiscuitwentuntouchedandtheforestremainedquiet.

Thenextmorning,hesawwheretracksapproachedthestump,wovethiswayandthatwherethegirlmusthavehiddenbehindasprucetree,abush.Thebiscuitremainedonthestump.

Thatevening,hesearchedthecabin,lookingforotherpossiblebait.HepickeduptinsandopenedboxesuntilMabelfinallyaskedwhathewasupto.

“Nothing,” he mumbled, guilty with his lie. She would disapprove of his efforts, or makesuggestionsofherown,buthemustdoithisownway.Asayoungster,hehadneverhadadeerorwildbirdcomewithinreachwhenhisfriendsweremillingabout.

More than that, talk of the child seemed to upsetMabel. She had some spirit these days and abrightnessinhereyesthateasedJack’sheart.ThetimeshespentwithEstherwasgood.Butwhenevertheydiscussedthelittlegirl,shebecameagitated.Heoftencaughtherlookingoutthewindow.

Thesametraitsthatasayoungwomanhadmadehersoalluringnowmadeherseemunwell.Shewasimaginativeandquietlyindependent,butovertheyearsthishadsettledintoagravemelancholythatworriedhim.Untilheknewmoreaboutthislittlegirlandhersituation,hefeltitbesttokeepitunderhishat.

Whenthesourdoughbiscuit,bitsofpeppermintcandyfromtown,evenapieceofoneofMabel’spiesthatJackhadpilfered,hadallfailed,hewasatalossforwhattotrynext.Hethoughtbacktothescarfandmittensthegirlhadtakenandwonderedifshewascoldandinneedofmoreclothes.Hisbriefglimpsesofhermadehimdoubtthis.Sheseemedathomeinthesnowinherfursandwool.

Then,onatriptotown,hesawaminiatureporcelaindollonashelfinthegeneralstore.Thedollhad long, straight blond hair, not unlike the girl’s, and it wore the brightly colored dress of aEuropeanvillager,perhapsSwedishorDutch.Itwastoomuchmoneyforsomethingsofrivolous,butheignoredhisconscience,bought itoncredit,andhidit inhiscoatpocket.Whenhegothome,hefoundhecouldn’twaituntilthenextmorning,soalthoughitwasafterdark,hetookitwithhimwhenhewenttofeedandwatertheanimals.

Hebroughtthelanternfromthebarnandwalkedtothestumpwheretheotherofferingshadgoneuntouched.Hetookthedollfromhispocket.MaybeheandMabelhadtrulylost theirminds.Cabinfever—wasn’tthatwhatEsthercalledit?

Jackraisedhisvoicetothecoldnightandcalledoutasgentlyashecouldmanage.“Thisisforyou.Areyououtthere?”Hisvoicewassoftandcroaky.Heclearedhisthroat,andcalledoutagain.“I don’t know if you’re out there or if you can hear me, but we want you to have this. Just

somethingIpickedupintown.Well,then,goodnight.”Hehopedhemightseeher,orhearabirdsongfromthetrees,buttherewasonlythecoldanddark.

Heshiftedfromonefoottotheother,shovedahandintohiscoatpocket,andatlastturnedhisback,leavingtheporcelaindollproppedinthesnowonthestump.

Whenhereturnedtothecabin,Mabelhadwarmedwateronthestoveforhimtowash.Steamroseasshepoured thewater into abasin. Jack tookoff his shirt, put a toweloverhis shoulders, splashedwaterontohisface,andsoapeduphisbeard.BehindhimhecouldhearMabelbustlinginthekitchen.

“Oh,”shesaidquietly.Jackbroughthisheadupfromthebasinandwipedhisfacewiththetowel.“Whatisit?”“Thewindow.Doyousee?”As theywatched, thick frost unfurled in feathers and swirls across the glass, slowly spreading

from the center toward the corners. Lacy white vines grew in twists and loops and icy flowersblossomed. Within seconds the window that had been clear glass was covered in patterns ofoverlayingfrostlikefineetching.

“Maybe it’s from the steam,”Mabel said in a near whisper. She pressed the palm of her handagainst the glass, andherwarm skinmelted the ice.She curled a fist, rubbed a small circle in thecenterofthewindow,andlookedthrough.

“Oh.Oh,”shegaspedandleanedcloser.“What,Mabel?Whatisit?”“It’sher.”Sheturned,herhandatherthroat.“Herlittleface,rightthereinourwindow.Shehadfur

allaroundherhead,likeawildanimal.”“It’sherhat.Hermartenhat,withtheflapstiedunderherchin.”“Butshe’stherenow.Golook.”“She runs fast, even on the snow,” he said, butMabelwas handing himhis boots and coat and

openingthedoor.Whenhesteppedoutside,hiswetbeardandhairstiffenedwithice.Hewalkedaroundthesideof

thecabinbutsawonlywhatheexpected—snowandtreesandnight.Thechildwasgone.

ThenextmorningJacknearlysteppedonthesmallbasketoutsidetheirdoor.

“Jack?What’sthatyou—”“I’mnotsure.”Hesetitonthetable,andheandMabelstoodoverit.Itwasmadeofbirchbark,its

seamscrudelysewnwithsomekindofdriedplantroot.Thebasketfitperfectlyintwocuppedhands,anditwasheapedwithpurpleberries.Jacktookone,rolleditbetweenhisfingerandthumb,sniffedit,thenputittohistongue.

“Oh,Jack,youdon’tknowwhatitmightbe.”“It’sablueberry.Tasteslikeablueberry.”Shefrowned,butheputonetohermouthandshehesitantlytastedit.“You’reright.They’rewildblueberries.Frozenlikelittlemarbles,”shesaid.Shesatatthetableandtouchedthebarkedgestentatively,asifthebasketmightbreakbeneathher

fingers.“Wasither?”sheasked.“Didshebringtheseforus?”“Iguesssheknewwewerehavingpancakesforbreakfast,”Jacksaid.Mabeldidnotsmile.“I’llgetsomewoodforthefire,”hesaid.Jackfollowedhisoldtrackspastthewoodpiletothestumpattheedgeoftheforest.Thedollwas

gone.Thechild’ssmallfootprintscametowardthestump,wentoncearound,andthenstraightbackintothetrees.Eachtrackbarelydentedthesnow,asifsheweighednomorethanafeather.

Whenhebroughtanarmloadofwoodinside,Mabelwascookingpancakes.Shedottedafewofthewildblueberriesineachone,andtheyatethematthetable,thesmallbasketbetweenthem.Theydid not talk about the child, not until the table was cleared and Jack was preparing to go backoutdoors.

“I’mgoingtohaulsomewoodfromtheeastfield.Everyonesayswe’llhaveacoldspellsoon.”“Howcanyou?”Mabel’svoicewashushedandtrembling.“Howcanyoueatyourbreakfastand

gointothedayasifnoneofthishashappened?”“It’swinter,andweneedfirewood.”“She’sachild,Jack.Youmightnotbeabletoadmitittotheneighbors,butyou’veseenher,too.

Youknowshe’soutthere.”He sighed. He finished lacing up his boots, and then went toMabel and put his hands on her

shoulders.“Whatcanwedo?”“Wemustdosomething.”“Ijustdon’tknowwhat….Ithinkshe’sallright.”Mabelnarrowedhereyes.“Howcanshebeallright?Achild,wanderingaroundinthemiddleof

winter?”“Ithinkshe’swarm.Andshemustknowhowtogetfood.Lookattheberries,andthatlittlebasket.

Sheknowsherwayoutthere,probablybetterthaneitherofus.”“Butshe’sjustachild.Alittlegirl.”HethoughtMabelwouldcry,andhewantedtobeanywhereelse.Itwaswrongandcowardly,and

he’ddone itbefore—whenMabel lost thebabyandshookwithgrief,when the relativeswhisperedharshwords,whentheBensonsaskedaboutthechildinthewoods.Butitwasliketheneedtotakeabreath.Theurgewastoostrong,andwithoutsayinganotherword,Jackleftthecabin.

CHAPTER10

Snowflakes and naked babies tumbled through her nights. She dreamed shewas in themidst of asnowstorm.Snowfellandgustedaroundher.Sheheldoutherhandsandsnowflakeslandedonheropenpalms.Astheytouchedherskin,theymeltedintotiny,nakednewborns,eachwetbabynobiggerthan a fingernail. Then wind swept them away, once again just snowflakes among a flurry ofthousands.

Some nights she woke herself with her own crying. Others, Jack gently shook her. “Wake up,Mabel.You’rehavinganightmare.Wakeup.”

In the light of day, her dreams were drained of their nightmarish quality, and they seemedwhimsicalandstrange,but the tasteof loss remained inhermouth. Itwasdifficult to focusonhertasks, and she often drifted aimlessly through her ownmind.A faintmemory emerged again andagain—her father, a leather-bound fairy-tale book, a snow child alive in its pages. She couldn’tclearlyrecallthestoryormorethanafewoftheillustrations,andshebegantoworryoverit,lettingherthoughtstouchitagainandagain.Iftherewassuchabook,couldtherebesuchachild?Ifanoldmanandwomanconjuredalittlegirloutofthesnowandwilderness,whatwouldshebetothem?Adaughter?Aghost?

Shehadsought reasonableexplanations.SheaskedEstheraboutchildrenwho livednearby.SheurgedJacktoinquireintown.Butshehadalsotakennoteofthosefirstbootprintsinthesnow—theybeganatthevanishedsnowchildandranfromthereintothewoods.Notrackscameintotheyard.

Then therewas the frost that crystallized on thewindow as she and Jack hadwatched, and thesnowstormthathadblownherbacktowardhomewhenshefoundthedeadbird.Mostofall,therewasthechildherself,herfaceamirroroftheoneJackhadsculptedinthesnow,hereyeslikeiceitself.Itwasfantasticalandimpossible,butMabelknewitwastrue—sheandJackhadformedherofsnowandbirchboughsandfrostywildgrass.Thetruthawedher.Notonlywasthechildamiracle,butshewastheircreation.Onedoesnotcreatealifeandthenabandonittothewilderness.

Afewdaysafterthebaskethadappearedontheirdoorstep,Mabeldecidedtowritetohersister,whostilllivedinthefamilyhomeinPhiladelphia.Perhapsthebookwasintheattic,alongwiththetrunksofclothesandkeepsakesthathadaccumulatedthereovertheyears.Shesatdownatthetable,aloafof

breadbaking in theoven, andwas comfortedby the act ofwriting. It gaveher a rational purpose.Eitherthebookwasthereoritwasn’t,butifhersisterfounditandsentittoher,Mabelwascertainitwouldbeofconsequence.Thebookwouldtellherthefateoftheoldmanandwoman,andthechildtheyhadborneofsnow.

“Dearestsister,Ihopethisletterfindsyouwell.Wearesettlingintowinterhereatthehomestead,”shebegan.

Shewent on to describe the snow andmountains and their new friends theBensons. She askedabout her sister ’s children, now grown, and the family home. Then, as casually as she could, sheinquiredaboutthebook.

“Doyouremember it,dearAda?Itwasoneofmyfavorites forsomeyearsofmychildhood. Ibelieveitwasboundinblueleather,butIrememberlittleofthestory—noteventhetitle.IamsureitisanimpossibletaskIamaskingofyou,buttryingtorecallthedetailsofthebookhasbecomesuchadistractingnuisance tomymind. It’s likehavingaperson’snameon the tipofyour tongue,nearlyrememberedbutnotquite.IonlyhopebysomechanceyouknowthebookIamthinkingof,andbetteryetknowwheretofinditinallthatjumbleoftrunksintheattic.”

Mabelalsoaskedifhersistercouldsendsomenewpencils,assheintendedtopickupherformerpastimeandhadonlyafewstubsinherdrawingbox.

Shesealedtheletter,setitaside,andwenttothestove.Shepulledtheloafofbreadfromtheoven,thumpeditsoftlytoseeifitwasdone,thensliditbackintotheheat.SheglancedtowardthewindowandsawJackatthewoodpile.Andthenshesawthelittlegirl.

She stood in the trees just beyond. Jack hadn’t noticed her. He had taken off his coat andwassplitting log after log, swinging the heavymaul above his head and bringing it downwith a loudcrackintothewood.Thegirlwatchedandthencreptcloser,hidingbehindabirchtreeandpeekingaroundit.Sheworethesamecoatofbluewooltrimmedinwhitefur.Beneaththecoat,Mabelcouldnow see, was a light blue flower-print dress that came to below her knees, and high boots ormoccasinsmadeofsomekindofanimalskinandfur.

Mabelpacedatthewindow.ShouldshegotothedoorandcallouttoJack,orwaituntilhesawthegirlhimself?Shewassonearshehatedtofrightenheraway.ThenshesawJackraisehisheadandlookatthegirl.Thechildwaslessthanadozenyardsfromhim.Mabelheldherbreath.ShecouldseeJack speaking but couldn’t hear hiswords. The childwasmotionless. Jack stepped closer, a handextendedtowardher.Thegirlsteppedback,andthenJackwasspeakingagain.Itwasdifficulttoseefromthewindow,butMabel thoughtshesawthegirl raiseahand ina redmittenandgiveasmallwave.Mabel’sbreathfoggedtheglass.Sherubbeditwithherhandjustintimetoseethegirlturnandrunintothetrees.Jackstoodwithhisarmsathissides,themaulathisfeet,notmoving.Mabelhurriedtothedoorandpulleditopen.

“Go,Jack!Go!Goafterher!”Hervoicewaslouderandshrillerthanshe’dmeant.Hestartled,thenlooked fromMabel to thewoodsandbackagain.At lasthechargedafter thegirl, first at a steadywalk,thenpickinguphispaceandtrottingthroughthesnow.Hislegslookedlongandawkwardashisbigbootsthumpedbeneathhim.Nothinglikethenimblesprintofthegirl.

Shewaited at the window.Occasionally shewent to the door, opened it, and looked out in alldirections,but theyardandwoodsbeyondwereempty.Minuteswentby, thenanhourandanother.Sheconsidereddressinginherwinterbootsandcoatandgoingafterthem,butsheknewthatwasnotwise.Nightcamequicklyontheseshortwinterdays.

Asthecabindarkened,Mabel lit theoil lamps,putmorewoodonthefire,andtried tostopherrhythmic pacing. She thought of hermother, howoften she had paced andwrung her handswhen

Mabel’sfatherdidn’tcomehomefromsomelatemeetingattheuniversity.Shethoughtofthewivesofsoldiers,goldminersandtrappers,drunksandadulterers,allwaitinglongintothenight.Whywasitalwaysthewoman’sfatetopaceandfretandwait?

Mabelfinallymadeherselfsitby thewoodstovewithhersewingandtried to loseherself in thestitches.Shedidn’tknowshehadfallenasleepinthechairuntilJackcamein.Hisbeardandmustachewerecakedwith iceandhispant legswerestiffandsnow-covered.Hedidn’tbother to takeoffhisbootsorstompthesnowfromthembutstumbledtothewoodstoveandheldouthisbarehands.Hehadn’tbeenwearinggloveswhenshe’dsenthimafterthegirl.Shetookhishandsinherown.Jackcringedathertouch.

“Areyoufrostbit?”“I don’t know. Cold, that’s for sure.” His words slurred together, either from the ice in his

mustacheorfromfatigue.Mabelrubbedhishandstomovewarmbloodtothetipsofthefingers.“Didyoucatchupwithher?Whatdidyousee?”Heslidhishandsoutofhersandpulledsomeoftheicefromhismustacheandbeard.Hetookoff

hisboots and thenhis coat andpants,whichhehung fromnailsbehind thewoodstove todry.Thecabinsmelledofwarm,wetwool.

“Didyouhearme?Whatdidyoufind?”He didn’t look upwhen he spoke, but instead turned from her and stumbled to their bedroom.

“Nothing.I’mtired,Mabel.Tootiredtotalk.”He climbed beneath the covers andwas soon snoring softly, leavingMabel alone again by the

woodstove.

CHAPTER11

Jackhadalwaysconsideredhimself ifnotbrave, thenat leastcompetentandsure.Hewaswaryoftruedanger,offlightyhorsesthatcouldbreakyourbackandfarmtoolsthatcouldseverlimbs,buthehadalwaysscoffedatthesuperstitiousandmystical.Aloneinthedepthsofthewilderness,however,inthefadingwinterlight,hehaddiscoveredinhimselfananimal-likefear.Whatshamedhimallthemorewasthathecouldnotnameit.IfMabelhadaskedwhatterrifiedhimwhenhefollowedthegirlinto themountains,hecouldonlyhaveansweredwith the timiduncertaintyofachildscaredof thedark.Disturbingthoughtswhirledthroughhisbrain,storieshemusthaveheardasaboyaboutforesthags andmenwho turned into bears. Itwasn’t the girl that frightened him asmuch as the strangeworldofsnowandrockandhushedtreesthatshenavigatedwithease.

The girl had deftly jumped logs and scampered through thewoods like a fairy.He had gottencloseenoughtonoticethebrownfurofherhatandtheknee-highleathermoccasinsthatboundherfeet.Bythewoodpile,whenhehadspokentoher,hehadevencaughtsightofherblondeyelashesandtheintenselyblueeyes,andwhenheaskedifshelikedthedoll,hesawhersmile.Theshy,sweetsmileofalittlegirl.

Butthenshehadbecomeaphantom,asilentblur.AsJacktriedtofollowher,anicyfogmovedthrough the forest. Minute crystals of ice filled the air and gathered as hoarfrost along the treebranchesandonhislashes.Hecouldseeonlyafewfeetintothemist.Hestoppedoccasionally,bentwithhishandsonhiskneeswhilesweatfrozeathisbrow.Hetriedtosilencehisheavybreathing,butthenallheheardwasthesnowcreakingbeneathhisboots.Thechildmadenosound.Heheardtwigscrack,onlytowatchasnowshoehareboundthroughthealders,andlater,asnightclosedin,anowlhooted fromfaraway.Heneverheard thegirl.At timeshewasn’t surehewaseven followingheranymorebutinsteadblindlythrashingthroughthetreeslikeabewitched,crazyman.Thenhewouldseeherjustahead,asifshewantedtobeseen.

Helosttrackofhowfarhehadcomeorhowlonghehadbeengone,yethekepton,pasttheir160-acrehomestead, up into the foothills of themountainswherehehadhuntedmoose andbeyond, towhere the treesdwindled toalpinebirch shrubsandLabrador tea.He followeda ridge that lookeddown over the snowy river valley and followed her still higher, until he crested a rise and foundhimselfinanarrowmountaingorgewithsteepshalecliffs.

Aneeriegustofwindcamedownthegorge.Fartheruphecouldseeawaterfalloficepouringoffthemountain between the rocky cliffs. Below him, the creek trickled and bubbled beneath ice andwounditswaythroughrockandwillow.Thegirl,though,wasnowheretobeseen.

Hecautiouslyfollowedhertracksuptheravine,andthentheydisappearedintothesnowyhillside.Itdidn’tmakesense,yetthatiswhathesaw—hertraildidn’tcontinueupthehilloralongthecreek;itranintothesideofthemountain.Thenhenoticedwhatlookedlikeasmalldoorsetintothehillsidebeneatha roundeddomeofsnow.Jackcrouchedbehindaboulder,acoldsweaton thebackofhisneck.Hecouldgotothatlittledoorandcallouttothegirl,buthedidn’t.Whatdidheexpecttofind?Afairy-talebeastthatholdsyounggirlscaptiveinamountaincave?Acacklingwitch?Ornothingatall,nochild,notracks,nodoor,onlyinsanitybaredintheuntouchedsnow?Thatisperhapswhathefearedthemost,thathewoulddiscoverhehadfollowednothingmorethananillusion.

Ratherthanfacethatpossibility,Jackturnedhisbackonthelittledoorandsetoutforhome.Forawhile,he followed the tracks.At times therewere two sets—thechild’s smallprints andhis largerones.Othertimestherewerejusthisown,andJackknewhehadprobablydestroyedthechild’swithhisbigbootsashefollowedher.Still, thesightofhissolitarytrackswindingthroughthetreeslefthimuneasy.Asitgrewdarkerhefearedthemeanderingtrailwouldkeephiminthewoodsintothecoldest,blackesthoursofthenight,soheleftthetrailandheadeddirectlytowardtheriverbedbelow.From there he could follow theWolverine back to their homestead and, he hoped, be at the cabinwithinanhour.

But therouteproveddifficultas itpulledhimdownintosteepravineswhere thesnowwaswelloverhiskneesandforcedhimthroughadenseforestofblacksprucethatthreatenedtodisorienthim.Hedidn’trecognizetheriverwhenhereachedit,notuntilhehadwalkedpartwayoutontotheiceandheardtheroarbeneathhim.Heeasedbackwarduntilhewassurehewasonfirmground,andthenhewalked downstream, relying on the vague outline of the riverbed to guide him toward theirhomestead.

HeexpectedMabelwouldbewaitingforhimandwantinganswers. Itwasreasonable,andyet itgratedonhim.Hewastired,aching,andsurelyfrostbit,andhehadnothingtoofferherbutatiredoldmanwhoquakedinhisbootsatachild’sdoor.

ThenextmorningJackwoke to thesoundofMabel’sknockingabout thecabin.Dishesclattered,abroomswished,bumpsandthumps—theseweretheunmistakablesoundsofherirritation.Jackeasedhimselfoutofbed.

Theyeachwentabouttheirchores,butMabel’sangerseemedonlytogrow,andherfootstepsfellheavierandhersighsmoreaudible.Eventually,shewouldrelent,butthebreachwouldbecomewideranddeeper.Jackknewthis,yethecouldnotfindthestrengthtostopit.Heescapedtothebarnandthewoodpile,andleftMabelwithhersighs.

Forthenextseveraldays,heworkedinthebarnoryard,thoughheknewheshouldbeburningstumppilesinthefields.Hewatchedthetreesandsearchedthesnowfortracks.Ifthegirlcomesback,hetoldhimself,Iwon’trunafterher.Iwon’tfrightenheraway.

SowhenthegirlappearedatJack’selbownearlyaweeklater,hedidnotgivechasebut insteadwent about hiswork as if shewasn’t there.He stacked splitwood beside the barn, one piece afteranother.Eventuallythegirlsatonaroundofspruceandwatched.Whenduskfell,Jackwentintothebarntoputawaythemaulandax.Thegirlfollowedjustafewstepsbehindandstoppedatthebarndoor.Whenhecamebackout,shewasthere,watchinghimwithherwideblueeyes.Hewalkedpastwithoutacknowledgingher.Overhisshoulderhecalled,“Timeforsupper.Let’sgoin.”

Andthegirlfollowed.Jackheldthecabindooropenforher.Sheenteredgingerly,asifthefloormightfalloutfromunderher,butallthesameshecamein.Asshesteppedacrossthethresholdandintothewarmth,thethinlayeroffrostonhercoatandhatmelted.Jackwatchedthebitsoficeonhermoccasinsdwindletonothingandthefrostonhereyelashesturntodroplets.Thechild’seyeswereleftwet,asifshehadbeencrying.

Mabelwasworkingatthekitchencounter,herbacktothem.Jackclosedthedoor.“I thinkwemight need somemorewood on the fire—” she said, turningwith a pot of boiled

potatoesinherhands.ShelookedupandsawthelittlegirlbesideJackandhermouthformedalittlecircleasifshemightmakeasound,butinsteadshedroppedthepotofpotatoes.

“Oh,oh.”Mabelstaredatherfeet,soakingwetandcoveredinbitsofpotato.“Ohdear.”Thegirlhadsteppedback,startledattheclamorofthepothittingthefloorbutnow,inthesilentcabin,sheletoutalittlegiggleandputherredmittensoverhermouth.

Mabelquicklyscoopedthepotatoesbackintothepotandusedatoweltosoakupthewater.Allthewhilehereyesneverleftthechild.

“I’lltakeyourcoatforyou,”Jacksaid.Thegirltookoffhermittens,andashereachedtotakethemshedrewsomethingoutofhercoat

pocket. Itwasasmallanimal,white furandblacknose,andJackwaspreparedfor it towritheandjump.Butitwasalifelesspelt,lessthanafootlongsnouttotail.

“Anermine?”Thechildnoddedandhelditouttohim.Beneaththefuritsdriedskincrinkledlikethinparchment

paper.Mabelcametohissideandtouchedthetinyemptyeyelidsandthebristlywhiskers.Sheranherfingersdownthewhitefurtotheblack-tippedtail.

“That’sanicelittlepelt,”hesaidandwenttogiveitbacktothechild.Butsheshookherhead.“Putitbackinyourpocketsoyoudon’tforgetit.”Againthebarestshakeofherhead,asmallsmile.“Shewantsustohaveit,”Mabelwhispered.“Isthatit?Isitforus?”Asmile.“Areyousure?”hesaid.Avigorousnod.Jackhungtheerminefromahookbythekitchenwindowandsmoothedthebackofhishanddown

thewhitefur.Mabelbentdowntowardthechild.“Thankyou,”shesaid.“Hereyouare.”Hepulledachairoutfromthetable.“Youcansithere.”Thegirlsat,coatandmittenspiledonherlap,themarten-furhatstillonherhead.“AreyousureIcan’ttakethoseforyou?”heasked.Thegirldidn’tspeak.“Allright.Suityourself.”AsMabelputaplateofmoosesteaksinthemiddleofthetable,sheglancedatJack,widenedher

eyesquestioninglyandraisedhereyebrows.Heshruggedalmostimperceptibly.“Isupposewewon’tbehavingpotatoes,willwe?”Mabelsaid.Shelookedatthegirlandsmiled.

“Wedohavesomeofthoseawfulsailorbiscuits.Iguessthat’llhavetodo.Andsomeboiledcarrots.”

CHAPTER12

Never hadMabel imagined the little girlwould be sitting before them, at their ownkitchen table.Howhadthiscometobe?Themomenthadthesurrealfast-and-slowmovementofadream.Shesetanemptyplateinfrontofthechildandfoughttheurgetograbherhand,totouchherandseeifshewasreal.SheandJacksatintheirchairs.Hefoldedhishandsinhislapandbowedhishead.Mabeldidaswell,butcouldnotstoplookingatthegirl.

Shewasevensmallerthanshehadappearedatadistance,andthechairbacktoweredaroundher.Withhercoaton, thechildhad lookedalmost roly-polyas shesprinted through the trees,butnowMabelsawherthinarmsandsmallshoulders.Sheworethatsamecottondresswithtinyflowersonit,butMabelcouldseenowthatitwasasummerdressforagrownwoman.Beneathit,sheworealong-underwearshirtthatwastoosmall;thesleevesdidnotreachherthinwrists.Thegirl’shairwaswhite-blond,butwhenMabelstudiedit,shesawthatwovenandtwistedamongthestrandsweregray-greenlichens,wildyellowgrasses,andcurledbitsofbirchbark.Itwasstrangeandlovely,likeawildbird’snest.

“DearLord,”Jackbegan.Thegirldidnotclosehereyesorbowherheadbut,unblinking,watchedJack. Delicate lips, the hint of bones beneath rounded child cheeks, a small nose—Mabel foundherselfrecallingthefaceJackhadcarvedintothesnow.Thechild’sfacewasgentleandyoung,buttherewasafiercenessaswell,intheflashofblueinhereyesandthepointofherlittlechin.

“We thank you for this food and for this land…” Jack paused.Mabel couldn’t remember himchoosinghiswordssocarefullyforablessing.“Weaskyoutobewithusaswe…sharethismeal,witheachotherandwith…withthischildwhohasjoinedus.”

ThegirlopenedhereyeswiderandglancedfromJacktoMabel,herlipspressedtogether.“Amen.”“Amen,”repeatedMabel.Thegirlwatched,herhandsbundledinhercoat,asMabelservedmoose

steaksontoeachplate.Thensheleanedforwardslightly,asiftoinspectthemeat.“Oh. Letme get those awful crackers.”Mabel stood andwalked behind the girl, pausing for a

momenttotakeinherfragrance—freshsnow,mountainherbs,andbirchboughs.Mabelallowedherhandtoslidealongthebackofthechair,herfingertipsbarelytouchingthegirl’shair.Perhapsitwasnotadreamafterall.

As soon as Jack andMabel began to eat, thegirl did aswell.Shepickedup the sailor cracker,sniffeditloudly,andthensetitdownagain.Mabellaughed.“Iagreewholeheartedly,”shesaidandsetherowncrackeraside.

Thegirlthenpickedupthemeatwithherhands,smelledit,andbitintoit.WhenshesawJackandMabelwatching,sheputitdown.Jackusedhisknifeandforktoslicepiecesoffhisownsteakandeatthem.

“It’sallright,dear,”Mabelsaid.“Youeatitanywayyouwant.”The girl hesitated, then picked it up in her hands again. She didn’t devour it the way Mabel

expected,likeastarvingpup,butinsteadateitdaintily,littlenibbleshereandthere,buteatingeverybit,evenalineofgristlethatranthroughit.Thenthechildpickedupeachsliceofboiledcarrotandcarefullyateit.HerplatewascleanevenasJackandMabelcontinuedtocuttheirmeat.

“Wouldyoulikesomemore?No?Areyousure?There’splentyhere.”Mabel was alarmed to notice how flushed the child’s cheeks had become. Her eyes had gone

glassyasiffromfever.“You’retoowarm,child,”Mabelsaid.“Letmetakeyourcoat.Yourhat.”Thegirlshookherheadfirmly.Alongthebridgeofhernose,tinybeadsofsweatformed,andas

Mabelwatched,alargedropletsliddownthechild’stemple.“Openthedoor,”MabelwhisperedtoJack.“What?”“Thedoor.Propitopen.”“What?It’swellbelowzero.”“Please,”shebegged.“Can’tyousee?It’smuchtoohotinhereforher.Go—openthedoor!”SoJackdid,andhewedgedapieceoffirewoodinthedoorwaytokeepitopen.“There,child.Thatwillcoolyou.Areyouwell?”Thegirl’seyeswerewide,butshenodded.“Do you have a name?” Mabel asked. Jack frowned. Perhaps she pushed too quickly, but she

couldn’thelpherself.Shewasdesperatetoseizethechild,toholdherandnotletgo.“I’mMabel.ThisisJack.Doyoulivenearby?Doyouhaveamotherandfather?”Thegirlseemedtounderstandbutgavenoexpression.“What’syourname?”Mabelasked.Atthisthechildstood.Hercoatwasonbeforeshereachedthedoorway.“Oh,don’tleave.Please,”Mabelsaid.“I’msorryifIaskedtoomanyquestions.Pleasestay.”But thegirlwasalreadyout thedoor.Shedidnot seemangryor frightened.Asher feethit the

snow,sheturnedbacktoMabelandJack.Thankyou,shesaid,hervoiceaquietbellinMabel’sear.Andthensheslippedawayintothenight

withherlongblondhairtrailingdownherback.Mabelremainedintheopendooruntilthecoldairseepedinaroundherfeet.

CHAPTER13

The girl appeared and disappeared without warning, and it unnerved Jack. There was somethingotherworldly in her manners and appearance, her frosty lashes and cool blue stare, the way shematerializedoutoftheforest.Inwaysshewasclearlyjustalittlegirl,withhersmallframeandrare,stifledgiggles,butinotherssheseemedcomposedandwise,asifshemovedthroughtheworldwithknowledgebeyondanythingJackhadencountered.

The child had not shown herself for several days when Garrett came to visit. It was a snowyafternoon,nearlydarkevenatmidday,whentheboyrodehishorseinfromtheriver.

“Hello!”hecalledouttoJack.Theboydismountedanddustedsnowfromhishatbrim.SeveraltimesnowGarretthadriddenthroughonhiswayhomefromhistrapline.Ifhe’dcaught

anything, he’d show it to Jack, and then for an hour or so hewould follow Jack aroundwhile heworked.Hewouldhelpstackwoodormovepallets.Jackwouldaskhimabouttrappingandhunting,butmostlytheboyjusttalkedwithoutprompting.Eversincethey’dfield-dressedthemoosetogether,theboywasdifferent,asifeagertobefriends.HeevenseemedtoseekJack’sapproval.

“Youbringinganythinghometoday?”JackaskedwithanodtowardGarrett’shorse.“Naw.Nothing.Missedacoyotethatwastoosmarttocomeintomyset.Youleaveanybitofscent

behind, anything that rouses their suspicion, andyoumight aswell call it aday.Theywon’t comenearyourtrap.SometimesIthinkthey’rehardertocatchthanjustabout…”

ButJackwasn’t listening.OverGarrett’sshoulder, throughthefallingsnow,hespotted the littlegirlattheedgeofthetrees.Shepeeredaroundthethicktrunkofacottonwood.

“Youseesomething?”Garrettasked.HeturnedtofollowJack’seyes,butthegirlwasgone.“ThoughtIdid,”Jacksaid,“butitwasjustmyoldeyesplayingtricksonme.”

ThenextdaywhenJackwasaloneintheyard,thechildapproachedsilentlyandsatonastumpwhileheworked.Afewtimessheopenedhermouthasiftospeakbutthencloseditagain.

Jackwascertainhervisitsweredrivenbymore than justcuriosityorhunger. Itwas somethingakintosorroworweariness,likeabruiseintheskinbeneathhereyes.

WhileMabelcontinuedtoprodatthedinnertable,sneakinginquestionshereandtherethatwentunanswered,Jackchosetowatchandwait.Eventuallyshewouldmakeherpurposeknown.Fornow,heenjoyedhercompany.Onlyafewtimesdidsheventureintotheircabin,andalwayssherefusedtostay thenight.But shebrought themher littlegifts: thewhite erminepelt, thebasketofberries, anarcticgraylingcleanedandreadyforthefryingpan.Jackcametoseethatthedeadsnowshoehare,strangledandleftontheirdoorstep—that,too,hadbeenagiftfromthechild.Heregrettedthrowingitintothewoods.

ThenthedaycamewhensheappearedwithoutgiftsbutinsteadwiththequestionsJackhadseeninhereyes.Shearrivedearly,justafterhehadfinishedbreakfastandsteppedoutsideintothedimmorning,andshefollowedhimaroundthebarnandyardlikeashadow.

Asheclosed thebarndoor,hefelthersmallcoolhandsclaspingathiswrist.She tuggedathisarmsothathebenttoher.

Willyoupromise?Hervoicesmallandfrightened.Andbeforeheknewtheimplicationsofsuchapromise,hewasfollowingherthroughthesnow.

Thechildranasifalarmed,asifpursued,butwhenJackfellbehind,sheslowedandledhimtowardthemountainsandupthealpineslopes.

He followedasbesthecould.Hewasahuffing, slow-footedoafnext toher.Her stepsweresolightandsure.Thewayseemedmuchlongerthanbefore,whenhehadchasedherthroughthewoodsat night. He sensed the girl’s impatience. She paused just until he reached her, then sprinted awayagain before he had a chance to catch his breath.He no longer paid attention towhere theyweregoing,butonlyknewitwasup.Thelong,slowclimbcrampedhiscalvesandachedinhislungs.Thesolidgray skypresseddownonhim.Hewasweakandheavy.Each time they reached the topofaridgehe thought,This is it.We’ve finallyarrived.But then theywouldcontinuehigher, to thenextridge,andonagain.Thesnowwasdeeperthanbefore,andhesloggedthroughwhilethegirlseemedtofloatacrossit.

Areyouwell?Shestoodabovehim.We’realmostthere,shesaid.Fine,hesaid.I’mfine.Leadtheway.Hetriedtosmilebutknewitwasmorelikeagrimace.I’mnotasyoungasIoncewas,butI’llgetthere.Thegirlseemedtomakeaneffort togoslower, toshowhimwherehecouldplacehisfeetand

wherehecouldgrabatatreebranchtopullhimselfupaledge.Then he saw rocky cliffs ahead of them and heard the trickle of a creek beneath the ice. He

followedthegirluptheravine.Soontheywereamongaclumpoflargesprucetreesthatseemedoutofplacesohighupthemountain,andthelargeboughsandimmensetrunksgaveashelteredfeelingto thenarrowvalley.Sheslowedherewithout lookingbackat Jackandseemedreluctant togoon.Thenshestoppedandpointedtowardasnow-coveredheapbeneathoneofthetrees.

Whatisit?Thegirldidn’tanswer.Sheonlypointed,soJackwalkedpasther to theheap.Hebrushedaway

some of the snow and uncovered a canvas tarp. He looked at the girl again, questioning, but sheturnedaway.

Whenhepulledbackthetarp,adozenvolesscuttledawayintothesnow,andhesawaman’sneckwhereblondhairmetawoodsman’swoolcoat.Jack’sheartbeatloudlyinhisears.Heputhishandtothebroadshoulder,and itwas like shovingacottonwood log,coldand frozen to theground. Jackstepped around the corpse.He saw nowwhere the voles hadmade their small tunnels through thesnow,spreadinginamazeinalldirectionsfromthedeadman.Hedidn’twantto,buthedustedthesnowoff thefaceandhead, thenoffhissideandchest.Thecorpse layon itsside,curledup likeachild,butitwasnochild.Hewasabigman,muchtallerandbroaderintheshouldersthanJack,andtherewasnodoubthewasgonetothisworld.Hismilkyeyes,sunkbackintohisskull,staredblanklyahead.Hisskinwasaghastlyblue.Icecrystalsgrewonhisfaceandclothesandalonghisblondhairandlong,bushybeard.Therodentshadbeguntognawawayhisfrozencheeksandnoseandthetipsofhisfingers,andtheirdroppingswereeverywhere.

Jesus.Christalmighty.Then Jack remembered thegirl.He turned and shewas there at his elbow,peeringdownat the

frozenman.Whoishe?Jackasked.Mypapa,shewhispered.Whathappened?Itried.Itriedandtried.Jacklookedintohereyes,anditwaslikewatchingwatergatheronlakeice.Nosloppydribble,no

sobs.Onlyaquietpoolontheblue.Ipulledonhisarmandsaid,Please,Papa.Please.Buthewouldn’tcome.Heonlysatinthesnow.Whywouldn’themove?Thegirl’schintrembledasshespoke.HetoldmePeter ’swaterkepthimwarm,butIknewitwouldn’t.Iwantedtomakehimwarm.Iheld

hishandsandthenIheldhisface,justlikethis.And the girl reached down and cupped the dead man’s cheeks in her small hands with the

tendernessofadaughter ’stouch.Itried,buthewascolderandcolderandcolder.Jackwenttoonekneebesidethecorpseandcaughtthestrongsmellofliquor.Agreenglassbottle

was clenched in a frozen claw of a hand. Jack’s stomach turned.How could aman do this, drinkhimselftodeathinfrontofhischild?

Whycouldn’tImakehimwarm?thechildasked.Stillononeknee,Jackreachedupandtookholdofhersmallshoulders.Youaren’ttoblame.Yourpapawasagrownman,andnoonecouldhavesavedhimbuthimself.

Thisisnotyourfault.Hepulledthecanvasbackoverthedeadman.Whendidthishappen?Thedaythesnowfirstcame,thechildsaid.Heknewwhen.Itwas thenightheandMabelhadbuilt the littlesnowfigure in theyard.Nearly

threeweeksago.Whydidn’tyouaskforhelp?IkeptFoxaway.Ithrewstonesandyelled.AndIwrappedPapasothebirdswouldn’tpeckathim.

Butnow…thevolesareeatinghim.

Whatchoicedidhehave?Hestoodanddustedthesnowfromhisknee.Imighthavetogetsomehelp,fromtown,hesaid.Thegirl’seyesflashedwithanger.Youpromised.Youpromised.Andsohehad.Jacksighedheavilyandkickedthesidesofhisbootstogether.Itwasmorethanhe

hadbargainedfor.Thisisn’tallgoingtohappentoday,hesaid.I’vegottothinkaboutthis,abouthowwe’regoingto

takecareof…yourpapa.Allright.Thegirlwastiredandcalm,thefightdrainedoutofher.Youwillstaywithusuntilwecansortthingsout.Jackspokeashehadthatfirstdaywhenhe’dtoldheritwastimetogoinfordinner,asifthiswere

thelastword.Thegirlstoodstraight,hereyessharpagain.No,shesaid.Ican’tleaveyouhereinthewoods.Thisisnoplaceforachild.It’smyhome,shesaid.Shestoodwithherheadhigh.Themountainwindblew through thespruce treesandstirredher

blondhair.Thiswasherhome.Jackbelievedit.

InAlpine,heaskedaround,sayinghe’dseenaxblazesonseveraltrees,signsofmarkedtrails.Hadanyonebeentrappingnearhishomesteadovertheyears?Anybodylivinguptowardthemountains?

“Yeah.Yeah.Funnyyouask’causeIhaven’tthoughtofthatfellowinacoon’sage,”Georgesaid.“WecalledhimSwede,andhenevertoldusdifferent.Didn’tgiveaname,nowthatIthinkofit.MorelikelyRussian,I’dguess—judgingfromthewayhesaidhiswords.”

“Whatdidhelooklike?”Jackasked.“JustcuriousifIevermethimalongtheway.”“Big,strappingman.Built likealumberjack.Light-coloredhair.Abeard.Alittleoff, ifyouask

me.Notthefriendly,talkativesort.Esther ’sknownforinvitingthebachelorsoverforSundaydinneronce inawhile,but sheneveraskedhim. Iwonderwhathappened tohim.You thinkhe’s trappingaroundyourplace?”

Bettyrememberedtheman,too.“Ohhewasanoddduck,thatone,”shetoldJackasshepouredhimacupofcoffee.“Likealotof

’em,hepannedgoldinthesummers,trappedinthewinters.Probablythoughthe’dstrikeitrichandgoback towhereverhecame from.Couldn’tunderstandhimhalf the time,alwaysmixinganotherlanguageinwithhisEnglish.”

“Youseenhimlately?”Jackasked.“IjustwanttoknowwhoI’mdealingwith,ifhe’strappingoutmyway.”

“Nope.Can’trememberthelasttimehewasinhere.Butthenheonlycameintotownafewtimesayear.SpentallhissparetimedrinkingwiththeIndiansupriver,fromwhatIheard.”

“Wonderwhat’cameofhim.”Jackcasuallystirredhiscoffee.“Whoknows?Maybehewentback towhereverhecame from.Or the riverdrownedhim,ora

bearatehim.Happensallthetime.Mencomeandmengo.Sometimestheyjustwalkoffthefaceoftheearth.”

“Yourecallhimhavinganychildren?…Orawife?IwasjustthinkingMabelmightwanttogettoknowher.”

“Can’tsaythatIdo.Seemedaprettysolitarytypetome.”

A tired sadness settled over Jack as he rode back to the homestead. The horse trotted sharply andtosseditshead,asifinvigoratedbythebriskweather.Jack’shandsstiffenedinthecoldasheheldthereins.Hethoughtofthegirlonthesideofthemountainwithherdead,frozenpapaandwonderedifhewasdoingtherightthing.Shehadmadehimpromisenottotellanyone,especiallyMabel,andJackunderstood.Mostanywomanwouldn’tallowachildtostayinthewildernessalonewithherfather ’scorpse.Thegirl fearedbeingyankedaway fromwhatwas familiar. JackhadwatchedwhenMabelonceor twice reachedout tobrushhairaway from thegirl’seyesor tohelpbuttonherbluewoolcoat.Thegirlflinchedandpulledback.Sheclenchedherteethandpursedherlipsasiftosay,Icantakecareofmyself.

Jackwas fairlycertain itwas true.Thegirlknew thewoodsand trails.She found food, shelter.Wasthatallachildneeded?Mabelwouldsayno.She’dsaythegirlneededwarmthandaffectionandsomeonetolookafterher,butJackhadtowonderifthatdidn’thavemoretodowithawoman’sowndesiresthantheneedsofachild.

Besides,hehadpromised thegirl.Hemade fewpromises,but thosehemade, to thebestofhisabilitieshekept.

ThesecretclungtoJackinthescentofblackwoodsmokeandmeltingsnow.Atnight,Mabelpressedherfaceintohisbeardandtouchedhishairwithherfingers.

“Whathaveyoubeenburning?”“Justsomeofthosestumprowsfromlastsummer.Goodweathertoburn.Nottoowindyordry.”“Yes.Isupposeso.”Shedidn’tseemaltogetherconvinced.Thegroundwastakinglongertothawthanhehadpredicted.Hedraggedthedeadmanoutfrom

underthetreeandcutitdown.Thenhecutupthewoodwhereitlay,andbuiltafirefromitstinder-drybranches.Thegirlwatchedthetreeburn.Shestoodwellbackandtheflamesflickeredinhereyes.Jackaskedherifshecouldtendthefirewhilehewasgone,butsheshookherhead.Sowhentheshortdayendedandnightfell,hepiledthewoodashighashedaredandthenclimbeddownthemountain.Behindhim,thefirecrackledandpoppedandflamedinthenight.

Thenextdayhescrapedatthefrozenearthbeneaththesmolderingwood,diggingasfardownashecouldwithashovel.ADecembergravewashard-earnedinthisplace,butitwouldcome.Heleftthemanbeneathatarp,farfromthefire.Itwasagruesomethought,buthedidn’twantthebodytothaw.Itwaskeepingwellfrozen.

Onthethirdday,Jacktrudgedhomecoveredwithsootandwearytothebone.Mabelwaswaiting.

“Georgecameby,”shesaid.“Itoldhimyouwereoutinthenewfield,burningstumps.”“Oh?”“Hesaidyouweren’toutthere.Hecouldn’tfindyou.”“Hmm.”Hedidn’tlookintoherface.Shetookholdofhisforearmandsqueezedgently.“Whatisit?Wherehaveyoubeen?”“Nothing.I’vejustbeenworking.Georgemusthavemissedmesomehow.”

ThenextmorningJackreturned todig in thesofteningearthandbuild theflamesbackup.Hewasdrenchedinsweatandcoatedindirtandcharcoalfromthehalf-burnedlogs.Thegirlwasnowheretobeseen,butattimesJackfeltsomethingwatchinghimfromthetreesandwonderedifitwasthegirlortheredfoxhehadseenslipnowandthenbetweensnow-coveredboulders.

Bymidafternoonthepitseemeddeepenoughtoburyaman.Jackscrapedthelastcoalsoutoftheholeandthenleanedontheshovel,hischeekrestingonhishand.Thiswasn’tthefirstgravehe’ddugalone.Hethoughtbacktoasmallgrave,atinylifelessbody,notmuchbiggerthanaman’sheart.

Jackcalledforthechild.It’stime,hesaid.Timetoputyourpapatorest.Sheappearedfrombehindoneofthesprucetrees.Isitgone?sheasked.Youmeanthefire?Yes,it’sgone.Therewasnocoffin.Hedidn’thavethelumbertobuildoneanddidn’twanttoattracttoomuch

attentionbyinquiringintown.Thetarpwouldhavetodo.Jackshovedandpulledatthecanvasuntilitbrokefreeofice,andthenhedraggedthebodyacrossthesnowtothegrave.

Haveyousaidyourgoodbyes?Thegirlnodded.Jackfeltill.Itcouldhavejustbeenthelongdayofsweatingandfreezingandno

stomachevenforlunch.Butitdidn’tseemright,buryingamanwithoutnotifyingtheauthoritiesorsigningsomepieceofpaperoratleasthavingamanoftheclothreadsomethingfromtheBible.Hedidn’tseeawayout.Theworstthatcouldhappentothischild,besidesherfatherdyinginfrontofher,wouldbefortheauthoritiestogetinvolved.She’dbeshippedofftosomeorphanagefarfromthesemountains.Sheseemedtohimbothpowerfulanddelicate,likeawildthingthatthrivesinitsplacebutwitherswhenstolenaway.

Withoutanothermantohelphimloweritslowly,Jackshovedthetarp-wrappedbodyintothehole,whereitfellwithanungodlythump.

ShallIcoverhimupthen?heasked.Thegirlnodded.Hebeganshovelingindirtandblack,deadcoals.Hewonderedifhehadthestrengthtofinish,but

hekeptatit,shovelfulaftershovelful,thegirlsilentbehindhim.Occasionallyhestampedhisfeetonthe dirt to settle it and the girl joined him, hopping up and down on the grave, her small facefrowning,hermarten-furhathangingdownherbackbystringstiedatherneck.

Soit’sdone,then,Jacksaid.Hescrapedafewlastpilesofdirtoverthegrave.Thegirl came to Jack’s side.She closedher eyes, then flungher arms into the air.Snowflakes

lighterthanfeathersscatteredacrossthegrave.Itwasmoresnowthanachildcouldpossiblyholdinher arms, and it filtered down as if from the clear sky above. Jackwas silent until the last flakessettled.

Whenhedidspeak,hisvoicewashoarsefromthesmoke.Inthespring,hesaid,wecanputsomeprettyrockshere,maybeplantflowers.Thegirlnoddedandthenwrappedherarmsaroundhiswaist,pressedherfaceintohiscoat.Jack

stood motionless for a moment, awkward with his arms at his sides, and then he slowly reachedaroundherandpattedhersoftlyontheback,smoothedherhairwithhisroughhand.

There,there.Allright.It’sgoingtobeallright.It’sdonenow.

Thenonemorning,whenthelastofthesnowhadmelted,shecametotheoldcoupleandkissedthemboth.

“Imustleaveyounow,”shesaid.“Why?”theycried.“Iamachildofthesnow.Imustgowhereitiscold.”“No!No!”theycried.“Youcannotgo!”Theyheldherclose,andafewdropsofsnowfelltothefloor.Quicklysheslippedfromtheir

armsandranoutthedoor.“Comeback!”theycalled.“Comebacktous!”

—TheSnowChild,retoldbyFreyaLittledale

CHAPTER14

It was unexpected, to look forward to each day. When Mabel woke in the mornings, happyanticipationwashedoverherandforamomentshewouldnotknowitscause.Wasthisdayspecialforsomereason?Abirthday?Aholiday?Wassomethingplanned?Thenshewouldremember—thechildmightvisit.

Mabelwasoftenatthewindow,butitwasn’twiththemelancholywearinessofthepreviouswinter.Now shewatchedwith excitement and hope that the little girl in the fur hat and leathermoccasinswouldappearfromthewoods.TheDecemberdayshadacertainluminosityandsparkle,likefrostonbarebranches,alightinthemorningjustbeforeitmelts.

Mabel temperedherself.She imagined running to thegirlwhensheappearedat theedgeof thetreesandthrowingherarmsaroundher,spinningherincircles.Butshedidn’t.Shewaitedpatientlyinthecabinandpretendednottonoticeherarrival.Whenthechildcameindoors,Mabeldidnotscrubherclean,brushtheleavesandlichenfromherhair,washherclothes,anddressheranew.Itwastrue—she sometimes pictured the child wearing a lovely ruffled dress and pretty bows in her hair.SometimessheevendaydreamedaboutinvitingEstheroverforteatoshowoffthegirlasifshewereherown.

Shedidnoneofthesethings.Theyweresillyfanciesthathadmoretodowithherownromanticideas of childhood thanwith thismysterious girl. The only real desire she had, once she strippedawaythevainandthefrivolous,wastotouchthechild,tostrokethegirl’scheek,toholdhercloseanddeeplybreatheinherscentofmountainair.Butshecontentedherselfwiththechild’ssmiles,andeachmorningshewatchedatthewindow,hopingthisdayshewouldcome.

Mabelhadnotbeenabletofindapatterninthevisits.Thechildcameeveryothereveningforaweekorso,but thenfor twoor threedaysshewouldn’tappear.OnemorningshecameandstayedwithMabel in thekitcheninsteadoffollowingJackaroundthebarn.ShewatchedMabelmixbreaddough, and it was as if a songbird had landed on a bedroom windowsill. Mabel did not want tofrightenherawaybymovingtooabruptly,sosheemulatedJack’squiet,acceptingmanner.Shespokesoftlytothegirl.Shedescribedhowyouhadtodustthedoughinflourandkneaditagainandagainuntilitwasrightinthehands,evenandelastic.ShetoldthechildthatJack’saunthadtaughtherhowtobakebread,thatshehadbeenastoundedawomancouldbegrownandmarriedandnotknowhow.

Thatevening,thegirlstayedfordinner.JackcameinfromthebarnandMabelandthechildjoinedhimatthetable.Thegirlbowedherheadbeforehehadevenbegunsayingtheblessing,andJackandMabel’seyesmet.Shehadgrownaccustomedtotheirways.

Jackseemed inanuncommonlygoodmood,making jokesand talkingabouthisday’sworkastheypassedthefoodaroundthetable.Atonepoint,heturnedtoaskhertohandhimthesalt.Shewasfocusedonherownplateanddidn’tnotice.Jackclearedhisthroat,thentappedlightlyonthetable.

Thisisgettingsilly,heannounced.Thechildstartled.Hequietedhistone.Wemustcallyousomething.Willitbe“girl”forever?Thechildwassilent.Jackreachedoverherfor thesalt,apparentlygivingupongettinganame

fromher.Mabelwaited,butJackwentbacktoeating.

Faina,thegirlwhispered.What’sthat,child?Mabelasked.Myname.It’sFaina.Willyousayitagain,moreslowly?Fah-EE-nah.Eachsyllableaquietwhisper.Mabelatfirstcouldmakenosenseoftheforeignsounds,somany

vowelswithouttheirconsonants,butthensheheardagesturetowardwordslike“far”and“tree”andabreathofairattheend,soundsthatwereindeedthislittlegirlsittingattheirtable.Faina.

Whatdoesitmean?Mabelasked.Thegirlbitherlowerlipandfrowned.Youmustseeit,toknow.Thenherfacebrightened.ButI’llshowyou.SomedayI’llshowyouwhatitmeans.Faina.Itisalovelyname.Wellthere,Jacksaid.Thatsimplifiesthings,doesn’tit?Thatnight,afterthechildleft,theysaidhernameagainandagain.Itbegantorolleasilyofftheir

tongues,andMabellikedthewayitfeltinhermouth,thewayitwhisperedinherear—DidyouseehowFainabowedherheadatdinner?Isn’tFainaabeautifulchild?WhatwillFainabringnexttimeshevisits?Theywerelikechildrenpretendingtobemotherandfather,andMabelwashappy.

Dawnbrokesilveroverthesnowdriftsandsprucetrees,andMabelwasatthekitchentabletryingtosketchthebirchbasketthegirlhadbroughtthem.Shehaditproppedagainstherwoodenrecipeboxsothatittippedtowardher,andshetriedtorememberhowithadlookedfullofwildberries.Ithadbeentoolongsinceshehaddrawn,andthepencilwasawkwardinherhands,theshadingandanglesofthedrawingallwrong.Frustrated,sheputahandtothebackofherneckandstretched.

Atthesightofthegirlpeekinginthewindow,Mabelstartled,butthensmiledandraisedherhandingreeting.Whenthechildwavedback,affectionsurgedthroughher.

Faina,child.Comein,comein.Thechildbroughtthesmellofsnowinwithher,andtheair inthecabincooledandbrightened.

Mabelunwrappedthescarffromherneck,tookhermittens,furhat,andthewoolcoat.Thechildletherdothis,andMabelhuggedtheclothestoherbreast,feltthechillofwinter,thecoarsewool,andthe silkybrown fur.Shedraped the scarf over thebackof her hand andmarveled that her sister ’sdewdropstitchwouldadornthislittlegirl.

Whatwereyoudoing?Thechildstoodatthetablewithoneofthepencilsinherhand.Iwasdrawing,Mabelsaid.Wouldyouliketosee?Sheset thechild’soutdoorclothingonachair and left thedoorcrackedopen, soadraft could

movethroughthecabinandcoolthegirl.Thenshepulledachairoutforherandsatbesideher.Thisismysketchpad.Andthesearemypencils.Iwantedtodrawapictureofthebasketyougave

us.See?Mabelheldupthedrawing.Oh,thechildsaid.It’snotverygood,isit?I’mafraidI’velostanyskillImighthavehad.

Ithinkitisverynice.Thechildskimmedherfingersacrossthepapersurfaceandroundedherlipsinwonder.Whatelsecanyoudraw?sheasked.Mabelshrugged.AnythingIsetmymindto,Isuppose.Althoughitwon’tnecessarilylookthewayitought.Couldyoudrawapictureofme?Yes.Oh,yes.ButImustwarnyou,I’veneverbeenverygoodatportraits.Mabelputthechild’schairnearthewindowsothewinterlightshoneonthesideofherfaceandlit

upherblondhair.Forthenexthour,Mabelglancedfromsketchpapertochildandbackagain,andwaited for thegirl toprotest,but shenevercomplainedormoved.Shewas stoic,herchin slightlyraised,hergazesteady.

Witheachstrokeofthepencil,itwasasifMabelhadbeengrantedherwish,asifsheheldthechildinherarms,caressedhercheek,strokedherhair.Shedrewthegentlecurveofthechild’scheekbones,the peaks of her small lips, the inquisitive arch of her blond eyebrows. Self-contained, wary andbrave, innocent and knowing… something in the turn of her head, the tilt of her eyes, hinted at awildnessMabelwantedtocapture,too.Allthesedetailsshetookinandmemorized.

Wouldyouliketosee?Isitfinished?Mabelsmiled.AswellasIcanfortoday.Sheturnedthesketchpadtowardthechild,notknowingwhatreactiontoexpect.Thechildtookinabreath,thenclaspedherhandsindelight.Doyoulikeit?Oh,yes!Isthatme?IsthatwhatIlooklike?Haveyouneverseenyourself,child?Thegirlshookherhead.Never?Notinamirror?Well,Ihavejustthething.MuchbetterthananydrawingIcanmanage.Mabelwenttothebedroomandcamebackwithahandmirror.Doyouknowwhatthisis?It’salittleglass,andyoucanseeyourselfinit.Thechildshruggedhersmallshoulders.There,doyousee?That’syou.Thegirlpeeredintothemirror,hereyeswideandherfacesomber.Shereachedoutandtouched

the shining surfacewithone fingertip, then touchedherownhair, her face.She smiled, turnedherheadsidetoside,brushedherhairawayfromherbrow,allthewhilewatchinginthemirror.

WouldyouliketohavethepictureIdrewofyou?Fainasmiledandnodded.Mabelfoldedtheportraituntilitwasasquaresmallenoughtofitinthechild’spocket.

Whenthelittlegirlwasgoneanddinnerfinished,Mabelknittedbythewoodstove.Outside,thewindtoredowntherivervalley,andshethoughtshecouldhearanothersound,too.Amournfulbaying.

“Isthatthewind,Jack?”Hestoodatthewindow,lookingoutintotheblackness.“Nope.Ithinkit’sthosewolvesupriver.Iheardhowlingtheothernight,too.”

“Wouldyoustokeupthefire?IfeelI’vecaughtachill.”Shewatchedhimputbirchlogstothefire,theflamescatchingonthepaperybarkandflickering

lightagainstthecabinwalls.Thenhewenttothewindowandlookedforsometimeoutintothenight,thewayshealwaysdid.

“Isshesafe?”Mabelasked.“Thatwind’sblowingsosavagely.Andthewolves.”“Iexpectshe’sallright.”Theystayedupunusuallylate.Jackwentoutsideseveraltimestogetmorewood,despitethestack

of logsjust insidethedoor,andMabelcontinuedtoknit, thoughherhandsweretiredandhereyesburned.Finallytheycouldstayawakenolongerandcrawledintotheirbedtogether.Theyfellasleeptothesoundofthewindblowingdownthevalley.

CHAPTER15

It was mid-February when a parcel addressed to Mabel arrived, wrapped in brown paper anddeliveredviatraintoAlpine.Jackbroughtitfromtown,alongwithafewsuppliesboughtwiththelastoftheircreditatthegeneralstore.

Mabelwaiteduntilhewentbackoutsidebeforeshesatat the table toopen it.Could thisbe itatlonglast?Itseemedagesagothatshehadwrittenhersistertoaskaboutthebook.Forseveralweeksshehadbeenhopeful,butwhenithadn’tcomesheassumedeitherhersistercouldn’tfinditorwasnotinterestedinthequery.

Shewastemptedtotearopenthepackagebutfelttheneedtobecalmandcollected.Sheheatedakettle ofwater and steeped a cup of tea.When itwas ready, she sat at the table and unknotted thepacking twineandcarefullyunfolded thepaper. Insidewere twoseparatelywrappedpackages.Thelarger one looked distinctly like a book, but Mabel chose to open the smaller first. It containedseveral fine drawing pencils as well as sticks of charcoal. She turned to the larger package andunfoldedthebrownpaperslowly.

Thebookwasjustasshehadrememberedit—oversizedandperfectlysquare,ashapeunlikeanychildren’s book she had ever seen. It was bound in bluemorocco leather.An exquisite snowflakedesignwasembossedinsilveronthefrontcover,andthesamesilvergildingdecoratedthespine.Sheplaced the book flat on the table in front of her and opened it. “Snegurochka, 1857” was writtenlightly inpencil in theuppercornerof thebluemarbledendpaper.“TheSnowMaiden.” Itwasherfather ’s neat writing. He had collected many books on his travels, and some he brought backespecially for her.He kept themon a shelf in his study, butwhenever shewanted to look throughthem,hewouldpullthemdownandsitheronhislapwhileheturnedthepages.

Withthebookinfrontofher,Mabelcouldhavebeenbackinherfather ’sstudywithitsscentofpipetobaccoandoldbooks.Sheturnedthefirstpage.Ontheleftwasafull-colorplateoverlaidwithasheetoftranslucentpaper,ontheotherthestory,writteninblocky,illegibleletters.ItwasinRussian!How could she have forgotten?Maybe she had never noticed. Although this had been one of herfavoritechildhoodbooks,sherealizednowthatshehadneveractuallyreadit.Herfatherhadtoldherthe story as she looked at the illustrations. Now she wondered whether her father had known thewordsorhadinventedthestorybasedonthepictures.

It had beenmany years since her father had died, but now she recalled his voice,melodic andrumbling.

“Thereoncewasanoldmanandwomanwholovedeachotherverymuchandwerecontentwiththeirlotinlifeexceptforonegreatsadness—theyhadnochildrenoftheirown.”

Mabel shifted her eyes back to the illustration. Itwas similar to aRussian lacquer painting, thecolorsrichandearthy,thedetailsfine.Itshowedtwooldpeople,amanandawoman,kneelinginthesnowatthefeetofayounggirlwhoseemedtobemadeofsnowfromthegroundtoherwaistbuttobearealchildfromherwaistup.

Thesnowchild’scheeksglowedwithlife,andjewelscrownedherblondhair.Shesmiledsweetlydownattheoldcouple,hermittenedhandsheldouttothem.Herembroideredcloakspilledfromhershouldersinashimmerofwhiteandsilver,withnocleardistinctionbetweenthecloakandthesnow.

Behind her the snowscapewas framed by a stand of black-green spruce trees and, in the distance,snowy,sharp-peakedmountains.Betweentwoofthetreesstoodaredfoxwithnarrow,goldeneyeslikeacat’s.

Shereachedforhercupofteatofindthatithadgonecold.Howlonghadshestaredatthatsingleillustration?Shesippedthecoolteaandturnedthepage.Itwasnight.Thelittlegirlranintothetrees.Silverstarsglitteredintheblue-blackskyaboveherasthecouplepeeredsadlyoutoftheircottagedoor.

Witheachturnofthepage,Mabelfeltlightheadedandtornfromherself.Shepickedupthebookandheld itcloser tohereyes.Thenext illustrationhadalwaysbeenher

favorite. In a snowy clearing, the girl stood surrounded by the wild beasts of the forest—bears,wolves,hares,ermines,astag,aredfox,evenatinymouse.Theanimalssatontheirhaunchesbesideher, theirdemeanorsneithermenacingnoradoring. Itwasas if theyhadposed foraportrait,withtheirfurandteethandclawsandyelloweyes,andthelittlegirlgazedplainlyoutatthereaderwithoutfearorpleasure.Didtheylovethelittlegirl,ordidtheywanttoeather?Alltheseyearslater,Mabelstillcouldfindnoanswersinthewild,gleamingeyes.

Sheclosedthebookandtracedtheembossedsnowflakewithherfingertips.Shebegantogatherthebrownwrapping,anditwasthenthatshesawhersister ’slettertuckedintothefoldsofpaperandnearlydiscarded.

DearestMabel,Whatajoytoreadyourletter,toseeyourlovelyhandwritingonceagainandknowyou

arealiveandwell.Itmustsoundterriblyoutlandishtoyou,buttoallofushereitisasifyouhavebeenbanished to theNorthPole. Itwasarelief toknowyouarewarmandsafeandeven have welcoming neighbors. They must be a rare blessing in that wilderness. I ampleased,too,toknowyouwillonceagainpickupyoursketchpad.Ihavealwaysknownyoutobeatalentedartist.Won’tyousendussomelittledrawingsofyournewhomeland?Weareanxioustoshareinyouradventures.

Astoyourrequest forthisbook, it isapurestrokeof luckthatIwasabletosendit toyou.Astudentfromtheuniversity,aMr.ArthurRansome,hasbeensortingthroughFather’scollections andwas particularly enamoredwith this book. Of all subjects, he is studyingfairytalesoftheFarNorth.Ihadnoattachmenttothebook,soallowedhimtohaveitforhisstudies.WhenIreceivedyourletter,IwasthrilledtorecallthatIknewpreciselywhereitwas.Ofcourse,Ipracticallyhadtopryitfromtheyoungman’shands.Hecautionedmethatitwas a rare find and should be treatedwith great care.Hewas appalled to learn that Iwouldbemailingittoyouinthefarthestoutreachesofcivilization.

As I prepared to send the book to you, I happened to notice that it is all written inRussian.UnlessyouhavelearnedthelanguagewhileinAlaska,Iwasafraidyoumightbeatwit’sendtodiscoverthebookisunreadable.BeforeIwrappedit,IaskedtheyoungmantotellmesomethingofSnegurochka,theSnowMaiden.

Mr.RansomesaysthestoryofthesnowchildisofsimilarimportinRussiaasLittleRedRiding Hood or Snow White in our own country. Like many fairy tales, there are manydifferentwaysit is told,butitalwaysbeginsthesame.Anoldmanandanoldwomanlivehappilyintheirsmallcottageintheforest,butforonesorrow:theyhavenochildrenoftheirown.Onewinter’sday,theybuildagirlofsnow.

I am sorry to say no matter which version, the story ends badly. The little snow girlcomes and goes with winter, but in the end she always melts. She plays with the villagechildrentooclosetoabonfire,orshedoesn’tfleethecomingofspringquicklyenough,or,asintheversiontoldinFather’sbook,shemeetsaboyandchoosesmortallove.

Inthemosttraditionaltale,accordingtoMr.Ransome,thesnowchildlosesherwayinthewoods.Sheencountersabear,whichofferstohelpherfindherway.Butshelooksatthebear’slongclawsandsharpteeth,andfearshewilleather.Sherefuseshisassistance.Thenalongcomesawolf,whichalsopromisestoleadhersafelytothecottage,butheisnearlyasferociouslookingasthebear.Thechildagainrefuses.

Butthenshemeetsafox.“Iwilltakeyouhome,”hevows.Thechilddecidesthefoxlooksfriendlierthantheothers.Shetakesholdofhisfurscruff,andthefoxleadsheroutof theforest.Whentheyarriveattheoldcouple’scottage,thefoxasksforafatheninpaymentforhersafereturn.Theoldpeoplearepoorandsodecidetotrickthefoxbyinsteadgivinghimasackwiththeirhuntingdoginside.Thefoxdragsthesackintothewoodsandopensit.Thedoglungesout,chasesthefox,andkillsit.

Thesnowchildisangryandsaddened.Shebidstheoldcouplefarewell,sayingthatsincetheydonotloveherevenasmuchasoneoftheirhens,shewillreturntolivewithherFatherWinterandMotherSpring.

When theoldwomannext looksoutside, all that remainsare the child’s redboots, redmittens,andapuddleofwater.

Whatatragictale!Whythesestoriesforchildrenalwayshavetoturnoutsodreadfullyisbeyondme. I think if Iever tell it tomygrandchildren, Iwillchange theendingandhaveeveryonelivehappilyeverafter.Weareallowedtodothat,arewenotMabel?Toinventourownendingsandchoosejoyoversorrow?

CHAPTER16

Couldn’twekeepjustone?”Mabelpleaded.“Theredhen.She’ssuchadear,andwecouldfeedhertablescraps.”

“Chickensaren’tsolitarycreatures,”Jacksaid.“Theylikeaflock.Itwouldn’tberight.”“Won’tMr.Palmerallowusalittlemorecredit,justtobuysomefeedfortherestofthewinter?It

wouldn’tcostsomuch,wouldit?”Jack’sshirtcollartightenedathisthroat,andthecabinwastoowarmandtoosmall.Chickenfeed,

forChrist’ssake.Whatkindofmancan’taffordchickenfeed?Theyhadalreadyrunoutofcoffee,andthesugarwouldn’tlastmuchlonger.

“It’sgot tobedone.”Hewent to thedoorandhadnearly shut itonhiswayoutwhenheheardMabel.

“Esthersaysit’sbesttodiptheminboilingwatertopluckthem.ShallIheatapot?”“That’dbefine.”Andheclosedthedoor.

Jacktooknopleasureinslaughteringthechickens.Ifhe’dhadhischoice,hewouldhavekeptthemaliveandplumpinthebarnforallthedaysoftheirlives.Duringthesummer,theyweregoodlayers,mostofthem,andheknewMabelhadsomeattachment.Butyoucouldn’tletananimalstarveunderyourcare.Bettertokillitandbedonewithit.

Heeyedtheaxbythewoodpileashewalkedtothebarn.Hewishednowthathe’dthoughttoaskGeorgeforsomeadviceaswell.Hisgrandmotherhadbeenknowntostrangleachickenwithherbarehands,butmostlyhe’dheardofcuttingtheirheadscleanoffandlettingthembleedout.Anunpleasanttask,nomatterhowitwastobedone.

Adozenheadlesschickens,andsoonhewouldbebringingthemintothekitchentopoorMabel,whohaddotedonthem.Shewoulddoit,though.She’dgutthebirdsandpluckthefeathersandneveroncecomplain, justas shehadn’tcomplainedabout thedwindlingsuppliesor theendlessmealsofmoosemeatandpotatoes.Thepastfewweeks,shehadgatheredfrozenwildcranberriesandrosehipsandjarredsomejam,andshe’dfiguredouthowtomakeanegglesscakethatwasn’tallthatbad.Shewasmakingdo,andsomehowitsuitedher.Shehadarosinesstohercheeksandlaughedmorethanshehadinyears,evenassheservedyetanotherplateoffriedmoosesteak.

She’dpickedupherbooksandpencils again, too. Jack tooknoteof that.Thechildwasalwaysbringingsomethingnewforhertodraw—anowlfeather,aclusterofmountainashberries,aspruceboughwith the cones still attached.The two of themwould sit at the kitchen table, the cabin doorproppedopen“sothechildwon’tgettoowarm,”theirheadstogetherasshedrew.Itwasgoodtosee.

ButitalsoscaredhimhowmuchthegirlwasgrowingonMabel.Onhim,too.Hecouldadmitthat.Hemightnotwatchoutthewindow,buthewaitedjustthesame,andhopedforher.Hopedshewasn’tlonelyorindanger.Hopedshewouldappearoutofthetreesandcomerunning,smiling,tohim.

SometimeshewantedtotellMabelthetruth.Itwasaburden,andhewasn’tsurehecarrieditright.HewantedtotellMabelaboutthedeadmanandthelonelyplaceinthemountainswherehehadburiedhim.Hewantedtotellheraboutthestrangedoorinthesideofthemountain.Theknowledgeofthechild’ssufferingsatheavyandcoldinhisgut,andsometimeshecouldnotlookathersmall,wanfaceforfearofchoking.

Hehadpromisedthegirl,butmaybethatwasjustanexcuse.TheawfultruthofwhatthechildhadwitnessedwouldwrenchMabel’sheart,andthelastthingonearthhewantedtodowascauseheranymore sadness. Her capacity for grief frightened him. He’d wondered more than once if she hadventuredontotherivericeinNovemberknowingfullwellthedanger.

Jack grabbed a hen by her feet and carried her, squawking and flapping her wings, out to thechoppingblockbythewoodpile.Theracketdidn’tstopforsometime,evenwellaftertheheadwascutoff.Onlyelevenmoretogo,Jackthoughtgrimlyashelaidthedeadbirdinthesnow.

He hadn’t planned on helpingwith the plucking, but then he sawwhat a long, unpleasant chore itwouldbeforapersonalone.Sidebysideatthekitchencounter,coveredinfeathersandtheirsleevesrolledup,JackandMabeltookturnsdippingachickenintheboilingwater,thenpullinghandfulafterhandfuloffeathers.Theytriedtogathertheredandblackandyellowfeathersintoburlapsacks,butsoonmorewerestucktothefloorandfloatingaroundthecabinthaninthebags.

“Maybeweshouldhavedonethisoutside,”Mabelsaidasshetriedtowipeawetfeatherfromherforeheadwiththebackofherhand.

Jackchuckled.“I’dgetthatforyou,butI’mafraidI’donlyleavemore,”hesaidandhelduphisfeather-coated

hands.“And this horrid smell,” Mabel said. The steam that rose from the boiling water smelled of

scaldedfeathersandhalf-cookedchickenskin.“Iwas thinking—maybewe should have chicken for dinner,” Jack said, trying to keep his face

stern.“No,no.Icouldn’tbear…Oh,you’reteasingme,”andsheflickedafeatherinhisdirection.Ashebeganpluckinganotherbird,Mabelsighedbesidehim.“Whatisit?”“It’sdear,sweetHennyPenny,”shesaidandlookedsadlydownatthedeadheninherhands.“Toldyouitwasbestnottonamethem.”“It’snotthenames.IwouldhaveknownthemnomatterwhatIcalledthem.HennyPennyusedto

followmeaboutwhileIgatheredtheeggs,cluckinglikeshewasgivingmeadvice.”“Iamsorry,Mabel.Idon’tknowwhatelse todo.”Heflexedhishand,felt the tendonsgiveand

take,andwonderedhowhecouldagainandagaindisappointher.

“YouthinkIblameyou?”shesaid.“Nobodyelseto.It’sonmyshoulders.”“How is it that you always arrive at that conclusion? That everything is your fault and yours

alone?Wasn’t it my idea to come here? Didn’t I want this homestead, and all the hard work andfailurethatwouldcomewithit?Ifanything,I’mtoblame,becauseI’vedonesolittletohelp.”

Jackstilllookedathishands.“Don’tyousee?Thiswastobeourstogether,thesuccessesandthefailures,”Mabelsaid,andas

shespokeshegesturedgrandlyasiftoencompasseverything,thepluckedchickens,thewetfeathers.“Allofthis?”hesaid,andcouldn’thelpasmile.“Yes,allofthis.”Thenshetoosmiled.“Everyblastedfeather.Mineandyours.”Jackleanedoverandkissedheronthetipofhernose,thenstuckachickenfeatherbehindherear.“Allrightthen,”hesaid.Whentheyhadfinishedthelastchicken,theyattemptedtosweepthefeathersoutofthecabin,but

theimpossibilityofthetaskleftthembothlaughing,untilMabelgaveupandcollapsedinakitchenchair,legsstretchedoutinfrontofher.Jackusedhisforearmtowipesweatfromhisforehead.

“Who would have thought it would be so much work, getting chickens ready to eat?” Mabelfannedherselfwithahand.Jacknoddedinagreement,thentookthebirdstohanginthebarnwiththemoosemeat.Theywouldstayfrozenuntiltheycouldbringthemselvestoeatthem.

Whenhereturned,hesawthatMabelhadsetoneaside.“Wewerejoking,weren’twe?Aboutcookingonefordinnertonight?”“It’snotforus.”“Thenwhat?”Mabelputonhercoatandboots.“I’mtakingittoaplaceinthewoods.”“Whatplace?”“Whereyouleftherthetreatsandthedoll.”Soshe’dknownallalong.“Butadeadchicken?”heasked.“Forthechild?”“Notforher.Forherfox.”“You’regoingtofeedoneofourchickenstoawildfox?”“Ineedtodothis.”“Whatfor?”Jack’svoicerose.“HowinGod’snamedoesitmakeabitofsense,whenwe’rejust

barelygettingby,tothrowadinneroutintothewoods?”“Iwanthertoknow…”andMabelheldherchinup,asifwhatshesaidtooksomecourage.“Faina

needstoknowthatweloveher.”“Andachickenwilltellherthat?”“Itoldyou,it’sforherfox.”AsMabelcarriedthenaked,deadbirdintothenight,Jackwantedto laughat theabsurdityof it.

InsteadhefoundhimselfthinkingofwhatEstherhadsaidaboutadarkwinter ’smadness.

CHAPTER17

As heneared the cabin, Jackheard the chatter ofwomen’svoices, andwhenhe came through thedoorwithanarmloadoffirewood,hefoundEstherwithherfeetproppedindecorouslyonachairinfrontofthewoodstove.Sheworemen’snavywoolpantswiththecuffstuckedintolongred-stripedsocks.Abigtoestuckoutthroughaholeinonesock,andasJackloadedmorewoodintothestove,shewiggledhertoestowardtheheat.

“Iwas just tellingMabel, Ihopethatboyofminedon’tpesteryoutooawfulmuch.Iknowhe’scomingaroundalotthiswinter,talkingyourearoffI’msure,”shesaid.

Mabelhandedheracupofteaandsheslurpedatit.“No. No.” He tried not to look at the bare toe. “Not at all. Truth be told, I kind of enjoy his

company.Icouldlearnalotfromhim.”“Don’tyoudaretellhimthat.It’llgostraighttohishead,andwe’llneverheartheendofit.That

boyknowsalot,butnothalfasmuchashethinkshedoes.”“Ahwell.Supposethatwastrueaboutmostofusatthatage.”“He’s takena liking toyou, though.He’salways talkingaboutyou.Jacksays thisandJacksays

that.”MabelhandedJackacupoftea.“Therearejohnnycakes,too.Estherbroughtthem.”Thetwowomenhadspentmostofthedaysharingrecipesandpatterns,andevenoutintheyardhe

hadheardtheirlaughter.HewasgladforMabeltohavethecompany.Estherstoodandstretchedandtookajohnnycakefromtheplate.“Iwasalsodispensingalittleadvice.ItoldMabelhereshe’sgottogetoutofthecabinmore.All

this talk about little girls running around in the trees. Next thing you know she’ll be holding teapartiesinthefrontyard,wearingnothingbutherskivviesandafloweredhat.”

EsthernudgedMabelwithanelbowandwinked,butMabeldidnotsmile.“Ohlookatyou,whiteasaghost.I’mnottellingyouanythingyoudon’tknow.Thisisnonsense,

allthistalkaboutalittlegirl.”“I’mnotcrazy,Esther.”Mabel’svoicewastight,andshecaughtJack’seyeswithherown.“Soyoudohavesomefightinyou,mygirl.”Estherhuggedherwaist.“You’llneedeverybitof

thattosurvivearoundhere.”JackexpectedEsthertofindsomereasontoleavethen,buteithershetooknonoticeofMabel’s

crosssilenceorshehadmorestrengthinthefaceofitthanhecouldevermuster.Sheploppedherselfintoachairatthetableandswishedteaaroundinhermouth.

“Goodtea.Realgoodtea,”shesaid.“DidIevertellyouaboutthegrizzlytea?”“No.Can’t recall thatyoudid,” Jacksaid.Hehad intended toworkoutside foranotherhouror

two,buthepulledupachairacrossfromherandMabelandtookanotherjohnnycake.“Danny…Jeffers? Jaspers?Ahhell,mymind’s going.Anyway,Danny carried around a nasty-

smellingburlapbagfilledwith—well,let’sjustsaytheless-than-desirablepartsofgrizzlybears.Hesworeyoucouldbrewateawithitthatwouldimproveyourlovelife.”

Esther ’seyes sparkledmischievously. “Soooo,youalwaysknewwhowashaving trouble in thesack,basedonwhowastalkingtooldDanny.”

“Oh,youhadtodrinkthestuff?Howdreadful.”Mabelwrinkledhernose.“Iwasthinkingmoreaboutthosepoorgrizzlybears,”Jacksaid.“Imagineenduringthat!”Estherlaughedandheldherbelly.“Nowthatwouldbeasight,wrestlingagrizzlybeartotheground.”“Wellyoudon’tmean…”Mabelworeanappalledexpression.Esthercouldbarelyspeak for laughingsohard.“No…no…Thebearsweren’talive.Hekilled

themfirst.”“Oh,”Mabelsaidquietly,andJackcouldn’ttellifshewasembarrassedorthinkingofallthedead

bears.“Isupposealotofcharactershavecomethroughhereovertheyears,”hesaid.“Oh,sure.Thisplacedrawskooks like flies.Wecountourselvesamong thesaneones,and that

tellsyousomething.”Mabeldidsmilethen.“Youmusthaveheardaboutthefellowwhopaintedhiscabinbrightorange?”Estherasked.“No,no.”Mabellaughedandshookherhead.“Iwon’tbelieveyouanymore.You’remakingitup.”Esthersolemnlyheldupherrighthand.“Iswearit’sthetruth.Orangeasapieceoffruit.Saidit

wouldhelphimkeepcheerfulduringtheblackwinters.Hisplacewasdownjusttheothersideofthetracks.Ithoughtitwaskindofprettymyself,butallthemenintownteasedhimnoend.”

“Diditwork?”Jackasked.“Can’tsaythatitdid.Heburnedupinhiscabinthatwinter,thewholethingdowntotheground.I

alwayskindofwondered—hecomplainedaboutthecoldmorethananymanI’veeverknown.WhatintheSamHillhewasdoinginAlaskaisbeyondme.Everyonesaidthefirewasanaccident,andthatallthepaintfueledtheflames,butmaybehewasjustsickofbeingcold.Wantedtogooutinablastofheat,likeoldSamMcGee.”

“Samwho?”Mabelasked.“Didhelivearoundhere?”“Samwho!Andyourownfatherwasaliteratureprofessor?”Estherwentontorecitesomeverses

byaYukonpoetnamedRobertServicethattoldofallthestrangethingsdoneunderthemidnightsun.Aslightfaded,Mabelaskedhertostayfordinner,butshesaidno,shehadtogethomeandcook

for her houseful ofmen.Once she had dressed in her coat and boots andwas ready to leave, shehuggedMabelagain.

“Darnitifyouhaven’tbecomemyverybestfriend,”shesaid.“Takecare,won’tyou?”“Iwill,”Mabelsaid“Itwasgoodtoseeyou.”JackfollowedEstherintotheyardandofferedtohitchtheirdrafthorsetothewagon.“Igotitjustfine,Jack,”shesaid.Sheleanedinclosetohimandlookedbacktowardthecabin.“ButIdoworryabouther,”shesaid.“She’sgotabitofthesadnessabouther,likemyownmother

did.Keepaclosewatchoverher.”

JackexpectedMabeltobesullenandquietwhenhewentbackinside,butshewashummingtoherselfatthekitchensink.

“Youtwohaveagoodvisit?”“Wedid.I’venevermetanyonelikeher.Sheisfullofsurprises,andIratherenjoyit.”Shepouredwaterintoapotanddidn’tlookathim.“Whydon’tyoueverspeakupforme,tellher

thatyou’veseenthechildaswell?”

Sohewastheone,notEsther,whohadangeredher.“Itcompletelybafflesme,Jack.She’sreal.You’veseenherwithyourowneyes,satwithheratthis

verytable.AndyetneveroncehaveyouacknowledgedittotheBensons.”“Idon’tknow,”hesaid.“MaybeI’mnotasbraveasyou.”“You’remockingme.”“No.You’redifferent.Truetoyourself,evenifitmeanspeoplewillsayyou’recrazy.Well,me…I

guessIjust…”“Youdon’tsayaword.”Buttherewasmorebemusementthanangerinit.Shewentbacktosortingthroughasackofpotatoes.“ShouldIgetapairofthosewoolpantslikeEstherwaswearing?”sheasked.“Onlyifyouweartheholeysocksaswell.”“Butdidn’ttheylookwarmandpractical?”“Thesocks?”heteased.“Nono.Thosesocksweresomethingelse.”Asshebegantopeelpotatoes,hestoodbehindherandtouchedthetendrilsofhairthathadfallen

fromtheirclipsandcurledatthenapeofherneck.Thenhereachedaroundherwaistandleanedintoher.All theseyearsandstillhewasdrawnto thesmellofherskin,ofsweetsoapandfreshair.Hewhisperedagainstherear,“Dancewithme.”

“What?”“Isaid,let’sdance.”“Dance?Here,inthecabin?Idobelieveyou’rethemadone.”“Please.”“There’snomusic.”“Wecan remembersome tune,can’twe?”andhebegan tohum“In theShadeof theOldApple

Tree.”“Here,”hesaid,andswungheraroundtofacehim,anarmstillatherwaist,herslighthandinhis.Hehummedlouderandbegantotwirlthemaroundtheplankfloor.“Hmmm,hmm,withaheartthatistrue,I’llbewaitingforyou…”“…intheshadeoftheoldappletree.”Shekissedhimonthecheek,andhesweptherbackonhis

arm.“Oh,I’vethoughtofone,”shesaid.“Letmethink…”andshebegantohumtentatively.Jackdidn’t

knowitatfirst,butthenitcametohimandhebegantosingalong.“Whenmyhairhasallturnedgray,”aswoopandatwirlbesidethekitchentable,“willyoukiss

methenandsay,thatyoulovemeinDecemberasyoudoinMay?”AndthentheywerebesidethewoodstoveandMabelkissedhimwithhermouthopenandsoft.Jack

pulledhercloser,pressedtheirbodiestogetherandkissedthesideofherfaceanddownherbareneckand,assheletherheadgentlyleanaway,downtohercollarbone.Thenhescoopedanarmbeneathherkneesandpickedherup.

“Whatinheaven’s—you’llbreakyourback,”Mabelsputteredbetweenafitoflaughter.“We’retoooldforthis.”

“Arewe?” he asked.He rubbed his beard against her cheek. She shrieked and laughed, and hecarriedherintothebedroom,thoughtheyhadnotyeteatendinner.

CHAPTER18

Thecranberriesweretinyredrubiesagainstthewhitesnow,andMabel’seyessearchedthemout.Shehad thought them inedible, but Esther told her they were actually sweeter once they’d frozen andperfectforsaucesandjellies.ThelateFebruaryweatherhadwarmedtojustbelowfreezing.Theskywasblue,theairwascalm,anditwassurprisinglypleasanttobeoutside.Mabelwadedthroughthedeepsnownearthecabin,carryingthebirchbasketFainahadgiventhem.Theberriesweresmallandscatteredamongthebare,spindlybranches,butMabelwasbeginningtofillthebasketafewatatime.Sheplannedtomakeasavoryrelishwiththecranberries,Esther ’sonions,andspices.Maybeitwouldmakethemoosemeattastelikesomethingotherthanthesamemealthey’deateneverydayforweeksonend.Shewassmilingtoherself,thinkingofhownecessitytrulyisthemotherofinvention,whenshelookeduptoseethechildandthefox.

FainaneverceasedtostartleMabel.Itwasn’tjustthewaythegirlappearedwithoutwarning,butalsohermanner.Shestoodwithherarmsathersidesinherwoolcoat,mittens,scarf,furtrim,andflaxenhair.Herbrownfurhatwasdustedinsnow,aswerehereyelashes.Herexpressionwascalmlyattentive,asifshehadbeenwaiting,forminutes,perhapsyears,knowingitwasonlyamatteroftimebeforeMabelcametothisplaceinthewoods.

Mabel was no longer sure of the child’s age. She seemed both newly born and as old as themountains,hereyesanimatedwithunspokenthoughts,herfaceimpassive.Herewiththechildinthetrees,allthingsseemedpossibleandtrue.

Justasstartlingwasthefox.ItsatbesideFainawithitssilkenredtailcurledarounditsfeetanditsearsprickedforward.Somethinginitspredatoryeyesandthinblackmouthtoldofathousandsmalldeaths,andMabelcouldnotforgetitsmuzzlesmearedwithblood.

Isheyourfriend?sheaskedthechild.Fainashruggedhersmallshoulders.Wehunttogether,shesaid.Whodoesthekilling?Mabelasked.Bothofus.Doyoueverpethim?Thegirlshookherhead.OnceIdid,shesaid.Whenhewasakit,hetookpiecesofmeatfrommyfingers,andheneverbit

me.Atnighthesometimessleptbesideme.Butheistoowildnow.Werunandhunttogether,butthatisall.

Asiftoshowthetruthofwhatshehadsaid,Fainareachedhermittenedhanddowntowardthefox.Itswiftlyduckedanddartedaroundthechild’s legsand into the trees.Thegirlwatched,andMabelthoughtshesawalookofwonderandlongingonherface.

Haveyoupickedmanyberries?Fainaturnedbacktoher.Afew,Mabelsaid.NotasmanyasIshouldhave.Butit’salovelyday.Idon’tmindthatithastaken

memostofthemorning.Thegirlnodded,thenpointedpastastandofspruce.Therearemorejustoverthere,shesaid.

Thankyou.Won’tyoucomewithme?But the girl was already running away, toward the cabin. She flickered through the trees and

skimmedacrossthetopofthesnow,untilMabelwasaloneagainintheforest.Sunlightsparkledonthesnowandshecouldhearthewindblowingdownfromtheglacier,buthereitwasquiet,soquietMabelwas left towonder if shehadalwaysbeenalone.Shewalked through the snowand into thesprucetrees.

Ittooksometimetoidentifywhatshewashearing.Mabelhadfilledherbaskettooverflowingwiththe cranberries Faina had pointed her toward. She pulled hermittens back on and held the basketcarefully,notwantingtospillasingleberryintothesnow.Asshenearedthecabin,shethoughtsheheardshouts.Ormaybeitwassinging.Then,asshebrokethroughthetreesandoutintotheyard,shehearditclearly—laughter.

Jack and the child stood side by side, their arms outstretched and hands nearly touching.Then,withoutwarning,theythrewthemselvesbackwardintothedeepsnow.

Comesee!Comesee!thechildcalledouttoMabel.Jack?Faina?Whatonearth…We’resnowangels,Jackcalledout,andthegirlgiggled.Mabelwalkedtothem,thebasketinherhands,andlookeddown.Jackhadsunknearlyafootinto

thesnow,andhewaswavinghisarmsandlegslikeadrowningman.Hegrinned,andMabelsawthathisbeardandmustachewerecakedwithsnow.

Nearbythechildlayontopofthesnow,smiling,herblueeyeswide.Shesawnowthattheyweresurroundedbyangelsinthesnow—Jack’slarge,deep-setfigureand

thechild’s,smallerandlighter.Adozenormoreweresprinkledacross theyard twoata time,andthey shone in the sunlight.Mabel had never seen anythingmore beautiful, and shewalked amongthem.

Jackstruggledtohisfeet.ThenhereacheddowntoFainaandgrabbedherhands.Watch,thechildcalledtoher.JackpluckedFainafromthesnow,bothofthemlaughing.WhatMabelbeheld in the snow tookherbreath away.The angelwas sodelicate, and itswings

perfectlyformed,liketheprintleftonsnowwhereawildbirdhastakenflight.Isn’tthatsomething?Jackasked.Idon’tunderstand.How…Don’tyourememberdoingthiswhenyouwerealittlegirl?Jacksaid.Youjustwaveyourarms

andlegsaround.Comeon.Giveitatry.Mabelhesitated,heldupherbasketofberries.Oh,please.Won’tyou?thechildbegged.JacktookthebasketandhandedittoFaina.Idon’tknow.Withmylongskirtsandall.Buthetookherbytheshouldersand,beforesheknewhisintentions,gentlyshovedherbackward.

Sheexpectedittohurt,butthepowderysnowwaslikeathickduvetthatsoftenedherfallandmuffledallsound.ShesawJackandthechildgrinningdownatherandabovetheirfacesthebrilliantbluesky.Closer,shecouldseetheindividualsnowcrystalsthatencasedher.

Goon,then,Jackcalleddowntoher.You’vegottoflapyourarmstomakethewings.

Mabelsweptherarmsupandfeltthedragofthesnow,thenbackdownagain.Thenshemovedherlegssidetoside.

Allright?sheasked.Jack reached down to her, they clasped hands, mittens and work gloves, and he grunted as he

pulledhertoherfeet.Oh,look!Look!thechildcriedout.Isn’titperfect?Mabel looked down at her own snow angel. Like Jack’s, itwas set deep into the snow and the

wingsweren’tfeathery.Butitwaslovely,shehadtoagree.Yours is themostbeautifulofall,Fainasaid,andshe threwherarmsaroundMabel’swaistand

huggedhertightly,andMabelfeltasifshewerefallingagain,tumbling,laughing,backwardintothepowderysnow.

The snow angels remained in the yard, even as the little girl came andwent from the forest, andMabelsmiledat them.Itwasn’t just theirwhimsicalpresence,dancingfrombarn tocabin,cabin towoodpile. Itwasalso thememoryofJackflinginghimselfbackinto thesnowlikea littleboy,andgigglingFainaathisside.Andthenthechild’sarmsaroundher,huggingherasadaughterhugshermother.Joyfully.Spontaneously.Themostbeautifulofall.Themostbeautifulofall.

Mabelleftthekitchenwindowandreturnedtothewoodstove.WaituntilEstherseesthatdisplay,shethought.Ifsheconsideredushalfmadbefore,oncesheseeswe’vespentourdaysmakingsnowangelsintheyard,shewillsurelyhaveusbothcommitted.Shestirredthebubblingcranberries.Themusky,soursmellpermeatedthecabinand,Mabelrealized,smelledmuchliketheBensons’clutteredhomehadthatfirstdayshevisited.

Sheglancedoutthewindowagain.Lovely,crazysnowangels!Andthenitstruckher—amongallthosesnowangelswereFaina’s.Herdelicateimprintswiththeirfeatherywings.Surelytheirexistencecouldnotbedenied.

WhenEstherseesthem,shewillknowit’strue,thechildisreal.HowcouldsheandJackmakeadozenangelstheshapeandsizeofalittlegirl?

Though the child had at first been a source of gentle teasing, aswinter progressed Esther hadbecomekindandcautiousinherdoubt.SheaskedifMabelwasgettingenoughfreshair,ifshewassleepingtoomuchduringtheday.Sheencouragedhertocomevisit,andwhenMabelsaidshewasn’tcomfortabledrivingthehorsealone,Estherbegantoshowupregularly.

There was no guarantee Esther would come anytime soon, but she did visit every few weeks,weatherdepending,andoftenonaSundayafternoon.IthadbeenmorethantwoweekssinceherlastvisitandSundaywasjustafewdaysaway.Aslongasitdidn’tsnow,shewouldseeproofofthelittle

girlfromtheforest,andMabelwouldbevindicated.Esther ’s disbeliefwas all too familiar. It brought tomind themanyyearsMabel had spent as a

child,lookingforfairiesandwitchesandbeingteasedbyheroldersiblings.Herheadisstuffedfullofnonsense,oneteacherhadwarnedherfather.Youletherreadtoomanybooks.

OnceMabelwascertainshehadcaughtafairy.Whenshewaseightyearsold,shebuiltatrapboxoutoftwigsandhungitintheoaktreeintheirbackyard.Inthemiddleofthenightshespieditoutherbedroomwindow rocking back and forth in themoonlight, andwhen she opened thewindow shecouldhearahigh-pitchedtwittering,justhowsheimaginedatrappedfairywouldsound.

Ada!Ada!shehadcalledtohersister.I’vecaughtafairy.Comeandlook.Nowyou’llseethey’rereal.

AndAdacame,sleepy-eyedandgrumbling,andtheywalkedintheirbarefeetandnightgownsoutto theoak tree.ButwhenMabel lowered thebox from thebranchandpeeked inside,what she sawwasn’tafairybutatrappedsongbird,quiveringinfear.Sheopenedthelittledoor,butthebirdwouldnotflyout.Adashookthestickbox,andwhenthebirdfelltothegrass,Mabelcouldseethatitwasfailing.Beforeshecouldmakeitanestingboxinthehouse,ithaddied.

Thememorymadeherill.Wrappedtightlyinitsholdwereshameandhumiliation,andtheterribleguilt of having caused the bird’s death. But at the core was the truest emotion—an angrydisappointment.Ifshecouldn’tconvinceanyoneelse,howcouldshegoonbelieving?

The next days were bright and calm.Mabel guarded the snow angels, and they didn’t fade. Theyglitteredandshonebeneaththeblueskyasthedayslengthened.Whenthesunglareddown,shefearedtheywouldmelt,buttheairstayedcoolandthesnowfluffyanddry.

Itwasn’tuntilSundaymorningthat thewindbegantoblowdownfromtheglacier.Mabelcouldhear it gust along the riverbed, and shewatched it stir the treetops, knocking snow to the ground.Please,Mabelthought.Comequickly.Comesee,andyou’llknowsheisreal.

Mabeldidnothearthehorsetrotintotheyardthatafternoon—thewindwasblowingtooviolently.Shedidn’tknowEstherhadarriveduntilthedoorburstopenandshecametrippingintothecabin.

“Look what the wind blew in!” Esther said. She laughed boisterously and slammed the doorclosed.

“Oh,Esther!Youcame.Andinthisweather!”“Itwasn’tthisbaduntilIwashalfwayhere,andthenIfiguredIwasdamnedeitherway,sohereI

am.”“I’msoglad.Wait!Don’ttakeoffyourcoat.Iwanttoshowyousomething.”Shewrappedascarf

aroundherfaceandpulledahatlowonherhead.True to her adventurous nature, Esther didn’t ask why, only turned on her heels and followed

Mabelbackoutintotheblusteryafternoon.Althoughthesunwasstillshiningandtheskywasclear,thewindsweptthepowderysnowofftheground,swirleditthroughtheair.Halfblind,theystumbledacrosstheyard.

“Overhere,”MabelcalledtoEsther.“What?”Theycouldn’thear eachotherover thewind, soMabelwaved forher to follow, and theywent

towardthebarn.Maybeontheleesidethesnowangelswouldbeprotected.Whentheyarrived,however,onlythefaintestsuggestionremained,justafewshapelessdentsin

thedriftingsnow.“Doyousee?”Mabelyelledintothewind.Esthershookherhead, thenraisedhereyebrowsandheldupherhandsquestioningly.Thewind

slackedforamoment,thoughtheycouldstillhearitinthedistance.“Doyouseeanything?”Mabelpointedtowherethesnowangelshadbeen.“No,Mabel.AllIseeissnow.WhatamIsupposedtobeseeing?”“It’sjust…Theywerehere.”“Whatwashere?”Estherspokequietly,concerned.Mabelforcedasmile.“Nothing. Itwas nothing.” She hooked her arm intoEsther ’s. “Come on. Let’s get back inside,

beforethewindbeginstoblowagain.Iwantyoutotrymycranberryrelish.”

CHAPTER19

JackhadshoveledapaththroughthesnowdriftsandwassplittingkindlingwhenGarrettrodeintotheyardwithadeadfoxslungacrossthefrontofhissaddle.Jackstoodbesidethechoppingblockandwatchedtheboyridein.Hesatthehorsewithease,hisheadlow,hisshouldersmovingwiththeshiftandgiveoftheanimalandlandbeneathhim.Itwasn’tuntilhelookedupandsawJackthathisyouthshone.Hesatupstraightwithagrin,swepthishandoverheadingreeting,andthenpointedtothedeadfox.

“Whatdidyoubringintoday?”“Isn’titabeaut?”Garrettsaidashejumpeddownfromthehorse.Hereachedupandtookthefox

bythescruffandlifteditslimphead.“Asilverfox,”theboysaidwithsomepride.Jacksetdownhishatchetandwalkedtothehorse.Thefox’searsandmuzzlewereaspureasblack

silk,butalongitsbackandsides,thefurwasafrostedsilver.“Isiticedup?”“Nosir,”Garrettsaid.“That’sthewaytheycome—silvertipped.”“It’ssplendid,allright,”Jacksaid.“Youcatchmany?”“Thisismyfirstever.They’renotrealcommon,”Garrettsaid.“Mostlybringinredsandcross

foxes.Youeverseeoneof thosecrosses?They’reamixof redandblack,and they’vegotablackcrossalongtheirback.”

Jackwentbacktohispileofkindlingandsatonthechoppingblock.“Getyourselfanyofthoserecently?Anyreds?”

“Aboutamonthago,pulledacrossfoxoutofasnare.Imissedanotheronewhenitsteppedovermytrap.’CourseIdon’tknowwhatcolorthatonewas,”Garrettsaidandlaughedathisownjoke.

“No,Iguessyouwouldn’t.What’llyoudowiththisone?”“Iwasthinkingofaruffformom’sparka.Don’tmentionit,though.I’dlikeittobeasurprise.”“That’dbeafinegift.”“Igotherapairoflynxmittensmadelastyear.Bettydownatthehotel—she’llsewyousomething

ifyougivehera fewpelts for thework.Hats,mittens.She’sprettygood, too. I’d likeawolverineruff,ifIevercatchone.”

Jackwasreadytogobacktochoppingkindling,buttheboywantedtotalk,sohelethim.Whilehesetanothersprucelogontheblock,theboystackedkindlingandtoldhimaboutthetrackshe’dseenthatday—apileofrabbits,aporcupine,afewlynx,andalonewolfheadingupriver.

“Isthatunusual,awolfbyitself?”“Probably ayoung ’un,kickedoutof thepackand looking forhisownway. I set some snares

aroundanoldmoosekill.HopeIgethim.”Jack whittled down the spruce log with the hatchet, and slivers of kindling fell neatly to the

ground.“Youlikethatlife,doyou?”hesaidandpickedupanotherlog.“Trappingwildanimals?”Theboyshrugged.“Beatsdirtfarming,”Garrettsaid.Hislookwasquick.“Nooffense.”

“Ahwell.I’mnonetookeenonitmyselfsometimes.Butit’saliving.Trapping,though—that’sgottobetoughwork.Kindoflonely,too.”

“Ilikeit.Travelingtheriver.Justme,thewindandthesnow.Iliketowatchthetracks,seeingtheanimalscomeandgo.WhenIgetolder,I’mgoingtobuildmyselfacabinuptheriver.Buymyselfsomedogs.I’dgetateamnowifMomwouldletme,butshecan’tstandthebarkingandhowling,andshesaysthey’lleatusoutofhouseandhome.ButonceIleavethehomestead,thenI’llgetateamandpushmylineallthewayuptotheglacier.”

“Youwon’tstayonandfarm?”“Nah.Mybrothers—theycanhaveit.”Jackfeltfortheboy.Itwasn’teasytomakeyourownwaywithbrothersalreadybustingaheadof

you. He’d watched the older boys hassle Garrett, the way they bossed and teased him. It was nowonderhe’dtakentothewoods.

“Youseemtoknowyourwayaround.Yourdadbragsaboutyou.”Theboyshruggedandkickedthetoeofhisbootintothesnow,butJackcouldtellhewaspleased.“Guess I’dbetterbegoingbefore itgets too late,”Garrett said.“Doyou thinkyourwifemight

liketoseethefoxbeforeIgo?”“Maybeanothertime,”hesaid.Garrettnodded,pulledhimselfupintothesaddle,androdetowardhome.

“WhatdidGarrettbringtoshowyoutoday?”MabelaskedwhenJackwentinforthenight.Shewassettingdinneronthetable.

“Afox.”Shestoppedwhatshewasdoing.“Afox?”“Iknowwhatyou’rethinking,butitwasn’tFaina’s.Thiswasasilverfox.Nothinglikethatredone

sherunswith.”Itshouldhavebeentheendofit,butitwasn’t.Allthroughdinner,shecamebacktoit.“Doeshehavetotrapfox?Doeshetrytocatchtheredones,too?”“It’swhathedoes,Mabel.Andhecan’tpickandchoosethecolors.”Abitofquiet,andthen,“ButhecouldcatchFaina’s,couldn’the?Hecouldkillherfox?”“Iwouldn’tworryyourselfaboutit.Herfoxseemsawarysort.Itwon’tfinditswayintooneof

Garrett’straps.”“Butwhatifitdid?Can’twetellhimtostop?”“Stoptrapping?Don’tseewehavethatkindofauthority.AndGarrett’snottheonlyoneoutthere.

Upanddownthisriver,menaretrapping.”ButMabelseemedrattledbyhisassertion.Shehardlytouchedhermeal,andshepacedinfrontof

thebookshelfseveraltimesbeforetakingaletterfromoneofthebooks.Hewasrelievedwhensheatlastsatinthechairbythefiretoread.

CHAPTER20

Itwasatangled,sickeningkindofvigil.Mabelwatchedfortheboy,butitwasthefoxandthelittlegirlthatoccupiedherthoughts.AnysoundthatcouldbehorsehoovesinthesnowbroughtMabeltothewindow,pulledher eyes into the trees.Sometimes sheevenwalked to the river to lookupanddowntheice.

IfGarrettweretorideontotheirhomesteadwitharedfoxdeadinhisarms,Fainawouldbelosttothem.Thatwashowthestorywent.Mabelhadrereadhersister ’sletteruntilthecreaseswereworn,and itwas there, inAda’s lovely, educatedhandwriting—the fox is killed, theone that brought thechildsafelyoutofthewildernessandtotheircabindoor.Lovedoubted.Bootsandmittensabandoned.Snowmeltedinclumps.Anotherchildgonefromtheirlives.

Itwasapossibilityshecouldnotbear.Shewoundherselftightly,asifwithinhergirdledribsshecouldcontainallpossibilities,allfuturesandalldeaths.Perhapsifsheheldherselfjustright.Maybeifsheknewwhatwouldbeorcouldbe.Orifshewishedwithenoughheart.Ifonlyshecouldbelieve.

Shehadn’tbefore,whenalifekickedinsideherverywomb.Inaclosed-upplaceinherheart,sheknew itwasher fault.During thepregnancy shehadwondered,Am Imeant tobe amother?AmIcapableofsomuchlove?Andso ithaddied insideher. Ifonlyshehadn’tdoubted,shecouldhavebornthebabywailingtolife,readytonurseatherbreast.

Thistimeshewouldnotletherloveslacken,evenforamoment.Shewouldbevigilantandwishandwish.Please,child.Please,child.Pleasedon’tleaveus.

ButthenshewouldthinkofFainarunningthroughthetreeswiththewildfoxatherheels,andofGarrettwithhissteeltrapsandsnares,andshewouldwonderifonecantrulystoptheinevitable.WasitasAdahadsuggested, thatwecanchooseourownendings, joyoversorrow?Ordoes thecruelworldjustgiveandtake,giveandtake,whileweflounderthroughthewilderness?

Either way,Mabel could not stop herself. She paced and watched and held herself tightly. ShepesteredJackwithquestions.Howmuchlongerwouldtheboytrap?Wheredidhego?Whathadhecaughtthistime?WhenGarrettledhishorsepastthecabinwindowandwavedcheerfully,adeadwolfstrappedtothebackofthesaddle,Mabelheldherbreath.AndwhenFainaappearedattheirdoorthenextday,sheletoutthatbreathtoask,Howisyourfox?Andthechildsaid,He’sfine.

At last,whenMarchcameandJacksaid theboywouldsoonpullhis traps,Mabelbegantobreathemorefreely.Thefirstsignsofspringarrivedinfitsandstarts,snowthatmelted,andthenrainandsnowagain.Thedriftsintheyarddwindledtosmallpatches,butinthewoodsthesnowwasstilldeep.Eachmorning ice formed on the puddles, andwater dripped from the eaves and froze into long,glassyicicles.

WhenGarrettpassedthroughonhiswayhome,Mabelaskedhimintothecabinforahotdrinkandapieceofbread.

“So,howmanymorefoxhaveyoucaught?”sheasked,asifidlecuriosity,notdesperation,droveher.Shesetafewslicesoffreshbreadonthetableinfrontofhim.

“None,”hesaid.“Notsincethatsilver.Ididpickupawolf,though.Andacouplemorelynxand

coyotes.”Theboywasawkward,keepinghishandsfirstathisside,thenrestinghisforearmsonthetable.Heshiftedhislegsnervouslyandpickedupapieceofbread.

“How much longer will you trap?” Mabel asked as she put a cup of tea in front of him andlingeredbehindhischair.

“Therivericeisgoingsoft,”hesaidaroundamouthfulofbread.“Fewdays,I’llsnapmytrapsandcallitayear.”

Mabelreacheddownwithonearmandhuggedhimaroundtheshoulders.“Weworryaboutyou,”shesaid.Shestraightened,embarrassedbyheroutburst,andadjustedher

dress.“JackandIwouldn’twantyoutobeoutontheriverif itwasn’tsafe.Andyou’vedonewell,haven’tyou?”

Heseemedtakenabackbyheraffection,butgrinnedall thesame.“I’llgetsomefurmoneythisyear.”

“Goodforyou,”shesaid,andwentbacktothekitchencounter.

Mabeldozedbythewoodstovejustbeforenoon,abookproppedopeninherlap.Mostofthewintershehadn’tallowedherselftosleepinthemiddleoftheday,iffornootherreasonthantoproveshehadnotevena touchofcabinfever.But tossedaboutbynightmares,shehadn’tsleptwell thenightbefore.Now,soothedbythelightofdayandthewarmthofthefire,shedriftedoff.

Shewoketoasmall,coolhandatophersandopenedhereyestoFaina.Ihavesomething,thegirlsaidandpulledatMabel’shand.Oh,child,yousurprisedme.Pleasehurry,shesaid.Isitsomethingtodraw?Thechildnoddedandtuggedather.Where?Fainapointedoutthewindow.Outside?Allright.Allright.Letmegetmybootsandcoat.Yourpencils,too?Yes,yes.Andmysketchbook.WhenMabelopened thedoor, the falling snowamazedher.The firstweekofApril, and itwas

snowing.FainatookMabel’shandagainandtogethertheywalkedintotheyard.Evenwithsnow,itsmelled

ofspring,ofthawingcreekbanksandmoistearth,ofoldleavesandnewleavesandrootsandbark.Mabelbecameawareofhowtheystoodtogether,sheandthechild,stillholdinghands,andFaina’s

wassoslightandcool,andMabel’sheartwasahole inherchest filling likeawellwith icy,sweetwater.

Willyoudraw?Fainasaidquietly.Thesnow?Iwouldn’tknowhowtogoaboutit.Faina letgoofMabel andputherpalm to the sky,hermittenhanging froma red stringather

wrist.Asinglesnowflakelituponherbareskin.FainaturnedandheldittoMabel.Nowcanyoudrawit?Thesnowflakewasnobiggerthanthesmallestskirtbutton.Itwassixpointed,withfernliketips

andahexagonalheart,anditsatinthechild’spalmlikeatinyfeatherwhenitshouldhavemelted.ItwasasiftimeslowedsothatMabelcouldnolongerbreatheorfeelherownpulse.Whatshewas

seeingcouldnotbe,andyetitdidnotwaver.Thereinthechild’shand.Asinglesnowflake,luminousandtranslucent.Asharp-edgedmiracle.

Please,willyoudrawit?Thechild’sblueeyeswerewideandrimmedinfrost.Whatelsewas there todo?Mabelfumbledtoopenhersketchbook.Shetookthepencil intoher

weakfingersandbegantodraw.Fainastoodmotionlesswiththesnowflakeinherhand.Perhapsweshouldgoinsideandsitdowntodothis,Mabelsaid,butthenrealizedhermistake.The

childsmiledandshookherhead.No,no.Iguesswecan’tgoinsidethewarmcabintodrawsnow,canwe?Thesketchwastoosmall,andMabelsawitwouldbeimpossibletocaptureeverygrooveandline.

Shewishedforamagnifyingglassandflippedtoanewpage.Ihaveneverbeenanygoodatsymmetricaldrawings,shesaidmoretoherself thanto thechild.

I’mtooimpatient.Tooimprecise.She began again, drawing with broader strokes and filling the entire page with the single

geometricshape.Sheproppedthesketchbookononehandanddrewwiththeother,bendingslightlytolookmoreclosely.Butherbreath—thatalonecouldreducethesnowflaketoadroplet.Sheturnedherfacetothesidesoasnottoexhaleonit.

Snowbegantolandaswetspotsonherpaper.Mabelworkedfasterandletoutfrustratedsighs.Ifonlyshewereabetterartist.

It’sperfect,Fainawhispered.Iknewitwouldbe.Mabellookedfromherdrawingtothesnowflakeinthechild’shand.Icanalwaysworkonthedetailslater.Shallwecallitfinishedfornow?sheasked.Yes,Fainasaid.Thechildputtheheelofherhandtoherlipsandblewonthesnowflake,anditflutteredintotheair

likedandeliondown.Oh,Mabelsaid.Tearscametohereyes,andshedidn’tknowwhy.Fainatookherhandagain,leanedintoMabelandheldtightlytoher.Thewetsnowflakeslandedall

aroundthem.Theworldwassilent.Thesnowfellheavierandwetter,andMabel’scoatturneddamp.Fainapulledonhersleeve.Mabelleaneddown,expectinghertowhispersomethinginherear,but

insteadFainaputhercool,drylipstoMabel’scheekandkissedher.Goodbye,thechildsaid.WhenFainaletgoofherarmandranintothesnowthatwasnowrain,Mabelknew.Shetuckedthe

sketchbook under her coat and stood in the rain until her hairwas drippingwet and her coatwassoakedthroughandherbootswereinmud.Shestoodandstaredthroughtherainandtriedtoseeintotheforest,butsheknew.

CHAPTER21

Winterhadbeenafoolishwasteoftime.Hehadtinkeredinthebarn,sortedtools,pluckedchickens,playedin thesnow.Heshouldhavedonemorein thecoldmonths toprepare,butwhat?Itwastruewhat theysaidabout this land—all theworkwasdoneinafewfrenziedmonths.Theonlyreasonaman could farm here at all was because the sun lasted twenty hours a day during the height ofsummer,andvegetablesgrewovernight toenormoussizes.Georgesaidhe’dseenacabbagecomeoutofthefieldsatnearlyahundredpounds.

ButhereitwasMay,andJackcouldn’ttillarowwithoutthehorsenearlydrowninginmud.Backhomethecropswouldalreadyhavebeeninthegroundamonth.Ashewaitedforthesoiltothawanddry, he heard a ticking clock, not just the onemarking theminutes of each day but another,moreresoundingthumpthatcounteddownhisowndays.

Thisseasonthehomesteadhadtosupportitself.Hewasbankingonthefactthatseveralfarmershad given up, walked out on their land, even as the market seemed to open up with the railroadexpansion.Hewould throw everything into this year.He’d plant not just potatoes but also carrots,lettuce,andcabbage,andsellvegetablesthroughoutthesummertotheminingcamps.

HeandMabeltalkedlittle,butwhentheydid,theyargued.Hementionedthatheneededtohireacrewofboysfromtowntohelpplant,buttheyhadnomoneyforit.

“We’llhavetofindsomeotherway,”Mabelsaid,absentlystaringatherhands.“Whatway?How,inGod’sname?”Hisvoicewasangry,tooloud.“I’mnotayoungman,”hesaid

moregently.“Mybackaches,andIcanhardlymakeafistinthemorning.Ineedhelp.”“Whosaysyouhavetodothisalone?WhatamI?”“You’renotafarmhand,Mabel.AndIwon’tletyoubecomeone.”“So you’d rather beat yourself to death out there, and leaveme in here, sowe can each suffer

alone.”“That’sneverbeenwhatIwanted.Butthetruthis,it’sjustthetwoofus.Someone’sgottocarefor

thehome,andsomeone’sgottoearnusaliving.”Soonceagainitcircledbacktothevoidbetweenthemwhereachildshouldhavebeen.AgirltohelpMabelwiththehousework.Aboytoworkinthefields.

“Whataboutthehotel?MaybeIcanbakeforBettyagain.”“Ithoughtwecameheretofarm,nottopeddlepiesandcakeslikegypsies.Thisisit.Ifthislandis

evergoingtosupportus,thisistheyearwe’vegottodoit.AndIjustdon’tseehowIcandoitonmyown.”Hewalkedout,butkepthimselffromslammingthedoor.

EvenasaboyJackhadlovedthesmellofthegroundsofteninginthethawandcomingbacktolife.Notthisspring.Adamp,moldydreariness,somethinglikeloneliness,hadsettledoverthehomestead.At first Jackdid not know its source.Maybe itwas only his ownmood.Perhaps itwas the springweather,withovercastskiesandfreezingrainthatsoakedthroughthecabinwalls.Mabel,too,seemedbesetbyamoroserestlessness.

Then Jack counted the days—nearly three weeks since the girl’s last visit, the longest absence

sinceshe’dcomeintotheirlives.Hetriedtotrainhisthoughtsontheplantingseasonbeforehim,buthewastroubled.

Thechild’snamehadgoneunspoken.Herchairsatempty,andMabelnolongerputaplateinfrontofit.Jackworriedasmuchforhiswifeasforthegirl.Mabelnolongerwatchedoutthewindowforher,andheoftenfoundhergazingintoabasinofdirtydishwaterasifshe’dlosttrackofthehours.Sometimesshedidn’tseemtoknowhe’denteredthecabinuntilheputahandonherarm.

Thepastwinterhadbeensodifferent.Jackhadlookedforwardtotheirmealstogether,evenwhenFainawasn’tthere.HeandMabelhadtalked,then,oftheirplansforthehomesteadandtheirfuture.Jackdidnotfallasleeprightafterdinnerbuthelpedclearthetable.Thefirsttimehesteppedinandbegan towash the dishes, she had pretended to swoon, the back of her hand to her brow, peeringthroughhalf-closedlidsuntilhekissedhersmile.Theylaughedanddancedandmadelove.

Thatjoywasgonewiththechild.Hewalkedpastthebarntowardthenewfield.Mudsuckedathisboots.Hesteppedoffthetrailto

walkonthemossandgrassoftheunbrokenground.Tinygreenbudswerejustbeginningtoopenonthebirchtrees.Somethingmovedthroughtheforest.

“Faina?”Movementagain,darkandquick,but itwas toodeep in the trees forhim tomakeoutanything

more.Apathledawayfromthefield,andhefollowedit.Threedaysagohehadseenbeartracksinthemudandscatinthetrail.Hedidn’thavehisrifle,buthewouldn’tturnbacknow.

A week could be explained; she could have gone hunting. Three weeks—that was somethingdifferent. Illness, an avalanche of wet spring snow, rotten river ice. Jack ticked off the grimpossibilitiesashestrodethroughthetrees.

Thelandwasnakedwithoutsnoworsummergreenery.Athisfeet,fiddleheadfernsunfurledandtinyshootspushedupthroughlastyear ’sdeadleaves.Heclimbedasfastashisoldheartwouldallowhim.Aftersometime,hearrivedattheclifffaceandrealizedhehadveeredoffcourseandmissedthecreek.He followed a game trail along the base of the cliffs, ducking under alders, until he heardrushingwater.Thesoundledhimtothecreek,swollenwithspringrunoff.Itwasdeafening.

Hewalkedupthecreekuntilhecrestedariseandsawthefamiliarstandof largespruce.Therewas the stumpof the treehehadcut andburned.Aheapof rockshadbeenarrangedon theman’sgrave.Fainamusthavebroughtthemfromthecreekbed.

“Faina?Faina!Areyouhere?”Hisshoutswerelosttotheroaringwater.“Faina?It’sJack.Canyouhearme?”

He recalled the door in themountainwhere he hadwatched the girl disappear.He scanned thehillsideseveraltimesbeforehesawit.Itwaslikeanyothercabindoor,madeofrough-hewnboards,exceptitwascutshortenoughsothatagrownmanwouldhavetostooptoenter,anditwasn’thungintheframeofacabinbutsetintoagrassyknoll.Hesawnotracksleadinginorout.Whenherappedwithhisknuckles,thedoorswunginwardonleatherhinges.

“Faina?Dearchild,areyouhere?”Hedreaded findingherhuddled inabed, sickor starvingorworse. Inside itwasnotasdimas

he’danticipated.Daylightcamefromsomewhereoverhead.“Faina?”Therewasnoanswer.Hiseyesadjusted.Thewallsaroundhimweremadeoflogsthathadbeen

squaredoffwithanax.Abovehimwasawoodenceiling,withasquareopeningtotheskynotmuchbiggerthanastovepipe.Directlybelowthisholealargefirepitheldthecold,charredremainsofafewsmalllogs.Thefirepitwasalsosquare,setintodirtbutframedbythewoodenplanksthatformed

thefloor.Thebuilderhaddugintothesideofthehillandframedtheroominside,thenreplantedsodover

the top. The effect was that the small cabin looked like a grassy knoll, just another part of themountainside.Itprobablyprovidedbetterinsulation,particularlyinwinterwhenthehillwascoveredin snow, but it didn’t seem solely a practical matter. There was something foreboding about thestructure.Whoeverlivedinsidethesewallswoulddwellindarknessandsecrecy.

The airwasmusty, like that of an abandoned attic, but as hewalked around the small roomhecaughtspecificscents—wood,driedmeatandfish,tannedfurs,andwildherbs.Overhead,driedplantshunginbunchesfromtheroofframe.WhenJackstoodupright,hisheadwaslessthanafootfromtheceiling.

Thedoorbehindhimswungshutwithathump.“Faina?”Hepusheditopenagain,butnoonewasthere.Now that hewas in this dank, lonely place, hewasmore anxious about the child.Hepaced the

smallquarters.Ifhehadn’tseenhergothroughthedoor,hewouldn’tbelieveayounggirlhadeverlivedhere.Therewerenotoys,nodressesorchild-sizedclothesofanykind.Perhapsshehadgonesomewhere and taken all that with her—it was impossible to know what had been here and nowwasn’t.Hekickedatthecharredwoodinthepit.Nosparks,nosmoke.Thefirehadbeenoutfordays,ifnotweeks.

Therewas a bunkmade of peeled spruce logs. Instead of blankets and sheets, the beddingwascaribouhidesandothertannedfurs.Onecornerformedamakeshiftkitchenofsorts,withacounterandshelves linedwithoddsandends—jarsofbeansandflour,butnotmuchfood tospeakof.Theoppositewallheldwoodenpegsfromwhichhungsnowshoes,axes,saws,woodworkingtools,thingsagrownmanwoulduse.Thetoolsweregrimyandbeginningtorust.Therewerealsoafewitemsofclothing,includingafur-ruffedparkathatwouldhavebeentoolargeevenforJack.Hetookitoffthepegandheardaclinkingsound.Inthepocketswerehalfadozenemptyglassbottles.Heheldeachtohisnose.Somesmelledofanimalurineandglandular lures,othersofapotentmoonshine.Peter ’swater,thechildhadcalledit.Heshookhisheadtoclearhisnostrilsandhungtheparkabackonitspeg.Inanothercorner,Jackspottedastackofdriedpelts:beaver,wolf,marten,mink.

He headed toward the door, then remembered the doll. It could be here somewhere. He tossedasidethefursonthebed,butfoundnothing.Thenhenoticedawoodenboxunderthebunk.Hegotonhiskneesandpulleditout.

Insidewasapinkbabyblanket,wornanddirtybutneatlyfolded.Beneathitwerescatteredafewblack-and-whitephotographs.Jackpickedthemup.Oneshowedanicelydressedcouplestandingonadock,suitcasesandtrunksstackedbesidethem,astheyembarkedonajourney.Hedidn’trecognizetheman at first—in the photographhewasmuchyounger,with a dapper haircut and clean-shavenface.Thewomanbesidehimworeastylishdress,andinherfine-featuredfaceandblondhairJacksaw Faina. These must be her parents, perhaps leaving Seattle on a ship for Alaska. In anotherphotograph,thewomanheldaninfantswaddledinablanketthatlookednewandclean,butJackwasfairlycertainitwasthesameonefoldedinthebox.Anothershowedthemanposingwithsnowshoes,parka,andalopsidedgrin.HebarelyresembledthegrizzledcorpseJackhadpushedintoaholeintheground,butitwashim.

Jackclenchedhisjaw.Howcouldamanabandonhisyoungdaughtertothewilderness?Heputthephotographsandblanketbackintheboxandsliditunderthebed.Standingup,hiskneescreakedandhefeltoldandafraid.Thechildwasgone.Thisplacehadswallowedher.

Hethoughtagainofthedollandtookonelastlookaroundtheroom,butknewhewouldn’tfindit.Itwassmallcomfort.Fainawas lost to them,butwherever shewas,whateverhadbefallenher, thedollhadbeenwithher.

Whenhesteppedoutside,heblinkedhardagainstthedaylightandfumbledtoclosethedoor.Hestoodthereamoment,listenedtothecreek,andletthemountainairblowagainsthisface.Evenwithallthisheartache,itwasbeautifulhere.Hecouldseeacrosstheentirerivervalley,couldalmostmakeouttheirhomesteadfarbelow.

CHAPTER22

Thenextday,whenafternooncameandwentandJackdidnotreturnfromthefields,Mabelwasonlyvaguelypuzzled.Hemusthaveworkedthroughwithoutabreak.Wheneveningcameanddinnersatcoldonthetable,sheknewsomethingwaswrong.Panicconstrictedherthroat,butshedressedcalmlyin her coat and boots.At the lastminute, she took the shotgun down from thewall and filled herpocketwithshells.Shevowedtolearntoshootit.

Herhemdraggedinthemuckasshefollowedthetrailtothefields.Herfather-in-lawhaddiedintheorchardofaheartattack,andMabelpicturedJackcollapsedinafield.Shewouldbeleftalone,withlittlechoicebuttoreturntoherparents’homewherehersisternowlived,orgotoJack’sfamily.

Hereyesscanned the first fieldshecame to,but shesawnosignof Jackor thehorse.Eveningshadowsdarkenedtheedgeoftheforest,andintheskyahandfulofstarswerescatteredacrossthepale blue.A flock of sandhill cranes rose up from ameadow, their calls as ghostly as their gray,slow-beating wings. The mud was beginning to stiffen in the cold. Mabel followed the trail andtrembleduncontrollably.

Throughthetreessheheardthehorsewhinny.Thetrailcircledaroundtothenewfield,andthereshe could see the silhouette of the horse, lifting one hoof, then another, still harnessed to theoverturnedplow.

“Jack?Jack?”shecalled.Shemadeoutonlyshapesinthegloomyhalf-light,butshewalkedtowardthehorse.Therewasa

muffledgroan.“Mabel?”Shewantedtoruntowardthevoice,buttheroughgroundwouldn’tallowher.Stillshesawnosign

ofhim.“Here,Mabel.Here.”Shefollowedthesound,herheadbenttowardtheground,untilshenearlysteppedonhim.Helay

flatonhisback,hisfacetothedarkeningsky.“Whathappened?”“The horse. Drugme along. Hours ago.”Hiswords came through a slurry of dirt and blood.

Mabelkneltbesidehimandwithhersleevetriedtowipethemessawayfromhismouth.“Howdidthishappen?”“Blackbear.”“Here?”“Bythewoods.Ibustedabolton thedamnedplow,was tryingtofix it.Thehorsesawthebear

firstandstartedprancing.”Mabellookedtowardtheforest.“Gonenow.Don’tthinkitmeantusharm.Justambledout,likehedidn’tseeus.Itriedtogetfree

oftheplow.Thehorsespookedandflippedaroundonme,caughtmylegupinit.Pulledmethroughthedirt,tillIfellfree.Hopedhe’dbringthedamnedplowallthewayhome,soyou’dknow.Buthestoppedjustthere.”Jacktriedtositup,butgrimacedinpain.

“Wheredoyouhurt?”

“Damnneareverywhere.”Jacktriedtolaugh,butitcameoutasagravellycough.“It’smyback.”“WhatcanIdo?”“Unhitchthehorse.No,don’tbenervous.He’sallrunoutnow.”“Thenwhat?”“Thenwe’vegottogetmeonhimsoyoucanwalkushome.”“Canyoustand?”“Idon’tknow.”AfterJacktalkedherthroughit,sheunhitchedthehorseandledit towherehelay.Slippingher

armsbeneathhis,shetriedtohelphimofftheground.Hewasheavierthansheexpected,andshesankinthecoldmudunderhisweight.Hewrappedhisarmsaroundhershouldersand,groaning,gottohisknees.

“Christ.”Hesquintedtearsfromhiseyes.“Ishouldgoforhelp.I’llgetGeorge.”“No.Wecandothis.Here.”Heheldheraroundtheshouldersagainandshestoodwithhim,her

facecrushedintohismuddyshirt.“Easy.Easythere.Grabhisbridle.”WithonehandMabeltriedtoholdthehorsesteadywhileitjerkeditsheadaway.Jackfellfromher

andleanedintotheanimal’sside.“Jack,youcan’t.Howcanyoumounthimlikethis?”“I’vegotto.”Hegrabbedthemaneandcriedoutashehauledhimselfup,sprawlingbelly-down

acrossthehorse.“Whoa!Whoa!”Mabelfoughttokeepthehorsestill.Jackeasedonelegaroundsohestraddledthe

bare back, his head against the animal’s neck where the coat was stiff with dried sweat. Jack’sbreathinggurgled.

“Jesus,”hewhispered.“Jesus.”“Jack?ShouldIstartwalkingnow?”“Easy.Easydoesit.”Thewayhomewaslonganddisorienting.Mabelcouldn’tdiscerndistanceordepthinthemurky

light.Shecarriedtheshotguninonehandandledthehorsewiththeother.Wheneverthehorsetrippedorstumbled,Jackcriedout.Mabelwishedshehadaropeorlead.Severaltimestheanimalyankedthehalterstrapfromherhands,andshefeareditmightthrowJacktothegroundandbolthome.

“It’sOK,Mabel.Justtakeitslow.”SheledthehorsetothecabindoorandhelpedJackslideslowlytotheground,downtohishands

andknees.“Goon,”hesaid.“Takethehorsetothebarn.”“But—”“I’llgetmyselfinside.Go.”Assheledthehorseaway,shelookedoverhershouldertoseeJackcrawlingupthedoorstep.

AfocusedcomposurecameoverherassheheatedwaterandhelpedJackoutofhisclothes.Sheputawoolblanketonthefloorinfrontofthewoodstovesohecouldlietherewhileshewashedthebloodand dirt from his skin and hair. He grunted in pain occasionally, especially as she dabbed at theabrasionsacrosshisshoulderblades.Whatconcernedhermorewasthedeeppurplethathadbegunto

wellupacrosshislowerback.“Ishouldgoforhelp.”Heshookhishead.“Justgetmeintobed.”Shedecidedtoleavethesuperficialwoundsunbandaged,hopingthey’dhealfaster thatway,and

slidaclean long-underwearshirtoverhishead.Halfnaked,Jackwentonhandsandknees into thebedroom.Mabelhelpedhimontothebed.Latershebroughthimabowlofbrothandtriedtospoonitintohismouth,butheonlygrittedhisteethinpain.

She sat up late that night with a candle on the table and a cup of cold tea in front of her.OccasionallysheheardthebedcreakandJackmoan.Hehadshatteredbonesbefore—caughthishandbetweenpalletsatthefamilyfarm,brokehislegwhenahorserolledonhim—butshehadneverseenhimlikethis.Sheknewthepainwouldworsenbytomorrow.Shethoughtoftheemptyfieldsandthefranticpacehehadbeenworking,oftentwelvehoursatastretch,andstillhesaidhewouldnevergetitdone.Evenifhehealedquickly,thiscouldruinthem.

Mabelnever really slept thatnight.Heragitatedmindworked in relentlesscirclesofplantingdaysandcalculatedearnings,circlesthatalwayscamebacktoaplacewithnoanswers.Occasionallyshenoddedinthechair,onlytostartleawakeatthesoundofJack’scries.

Herpredictionwascorrect—hispaindoubleduponitselfthroughthenight,andbymorningJackcouldhardlyspeak.Shegentlyrolledhimontohissideandliftedhisshirt.Thebruisesrandeeptothebone.

“Myfeetarenumb,Mabel.”Hiswhisperwasdesperate.She smoothed her hand across his forehead and kissed himon the lips. She spokewith a calm

assuranceshedidnotfeel.“I’llberightback.”Shebroughthimwaterandsoftbread,thentoldhimshewouldbeoutsideforawhilefeedingthehorse.

Shehadsaddledahorseonlyafewtimesinher life,butshedecideditwouldbefaster thanthewagon.ShedidnotwanttoleaveJackalone,butliketheproblemsshehadworriedoverduring thenight,thereseemedtobenootheranswer.Shewouldgoforadoctor.

Despite the summer she had spent in town, she couldn’t recall where to find the doctor. Heprobablyhadaroomintheboardinghouseorsomewhereinthehotel.Afterthewearyingtwo-hourridefromthehomestead,Mabeldismountedandwalkedthehorsealongthedirtroadtothegeneralstore.JackhadalwaysspokenwellofJosephPalmer,theowner.Sherememberedhimasakindmanwithashortwhitebeardandquietmanner.

TheoldmanseemedembarrassedonMabel’sbehalfwhensheaskedafteradoctor.“Nodoctoraroundhere.NearestonewouldbeinAnchorage.You’dhavetocatchthetrainin.”“What?”“Wedon’thaveadoctor,dear.Neverhave,”herepeatedgently.“Youmustbejoking?Nodoctor?Isn’tthisatown,forGod’ssake?”Mabeltookaslowbreath,triedtofindsomesmallreservoirofstrengthinsideherself.Mr.Palmer

noddedasshetoldhimofJack’sinjuries.He’dknownmenwhotwisteduptheirbacks,anddoctorsnevercoulddomuchanyways.

“You’ve justgot to let time take its course. It’ll eitherheal, or itwon’t,” andhe said it as ifheregrettedthetruth,asifheknewwhathunginthebalance.

AsidefromtrainticketstoAnchorage,Mr.Palmercouldofferheronlyabrownglassbottle.

“Givehimabiteveryfewhours.It’lleasethepainandhelphimsleep,”hesaid.“Anddon’tworryaboutgivinghimtoomuch.I’veknownmenwhodrinkitregularlyanddon’tseemoverlyaffected.”

Mabelpaidandthankedhim.Assheturnedtowardthedoor,hespokeagain.“Itmightnotseemproper,butyoucouldconsidergettinghimafewjarsofdrink.TedSwanson,

ontheothersideofthetracks,downbytheriver.Hecouldhelpyou.ItmightdoJacksomegood,mixabitofthatinalcohol.Idon’tusuallymakesuchrecommendations,butitsoundsasifhe’sinneed.”

Laudanumandmoonshine—allthisplacecouldofferherinjuredhusband.Shemountedthehorseandgallopedtowardtheirhomestead,tooangrytobefrightened.

CHAPTER23

Stickycottonwoodbudscrackedopenbeneathblueskiesandthemudinthefields turnedtomoist,rich soil, butMabel’s grief seemed beaten over and dusty and all too familiar. Something akin tohungerorthirstclungtothebackofherthroat,andsheconsidereddrinkingsomeofJack’slaudanumbutdidn’t.Backlitbythebrilliantsun,thecabinwasdarkandcool.Shedidn’tlightthefire,butkeptcandlesburning.Inthebedwhereshenolongerslept,Jacklayinastupor,callingoutonlywhenthepainkillerworeoff.ShethoughtofwhatEstherhadtoldheraboutmoose,howtheyoftenstarvedtodeath just as spring arrives. Having lived through the depths of winter, the long-legged animalswallowintheheavy,wetsnowandsuccumbtoexhausteddespair.

Shewasalone.Thestronghusbandwhohadcaredforherwasacrumpledmanwhosobbedinthenightandbeggedhertoleavehim,togobackhomeandfindanewlifewithouthim.Thelittlegirlshehadbeguntolovehadvanished,anotherchildlost.Sittinguprightinthechair,shesleptinbrief,intenseboutsatoddhoursanddreamedofabloody,stillborn infantandpuddlesofsnowmelt.Thefairytalefromhersister ’s letterhauntedherdreams.“WheneverIdoknowthatyoulovemelittle,thenIshallmeltawayagain.BackintotheskyI’llgo—LittleDaughteroftheSnow.”

WhenMabelwoke,shecouldnotevengrieveherdreams.Therewastoomuchtobedone:caringfor thehorse, haulingwater, helping Jack to amakeshift chamber pot, cookingmeals, even if shealoneatethem.Fatiguedistortedhersenseoftime,andoftenshedidnotknowwhetheritwasdayornight,duskordawn.

Oneafternoon,whenthenightmareswouldnotleaveher,shewentoutsideandblinkedagainstthesun.Shethrewbreadscrapstothewildchickadeesandpinegrosbeaksandtalkedtothemasiftheycouldunderstand,buttheyonlyscatteredatthesoundofhervoice.Shewenttothepastureandstrokedthehorse’ssoftmuzzle.Shewanderedintothetreesandpickedtheboughsofhighbushcranberries,and,with the tinywhiteblossomsclasped inherhands, she lethereyessearch for thegirl,but thewoodsweresilent.Shethoughtoftheblackbearandthewolves.SheonlyhadtogetJackwellenoughtotravel,andthentheywouldleavethisplace.Therewasnothingforthemhere.

“Hello!Hello!Anyoneatthehomestead?”Withthesuninhereyes,shecouldn’tmakeoutthefigureonhorseback.Themandismountedand

removedaburlapsackfromhissaddlebags.ItwasGeorge.ReliefnearlybuckledMabel’sknees,andwhenheofferedherhisarm,shetookitgratefully.

“Sotheoldmanislaidup,eh?”HeledherindoorstoachairandbegantakingclinkingMasonjarsfromthesack.Helinedthem

uponthetable,eachjarsparklingwithclearliquid.“Now,don’tgivemethatlook,Mabel.Neverbeenabetterexcusethanabrokenback.Sowhereis

he?”MabelpointedtothebedroomwhereJackslept.“Hecan’twalkonhisownyet,”Mabelwhispered.“Andwhenthelaudanumwearsoff,thepainis

unbearable.”Georgeshookhisheadsidetosideandclickedhistonguesoftly.“Damn.He’snotuptosnuff,is

he?”

“No,George.No,heisnot.”Shestoodandbeganputtingthejarsofmoonshineontoashelfinthekitchen,asifitmadesomedifference.

“Assoonasheiswellenough,I’llscheduleourtravel,”shesaid.“AndIknowhewillwantyoutohaveanyofourtoolsandequipment,andofcoursethehorse.Wewon’tbeabletotakeanyofitwithus,I’mafraid.”

“Mabel?”“Wecan’tstayhere.Youmustseethat.”“You’releavingthehomestead?Forgood?”“Wewerebarelykeepingitgoingasitwas,George.Andthere’sjustthetwoofus.Ithasbeena

fantasticadventure,cominghere.Butnowit’stimeweacceptedourlotandwenthome.”“Youcan’t justwalkaway.You’vedonesomuchworkwiththeplace.There’sgot tobeanother

way.”Georgeglancedtowardthebedroom.“Howlong’shebeenlikethis?”“Morethanaweek.”“Andhowmuchhadhegottendoneonthefieldsbeforehegothurt?”“Hewasstilljustpreparingthem.”“Nothing’sbeenplanted?”Mabelshookherhead.“Goddamn—excusetheFrench.It’sjustahelluvablow,isn’tit?”“Yes,George.Ittrulyis.”Hewasunusuallyquietashemountedhishorse.“We’llsaygoodbyebeforewego,”Mabelcalledtohimfromthecabindoor.“TellEstherthank

you,foreverything.Youweretrulythemostwonderfulneighborswecouldhavehopedfor.”Georgeglancedbackather,shookhishead,androdeoffwithoutaword.Mabelwascertainhis

lookwasreproachful.

She was emptying the basin behind the cabin later that afternoon when she heard a wagonapproachingonthedirtroad.Shehurriedindoorsandbegantohidethelinensandunderwearshehadbeenwashing.

“Don’tdothatonouraccount.”MabelheardEsther ’slaughatthedoor.“Oh, Esther!” She was surprised to find herself hugging her, then pressing her face into her

friend’sshoulderandsobbing.“Goon.Goon.Youhaveyourselfacry.”Estherpattedherontheback.“Thereyougo.”Mabelpulledaway,smiled,andwipedherface.“Lookatme.I’mamess.Whatanawfulwayto

greetavisitor.”“Iwouldn’texpectanythingelse.Poorwoman,herefordaysonyourowncaringforabanged-up

man.Strongastheyare,they’relikechildrenwithpain.Nobirthingtotoughenthemup,Isay.”Estherlooked Mabel straight in the eye when she said this, and there was no wince of regret orembarrassment.ItwasasifEstherknewexactlywhatmemoriessheconjured,andMabelunderstood—shehadgonethroughlabor,ifonlytodeliveradeadchild.Shehadsurvivedthat,hadn’tshe?Itwasasifshehadreachedintoherownpocketanddiscoveredasmallpebble,ashardasadiamond,thatshehadforgottenbelongedtoher.

“WherethehellamIsupposedtoputthis?”Garrettstoodinthedoorway,glaringoveraheapofparcelsinhisarms.“Watchyourmouth.Andputitwhereveryoucanfindroom.Thengogettherest.”“Whatisallthis,Esther?”“Supplies.”“Butwedon’t…didn’tGeorgetellyou?”“Aboutyourharebrainedplantoditchus?Oh,hetoldmeallright.Wefinallygetsomeinteresting

friendsandyouthinkwe’regoingletyougowithoutafight.”“Butweareleaving,sowedon’tneedanyofthis.”Mabeldroppedhervoicetonearlyawhisper.

“Andhonestly,Esther,wedon’thavethemoneytopayforit.”Garrettstompedbyanddroppedanotherarmloadonto the table.As theboymarchedby,Esther

pretendedtoslaphimonthebackofthehead.Despiteherself,Mabelsmiled.“Don’tworry about themoney.Everybodyheard about yourpredicament and threw some stuff

together.Nothingfancy,butit’llkeepyouforawhile.”“Idon’tknowwhattosay.It’stoomuch…toogenerous.”“Well,wemightnothaveadoctoraroundhere,butwedohaveafewkindheartsamongus,”and

Estherwinkedoverhershoulderasshebeganunloadingboxesandsacks.“Oh,I’mappalledatmyself!Ididn’tmeananythingbyit.Iwasjustsofrustrated.”“Noharmdone.OldManPalmerwastooimpressedbyyourridingskillstobeoffended.Hesaid

he’d never seen a lady gallop in such a gentlemanly way. Garrett, put those bedrolls over there,behindthewoodstove.Keepthemoutofthewayfornow.”

“Bedrolls?”“Didn’tImention?We’removingin.Theboyandme.Wemightbeabossy,ill-temperedpair,but

youcan’tcomplainaboutfreehelp.”“Help?WithJack?”“WithJack.Withtheplanting.You’vegotusfortherestoftheseason,oruntilyougetsickofus.”“Esther—no,no.Wecan’tallowthis.”“Can’t allow it? I don’t think you understandwho you’re up against here, dear heart.We’ll be

plantingthosefields,Garrettandme.Youcaneitherhelporgetoutoftheway,butwe’llbedoingit.”HervoicewasdrownedoutbytheruckusofGarrettdraggingahorsetroughthroughthecabin

door.“Cripe’ssake,Ma.Whatthehelldidwebringthisfor?”“Ifyouweren’tworkingyour jaw,you’dbegetting the jobdone.Bring itonoverhere,by the

woodstove.”“Don’tyouthinkthey’veprobablygotatroughortwooftheirown?”Hesarcasticallyrolledhis

eyestowardthebarn.“Notlikethisone.”Thehorsetroughwassparklingcleanandtookupmostofthestandingroombythewoodstove.

MabelhadthecomicrealizationthatshewaswatchingherhousebeingturnedintoaBensonhome,quarrelsandclutterandall.

“Garrett,haveMabeltakeyououttothefieldsoyoucantakealookattheplow.Seeifitneedsanyfixing.Goon,Mabel.Somefreshairwilldoyougood,andI’lltakecareofthingshere.”

Theboywassullenandunresponsiveontheirwalk,andMabelsoonlefthiminthefieldtoworkontheplow.Despiteanigglingguilt,shetookthelongwaybacktothecabin.Sheinhaledthegreenscentofnew leavesandstudied the sharp linealong themountaintopswherewhite snowmet leafyforest.ThensherememberedshehadmissedJack’sdoseoflaudanum.

“Backalready?You shouldhave stayedgoneabit.Yourwater ’snotdoneyet.”Estherdippedafingerintoagiantpotonthewoodstove.Shehadproppedopenthecabindoortolettheheatescape.Mabelhurried to thebedroom. Jack’shairwasdampandcombed,andhe smiledmeeklyupatherfromthepillow.

“Shegavemeabath,”hesaid.“Estherdid?”Henoddedaswellashecould.Pillowsandblanketsproppedhimupinapeculiarposition,with

hiskneesbentandseparated.“Areyoucomfortable?”Hesquintedself-consciouslyandthennodded.“Believeitornot.”“I’msorryImissedyourdoseofmedicine.”“Esthergaveittome,withanipofsomethingstronger.”“Hurry on out here,” Esther called from the other room, “before the water gets cold or that

adolescent son of mine comes back.” She was dumping the pot of steaming water into the horsetrough.

“Usually it’d be the other way around, ladies first, but I wanted to get those wounds clean aspossible.You’regettingsomefreshwaterontopofthat,though.”

Mabelwantedtorefuse,totellEsthershehaddonetoomuch,butshestrippedandclimbedintotheknee-deephotwaterwhileEstherstoodguardatthedoor.

“Takeyourtime.It’snoteverydayyou’regettingabathlikethat.”Beside themakeshift tubEsther had placed a chair that held a cleanwashcloth, a bar ofmilled

soap,andabottleoflavender-scentedshampoo.Thewaterwasalmostunbearablyhot,butMabelletherselfsinkuntilevenherheadwassubmergedandheruntiedhairfloatedaroundher.Eachtimeshestartedtogetoutofthetub,Estherorderedherbackin,soshesoakeduntilthewaterwastepidandtheskinonherfingersandtoeswrinkled.Whenshefinallydidgetout,thesunhaddisappearedbehindthemountainsand left theperpetual twilightofasummernight.Estherwrappedher ina towelandfluffedherhair.

“There.Nowwe’regettingsomewhere.Dinnerwillbereadysoon.Getsomecomfortableclotheson.Nothingfancy.Justsomethingtosleepin.IexpectGarrettwillbegoneuntillate,lookingatthefields.He’snotkeenonbunkingwithtwooldwomen,buthe’llgettiredeventually.”

Withbothofthemwearingnightgowns,EstherservedMabelblackbearstewhotfromthestoveandfreshbiscuits.Thenshespreadoutthreebedrolls.

“Ifiguredyou’dbeensleepinginachairfordaysnow.Iknowhowitiswhenyou’vegotasickonetossingandturninginyourbed.Butthesearen’tsobad.Ievenbroughtyouacleanone.Comeon

now,”andshecrawledbeneathhercoversandpattedthebedrollbesideher.Mabelfounditanunexpectedrelieftorestherheadonapillow,tobecleanandfedandnotalone.“So,doyoureallythinkwecanmanagethis?”shewhisperedfrombeneathhercovers.“Youand

Garrettandme?Plantingourwholefarm?”“Iwouldn’tbehereifIdidn’tthinkwecoulddosomething.”“Butwhataboutyourownplace?”“George’s got Bill and Michael there to help, and we’d planned on hiring a couple of the

youngstersfromtowntohelpwithplanting.We’vegotagoodportiondonealready.”“Idon’tknowhowtothankyou.”“We’renotthereyet.”Thetwowomenweresilentawhile,andthenEstherspokegently.“Andwhatofyourlittlegirl?”“She’sgone,Esther.”ShereachedoverandfoundMabel’shandandsqueezeditonce.“SweetMabel,”shesaid.“Isupposenowthatyou’regettingsomesunshineandfreshair,sheisn’t

comingaroundanymore.”Mabel didn’t answer, only stared at the ceiling for a long time. She thoughtEsthermight have

fallenasleep,andshehadnearlydozedoffherselfwhenshebegantolaugh,quietlyatfirst,butthenlouder.

“What’stickledyourfunnybone?”“You reallygave Jackabath? I canhardlybelieve it,”Mabel said. “Hismother.Myself. Idon’t

thinkanotherwomanhasever…”“I’vebeenmarriedforthirtyyearsandhavethreesons.Whenyou’veseenone,you’veseen’em

all.”ThetwowomenweregigglingwhenGarrettwalkedinthedoor.“What?What’ssofunny?”heasked,buthissternfaceandblushingcheeksonlymadethemlaugh

harder.

VoicesrolledoverJackinwavesthatlefthimnauseousandconfused,sohelethimselfsinkbackintothe thick liquidof laudanumandmoonshine. Itwas awarm,blackplace,without past or futureormeaning. Later, when he woke to quiet shadows, his head was clear and thudding. He didn’tunderstandthelaughterhehadheardbefore.ThenherememberedEsther,helpinghimnakedintoahorsetroughofhotwater.Painburnedaholethroughthecenterofhisbackandradiatedupthroughhischest,andhesobbed.Hestuffedafistintohismouthtostifleit,andhesobbedandsobbed.Self-pity.That’swhatthiswas.Itwasn’tthesearingnervesandmusclespasmsthattorehimapart.Itwashislifereducedtouselessburden.

“Jack?”Awhisperfromthebedroomdoor.“Youneedingsomething?”Heswallowedhardandwipedhismouthwiththebackofhishand.“Timeforanotherdose?”Itwasn’tMabel.“Esther?You’rehere?”“Shhh.Givingyourwifeabreak.Drink this.”Shehadmixed laudanumandmoonshine ina tin

cup, and he drank it down in a noisy gulp. She took the cup, then with a handkerchief wiped thewetnessfromhiseyesandcheeks.

“Thistooshallpass,Jack.Iknowitdoesn’tseemlikeitnow,butitwill.MeandGarrettareheretohelp,andMabel’s tougher thanshe letson.This isn’tallonyour shouldersnow.You’vegot somehelp.Youunderstand?It’sgoingtobeallright.”

ButJackwasseekingoutthatdeep,opaqueplacewheresoundandpainandlightaremuted,whereamandoesn’thavetoputwordstohisdespairbecausehisnumbtongueanduselesslipscan’tspeakanythingatall.

CHAPTER24

Esther insistedonbeingJack’sprimarynurse,slowlyreducing the laudanumdosesand increasingthe length of his daily walks. First, just to the kitchen table. Then to the outhouse so at least hewouldn’thavetouseachamberpot.

“You’retooeasyonhim,Mabel.He’sgottogetupandmove.It’stheonlywaythosemusclescanstarttoworkagain.”

“Buthe’sinsomuchpain.”“At somepointhishurt isdeeper thana soreback.Doyouknowwhat I’msaying? It’s amore

terriblekindofhurt,akindthatopiumanddrinkonlymakeworse.He’sgottogetonhisowntwofeet.He’sgottoseehislandandhelpusmakesomedecisionssothatheknowsit’sstillhis,evenifhecan’tgethishandsinthedirt.”

SowhileGarrettshowedMabelhowtocutseedpotatoessoeachpiecehadoneeye,EstherspentthemorningwalkingJackaroundthefields.Mabelcouldn’tbeartowatchhisslowshuffle.Itwasasifhehadagedacenturyinamonth.Hisfacewasgauntandhisbackbent.Whenhisfootcaughtonarootorrut,hewouldgruntandstandinoneplace,hiseyesclosedandhisjawmusclesclenchingandunclenching.Shewouldhavebeenashamedtoadmitittoanyone,butshewasgladtositintheyardwithGarrett,tocutseedpotatoesratherthanescortingherhusbandonhisagonizingwalk.

Andtheboywasn’tsuchterriblecompany.Esthersaidhewaschafingatthehumiliationofhavingtoworkanotherman’shomesteadwith twooldwomen.He thinkshewants tobeamountainman,Esthersaid,thatfarmingisbeneathhim.Buthe’sagoodboy.Heworkshardwhenheputshismindtoit.

Mabel observedGarrett’s resentment; he stomped in and out of the cabin and sulkedwhen hismother orderedhimaround.Butwhen shewas alonewith him, the boywas less petulant.Hewas,actually,patientand instructive,anddidnotpatronizeher.Neveroncedidhesay,“Now,watch thatknife”or “Mindyoudon’t cut yourself.”HeassumedMabel coulddo thework, and so she could.Soonshewasalmostasfastashewaswiththeparingknife.

Thesunclimbedhigher in theskyandwarmedthe topofMabel’sheadwhileshe tossedthecutseed potatoes into the burlap sack between them. Itwas lunchtime, and she didn’t knowwhere themorninghadgone.Theboyfollowedherinsideandhelpedherfixamealofcoldslicedmoosesteakand yesterday’s bread.AfterEsther helped Jack back into bed, the three of them ate quicklywhilestandinginthekitchen,Mabel’shandsstillsmudgedwithdirtandherdresssleevespushedup.

Whentheywentouttoloadthewagonwiththeseedpotatoes,Mabelfollowed.Itwasonlyasshehandedaheavyburlap sack toGarretton thebackof thewagon that sheappreciatedwhat shewasdoing—farmwork.Theboytooknonoticeofherpause,butgrabbedthebagsandhoppeddown.AsEstherdrovethewagontowardthefield,MabelandGarrettfollowedbehind.

“Maybenoneofmybusiness,”hesaid,“butthatdressmightgetinyourway.Youdon’thaveanytrousersoranything,doyou?Momalwayswearsoverallswhenshe’sworking.”

“No,Idon’thaveanythinglikethat.Thedresswillhavetodo.”Garrettlookedskepticalbutkeptwalking.Esther dropped sacks of seed potatoes up and down the field, then harnessed the horse to a

cultivatortoformtherows.GarrettandMabelfollowed.Theboyshowedherhowfaraparttoplantandhowdeeptodigtheholebeforedroppinginthecutpotato,followinghertoscoopdirtoverthetopandlightlypat.Astheyworked,theydraggedtheburlapsackalongwiththem.

Afteratimetheworkbecamemethodicalandrhythmic,andMabel’smindwandered.Sheplantedwithbarehandsandthoughtofsoil,warmandcrumblingbetweenherfingers,andofsproutingplantsanddecayingleaves.Shestood,shookoutherskirts,bentagaintowardtheearth,duganotherhole,droppedinapotato,thenanotherhole,anotherpotato.Shepressedherhandintothedirtmound,likealittlegrave.

Hereinthepotatofield,thecolorsweretoosharpandfullofyellowsunandbluesky.EventheairwasdifferentthanbackinPennsylvania,drierandcleaner.Timehadpassed,morethanadecade.Yetassheknelthere,Mabelwasbackthere.Pewtermoonlight.Thepathsoftheorchard.Roughgroundbeneathherknees.Adeadchildtwodaysburied.

She rememberedhowshehad left Jackasleep inbed towanderoutofdoors inhernightgown.Weakenedandbruisedbyherlonglabor,shedidn’tknowwhatledherdownthegraveldrivetotheorchard,wherethetreesstoodbrownandleaflessinthebluemoonlight.

Thatiswherehewouldhavedugthegrave,inthegroundhisfamilyhadfarmedforgenerations.Shecrawledbetweenthetrees,herkneesandpalmsscraped.Whenshefoundnothing,shestoodandfeltapainful tinglinginherbreastsandsuddenlymilktrickleddownherfront,wethernightgown,dribbledontoherbelly,spilleduselesslytotheground.

Icannotsurvivethisgrief,shehadthought.

“AreyouOK?”

Garrett’sshadowfellacrossherface,andshedidn’tknowhowlongshehadbeenthere,kneelinginthedirt.

“Yes.Yes. I’m fine,”Mabel said.Shewipedher dirtyhandsonher dress. “Iwasonly recallingsomething.”

WhenshelookedupatGarrett,theboy’seyeswidened.“Are you sure you’re all right? Because… well, because you don’t look so good.” The boy

gestured toward her face.A few tearsmust have run down her dirt-smeared cheeks, and the lineswouldlookghastly.

“Pleaseforgiveanoldwoman’sweepiness,”shesaidandbegantosearchforsomethingtowipe

herface.Garrettstoodstaring.“Surelyyou’veseenawomancrybefore.”Heshrugged.“No?Perhapsnot.Icertainlycannotimagineyourmotherblubberingabout.”“Shouldwegoback?Doyouneedarest?”“No.No.Justsomethingtowipemyface.”Theboysearchedhispocketsforahandkerchief,andfindingnothing,heunrolledthesleeveof

hisworkshirtandheldupthecuff.“It’skindofdirty,butyou’rewelcometoit.”Mabelsmiledandblottedhereyeswithhisshirtsleeve.“Thankyou,”shesaid.Astheboyturnedtoreachfortheburlapsackathisfeet,Mabelcaughthissleeveagainandheld

hisarmwithbothhands.“I’vebeenwantingtoaskyousomething,Garrett.”“Yesma’am?”“Didyouevercatchanotherfox,afterthatsilverone?”“No ma’am, never did,” he said. He studied her thoughtfully. “Are you wanting a fox ruff?

Because if you are, I’ve got a few pelts left over from last year. I’m sure Betty could sew yousomething.”

ButMabelwasalreadybendingtotheearthtodiganotherhole.

Shehadsurvived,hadn’tshe?Evenwhenshehadwanted to liedownin thenightorchardandsinkintoagraveofherown,shehadstumbledhomeinthedark,washedinthebasin,andinthemorningcookedbreakfastforJack.Shehadputawaythedishesandscrubbedthetableandcounters.Shehadbakedbread.Shehadworkedandtriedtoignorethepainfulswellofherbreastsandtheemptycrampofherwomb.Andthenshehaddonetheunthinkable;shehadenteredthenurseryandputherhandsontheoakcrib,theoneJackhadsleptinasachild,andhismotherbeforehim.Shetouchedthepastelquiltshehadsewn,andthensorrowcollapsedherintotherockingchair,whereshesatwithherarmsacrosshersaggingbellyandrememberedhowithadbeentohaveanotherpersongrowinginsideher.

Whenshehadthestrength,shebegantofoldthetinyclothesandblanketsandclothdiapersandputthem into plain brown boxes. She didn’t stop working, but the sobs came and distorted her face,blearedhereyes,madehernoserun.Shedidn’thearJackcometothedoor.Whenshelookeduphewaswatchinghersilently,andthenheturnedaway,uncomfortable,embarrassedbyherunharnessedgrief.Hedidn’tputhishandonhershoulder.Didn’tholdher.Didn’t sayaword.Even thesemanyyearslater,shewasunabletoforgivehimthat.

Attheendoftherow,Mabelstood,putherhandstothesmallofherback,andstretched.Herhemwassoiled,herhandsdustyandtired.Shelookeddownthefieldandsawhowmuchtheyhaddone.Garrettslappedhishandsonhispantlegs.

“One row down,” he said. “ ’Bout a thousand to go.” And the boy gave her a half smile, hiseyebrowsraisedasiftoask“Areyoustillin?”

Mabelnodded.“Onwardho?”sheasked.Garrettraisedahand,likeaconqueringexplorer.

“Onwardho!”AsEstherroundedarowandheadedbackdownthefield,sheslowedthehorseandgaveawaveto

the twoof them.Mabelwavedback.Abreezestirred the loosestrandsofhairaroundher faceandwickedawaythesweat.Theskyoverheadwascloudlessandbrilliant.Inthedistance,beyondthetrees,shecouldseethewhitemountainpeaks.Sheliftedherskirtsandsteppedovertherowtheyhadjustplanted.Garrettpulledtheburlapsacktoherandtheystartedagain.

Theyworkeduntilduskandarrivedbackatthecabinwellpastdinnertime.Jackhadlitthelanternsandwasfryingsteaks.

“What’sallthis?”Esthersaid.Sheinhaleddeeplyandgrinned.“Somethingsmellsmightygood.”“Can’tdomuch.ThoughttheleastIcoulddoisfeedmyhelp.”Hesmiledlikeamanatfault.

Thenextdayswereablurofpotatoes,earth,sun,andachingmusclesaseachrowofplantingwentby.Jackdidwhathecouldbutmostlystayedinthecabinandfixedmeals.Intheeveningseveryonewastootiredtotalk.Theboynoddedoffatthedinnertablewithhischinproppeduponhisdirtyhands.Bythetimenightfell,Mabelwasnumbwithfatigue.ShehadneverunderstoodhowJackcouldfallasleepinachairwithoutwashingup,talkingtoherabouthisday,orevenremovinghisfilthyboots.Nowsheknew.Yetforallthesoremusclesandmonotony,thedaysofworkinginthefieldsfilledherwithakindofprideshehadneverknown.Shenolongersawthecabinasrough,butwasgratefulattheendofthedayforwarmfoodandabedrollonwhichtocollapse.Shedidn’tnoticeifthedisheswentunwashedorthefloorunswept.

“Ithinkwe’vedoneit,Jack,”Estherannouncedoneafternoon,handsonherhips.“Iknowyouhadplans todomore thisyear, toget some lettuceandsuchplantedalongwith thepotatoes.But Iwasthinking,we’vegotthepotatoesinthegroundandwe’llseewhathappens.”

Jacknoddedinagreement.Maybeitwouldbeenoughtogetthemby.“Wewouldn’tbehereifitweren’tforyoutwo.”Hisvoicewasgravellyandgenuine,buttherewas

adimnessbehindhiseyesthatremindedMabelofshame.“Idon’tknowhowwe’lleverrepayyou.”Estherwavedhimoffimpatiently,andsaidsheplannedongoinghomethatevening.“It’sbeenahoot,butI’mreadytosleepinmyownbed,snoringhusbandandall.You’reshaping

up,Jack,andIthinkGarrettcanmanagethefields.Nope—noifs,ands,orbutsaboutit.GeorgeandIhavetalkeditout.Garrettworksbetterherethanheeverdidathome,andourplanting’sdone.Youcanfixhimaplaceinthebarntogethimoutofyourhair.Thenyoutwocanhaveyourplacebacktoyourselves.”

Itwas time,yetMabeldreaded it. Jackwasadifferentman,unsteadyandunsure.Shecouldnotforget how, during theworst of it, he had cried and begged her to leave him.And then,while hehobbledabout,shehadgoneintothefieldsandworkedwithanewstrengthandsurety.WithEstherandGarrettgone,sheandJackwouldonceagainshareabed,andshewonderedifitwouldbelikesleepingwithastranger.Jacklookedathersadly,asifhecouldreadherthoughts.

AfterdinnerEstherleftandMabelshowedGarretttothebarnloft.Hebroughthisbedroll,andsheoverturnedawoodenboxforhimtouseasanightstand.Thereshesetalantern,aswellasanalarmclockandabook.

“WhiteFang,byJackLondon.Haveyoureaditbefore?”“Noma’am.”“Please,justcallmeMabel.Ithinkyou’lllikethisone,butifitdoesn’tsuityou,I’vegotdozensof

otherstochoosefrom.”Shewasgoingtowarnhimtobecarefulwiththelantern,butthoughtbetterofit.Hehadtreated

herasanequal,soshewouldtrytodothesame.“Comeinsideifyouneedanything,evenifit’sjustcompany.”“Yesma’am…Imean,Mabel.”“Garrett,therewasoneotherthingI’vewantedtoaskyou.”“Yes?”“Whenyouwereouttheretrappinglastwinter,didyoueverseeanythingunusual?Tracksinthe

snow?Anythingyoucouldn’texplain?”“Youmeanthelittlegirl,don’tyou?Iheardabouther.”“And?Didyoueverseeanysignofher?”Theboygaveaslow,disappointedturnofhishead.“Nothingatall?Ever?”“Sorry,”hesaid.

Itwas a coldnight, and Jackhad started a fire.Thedirtydisheswere left piled in thekitchen, andMabelsatinachairinfrontofthewoodstoveandstretchedherfeettothewarmth.Shewasmoretiredthan she could ever remember being.Hermuscles ached and hummed.When she closed her eyes,tilledrowsstretchedtothehorizon.Shedriftedalongtheearth.

“Mabel.You’refallingasleep.Cometobed.”Jackrubbedhershoulders.“Thishasbeentoomuchforyou.”“No,no.”She lookedupathim.“It feelswonderful toshare in thework, tofeel likeI’mdoing

something.Todaymightverywellhavebeenoneofthebestdaysofmylife…”Hervoicetrailedoffassheunderstoodwhatshewassaying.Jacknoddedwithoutspeaking.

Sheputonhernightgownandgotintobed.Jack,strippedtohislongunderwear,satontheedge.“Jack?”“Hmmm?”“Wearegoingtobeallright,aren’twe?Imean,thetwoofus?”Hegroanedasheeasedhisfeetontothebed.HerolledonhissidetofaceMabel,reachedtoher,

andranhishanddownherunbraidedhair,againandagain,withoutspeaking.Mabelsawtearsinthecornersofhiseyes,andsheproppedherselfonanelbow.Sheleanedtohimandkissedhimonhisclosedweteyelids.

“Wewill,Jack.Wewillbeallright,”andshecradledhisheadinthecrookofherarmandlethimcry.

CHAPTER25

Thatsummerwasafarmer ’sblessing.EvenJackcouldseethat.Atperfectintervalstheskiesrainedandthesunshone.Ofhisownaccord,Garrettplantedrowsofvegetablestosupplytherailroad,andtheplantsflourishedinthefields.

Jack’sbackstillgavehimtrouble,andthereweremorningswhenhehadtoslideoutofbedtothefloor andcrawl to thebureau topullhimself to a standingposition.Hishandsand feet sometimeswentnumb,andotherdayshisjointsswelledandached.Hesuspectedamorningwouldcomewhenhewouldn’tbeabletogetoutofbedatall.

But in the evenings, when the snow-capped mountains went periwinkle in the twilight of themidnightsun,hewouldwalkthefieldsalone,andhisstepwaslighter.Hewouldgodowntheperfectrows of lettuce and cabbage, their immense leaves green and lush. The earthwas soft beneath hisbootsandsmelledofhumus.Oftenhewouldscoopsomeofthesoil inhishandandrunhis thumboverit,marvelingatitsrichness,andsometimeshewouldpullaradish,rubitcleanonhispants,andbite into itwith a satisfying crunch, then toss the greens into the trees. From there hewouldwalkdowntothenewfieldwherethepotatoplantshadgrownthighhighandhadjustbeguntoflower.Ithardlyseemedthesamestretchoflifeless,bone-bruisinggroundthehorsehaddraggedhimacrosslastwinter.

HeowedthistoEsther,heknew,andtheboy.Garrettstaggeredthelettuceandradishcropssotheywerereadywhentherailroadneededthemweektoweek.Heweededandhilledthepotatoes.Heknewwhich kind of fertilizers worked and which didn’t, so Jack didn’t have to trust the salesman inAnchoragebutcouldgoonrealexperience.

Even at fourteen the boywas a dependable farmer, but his heartwasn’t in it.With permission,Garrett would leave for days at a time, taking his horse, a rifle, and a knapsack. Sometimes hereturnedwith thepackfullofrainbowtroutorsprucegrousefordinner.OncehebroughtMabelabeadedmoosehide pouch sewn by an Athabascan woman upriver. Other times he came back withstoriesofamountainwaterfallhehaddiscoveredoragrizzlybearhehadseenplayingonapatchofsnow.

“Thatbearwasjustlikealittlekid,runningtothetopandslidingdown,thenbackuptothetop.”

Oneevening,thesummersunglintingdownthevalley,GarrettaskedtojoinJackonhisstrollaroundthefields.

“I’llbringagun.Maybewe’llrunintoagrouseortwo.”Jackwasself-consciousabouthisslowpaceanddisinclinedtogiveuphissolitude.Also,hedidn’t

caremuchfortheboyshootinggameonthefarm.Jackhadspookedagrouseortwoonhiswalks,andheenjoyedtheburstofexcitementitgavehimwhenthebirdflappednoisilyupfromhisfeetandthensettled,plumpandruffled,onasprucebranch.Hesaidnothinginhopestheboywouldtakethehint,butGarrettdashedtothebarntogethisshotgun.

“We’llbeback inabit,” Jack saidoverhis shoulderashewalkedout thedoor,buthedoubtedMabelhadheard.Shewasbentoverthetable,workingonthesewingprojectthathadconsumedher

evenings,andhefeltarushofaffectionforher.It humiliated him at first, knowing shewasworking the farm in his place. Now,with summer

mostlygone,heknewhisstepwaslighterinpartbecauseofher.Shewasnolongeralostsoul—shewasright therebesidehim, thesamedirtonherhands, thesame thoughtsonhermind.Howmanyrowsofredsshouldweplantnextyear?Doweneedtolimethenorthfield?Whenthenewhenstartslaying, shouldwe letherhatchadozenor so?The fateof it all, the farm, theirhappiness,wasnolongerhisalone.Lookwhatwe’vedone,shesaidtohimonemorningasshepointedtotherowsofradishes,cabbage,broccoli,andlettuce.

Shotguninthecrookofhisarm,GarretttrotteddownthedirtroadandcaughtupwithJack.“We’llprobablyneverseeanotheryearlikethis,”theboysaid.Heshookhisheadindisbeliefashelookedoutoverthefield.“Canyoubelieveit?Wewantrain,itrains.Wewantsun,thesunshines.”

“It’sbeengood.”Jackbentandpulledtwoplants.HehandedaradishtoGarrett.Theybothwipedthemontheirpantsandsilentlyatethem.

“Can’tthankyouenoughforeverythingyou’vedonehere.”Jacktossedhisgreensintothetrees.“It’snothing.”“No,itissomething.”They followed the trail that led to the new field.Garrett led theway, carrying his shotgun and

kickingatdirtclods.Whatareyoufeedingmyboyoverthere?Estherhadjoked,andJack,too,hadnoticedthatGarretthadshotupseveralinchesduringthesummer.Hehadlostsomeoftheboyhoodsoftness in his face, and his jawline and cheekbones were more prominent. His mannerisms hadmaturedaswell.HelookedJackintheeye,spokehisopinionsclearly,andrarelyhadtobeaskedtodosomething.Georgedoubtedit,saidtheyweretookindtospeaksoofhisyoungestson,butduringtheirvisitshe eventually saw the change, too.Maybewe shouldhave sentourothersover aswell,George said and laughed. But Jack suspected the boy could only come into his own without hisbrothers loomingoverhim.Therewas even some sign thatGarrett tookpride in theworkhehaddonehereattheirhomestead.

Thetrailranalongtheedgeofthefieldandpastaswathofblackspruce.Thewaningdaylightdidnotpenetratefarintothespindly,densetrees,andtheairwasnoticeablycoolerintheirshadow.Itwassuchathinline,justawagontrail,thatseparatedtheforestfromthetidygreenofthefield,andJackwasthinkingoftheworkthathadgoneintoitwhenGarrettstoppedinthetrailandbrokedownhisshotgunasiftoloadit.Jacklookedpasthim.Ittookamomentforhiseyestofocus,andjustastheydid,Garrettdugacartridgefromhispocketandthumbeditintothebarrel.

“No!Wait.”Jackputhishandontheboy’sback.“Don’t.”Garrettlookedathimoutofthecornerofhiseyes,andtookaim.“Isaiddon’tshootit.”“Thatfox?Whynot?”Garrettsquintedindisbelief,thenswepthiseyesbackdownthegunbarrel,

asifhehadmisheard.Thefoxranoutofthewoodsandcrouchedinthetrail.Jackcouldn’tbesure—oneredfoxfromanother.Butthemarkingslookedthesame,theblackears,near-crimsonorangefur,theblack-sockedfeet.Itwasallhehadleftofher.

“Leaveitbe.”“Thefox?”“Yes,forChrist’ssake.Thefox.Justleaveitbe.”Jackshovedthegunbarreldown.

The animal took its chance and darted into the potato field. Jack glimpsed the fluffy red tailbetweentheplants,andthenitwasgone.

“Areyoucrazy?Wecouldhavehadit.”Garrettbrokedowntheshotgun,pulledoutthecartridge,andstuffeditinhispocket.TheireyesmetandJacksawaflashofirritation,maybeevencontempt.

“Look,Iwouldn’thavemindedbut—”“He’llbeback,youknow.”Garrett’sshort,disrespectfultonesurprisedJack.“We’llsee.”“Theyalwaysare.Nexttimehe’llbepickingthroughyourdumppileorsniffingaroundthebarn.”

Garrettwalkedahead,andas theycircled thefieldhewatchedwhere thefoxhadrunbutdidn’tsayanything.Itwasn’tuntiltheynearedthehousethathespokeagain.“Itdoesn’tmakeanysense,lettingitgetaway.”

“Let’sjustsayIknowthatone.Heusedtobelongtosomebody,”andJackfoundthewordshard.“Belonged?Afox?”TheynearedthebarnandJackwantedthetalkdoneandGarrettofftobed,but

theboystoppedinfrontofthedoor.“Whodiditbelongto?”“SomebodyIknew.”“There’snobodyelsearoundhere formiles…”Hisvoice trailedoff andhe turned to thebarn,

thenbackagain.“Wait.It’snotthatgirl,isit?TheoneIheardMomandDadtalkingabout?TheoneMabelsayscamearoundlastwinter?”

“Yep.Thatwasherfox,andIdon’twantanyoneshootingit.”Garrettshookhisheadandexhaledsharplyouthisnose.“Isthereaproblemwiththat?”“No.No,sir.”IthadbeenalongtimesincehehadcalledJacksir.Jackwalkedtowardthehouse.“It’sjust…therewasn’treallyagirl,wasthere?”Jackalmostkeptwalking.Thiswasn’taconversationhewantedtohave.Hewastired.Hisevening

hadbeendisturbed,andhewishedhehadstayedputathomeinfrontofthewoodstove.ButhefacedGarrett.

“Yes.Therewasagirl.Sheraisedthatfoxfromapup.Itstillcomesaroundsometimes,andit’sneverdoneanyharm,onlytakenwhatwe’veoffered.”

Againtherewastheshakeoftheheadandthesoftsnort.“There’snoway.”“What?Raisingafoxfromapup?”“No.Thegirl.Livingbyherselfaroundhere,inthewoods.Inthemiddleofwinter?Shewouldn’t

standachance.”“Youdon’tthinkapersoncoulddoit?Liveoffthisland?”“Oh,somebodycould.Aman.Somebodywhoreallyknewwhathewasdoing.Notmany,”andhe

saiditasifhewereoneofthefew.“Certainlynolittlegirl.”Garrettmusthaveseena lookpassoverJack’sface,becausehisconfidenceseemedtofalter.“I

mean,I’mnotdoubtingwhatyouthinkyousaw.Maybethere’sjustanotherwaytoaccountforit.”“Maybe.”Jackwalkedslowlytowardthehouse.Hedidn’twaitforGarretttosaymore,butashe

nearedthedoorheheardhimcallout,“Goodnight.AndtellMabelgoodnight,too.”Withoutturningaround,Jackheldupthebackofhishandinabriefwave.

“Nicewalk?”Mabel’seyeswereonhersewing.Shehadlitalanternandintheweaklightwasbentclosetothefabric.Jackeasedoffhisbootsandwenttothebasintowashhishands.Hesplashedthecoldwateroverhisface,too,andthendriedhisfaceandthebackofhisneck.

“How’sthesewingcoming?”“Slowbutsure.Ijusthadtoripoutafewseams,soI’mpullingmyhairoutrightnow.”Sheput

downherwork,satbackinthechair,andstretchedherneck.“Didyoutwohaveanicewalk?”“Itwasallright.Quieteronmyown.”“Yes.He’sbecomequiteatalker,hasn’the?ButIdoenjoyhim.Andheisahardworker.”“Yes.Heis.”Jackstokedthewoodstoveandaddedalog.Nightswerecoolernowasautumnapproached.“Sowhathaveyoubeensewingonoverthere?”“Oh,justalittlesomething.”“Asecret?AChristmaspresent,then,isit?”“Notforyou.Notthisone,”andMabelsmiledupathim.“Well,whatthen?”“Oh,nothingreally…”andheknewshewantedtotellhim.“Comeon.Outwithit.You’relikeacatwithagoldfishinitsmouth.”“All right, then. It’s for Faina.Anewwinter coat. I think I’ve figured out how to do the trim.”

Mabelstoodandheld thepiecesof thecoat in frontofher, laying theblueboiledwoolacrossherfrontandalongherarmsasifitweresewntogether.Thenshepickedupafewstripsofwhitefur.

“ForFaina?”“Yes.Isn’titbeautiful?Thisisrabbitfur.Snowshoehare,actually.IaskedGarrettforit.Itoldhim

Iwasworkingonasewingproject.Hesaidthiswasthesoftest,anditis.Feelit.”So this iswhat she’d spent her time on these past few days. This iswhat kept her up at night,

sketchinginherlittlenotebook,smilingandlighthearted.Hewantedtoyankthethingfromherhandsandthrowittothefloor.Hefeltsick,lightheadedeven.

“Don’tyoulikeit?Yousee,Inoticedlasttimewesawher,howhercoatwasfrayedandworn.Andshehadnearlyoutgrownitlastwinter.Herwristswerestickingout.Iwasn’tsureaboutthesize,butItried to remember how tall she had beenwhen she was sitting in this chair, and how narrow hershoulderswere.”

Mabelspreadthecoatonthetableandpickedupsomespoolsofthread.Herfacewasradiant.“It’llbelovely.Iknowitwill.IjusthopeIcanfinishitintime.”

“Intimeforwhat?”“Forwhenshecomesback.”Shesaiditasifitwereasplainasthenoseonhisface.“Howdoyouknow?”“Knowwhat?”“ForChrist’ssake,Mabel,she’snotcomingback.Can’tyouseethat?”Shesteppedback,herhandsathercheeks.Hehadfrightenedher,butthenhertemperflaredinher

eyes.“Yessheis.”Shefoldedthecoatandbeganstickingpinsinthelittletomatopincushion,hermovementsquick

andangry.Jacksatinthechairbythewoodstove.Heputhiselbowsonhiskneesandcradledhisheadinhishands,hisfingersinhishair.Hecouldn’tlookatMabel.Heheardherinthekitchen,clatteringdishesandslammingcups,andthenwalkingtothebedroomdoor.Thereshestopped.Hedidnotraisehishead.Shewasoutofbreath,hervoicehushedbutsharp.

“Sheiscomingback.Anddamnit,Jack,Iwon’tletyouoranyoneelsetellmedifferently.”Shecarriedthelastlitlanternwithherintothebedroom,leavingJackaloneinthedark.

CHAPTER26

SnowhadcometoMabelinadream,andwithithope.Hercoatasblueashereyes,herwhitehairflashingassheskippedandspundownmountainslopes.Inthedream,Fainalaughed,andherlaughterranglikechimesthroughthecoldair,andshehoppedamongthebouldersandwhereherfeettouchedrock,iceformed.Shesangandtwirleddownthealpinetundra,herarmsopentothesky,andbehindhersnowfellanditwaslikeawhitecloakshedrewdownthemountainsassheran.

WhenMabelwoke thenextmorningand lookedout thebedroomwindow,shesawsnow.Justadustingacrossthedistantpeaks,butsheknewithadbeenmorethanadream.

Thechilddidnothave todie.Maybeshewasn’tgone from themforever.Shecouldhavegonenorth,tothemountains,wherethesnownevermelts,andshecouldreturnwithwintertoheroldmanandoldwomanintheirlittlecottagenearthevillage.

Mabelonlyhadtowishandbelieve.Herlovewouldbeabeacontothechild.Please,child.Please,child.Pleasecomebacktous.

Nomatterhowsheturneditoverinhermind,Mabelalwaystracedthechild’sfootstepsbacktothenightsheandJackhadshapedherfromsnow.Jackhadetchedherlipsandeyes.Mabelhadgivenhermittensandreddenedherlips.Thatnightthechildwasborntothemoficeandsnowandlonging.

Whathappenedinthatcolddark,whenfrostformedahalointhechild’sstrawhairandsnowflaketurnedtofleshandbone?Wasitthewaythechildren’sbookshowed,warmthspreadingdownthroughthecold,browthencheeks,throatthenlungs,warmfleshseparatingfromsnowandfrozenearth?Theexactscienceofonemoleculetransformedintoanother—thatMabelcouldnotexplain,butthenagainshecouldn’texplainhowafetusformedinthewomb,cellsbecomingbeatingheartandhopingsoul.Shecouldnotfathomthehexagonalmiracleofsnowflakesformedfromclouds,crystallizedfernandfeather that tumbledownto lightonacoatsleeve,whitestarsmeltingevenas theystrike.Howdidsuchforceandbeautycometobeinsomethingsosmallandfleetingandunknowable?

Youdidnothavetounderstandmiraclestobelieveinthem,andinfactMabelhadcometosuspecttheopposite.Tobelieve,perhapsyouhadtoceaselookingforexplanationsandinsteadholdthelittlethinginyourhandsaslongasyouwereablebeforeitslippedlikewaterbetweenyourfingers.

Andso,asautumnhardenedthelandandsnowcreptdownthemountains,shesewedacoatfora

childshewascertainwouldreturn.Mabel ordered several yards of boiledwool, and then in a giant kettle dyed it a deep blue that

remindedheroftherivervalleyinwinter.Theliningwouldbequiltedsilk,andthetrimwhitefur.Itwouldbesturdyandpractical,butbefittingasnowmaiden.Thebuttons—sterlingsilverfiligree.Theycame froma shop inBoston, and she had saved them for years in her button jar, never finding apurposeforthemuntilnow.Thewhitefurtrimshewouldsewaroundthehoodanddownthefrontofthe coat, along the bottom, and around each cuff. Snowflakes, embroideredwithwhite silk thread,wouldcascadedownthefrontandbackofthecoat.

SheretrievedhersketchbookandacopyofRobertHooke’sMicrographia:OrSomePhysiologicalDescriptions ofMinute BodiesMade byMagnifyingGlasses. Itwas one of the few natural historybooksofherfather ’sthatshehadbroughtwithher,andshethoughtofitoneeveningassheworkedonFaina’scoat.Theoldbookcontainedillustrationsofmagnifiedimages,andasachildMabelhadbeenparticularlyenamoredofthefoldoutcopperplateengravingofalousewithallitsspindlylegs.Butsheremembered,too,thattherehadbeendrawingsofsnowflakes.

“Exposing a piece of blackCloth, or a blackHatt to the falling Snow, I have oftenwith greatpleasure,observ’dsuchaninfinitevarietyofcuriouslyfigur ’dSnow,thatitwouldbeasimpossibletodrawtheFigureandshapeofeveryoneofthem…”andbesidethesewordsHookehadincludedhissketchesofadozensnowflakes, loopedandfeathered,starsandhexagons.Mabelcopiedseveralofthedesigns.Then, frommemory,she tried to re-create theoneshehadseenonhercoatsleeve thenightsheandJackmadethesnowchild.

Shefollowedasimplecoatpatternshehadorderedfromacatalog.Intheevenings,evenwhenitwasstillbrightoutside,thetreesandroofeaveskeptthesunlightfromcominginthroughthesmallcabinwindows,soshelitalampandunfoldedthefabriconthetable.Followingthepatternofferedakindofcomfort,aquietbalancetoworkinginthefieldsduringtheday.Thefarmworkwascoarse,exhausting, and largely a matter of faith—a farmer threw everything he had into the earth, butultimatelyitwasn’tuptohimwhetheritrainedornot.Sewingwasdifferent.Mabelknewifshewaspatientandmeticulous,ifshecarefullyfollowedthelines,tookeachstepasitcame,andobeyedtherules,thatintheendwhenitwasturnedright-sideout,itwouldbejusthowitwasmeanttobe.Asmallmiracleinitself,andonethatlifesorarelyoffered.

Asmuchassheenjoyedthesewing,itwasintheembroiderythatshewouldexpresshernewhope,each stitch adevotion, each snowflake a celebrationofmiracles.The first she chose to createwasFaina’s, the one the child had held in her bare hand—a star with six perfect points, each with anidenticalfernpattern.Betweenthefernsthepointsofasmallerstaroverlapped,andatitscenter,thehexagonalheart.

Mabelwasbentover theembroideryhoop inherhands,hernosea few inches from the fabric,when Jack came in from feeding thehorse.Shedidn’tmind that he stayedout later and later eachevening,thoughshewonderedwhyheavoidedher.Itwashisirritabilitythatgaveherpause.

“Iseverythingallright?”sheaskedasshelookedupfromherneedleandthread.Henoddedinherdirection.“Iseeitfrostedlastnight,”shesaid.“Willwegetallthepotatoesoutofthegroundsoonenough?”Anotherbrusquenod.“IsGarrettoff tobed? Ihadmeant togivehimanotherbook to read. Iwas thinkingofanother

JackLondon,orperhapsTreasureIsland. If hedoesn’t finish it in time, he can always take itwithhim.”Mabelbit the thread inhalfandheld theembroideredsnowflakeatarm’s length to inspect it.ShecouldshowittoJack,butitwouldonlymakehimangry.Thecoat,thesnowflakesketches,alltalk

ofFainacausedhimto tightenhisshouldersandstopspeaking.Shecouldhaveaskedwhy,but shefearedtheanswer.Leaveitbe,hewasfondofsaying,andsoshedid.

Aweeklater,thelastofthepotatoeswereinburlapsacks,andtheywoketoaskiffofsnowacrosstheland,butitwasearlyandthin.Bymiddayitwouldbegone,andMabelwascertainitwouldbeseveralweeks before winter came to stay. All the same, the sight of it delighted her. She quickly fixedbreakfastforJackandGarrettandthenputonhercoatandboots.

“Whereareyouoffto?”Jackaskedashescrapedthelastforkfulofeggandpotatofromhisplate.“IthoughtI’dgooutforawalk,justtoseethesnow.”Jacknodded,butinthetiredcreasesaroundhiseyes,shesawhismisgivings.Thatshewassoonto

bedisappointed.ThatFainawouldnotreturn.Thatthechildwasn’tthemiracleMabelwishedhertobe.

Mabel buttoned up her coat to the neck and pulled on a hat and work gloves before steppingoutside.Itwaswarmerthanshehadexpected.Alreadythecloudshadclearedandthesunwascomingthroughthetrees.Thecottonwoodsandbircheshadlosttheirleaves,andthenewsnowlayalongthebranches in thinwhite lines.Her boots tracked the snow as shewalked, uncovering dirt, brownedgrass, andyellowed leaves.Past the barn and the cottonwood, the fieldswere unbrokenwhite. Shethought she would walk to the river or follow the wagon trail to the far fields, but then sheremembereditwasGarrett’slastday.Hewasgoingbackwithhisfamilyforthewinter,andalthoughtheywouldsurelyseehimduringthenextmonths,itstillseemedagoodbyeofsorts.Shemeanttolethimchooseabooktotakewithhim.

Whenshereturned,Garrettwaswashingthedishes.“No.Noyoudon’t.Notonyourlastday.”Mabelhunghercoatonthehookbesidethedoor.“What

willweeverdowithoutyou,Garrett?”“Idon’tknow.Icouldstayinstead.”“Idon’tthinkyourmotherwouldagreetoit,”Jacksaid,stackingtheplatesbesidethewashbasin.

“She’sreadyforheryoungesttocomehome.”Garrettlookeddoubtfulbutseemedtobitehistongue.Hehadgrownandchangedthesepastfew

months.Hehadtakenonmuchoftheresponsibilityofthefarm,andintheeveningstheytalkedaboutcrop varieties and weather patterns, books and art. Mabel no longer sat outside the circle ofconversation. She was as eager to discuss the type of turnips they would plant as to describe themuseumsshehadvisitedinNewYork.

Whowouldthinkthatanadolescentboywouldhaveanythingtoteachanoldwoman?ButitwasGarrettwhohadledherintothefieldsandcloser tothelifeshehadpicturedforherself inAlaska.She could think of noway to explain that to him.With amother like Esther, surely he could notimagineawomandoinganythingagainstherwill,orworseyet,notknowingherownwill.ItwasasifMabelhadbeen living inahole,comfortableandsafeas itmighthavebeen,andhehadmerelyreacheddownahandtohelpherstepupintothesunlight.Fromthereshewasfreetowalkwhereshewould.

“Garrett,Iwasthinkingyoucouldborrowabooktotakehomewithyou.Onlyifyouwouldliketo,ofcourse.”

“CouldI?Youwouldn’tmind?I’llberealcarefulwithit.”“Ofcourseyouwill.That’swhyI’moffering.”Mabelledhimintothebedroomandkneltonthe

floortopulloutthetrunk.“Here, I canget that.”Heeasily tugged it out fromunder thebed. “This is full of books?This

wholething?”“Thatone,andafewothersaswell.”ShelaughedatGarrett’ssurprise.“Youshouldhaveseenmy

father ’slibrary.Aroomnearlythesizeofthiswholecabin,linedwithshelvesandshelvesofbooks.ButIcouldbringonlyafewofthemwithme.”

“Doyoumiss’em?”“Thebooks?”“Andyourfamily?Andeverythingelse?Itmustberealdifferentthanhere.”“Oh, sometimes Iwish I had a certain bookor couldvisitwith a certain friendor relative, but

mostlyI’mgladtobehere.”MabelopenedthetrunkandGarrettbeganpullingbooksoffthestacksinside.

“Takeyourtime.Yourmotherisn’texpectingyouuntildinner.”Shestoodanddustedoffherskirt.ShewasatthedoorwhensheheardGarrettsay,“Thankyou,Mabel.”

Shethoughtofexpressingherowngratitude,oftryingtoexplainwhathehaddoneforher.“You’rewelcome,Garrett.”

CHAPTER27

DearestAda,Congratulationsonyournewgrandchild.Whatablessing!Andtohavethemallsonear.

Itmust bewonderful to hear thepitter-patter of all the children’s feet on theoldwoodenstairswhentheycometovisit.IwassosorrytohearofAuntHarriet’spassing,butitsoundsasifshelefttheworldthebestwayanyofuscan,quietlyandatanoldandrespectableage.Allyournewsofthefamilywasapreciousgifttome.

Wearewellhere,andItrulymeanit.IknowyouthoughtusmadtomovetoAlaska,andforsometimeIwonderedthatmyself.Thispastyear,however,hasmadeupforitall.Ihavebeguntohelpmorewiththefarmwork.Imagineme—theonetheyalwayscalled“timid”and“delicate”—in the fields digging up potatoes and shoveling dirt. But it is a wonderfulfeeling,todoworkthatreallyseemslikework.Jackhastransformedthisuntamedstretchofland thatwecallhome intoa flourishing farm,andnowIcanclaimasmallhand in itaswell.OurpantryshelvesarestockedwithwildberryjamsandjarsofmeatfromthemooseJackshotthisfall.Oh,Idosometimesmiss“BackEast,”astheycallithere,andcertainlymyheart longs toseeyouandeveryoneelse in the family,butwerecentlydecidedweareheretostay.Ithasbecomeourhome,andJackandIhaveanewwayoflifeherethatsuitsuswell.

I am sending youa fewofmy recent sketches.One is of the strawberrypatch I am soproudofandthatfilledmanyastrawberrypiethispastsummer.Theotherisoffireweedinbloom along the riverbed. In the background you can see the mountains that frame thisvalley.The last isofa snowflake Ihad thepleasureofobserving thispastwinter.Severaltimes I have redrawn this single snowflake, as I never seem to tire of its infinitesimalelegance.

Tuckedamongthesepagesisalsoapressedcranberrybouquet.Thesmallwhiteflowersareeasilyoverlookednowthattheyaredried,buttheyaresolovelywhentheyfillthewoodsin thespring.And Iamsendingapairofbooties forSophie’snewbabydaughter.The furtrimis fromasnowshoehareaneighborboyprovidedtome.Ihopetheyreachyoubeforeshehasoutgrownthemaltogether.

Iexpectwewillsoonhavesnow.Themountainsarewhiteandthemorningshaveachill,andIlookforwardtoitscoming.

Sincerely,yourlovingsister,Mabel

CHAPTER28

WintercamehardandfastatthetailendofOctober.Itwasn’ttheslow,wetsnowthatmarksagentleendtoautumn,butinsteadasudden,grainysnowstormblownbyacoldriverwind.Justafterdinneritwasalreadymidnight-dark,andJackandMabellistenedtothestormknockagainsttheircabin.JacklookedupfromgreasinghisbootsbythewoodstoveandMabelpausedinhersewingatthekitchentable.Theknockcameagainandagain,louder.Atlast,Jackwenttothedoorandopenedit.

Hehadthemomentarynotionthatwhatstoodbeforehimwasamountainghost,abloodstained,snowyapparition.Fainawastallerand,ifpossible,thinnerthanheremembered.Herfurhatandwoolcoatwere covered in snow, and her hair hung like damp, fraying rope.Dried blood streaked herbrow.Jackcouldnotspeakormove.

Thegirltookoffherhat,shookthesnowfromit,andlookedup.It’sme.Faina.Shewasslightlybreathless,buthervoice,evenandcheerful,brokehisspell.Hetookthechildin

hisarmsandheldher,rockingonhisheels.Faina?Faina.DearGod.You’rehere.You’rereallyhere.Hewasn’tsurewhetherhespokethewordsaloudoronlyheardtheminhishead.Thenhepressed

hisbeardintoherhairandsmelledtheglacierwindthatblowsoverthetopsofthesprucetreesandthebloodthatcoursesthroughwildveins,andhiskneesnearlygaveway.Withonearmstillaroundhershoulders,hepulledthegirlintothecabinandclosedthedoor.

MyGod,Mabel—andheknewhesoundedshaken—it’sFaina.She’shere.Atourdoor.Oh,child.Iwonderedwhenyou’dcome.Mabel,calmandsmiling.Howcouldshestandsoassuredlywhenhe,agrownman,wasstaggered

bythesightofthegirl?Whydidn’tshecry,runtothechild,evenfallatherfeet?Mabelstoodbehindherandbrushedthesnowfromhershoulders.Lookatyou.Justlookatyou.Mabel’seyesglistenedandhercheekswerebright,butshedidnotshriekorbawl.Fainabeganto

unbuttonhercoat,andMabelhelpedheroutofit,shookoffsnow.There.Nowletmesee.Sheheldthegirlatarm’slength.Iknewyou’dhavegrown.Grown?SurelyMabelhadlosthermind.Notalkof theblood, thechild’sdesperateappearance,

hermonths-longabsence.Jacktouchedthegirl’schinandturnedherfaceuptohis.What’shappenedtoyou,Faina?Areyouallright?Oh,this?Thegirllookedatherhands.Iwasskinningrabbits,shesaid.Hereyeswerewide,expectant.I’mhere,shesaid.I’vecomeback.Ofcourseyouhave.Ofcourse,andMabelsaiditeasily,asiftherehadneverbeenadoubt.How…butJack’swordswerelostasMabelusheredthegirltothetable.

Iknewitwouldbesoon,shesaid.That’swhyI’vehurriedso.Ijustfinishedtonight.Butwait.I’mrushingaheadofmyself.Youneedtowashupandgetsettled,yes?

Fainasmiledandheldoutherhands.Theywerecold-chafedandstained,eachfingernailrimmedwithblood,butMabelmerelycluckedlikeamotherhen,asifitwereabitofdirtsmudgedonaboywhohadplayedinthemud.Shetuckedhersewingprojectontooneofthechairs.

Well,let’ssee,shesaid.Ihadwateronthestovealreadyfortea.Thereshouldbeenoughtowashwith.

Faina smiled shyly. Before long, Mabel was sitting with her, washing her hands in soapy,lukewarmwater,wipingher facewithawashcloth.Jackstoodbeside thewoodstove,bewilderedasmuchbyhiswife’s calmasby the child’s appearance.WhenMabel left toget something from thebedroom,JackstrodetoFaina’sside,kneltatherchair,foughttheurgetoembraceheragain.

Hepointedtothebloodywaterinthebasinandspokemoresternlythanheintended.Whatisallthis?Wherehaveyoubeen?Whathashappenedtoyou?Jack,don’tpesterherso,Mabelsaidfrombehindhim.She’stiredtothebone.Letherrest.Fainastartedtospeak,butMabelshushedhergentlyandheldthemirrorupforthechildtosee.Everything’sfinenow.You’rehere,safeandsound.Andyoulookbeautiful.It was true. The child was alive andwell, here in their cabin. Garrett had doubted it was even

possible,andJackfeltarushofprideinher.Shehadsurvived,againstallodds.Whatdoyouthink?MabelaskedJack,turningFainatofacehim.Thechildstretchedoutherarmsandgazeddownat thenewcoat. Jackhadneverseenanything

likeit.Itwasthecoolblueofawintersky,withsilverbuttonsthatglistenedlikeiceandwhitefurtrimatthehoodandcuffsandalongthebottomedge.Butthecoat’ssplendorcamefromthesnowflakes.Thevaryingsizesanddesignsgavethemmovement,sotheyseemedtotwirlthroughthebluewool.Itsstrangebeautysuitedthechild.

Lovely,hesaid,andhehadtochokebackhisemotionatthesightofthelittlegirlinthesnowflakecoat,comehomeatlast.

Howaboutyou?heasked.Doyoulikeyournewcoat?Thechilddidn’tspeak,butseemedtofrown.Faina?Oh,dearchild,it’sallright,Mabelsaid.Ifyoudon’tlikeit,it’sallright.It’sjustacoat.Thegirlshookherhead,no,no.Really. It’s nothing. If it’s too tight, I canmake another. If it’s too big, we can set it aside for

anotheryear.Don’tfret.Youdidthis?Fainawhispered.Youmadethis,forme?Well,yes.Butit’snothingbutfabricandafewstitches.Thegirlsmoothedherhandsdownthefront,overthesnowflakesfallingonebyone.Doyoulikeit?Inanswer,thegirlleapttoMabel’sarmsandturnedtorestherheadagainstMabel’sshoulder,and

inthechild’ssmilingfaceJacksawsuchaffection.Iloveitmorethananything,shesaidagainstMabel’sarm.Oh,youcouldn’tmakemehappier.Mabelstoodandheldthechild’shandsinherownandlooked

herupanddown.Itdoesfitwell,doesn’tit?Thegirlnodded,thenglancedtowhereheroldcoathung.Iwasthinking,Faina.PerhapsIcouldtakeyouroldcoatandmakeitintoablanketforyou.That

way,you’dstillhaveit.Wouldthatbeallright?I’dhavetocutitintopieces,butthenIcouldsewthem

backtogetherintoanicenewblanket.Really?Youcould?AndI’dstillhaveit?Oh,yes.Mostdefinitelyyes.

Mabel was giddy and talkative as she cooked dinner, not allowing Jack or the child to speak ofanythingexceptthejoyofbeingtogether.Maybethatshouldhavebeenenough.Maybeheshouldhavebeengrateful,withoutaskingformore.

Itwasonlywhenthecabinbecameoverheated,withthewoodstoveandsteamfromcooking,whenthegirlseemedtowiltinherchair,onlythendidJacksensesomeripplebeneaththesurface,somedoubt or fear inMabel’s desperate happiness. She dashed to the door and brought in a handful ofsnow.Shedabbedittothegirl’scheeksandforehead.

There,there.It’smuchtoohotinhere.There,there.Jackputthebackofhishandtothechild’sforehead,butshewascooltothetouch.Isuspectshe’sjusttired,Mabel.Butshecontinuedwiththesnow,puttingsometothegirl’slips.Toohot,toohot,Mabelmurmured.Please,getsomemoresnow.Jackopenedthedoortotheswirlingstorm,driveninalldirectionsbythewindofftheriver.Itwas

amiserablenight.She’dbesoakedthroughinnotime,andthewindwouldsuckawayanylastheat.Hewouldnotletthegirlleave,nottogobacktothatcold,lifelesshovelinthemountains.

You’llstayheretonight,hesaidashebroughtinanotherhandfulofsnow.Mabelfrowned.Willshe?Yes.Hespokewithmoreconfidencethanhefelt.Thegirlsatforwardinherchair,herblueeyesnarrowedandfierce.Iwillgo,shesaid.Nottonight,hesaid.You’llstayherewithus.Ohyes,youmust,child.Can’tyouhearthatwindblowing?Youcansleepinthebarn.Jackwonderedathiswife.Thebarn?Whywould she suggest sucha thing? Itwas freezingout

there,nearlyascoldasbeingoutdoors,butshepersisted.You’llbecomfortable,shesaid.Weevenhavealittlebedroommadeup,fortheboywhohelped

usthissummer.It’sperfectlycozyandoutofthewind.Fainawasonherfeet.WhenshelookedatJackshedidn’tspeak,butitwasasifshewereshouting.

Youpromised.Youcan’tkeepmehere.Hewonderedwhathecoulddo.Physicallyholdthechild,forcehertostayagainstherwill?She

wouldfightlikeatrappedpolecat.Shewouldhitandscream,maybeevenbiteandscratch,ofthathehadnodoubt,andhewouldbeleftfeelingabeasthimself.

Buthecouldnotlethergobacktothelonelywildernessafterstumbling,bloodstained,intotheirhome. If she were injured or killed, when he could have kept her safe, he would never forgivehimself.

Fainahadalreadyfastenedtheshiningsilverbuttonsonhernewcoat.Pleasedon’tbeangry,shesaid.Can’tyouhearthewind?Jacksaid.

Thechildwasalreadyatthedoor.HewaitedforMabeltoprotest,eventobeg.Allright,shesaid.Ifyoumustgo,youmust.Butyou’llbeback,won’tyou?Promisetoalways

comeback.Solemnly,asifswearinganoath,thechildsaid,Ipromise.Jackwatchedherleave,anditseemedlikeadisturbingdream,thechildwithherblood-smeared

brow and twisted blond hair and snowflake coat, and hiswife, composed and accepting.He stoodsometimeatthewindow,staringintothenight.BehindhimMabelbustledwiththedishesandsewingscraps.

“Howcouldyouhaveknown?”heasked.“Hmmm?”“Howcouldyouhaveknownshewascomingback?Now?Ever?”“It’sthefirstsnow.Justlikethatnight.”Jacklookedather,slowlyshookhishead,notcomprehending.“Don’t you remember? The nightwhenwe built the snow child. Snowflakes as big as saucers.

Remember?Wethrewsnowballsateachother.Thenwemadeher.Youcarvedherlovelyface;Iputonhermittens.”

“Whatareyousaying,Mabel?”Shewenttohershelvesandbroughtbackanoversizedbookboundinblueleather,adornedwith

silvergilding.“Here,” she slid it across the table toward him. “You won’t be able to read it, though. It’s in

Russian.”Jackliftedthebook.Itwassurprisinglyheavy,asifthepagesweremadeofleadratherthanpaper.

Heflippedthroughtheillustrations,impatient.“Whatisthis?”“It’sastorybook…”“Icanseethat.What’sthattodowith—”“It’saboutanoldmanandanoldwoman.Morethananythingtheywantachildoftheirown,but

theycan’thaveone.Then,onewinternight,theymakealittlegirloutofsnow,andshecomestolife.”Jack felt a stomach-turningsinking,as ifhehadstepped intobottomlesswet sandand tryashe

mightcouldnotgetbackontofirmground.“Stop,”hesaid.“Sheleaveseachsummer,andcomesbackwhenitsnows.Don’tyousee?Otherwise…shewould

melt.”Mabellookedalittlefrightenedatherownwords,butshedidn’tfalter.“Jesus,Mabel,whatareyousaying?”Sheopenedthebooktoanillustrationoftheoldmanandoldwomankneelingbesideabeautiful

littlegirl,herfeetandlegsboundinsnowandherheadcrownedinsilverjewels.“See?”shesaid.Shespokelikeanurseatabedside,calmandknowing.“Yousee?”“No,Mabel.Idon’tseeatall.”Heslammedthebookclosedandstood.“You’velostyourmind.

You’retellingmeyouthinkthatlittlechild,thatlittlegirl,issomesortofspirit,somesortofsnowfairy.Jesus.Jesus.”

Hestompedtotheothersideofthecabin,wantingtoescapebutunable.Mabelgentlypulled thebookbackandslidherhandsupanddownthe leather.Shewasshaking

slightly.“Iknowitsoundsimplausible,butdon’tyousee?”shesaid.“Wewishedforher,wemadeherin

loveandhope,andshecametous.She’sourlittlegirl,andIdon’tknowhowexactly,butshe’smade

fromthisplace,fromthissnow,fromthiscold.Can’tyoubelievethat?”“No.Ican’t.”HehadtheurgetotakeMabelbytheshouldersandshakeher.“Whynot?”“Because…becauseIknowthingsyoudon’t.”Nowshelookedfrightened.Sheheldthebooktoherchest,herlipspursedandtrembling.“Whatdoyouknow?”“JesusChrist,Mabel,Iburiedherfather.Hedrankhimselftodeathinfrontofthatpoorchild.She

beggedhimtostop.Sheputherlittlehandstohisface,tryingtowarmhimevenashewasdyinginfrontofher.Herownfather.AllthosedaysIwasgone?WheredidyouthinkIwas?Iwasupthere,inthemountains,tryingtohelpher.Diggingagoddamnedgraveinthemiddleofwinter.”

“Butyounevertoldmethis.”Asifhewaslying,inventingthisawfultaletoproveherwrong.Sotightlysheheldontoherillusions.Jackclenchedhisjawagainandagain,feltthemuscleworkashebitbackhisanger.

“Shemademepromisenottotellyouoranyoneelse.”Itsoundedsoweak.Agrownmanmakingapromiselikethattoalittlegirl.He’dbeenafool.

“Whataboutamother?”“Dead,too.Whenshewasjustababy.”Hewasoldandtiredandcouldn’thollersuchthingsinan

argument.“Ithinkitmusthavebeenconsumption.Fainasaidshediedofacoughingsickness,intheAnchoragehospital.”

Shestaredblankly.Herheadnoddedslightly,alltheblooddrainedfromherface.Hewenttoher,kneltbesideherchair,tookherhandsinhis.

“Ishouldhavetoldyou.I’msorry,Mabel.Iam.I’dlikeittobetrue,thatshewasours,thatshewasawildernesspixie.Iwouldhavelikedthat,too.”

Shewhisperedthroughherteeth,“Wheredoesshelive?”“What?”“Wheredoesshelive?”“Inasortofcabindugintothesideofthemountain.It’snotthatbad,really.It’sdryandsafe,and

she has food. She takes care of herself.” Hewanted to believe that the child was tough and sure-footed,likeamountaingoat.

“Byherself?Outthere?”“Ofcourse,Mabel,”hepleaded.“Whatcouldyouhavethought,thatwhenshewasn’therewithus

shewassomekindofsnowflake,asnowchild?Isthatwhatyouthought?”Sheyankedherhandsfromhisandstoodwithsuchforcesheknockedherchairover.“Damnyou!Damnyou!Howcouldyou?”Herangerstartledhim.“Mabel?”Heputhishandsonhershoulders,thinkingtoholdher,buthe

couldfeeltheheatofherfurythroughthefabricofherdress.“Howcouldyou?Lether liveout there, likeastarvinganimal?Motherless.Fatherless.Starving

forfoodandlove.Howcouldyou?”Sheshovedherwaypasttothecoathooks.“Mabel?Whatareyoudoing?Whereareyougoing?”Hetookherbyanarm,butshepushedhim

away.Shewrappedascarfaroundherneck,pulledonglovesandahat,thentooktheoillanterndownfromitshookabovethetable.

“Mabel?Whatareyoudoing?”Hestoodthereinhissockedfeetassheslammedthedoorbehindher.

Shewouldcomeback.Itwasnight,anditwassnowing.Shecouldn’tgofar.Shedidn’tknowtheway,hadrarelyleftthehomesteadexceptbyawagonhedrove.

Butthesilenceofthecabinunnervedhim.Helitanotherlantern,pacedat thedoor.Theminutestickedbyon the oldwooden clockon the shelf. Finally he put onhis coat andboots and took thelantern.Outsidethesnowwasthick.Itfellsodenselythathecouldseenomorethanafootortwoinfrontofhim,andMabel’strackshaddisappeared.

CHAPTER29

Mabel ranwithout seeing,her facewetwith tearsandsnow,her feet tripping.The small circleoflantern light swungwildly among the snowy trees. For some time all she didwas run toward themountains, and of that she wasn’t even certain, but she did not stop. Her skirt dragged in thedeepeningsnow,sprucebranchesrakedatherface,andmorethanonceshenearlyfell,butshefeltneithercoldnorpain.Allsheknewwastherushofbloodinherearsandahotragethatwitheachstepbegantocooltoasortofgrievingstupor.

She slowed as the landdipped into a ravine and the treesgaveway toovergrownbushes, theirthick branches lying across the earth like something set to snare her. She climbed under and overthem,thelanternswayinginonehand.Noneofthemgrewtothesizeofatree,butneitherweretheyliketheblackberrybramblesbackhome.Somelimbswereasthickasherleg,anddrybrownleavesclungtomanyofthebranches.Mabelgrabbedatoneandbroughtherhandawaywithaclusteroftinycones.Scatteredamidthesebushesweredevil’sclubs,bareoftheirbroadgreenleavesbutnotoftheirspines.Inplacesthelimbsandshrubsweresoentangledthatherchesttightenedinpanic—whatifshecouldn’tfindherwayout?

At last the ground climbed slightly, and Mabel again found herself among spruce, birch, andscatteredcottonwood.Shestoppedandlookedbackthewayshehadcome.Therewasnosignofthecabin,andbeyondthelantern’ssmallcircleofflickeringlight,blacknessclosedinfromallsides.Herhairwasdampagainstherneck,andherclotheshungheavyandcold.Butshewouldnotgoback.Hecouldstayinthecabinwaiting,notknowing,justasshehadspentsomanyhours.Shewouldfindthegirlandmakethisright.

Sheheldthelanternhighandpeeredintothesnow-filleddarkness.Wherethelightspilledaheadofher,Mabelsawthatthesnowwasdisturbed.Sherantothetracks.Shelookedupanddownthetrail,tryingtoseewheretheywentandwheretheycamefrom.Couldthesebethegirl’s?Butwhichway?Having run so blindly, she no longer had any sense of home, the river, themountains. Somethingseemedwrongaboutthetracks,thesnowtoodeepforhertomakeoutfootprints.Justthesame,shefollowedthem.

Thetracksledoverafallenbirchtree,andshewrestledwithherlongskirtassheclimbedoverit.By the timeshecleared the log,shewasdrenchedwithsweatandsnowandher legs trembledwithexhaustion.Shefollowedthetrailtoherleft,halfrunning.Whenherthroatburnedandherlungsfeltasiftheywouldburst,shepausedonlylongenoughtotakeinafewgulpsofair.Shepicturedherselffinding the girl huddled against the storm. Mabel would grab hold of her and never let go. Shewonderedhowfarshehadcome.Couldshebegettingclosetothefoothills?Thelandwasflat,butitseemedasifshe’dbeenrunningforhours.

ItwasonlywhenMabel cameagain to the fallenbirchand sawwhere shehadalreadyclimbedoveritthatsherealizedhermistake.Shewasamadoldwoman,runningincircles,chasingherselfthroughthewoodsatnight.Shewasawarethatanylivingthingintheforestwitheyeswouldbeabletoseeherasclearasdayinthelanternlight,whileshewouldbeblindtoit.Thenitwasasifshewerehovering in the treetops, looking down on her own madness. Mabel saw herself, disheveled anddesperate, swivelingherhead thiswayand that, twigsclinging toherwethair,and itwasanawful

unraveling, as if in this act shehad finallycome looseandwas falling.She thoughtof Jack in thecabinsomewherebehindher,sawhimasasteadylightinthemidstofthewilderness.Shecouldturnnowandfollowhertracksbackhome.Shehadn’tgonethatfaryet.Buttheragehadnotburneditselfout.

Whenshebegantorunagain,shenolongersearchedfortrailsortheoutlinesofmountainsintheblacksky.Everythingwasstrangeandunknown,andshecouldseeonlyafewstepsinfrontofher.Sometimes clumps of frozen cranberries on bare branches or spindly spruce trees or themottledtrunksofpaperbirchwerecaught inan instantof lightbeforepassingback intoblackness.Atonepointsherealizedthatsomethingwascrashingthroughthetreesbesideherandshestopped,herheartpounding,herbreathragged.

“Faina? Is that you?” shewhispered loudly. But she knew itwasn’t the child. It was somethingmuchbigger.Therewasnoanswerexceptthesnappingofbranches.Shestrainedtoseefartherthansheknewshecould,pastthesteamthatrosefromherownbody.Shewasn’tsureatfirst,butthenoiseintheforestseemedtomoveawayfromher.Shewantedtogohome,ifonlysheknewtheway.

She had nomore strength to run, and at first shewasn’t sure if she could evenwalk.Hot andthirsty,shescoopedupsnowinherglovedhandandbroughtittohermouth,lettingitmeltdownherthroat.Shewastemptedtotakeoffherhat,evenhercoat,butsheknewshecouldfreezetodeathlikethat.Shetouchedaclumpofsnowtoherforehead,thencontinuedwalking.Shehopedtofindatrailagain, any trail, and let it take herwhere itwould, perhaps to themountains, perhaps to the river,maybebackhome.Inherfatiguesheshuffled,andherbootscaughtonbushesandroots.

When she fell, it was so hard, so sudden, it was almost as if something had shoved her frombehind.Shewasn’tevenabletobringherarmsupindefenseassheplummetedtotheground,andtheblowforcedtheairfromherlungs.Atthesamemoment,thelanterndroppedtothesnowinaclatterandhiss,andwhenshewasabletopullherfacefromthesnowshehadthefleetingthoughtthatshehadbeenknockedblind.Shehaddroppedthelantern.Mabelblinkedagainandagain,quicklyandthenmoreslowly.Theblacknesswassocompletethat,exceptforthetouchofcoolair,shecouldnottellwhetherhereyeswereopenorclosed.Shegottoherhandsandkneesandpawedthegrounduntilshefoundwhere the lanternhad sunk into the fluffy snow.Theglasswas still hot to the touch,but theflamehadbeenextinguished.Mabelstoodandwassodisoriented,thesameblackwhenshelookeduptotheskyasdowntotheearth,thatshenearlyfellagain.Shestoodswaying.

Godhelpme,whathaveIdone?Trippedonmyownclumsyfeet.Thrownawaymyonlylight.Nomatches.Notastitchofdryclothing.Noshelter.Nosenseofdirection—perhaps,shefoundherselfthinking,nosenseatall.

Shewonderedifshecouldfindherowntracks.Shecrouchedandpattedthesnowaroundher,andthoughtshefoundsomeindicationoffootprints.Shefollowed,bentover,walkingandfeeling,untilsomethingsnaggedatherhair.Shetriedtostandandhitherheadonabranch.Whenshereachedout,herhandsbrushedsomethinghard.Shetookoffherglovesandfelt,thewayablindpersonmightfeelaface.Itwasatreetrunk.Shehadn’tfoundherowntrailbuthadstumbledbeneaththebranchesofagreatsprucetree.Shefeltthegroundatherfeetandwassurprisedtofindnotsnowbutabedofdryneedles.Perhapsthiswasallshecouldaskfor,butstill,withnosourceofwarmthordryclothes,shecouldn’tpossiblysurviveuntildaybreak.Shesatatthebaseofthetreeandleanedagainstit.

Thechillapproachedalongherhairline,dampwithsweatandmeltedsnow.Itcreptdownthenapeofherneckandupthebacksofherwetlegs.Asitmadeitswaybeneathherclothes,alongtheskinofherribs,downthecurveofherspine,sheknewitforwhatitwas—adeathchill,achillthatifallowedtotakeholdwouldfreezethelifefromher.Asiftoconfirmhersuspicions,herteethbegantochatter.

Itstartedasasmallshiveralongherjawasshesuckedairbetweenherclenchedteeth,butsoonherwholebodyshookandherverybonesseemedtoclatter.

“Jack.”Thenamecameasawhisperfromhercoldlips.“Jack?”Onlyabitlouder.Hewouldneverhearher.Whoknewhowfarshewasfromthecabin?“Jack!”Shecrawledawayfromthetreeand,whenshefeltherselffreefromitsbranches,stoodandyelledasloudasshecould.

“Jack!Jack!I’mhere!Canyouhearme?Jack!Helpme!Help!Jack!I’mhere!Please.Please.”Shestoppedyellingandstrainedtohear,holdingherbreathforamomentortwo,buttheonlysoundwassomething she didn’t believe she could possibly be hearing—the relentless tiny taps of individualsnowflakeslandingonhercoat,onherhairandlashes,onthebranchesofthetree.“Oh,Jack!Please!Ineedyou.Please.”

Sheyelledandcrieduntilshewashoarseandhervoiceanoiselessscreech.Please,Jack.Please.Shecrawledbackbeneaththesprucetree,feelingforitsbranches,itswidetrunk,itsbedofneedles.There she curled up, her clothes clinging wet and cold, her body racked with tremors, the snowsettlingonthebranchesoverherhead.

Shewoketothebreakingoftwigsandtheflashoffireinthedarkness,andforamomentshethoughtshewashomeandhadnoddedoff in frontof thewoodstove.Thatwasn’t right, though. Itwas toodark, too cold. Her body ached, and she couldn’t move. Something bound her. It was heavy andsmelledfamiliar.Likehome.Outofthecornerofhereye,shesawmovementinfrontofthefire.Afigure bending over, putting something to the flames. Then breaking something over a knee, thenmoreflames.Thefigureturnedtowardher,blockingthelight.

“Mabel?Areyouawake?”She couldn’t speak. Her jaw seemed sealed, the muscles stiff. She tried to nod, but it hurt.

Everythinghurt.“Mabel? It’sme—Jack.Canyouhearme?”Andhewasbesideher, kneeling, brushingher hair

backfromherface.“Areyouwarmer?I’vegotthefiregoinggoodnow.Youfeelit?”Jack.Shecouldsmellhim,thescentofcutwoodandwool.Hereachedaroundher,pressingather

sides like hewas tucking a child into bed, and she knewwhy she felt bound. Shewaswrapped inblankets.Shewasconfusedagain.Wasshehome,inherownbed?Buttheairwassocoldandstirringslightly,andoverheadtherewerebranchesandbeyondthemaskysoblackandfullofstars.Stars?Wherehadtheyallcomefrom,likebitsofice?

“Jack?” It was only a whisper, but he heard. He had turned his back, to go to the fire, but hereturnedtoherside.

“Jack?Wherearewe?”Sheheardhimclearhisthroat,maybethebeginningofacough,andthen,“It’sallright.Thisis

goingtobeallright.Letmegetthatfirebigger,andyou’llwarm.”Whenhestood,hunchedbeneath thebranches,andmovedawayfromher,hisbodyblocked the

lightandheatofthefire.Mabelclosedhereyes.She’ddonesomethingwrong.Hewasangrywithher.Itcamebacktoherthewaygriefdoes,slowly.Sherememberedthechild,thesnow,thenight.

“Howdidyoufindme?”Hewasfeedingthefire,buildingithigherandhigheruntilshecouldseehisfaceandfeelitsheat.

“Idon’tknow.”

“Wherearewe?Arewefarfromhome?”“Idon’tpreciselyknowthateither.”Hemusthaveexpected this to frightenher,because thenhe

said,“It’sgoingtobefine,Mabel.We’rejustgoingtohavetoroughithereforafewmorehours.Thenlight’llcome,andwe’llfindourway.”

Hisvoicefaded.Mabeldrifted,sankintothewarmth,anditwaslikeachildhoodfever,dreamlikeandnearlycomforting.

“Canyousitup?”Jackheldacanteen.Shewonderedhowlongshehadslept.Beyondthefireitwasstilldark.

“Ithinkso.”Hegraspedheraroundtheshouldersandhelpedhertosit.Whenshereachedforthecanteen,theblanketfellopentorevealherbarearm.Shewasnaked.

“Careful.Don’tletthatloose,”hesaid.“Myclothing?Whyonearth…”Hepointed toward thefirewhereherdresshungfromabranch,alongwithherundergarments.

Closertothefire,herbootswereproppedopenneartheflames.“Therewasnootherway,”hesaid,almostasifapologizing.Shetriednottogulpthewater,buttotakesmallsips.“Thankyou.”“SometimesIcouldhearyoucallingmyname,”hesaid.“IthoughtIheardyouinthebrush,butit

wasjustacowmooseandhercalf.ThenItrippedoverthelantern,andIknewyouhadtobenearby.”Jackwenttothefire.Hetookdownherdressandshookitout.“Itstoppedsnowing,”hesaidashecrawledunderthetreewithher.Hegroanedsoftlyasheleaned

againstthetrunkandputhisarmaroundher.Shethoughtofhisbarelymendedback.“Clearedoffandgotcold.Youweresoakedthrough.”

Mabelleanedherheadagainsthischest.“Howdoesshedoit?”Hedidn’tansweratfirst,andMabelwonderedifheunderstoodherquestion.“She’sgotsomethingdifferentabouther,”hesaidfinally.“Shemightnotbeasnowfairy,butshe

knowsthisland.KnowsitbetterthananyoneI’veevermet.”Shecringedatthewords“snowfairy,”butknewtherewasnomaliceinit.“Ican’timagine,spendingeverynightouthere.Howcouldyoulether…I’mnotangryanymore.

It’snotthat.Butwhydidn’tyouworryabouther?She’sjustalittlechild.”He kept his eyes to the campfire. “When she didn’t come back in the spring, I went up to the

mountainslookingforher.Iwassickwithworry.IthoughtI’dmadeaterriblemistake,andthatwe’dlosther.”

“I can’t bear the thought of something happening to her,”Mabel said. “Shemay be lovely and

braveand strong,but she’s just a littlegirl.Andwithher fatherdead…she’southereall alone. Ifsomethingweretohappentoher,wewouldbetoblame,wouldn’twe?”

Jacknodded.Heputhisarmsaroundheragain.“It’strue,”hesaid.“Ijustdon’tthinkIcouldstandit.Notagain.Notafter…”SheexpectedJacktoshushher,topull

away,togobacktothefire,buthedidn’t.“I’vealwaysregrettedthatIdidn’tdomore,”shesaid.“Notthatwecouldhavesavedthatone.But

thatIdidn’tdomore.ThatIdidn’thavecourageenoughtoholdourbabyandseeitforwhatitwas.”Sheturnedtolookupintohisface.“Jack. I know it’s been so long. My God, ten years now. But tell me that you said a proper

goodbye.Tellmeyousaidaprayeroveritsgrave.Pleasetellmethat.”“His.”“What?”“Hisgrave.Itwasalittleboy.AndbeforeIlaidhimintheground,InamedhimJosephMaurice.”Mabellaughedoutloud.“JosephMaurice,” shewhispered. Itwas a name of contention, the two names thatwould have

shockedboththeirfamilies—twogreat-grandfathers,oneoneachside,eachablacksheepinhisownright.“JosephMaurice.”

“Isthatallright?”Shenodded.“Didyousayaprayer?”“Ofcourse,”andhesoundedhurtthatshehadasked.“Whatdidyousay?Doyouremember?”“IprayedforGodtotakeourtinybabeintohisarmsandcradlehimaswewouldhave,torock

himandlovehimandkeephimsafe.”MabelletoutasobandhuggedJackwithherbarearms.Hetuckedtheblanketaroundherandthey

heldeachother.“Aboy?Areyoucertain?”“I’mprettysure,Mabel.”“Curious,isn’tit?Allthattimethebabywasinsideme,tossingandturning,sharingmyblood,and

Ithoughtitwasagirl.Butitwasn’t.Itwasalittleboy.Wheredidyouburyhim?”“Intheorchard,downbythecreek.”Sheknewexactlywhere.Itwastheplacetheyhadfirstkissed,hadfirstheldeachotheraslovers.“Ishouldhaveknown.IlookedforitbecauseIrealizedIhadn’tsaidgoodbye.”“Iwouldhavetoldyou.”“Iknow.Wearefoolssometimes,aren’twe?”Jackgotuptofeedthefire,andwhenitwasburningwellhesatagainwithMabelunderthetree.“Areyouwarmenough?”“Yes,”shesaid.“Butwon’tyoucomeinwithme?”“I’llonlymakeyoucold.”She insisted,helpinghimstripoutofhisdampclothesandopeningherblankets tohim.Hedid

bringincoldair,atfirst,andthecoarsewoolofhislongunderwearrubbedagainstherbareskin,butsheburrowedmore tightlyagainsthim.Upanddownherbody, she felthis leanness,howagehadpared back hismuscles and left loosening skin and smooth bone, but his holdwas still firm. Sherestedherheadonhischestandwatchedthefireflareandsendsparksupintothecoldnightsky.

CHAPTER30

Mabelwould reduce thechild to theshabbyclothesandslight frameofa flesh-and-bloodorphan,anditpainedJack towatch.GonewasMabel’swonderandawe.InhereyesFainawasnolongerasnowfairy,butanabandonedlittlegirlwithadeadmotherandfather.Aferalchildwhoneededabath.

“Weshouldinquireaboutschoolingintown,”shesaidjustdaysafterJackhadtoldherthetruth.“Iunderstand the territorial government has assigned a new teacher to the area. Studentsmeet in thebasement of the boardinghouse.We’dhave to take her bywagon eachmorning, or she could staythereforseveraldaysatatime.”

“Mabel?”“Don’tlookatmelikethat.She’llsurvive.Ifshecanspendmonthsaloneinthewilderness,shecan

certainlystayafewnightsintown.”“Ijustdon’tknowif…”“Andthoseclothes.I’llgetsomefabricandsewhersomenewdresses.Andsomerealshoes.She

won’tneedthosemoccasinsanymore.”

Butthechildwasnotsoeasilytamed.

Idon’twantto,shesaidwhenMabelshowedhertothetubofhotwater.Lookatyourself,child.Yourhairisamess.You’refilthy.Mabelpulledattheraggedsleeveofthechild’scottondress.Thisneedstobewashed,maybejustthrownout.I’mmakingseveralnewdressesforyou.Thechildbackedtowardthedoor.Mabelgrabbedherbythewrist,butFainayankeditfree.“Mabel,”Jacksaid,“letthechildgo.”Thegirlwasgonefordays,andwhenshereturnedshewasskittish,butMabeltooknoheed.She

pinched at thegirl’s clothing andhair, and asked if shehad ever gone to school, ever looked at abook.Witheachpryingquestion,thechildtookanotherstepback.We’regoingtoloseher,hewantedtotellMabel.

Jackwasn’tonetobelieveinfairy-talemaidensmadeofsnow.YetFainawasextraordinary.Vastmountainrangesandunendingwilderness,skyandice.Youcouldn’tholdhertoocloseorknowhermind.Perhapsitwassowithallchildren.CertainlyheandMabelhadn’tformedintothemoldstheirparentshadsetforthem.

Itwassomethingmore, though.Nothing tetheredFaina to them.Shecouldvanish,never return,andwhowastosayshehadeverbeenlovedbythem?

No,thechildsaid.

Faina’seyesdartedfromMabeltoJack,andinthequickbluehesawthatshewasafraid.Iwillnolongerallowyoutolivelikeananimal,Mabelsaid.Hermovementsweresharparound

thekitchentableasshestackeddishes,gatheredleftovers.Thegirlwatched,awildbirdwithitsheart

jumpinginitschest.Startingrightnow,youwillstayherewithus.Nomorerunningoffintothetrees,gonefordays

onend.Thiswillbeyourhome.Withus.No,thechildsaidagain,moreforcefully.Jackwaitedforhertoflyaway.“Please,Mabel.Canwetalkaboutthislater?”“Look at her. Will you just look at her? We’ve neglected her. She needs a clean home, an

education.”“Notinfrontofthechild.”“Sowelethergobackintothewildernesstonight?Andthenext,andthenext?Howwillshefind

herwayinthisworldifallsheknowsisthewoods?”AsfarasJackcouldsee,thegirlfoundherwayfine,butitwassenselesstoargue.“Why?”Mabelpleadedtohim.“Whywouldshewant tostayout there,aloneandcold?Doesn’t

sheknowwewouldtreatherkindly?”Sothatwasit.Beneathherirritationanddesiretocontrolwasloveandhurt.“It’snotthat,”Jacksaid.“Shebelongsoutthere.Can’tyouseethat?It’sherhome.”HereacheduptoMabel,keptherfrompickingupabowl.Hetookherhandsinhis.Herfingers

wereslenderandlovely,andherubbedhisthumbsalongthem.Howwellheknewthosehands.“I’mtrying,Jack.Iam.Butitissimplyunfathomabletome.Shechoosestoliveindirtandblood

andfreezingcold,tearingapartwildanimalstoeat.Withusshewouldbewarmandsafeandloved.”“I know,”he said.Didn’t hewant the child as a daughter, to brag about and showerwithgifts?

Didn’thewanttoholdherandcallhertheirown?Butthislongingdidnotblindhim.Likearainbowtroutinastream,thegirlsometimesflashedhertrueselftohim.Awildthingglitteringindarkwater.

Mabelletgoofhishandsandturnedtothechild.Youwillstayheretonight,shesaid.Shetookholdofthechild’sshoulders,andforamomentJackthoughtshewouldshakeher.But

thenMabelsmoothedherhandsdownthegirl’sarmsandspokemoregently.Doyouunderstand?Andtomorrowwewillgototowntoaskaboutschoolclasses.Thegirl’scheeksflushed,andsheshookherheadno,no.Faina,thisisnotyourdecision.Itisinyourbestinterest.Youmuststoprunningaroundlikeawild

sprite.Youwillgrowupsomeday,andthenwhat?No,shesaid.Quickly, quietly, the child was nearly away, already wearing her hat and coat. Mabel stepped

towardher.It’sforyou,don’tyouunderstand?Butthechildwasgone.

Mabelloweredherselfintoachair,handsclaspedinherlap.

“Doesn’tsheunderstandthatweloveher?”Jackwenttotheopendoor.Itwasaclear,calmnight,themoonshiningthroughthebranches.He

sawthechildattheedgeoftheforest.Shehadstoppedandwaslookingbackatthecabin.Thensheturned away and, as she began to run, she shook her hands out from her sides in a gesture offrustration.Snowbegantoswirl.

Snowdevils.That’swhattheyhadcalledthemaschildren.Wind-churnedfunnelsofsnow,almostlikewhitetornados,butthesehadsprungfromthechild’shands.

Thegirlvanishedintotheforest,butthesnowdevilscircledandcircledandgrew.Jackwatchedinwonder, fear even. The snow churned toward the cabin, growing and circling, until it consumedeverything.Theyarddarkened.Themoonlightdisappeared.ThewindhowledandthesnowwhippedatJack’spantlegs.

Intothenight,thesnowstormbeatitselfagainstthecabin,andsleepwouldnotcometoJack.Helaystaringat the logceilingof theirbedroomandfeltMabel’swarmbodyagainsthis.Hecouldwakeher,slidehishandsbeneathhernightgownandkiss thebackofherneck,buthewas toodistractedevenforthat.Heforcedhiseyesclosedandtriedtostophisbrainfromspinning.Herolledfromoneside to theother, thenclimbedoutofbed.He fumbleduntil hewas in thekitchen.He lit a lantern,dimmeditasfarashecould,andtookthebookdownfromtheshelf.Atthetable,heturnedthepagesofillustrationsandforeignletters.

He did not noticeMabel until she sat down in the chair opposite him.Her hairwas loose anduntidyandherfacecreasedfromwhereithadpressedintothepillowcase.

“Whatareyoudoingawake?”sheasked.Helookeddownatthebook.“Itisstrange,isn’tit?”“What?”sheasked,hervoicehushedasiftherewereotherstowake.“Thechildwemadeoutofsnow.Thatnight.Themittensandscarf.ThenFaina.Herblondhair.

Andthatwayabouther.”“Whatareyousaying?”Jackcaughthimself.“Imuststillbehalfasleep,”hesaid.Heclosedthebookandgaveherasmallsmile.“Mybrain’s

muddled.”Hehadn’t convincedher, but she stood, straightenedhernightgown, and returned to thebedroom.

Jackwaiteduntilheheardhercrawlintobed,pullthecoversup,andthen,aftersometime,breathethedeep,slowbreathsofsleep.Heopenedthebookagain,thistimetoapictureofthesnowmaidenamongforestanimals,snowflakesfallingthroughtheblue-blackskyabovethem.

Hehad said toomuch,butnot asmuchashe couldhave.Hehadn’t toldMabel about the snowdevils,orabouthowFainahadscatteredasnowfalllikeashesonherfather ’sgrave.Hedidn’ttellherhow,asshestoodoverthegrave,snowflutteredagainstthechild’sskinasifsheweremadeofcoldglass.Theflakesdidnotmeltonhercheeks.Theydidnotdampenhereyelashes.Theyrestedtherelikesnowoniceuntiltheywerestirredawaybyabreeze.

CHAPTER31

Theboy’sbroughtyousomething,Mabel.”JackopenedthecabindoorwidersoGarrettcouldfollowwithhisbundle,wrappedinleatherand

tiedwith a string of rawhide. It tucked easily under the boy’s arm, and it didn’t look to have thestiffnessorbulkofadeadanimal.Allthesame,maybeheshouldhaveaskedbeforelettingGarrettbringitinside.

“Well,goodmorning.Comein.Comein.”Mabelwipedherhandsonherapronandtuckedafewstrandsofhairbehindherear.“Wouldyoulikesomethinghottodrink?”

“Yes,thankyou.”“Sohow’strapping?”Jackasked.“I’m just getting the sets out now. But OldMan Boyd said I could have his marten line. He’s

retiringdowntoSanFrancisco.”“Isthatso?”“Iguesshefoundasmallrunofgoldinacreekupnorth,andnowhe’sset.Sayshewantssome

warmsunforhisoldbones.”“Areyourunninghisline,then?”“Notyet.Butitwon’tbelong.He’sgotallthepolesinplace.Andhe’ssellingmehisnumber-one

long-springs.Sayshewon’tbetrappinganythingbutgood-lookingwomeninCalifornia.”Mabelwas takingcoffeemugsoutof thecupboardanddidn’t seem tobe listening,but theboy

flushedasuddenred.“Imean…that’sjustwhathe…”“Isitalongtrail,histrapline?”Jackasked.“It’lltakemetwodaystocheckit.I’vegotawalltentI’llputupsoIcanstayovernightwhenthe

weather ’sbad.”“Areyoufrightened?”Mabelaskedfromwhereshestoodatthewindow.Thequestionseemedtoconfusetheboy.“Whenyou’reoutthere,aloneinthewoods,”shesaid,“aren’tyoufrightened?”“No.Ican’tsaythatIam.”Mabelwasquiet.“Imean,IsupposeI’vebeenscaredafewtimes,”Garrettsaid.“Butnotfornoreason.Fallbefore

last,Ihadablackbearactlikehewashuntingme.Followedmeallthewayhome,butIcouldn’tevergetaclearshotathim. Ineversawanything like it. I’dhollerathim, try tochasehimoff,andI’dthinkhewasgone.ButthenI’dseethetopofhisheadthroughtheshrubs.Allthewayhomeitwaslikethat.”

“Butbearsdon’tusuallygoafterpeople,”JacksaidwithaglancetowardMabel.“Oh,sometimes.YouhearaboutthatminerdowntowardAnchorage?Grizzlybeartookhisface

rightoff.”Jackfrownedattheboy.Mabelwasstiffandsilentatthewindow.“Oh, sure. Imean, that’s not real common, though,” the boy fumbled. “Most often a bear will

hightailitinanotherdirection.”“Butareyoulonely?”StillMabeldidnotfacethemasshespoke.

“Ma’am?”“Lonely.Whenyouareallaloneinthewilderness,theremustbesomethingterribleaboutit.”“Well,Idon’tspendallthatmuchtimeinthewoodsbymyself.I’dliketo.LongestI’vebeengone

isaweek,whenIwentsalmonfishingdownriverlastsummer.AndIlikeditjustfine.Ifishedalldayandsometimesallnight’causethesunneverwentdown.Idriedandsmokedthefishonalderpoles.Thatwas the first time I sawamink. Itcamedownacreekand tried tostealawholesalmon rightfromundermynose. Iwas laughing toohard to takea shotat it. Itwas tugginganddragging thatsalmonawayasfastasitcouldgo.”

“Butifyouhaveasafe,warmhomewithafamily,whywouldyouwanttobeoutthere?”TheboyhesitatedandlookedtoJack.“Idon’tknow,”hesaidwithashrug.“IguessmaybeIdon’twanttobewarmandsafe.Iwantto

live.”“Live?Isn’tthisliving?”Sheletoutalongsigh.Noonespokeagainuntilshecametothetablewiththepotofcoffee,anditwasasiftheboyhad

justarrived.“Sonowyou’rehere.Andwhat’sthisyou’vebrought?”sheasked.Garrett’sfacebrightened,andheturnedbashful.“Well,Iuh,well…”andhepusheditacrossthetabletowardher.“It’sforyou.”“ShallIopenit,then?”Theboynodded,andMabeluntiedthestringandfoldedbacktheleather.Inside,Jacksawfoxfur.

Silverandblack.Mabelwasexpressionlessasshetoucheditwiththetipsofherfingers.“It’sahat.See?”Andtheboytookitfromherandlightlypuncheditfrombeneath,sothecrown

stoodup.“Bettyseweditforyou.It’sgotearflapsyoucantieontop,likethis,oryoucanpullthemdown

andtieitunderyourchin.”HegaveitbacktoMabel,whoturneditslowlyinherhands.“Ihopeitfits.Weusedmymom’sheadtomeasure.”“Ican’t…Ican’tacceptthis.”Theboy’sfacefell.“It’sallright,”hemumbled.“Ifyoudon’tlikeit.”“Mabel.”Jackputahandonherarm.“It’snotthat,”shesaid.“It’stoomuch.”“Itdidn’tcostmeadime.Itradedheroutinfurs.”“It’stoofine.Ihavenoplacetowearit.”“Butit’snothingfancy,”theboysaid.“Trapperswearthem.Youdon’thavetosaveitfortripsto

townoranything.It’swarm.”“Tryiton,Mabel,”Jacksaidquietly.Hewasn’treadyfortheeffect.AsMabelpulleditdownandtiedthestringsbeneathherchin,the

denseblackfur,tippedbrilliantlyinsilver,framedherface,andhereyesshonegray-softandherskinlookedlikewarmcream.Shewasstunning.Neitherhenortheboysaidawordbutonlystared.

“Well!Thewayyoutwogawk,Iguessitmustnotsuitme,”shesaidandtuggedoffthehatinanangryfluster.

“Itsuitsyoufine,”Jacksaid.“YoucouldbeinoneofthosefashionmagazinesfromBackEast,”theboyjumpedin.“AndI’m

notjustsayingit,either.”

“He’sright.Itsuitsyoubetterthanfine.”“You’renotjustflatteringme?”Shetouchedherhairwithonehand.“Putitbackon,sowecanseeagain,”Jacksaid.“Itdoesfitwell,”shesaid,“asifitweretailoredforme.Anditiswarm.”JackstoodandshowedherhowtotietheflapsupsothatitfitlikeaRussianfurhat.“IguessI’llbethefinest-dressedfarmer ’swifeyoueversaw,”shesaid.

Mabel sent the boy homewith several books from her trunks.When he had gone, she sat by thewoodstovereading.Jackcameupbehindherandsoftlytouchedthenapeofherneck.

“You’reticklingme,”shesaidandbrusheddistractedlyathishand.“Ithinktheboywassmittenwithyouinthathat.”“Don’tbesilly,”shesaid.“I’manoldwoman.”“You’re still beautiful. And you don’t seem to mind it being made of fox. I’d thought you’d

object.”“Itispractical.I’llbewarmerwithit.”

CHAPTER32

Wherewereyou,child?Justnow?Iwasattheriver.That’swhereIfoundthis.Inherhand,Fainaheldawind-driedsalmonskull.Mabelwastryingtodrawit,firstthisway,then

that.No.Notjustnow.Always.Thispastsummer.Wheredidyougothen?Tothemountains.Why?Whatisthereforyou?Everything.Thesnowandthewind.Thecariboucome.Andlittleflowersandberries.Theygrow

evenontherocks,nearthesnow,upbythesky.You’regoingtoleaveusagain,aren’tyou?Thisspring,youwillgobacktothemountains.Thegirlnodded.Andtonight,whenyouleave,wherewillyougo?Home.Whatkindofhomecanyouhaveoutthere?I’llshowyou.

Thenextbrightday,thechildcameforMabelandledherawayintotheforest.JacksentthemwithaknapsackoffoodbuttoldMabelnottoworry.Fainaknowsherway.She’llbringyoubacksafely.

She followed thegirl away from thehomesteadandalong trailsMabel alonenever couldhaveseenorknown—snowshoehare runsbeneathwillowboughs,wolf tracksalonghard-packeddrifts.The day was cold and peaceful. Mabel’s breath rose around her face and turned to frost on hereyelashesandalongtheedgesofthefox-furhat.ShestumbledinJack’swoolpantsandthesnowshoeshehadstrappedtoherfeet;aheadofherFainastrodeineaseandgrace,herfeetlightonthesnow.

Theyclimbedoutoftherivervalleyanduptowardthebluesky,untiltheywereonthesideofamountain.

There,thegirlsaid.She pointed to the fanned impression of a bird’s smallwings on the surface of the snow, each

featherprintperfect,exquisitesymmetry.Whatisit?Aptarmiganflew.Andthere?Mabelpointedtoaseriesofsmalldashesinthesnow.Anermineran.Everythingwassparkledandsharp,asiftheworldwerenew,hatchedthatverymorningfroman

icyegg.Willowbrancheswerecloaked inhoarfrost,waterfalls encased in ice, and the snowy landspeckledwith the tracks of a hundredwild animals: red-backed voles, coyotes and fox, fat-footedlynx,mooseanddancingmagpies.

Then they came to a frightening place, a stand of tall spruce where the air was dead and the

shadows cold.A birdwingwas nailed to the trunk of a broad tree, a patch ofwhite rabbit fur toanother,andtheywerelikeawitch’stotemswheredeadanimalsensnarepassingspirits.

Thechildapproachedathirdtree,andastretchofbrownfursquirmed.Itwasalive.Mabeltookinabreath.Marten,thegirlsaid.Theanimalswiveledfromafrontpaw,suspendedbyasteel traponapole. Itssmallblackeyes

werewetandshininglikeonyx.Unblinking.Watching.Whatwillyoudowithit?Bemusedordissatisfied—Mabelcouldn’treadFaina’sexpression.Killit,thechildsaid.Shetookthewrithingthinginherbarehandsandpresseditsthinchestintothetreetrunkuntilthe

animalwentlimp.Howdoyoudoit?Isqueezeditsheartuntilitcouldn’tbeatanymore.Itwasn’ttheanswerMabelsought,butshedidn’tknowhowelsetoaskthequestion.Fainareleased

thepawfromthetrap.MayI?Mabelremovedhermittensandtookthedeadmarten.Itwaswarmandlight,itsfursofterthana

woman’shair.Sheputhernosetothetopofitsheadanditsmelledlikeakitteninabarn.Shestudieditsnarroweyeslitsandferociouslittleteeth.

Fainaresetthetrapandputthemarteninherpack.Latertheyfoundadeadharestrangledbyaloopofwireandlaterstill,awhiteermineinatrap,

frozenopen-eyedandstiffasifbewitched.AllwentinFaina’spack.Thetrailledacrossafrozenswampwhereblacksprucestoodhalfdeadandleaning,andthenupa

steep bank and back into a forest of broadwhite spruce and twisted, knotted birch. They came toanotherpolewitha trap,but itheldonlyananimal’sfoot, raggededgeofboneandrippedtendon,brownfurfrozentosteel.Fainaputthetraptoherknee,releaseditshold,andtossedthepawintothewoods.

Whatwasit?Amarten’sfoot.Whereistherest?Awolverinestoleit,thechildsaid.Idon’tunderstand.Fainapointedtotracksinthesnow.Mabelwonderedthatshehadn’tseenthembefore,eachclawed

print as large as the palm of her hand. Thewolverine tracks circled the tree in larger and largergallopsuntiltheydisappearedintotheforest.

Itatethemartenoutofmytrap,shesaid.Fainaseemedunburdenedbythisknowledge.Shewalkedon,herstepsasquickandeasyasthey

hadeverbeen.Mabelfollowedwithoutspeaking,eyesnewlyalertfortracksandherchestfilledwiththerhythmofherownheartandlungs.Andthensherealizedtheyhadcomebackaroundtotheriverandweretravelingtowardtheirhomestead.

Butwait—wecan’tgobackyet.Youhaven’tshowedmeyourhome.It’shere.I’veshowedyou.Here?Mabel wouldn’t argue. Maybe the child was ashamed of her dwelling.Maybe the place

whereshesleptandatewasn’tworthseeing.

But she knew the truth. The snowy hillsides, the open sky, the dark place in the trees where awolverinegnawedonthelegofsomesmall,deadanimal—thiswasthechild’shome.

Canwestophere,justforamoment?Mabelasked.Ithadbeenalongtimesinceshehadfelttheurgetodrawsostrongly.Theysatonariselooking

over the valley. She took her sketchbook and pencil from her pack and ignored her numb, coldfingersasshebegantodraw.Fainaheldthemartenbeforehersoshecouldagainstudyitswhiskeredsnoutandangledeyes.Thenshequicklydrewthefurandclawofitsbrown,paddedfeet.Sheflippedthe page and did a rough sketch of the snow-heavy spruce branches above them, and then themountainsloomingupfromtheriver.Asthelightdwindled,shetriedtorecallthebirdwingnailedtothetreeandtheerminetracksacrossthesnow.Shetriedtorememberitallandtothinkofitashome.Maybehereonthepageshecouldreduceittolineandcurve,andatlastunderstandit.

She could see, now that she had been shown. The sun had disappeared behind them, and the girlpointedacrossthevalleytothemountainslopesaglowinacoolpurple-pink.Silhouettedagainstthesky,tendrilsofsnowunfurledfromthepeaks,whippedbywhatmusthavebeenabrutalwind.Hereontherise,though,theairwasstill.Thecolorsweredistant,impossible,untouchable.

That’swhatmynamemeans,Fainasaid,stillpointing.Mountain?No.Thatlight.Papanamedmeforthecoloronthesnowwhenthesunturns.Alpenglow,Mabelwhispered.She felt the awe of walking into a cathedral, the sense that she was being shown something

powerfulandintimate,andinitspresencemustspeaksoftly,ifatall.Shestaredintothatcolor,tryingtoimagineafatherwhocouldnamehischildforsuchbeautyandthenabandonher.

Weshouldgo,Fainasaid.Itwillbenightsoon.ThechildledMabelbacktothehomestead,tothewarmcabinwhereJackwaitedwithhotteaand

breadhehadbakedinaDutchoven.So,hesaid.Whatdidyousee?

CHAPTER33

DearMabel,Your letters and sketches have becomequite an attraction at our home.Whenever one

arrives,wehost adinnerpartyand invitemanyof our closest friendsand relatives.Withyourpermission,Ihavereadthelettersaloudandyoursketcheshavebeenpassedfromonehandtothenext,alongwithexclamationsof“Remarkable!”“Suchbeauty!”MorethanonceI’ve been told that you are the frontier equivalent of an Italian master studying humananatomy. Your sketches of the sable’s snarling teeth and clawed feet were among thefavorites this lastnight, aswereyour studiesof thealder conesandwinterkilledgrasses.Yourletters,too,catchglimpsesofthiswildplacethathasbecomeyourhome.Youalwaysdidhavea talent forexpressingyourself,andperhapsnoother time inyour lifehaveyouhadsuchwondroussightstoexpress.Ouronlywishisthatyouwouldwritemoreoften.IdobelieveIwillholdontoeverythingyousend,andsomedayyoushouldpublishabookofyourdrawingsandobservations.Thereissomethingfancifulandyetferalaboutthem.

Alongwithyour interest in the taleof thesnowmaiden, Iamremindedof the timeyouspentasachildchasingfairiesinthewoodsnearourhome.AsIrecall,yousleptmorethanonenightinthosegreatoaktrees,andwhenMotherfoundyouthenextmorningyouwouldswearyouhadseenfairiesthatflewlikebutterfliesandlitupthenightlikelightningbugs.Irememberwithsomeshamethattherestofusteasedyouaboutseeingsuchspirits,butnowmyowngrandchildrenchasesimilarfanciesandIdonotdiscouragethem.Inmyoldage,Isee that life itself is often more fantastic and terrible than the stories we believed aschildren,andthatperhapsthereisnoharminfindingmagicamongthetrees.

Yourlovingsister,Ada

CHAPTER34

Estherburst into thecabin likea friendlyhen, flappingandchatteringandnearlyknockingMabeloverasshetriedtoopenthedoorforher.Inonehandsheheldatowel-coveredcast-ironpotandwiththeothershehuggedMabelandkissedheronthecheek.

“So,isthiswhatittakestohavedinnerwithyoutwo?”shesaidandpushedpastMabeltosetthepotonthewoodstove.“George’sgotthedessert.Thatis,ifhedoesn’teatitonthewayinhere.Shouldbeenoughchickenanddumplingsforallofus.Lynxanddumplings,Ishouldsay,butitjustdoesn’thavethesameringtoit.Guesswecouldcallit‘kittenanddumplings.’”Estherlaughedandflunghercoatacrossthebackofachair.

“Lynx?You’vecookedalynx?”“Oh,don’tmakethatface.Haveyoueverhadit?Absolutely,positivelythebestmeatyou’llever

taste.Garretthaditliveinasnare,sohekilleditcleanandbroughthomethemeat.Guessweraisedhimrightafterall.”

“Hashecome,too?”“Nope.That’stheonlyreasonwemighthaveenoughfood.Thatboycouldeatasideofbeefand

thenaskforseconds.Buthe’soutthesenextfewnights,siwashingitonhislongtrapline.”“Siwashing?”“LikeanIndian.Notent.Nocreaturecomforts.Hepackslightandtravelshard.”“Oh.”“YougotaspoonIcanstirthiswith?”Beforeshecouldhelp,Estherhadfoundone,andMabelwatchedwithfondamusementasEsther

onceagaintookoverherhome.WithinminutesshehadtiedoneofMabel’sapronsaroundherwaist,taste-testedthelynx,setthetable,andaddedanotherlogtothefire,thoughMabelhadjuststockedit.

“Iwanttohearallaboutwhatyou’vebeenupto.Butfirst,you’vegottotakeanipofthis.”Estherpulled a small glass bottle from the back pocket of hermen’s work pants and set it on the table.“Cranberrycordial.Positivelyheavenly.Quick.Getussomeglassessowecanfinishitoffbeforethemencome.”

Mabeldidn’tmove fromher seat, asEstherwasalreadyonherway to thecupboard.ShecamebackwithtwoofMabel’sjellyjarsandfilledeachhalffullwiththedeepredliquid.ItwassweetandtartandthickonMabel’stongue,anditwarmedherthroat.

“It’sdelicious.”“Toldyou.Here,haveabitmore.Thisismylastbottle,andI’llbedamnedifI’llletGeorgehave

anyofit.Hepolishedoffthelastofmyblueberrycordialwithoutevenasking!”Mabeldrankitinagulp,thentookanotherafterEstheremptiedthebottleintotheirglasses.“Therenow.That’lldo.”JustthenGeorgeandJackcamein,kickingsnowofftheirboots.“Well,where’sthecake?Youdidn’tleaveitinthewagon,didyou?”Georgesmiledsheepishly,onehandbehindhisback.“Sorry,dear.Couldn’thelpmyself.”Hesmackedhislips.“Itwasmightygood,though.”“You’dbetterbejokingorI’ll—”

George grinned and pulled the cake out frombehind his back. “Not one piecemissing. Jack’llvouchforme.”

Jackgaveanodwithexaggeratedgravity.ThenhelookedatMabel.“Areyoufeelingwell?”“Whatmakesyouask?”“Yourcheeksareflushed.”MabelsawEstheroutofthecornerofhereye,tippingathumbuptoherlipsasifherhandwerea

bottle.“Triedtoslowherdown,butyouknowhowshecanbe.”“Esther!”Mabelprotested.“Oh,I’mjustteasing.Thatcordialdoeshaveakick,though,doesn’tit?”“Akick?Youmeanithasalcoholinit?”“Doesithavealcoholinit?Areyoupullingmyleg?Don’tknowwhatthepointbe,otherwise.”“Oh, Jack. I had no idea. I thought itwas just a sweet dessert drink.But it did seemhot inmy

throat.”JackgrinnedandkissedMabelonthecheek.“Yougotanymoreofthat,Esther?”“Nope.Yourwifepolisheditoff.”Theroomwaswarmandsoft-edgedasMabeltriedtokeepupwiththeflowofconversationand

thepassingoffoodaroundthetable.Foramomentsheseemedtoslipoutofherbody,anditwasapleasant sensation to see four friends sharing food, laughing and talking in the small cabin in thewilderness.

“Well?Catain’tsobad,eh?”“No,George.”Jackleanedbackinhischairandpattedhisbelly.“I’vegottosay,Ihadmydoubts,

butthatwastasty.Thanks,Esther.AndgiveourthankstoGarrett,too.”

Aftertheyclearedthetable,Estherinsistingthemenhelpaswell,JackandGeorgewenttothebarntolookattheplowtheyhadbeentryingtopatchtogetherforanotherseason.Asthemenleftthecabin,thefreshnightairrushedagainstMabel’sfaceandshestoodin theopendoorandbreatheddeeply.BehindhersheheardEstherfussingwiththedishes.

“Oh,pleasedon’twashthose.I’lltakecareofthemtomorrow.”“Splendididea.”Esthersatdownheavilyatthetableandproppedherfeetonthechairacrossfrom

her.“Wishwehadaspotmorecordial.”Mabellaughed.“IthinkI’vehadenough,thankyouverymuch.ButI’llgetussometea.”“Good,andthensitdown.We’vegotsomecatchinguptodo.I’malittleworriedaboutyou.”“Worried?Whatmakesyousaysuchathing?”“I’mhearing things again.About you and that little girl.Now,don’t think I don’t seeyour lips

sealinguptight.Youthinkyou’renotgoingtosayaword,butwe’vegottotalkthisout.Whyisthisallcomingupagain?”

ThecabinbecamesoquietMabelcouldhear thefirecracklingandtheclockticking.Shedidn’tspeakormoveforsometime,whileEstherwaitedpatiently.ThenMabelwenttotheshelfandhandedthebooktoEsther.

“What’sthis?”“Achildren’sbook.It’sonemyfatherusedtoreadtome.Notread,actually.See,it’sinRussian.”

Sheopenedthepagestooneofthefirstcolorplates.“And?”“It’s the story of an old couplewho desperatelywant a child, and theymake one out of snow.

And…shecomestolife.Thesnowchilddoes.”“Idon’tthinkI’mfollowingyouhere.”“MysisteralwayssaidIwasascatterbrain,mymindtoofulloffancies.Awildimagination,she

calledit.”“And?”SoMabeltoldhereverything,aboutthewintertheyhadshapedachildoutofsnow,andhowFaina

hadcomewearingtheredmittensandscarfandlookingsomuchlikethelittlegirl theyhadmade.ShedescribedhowJackhadburiedthefatherinthemountainsandlearnedhehaddied,leavingFainaanorphan,justhoursbeforetheybuiltthesnowfigure.Itwasthatnightthechildhadcometothemforthefirsttime.

“We have tried to convince her to staywith us, but she refuses. She says thewilderness is herhome,andI’vegonewithherthere,andit’strue.Itisherhome.Shewalksontopofthesnow.AndIknowitseemsunbelievable,Esther,butshecanholdasnowflakeinthepalmofherhandwithoutitmelting.Don’tyousee?Shewasrebornthatnight…rebornoutofsnowandsufferingandlove.”

“Nottobequarrelsome,butnobodyelsehasseenanysignofher.MeandGarrett,hereworkingthefarmwithyouthosemonths.Naryaglimpseofthechild.”

“Sheleft.Shewasgonetheentiresummer.JustasItoldyou.”“Andnow?”“Shecameback.Withthesnow.”Esthersilentlyflippedthroughthepagesofthebookandlookedateachillustration.“YouthinkI’mcrazy,don’tyou?It’slikeyousaid—thewintersandthesmallcabin.Afever,didn’t

youcallit?Cabinfever?”Estherletoutalongsigh,thenturnedbacktothefirstillustrationoftheoldcoupleandthechild,

halfsnowandhalfhuman.“Isthatwhatyouthink?”Estherasked.“No,”Mabelsaid.“Asfantasticasitallsounds,Iknowthechildisrealandthatshehasbecomea

daughtertous.ButIcan’tofferasinglebitofevidence.Youhavenoreasontobelieveme.Iknowthat.”

EstherclosedthebookandwithherhandsfoldedontopofitlookeddirectlyatMabel.“Igottotellyou,Ihadyouwrong.”

“Whatdoyoumean?”Mabelasked.“Thereatthebeginning,Itookyouforsoft.Awomanwhosethoughtscouldbetwistedaroundby

alonelywinter.Someonebettersuitedtoadifferentplace,adifferentkindoflife.”Mabel’stemperstartedtoriseinherchest.“Don’tgogettingallriledup,”Estherwenton.“Hearmeout,becauseI’vethoughtthisthrough.I

waswrong.I’vegotten toknowyouprettywell, I’dsay.Countyouoneofmydearest friends.Andyou’renoweakling.Abitstandoffishatfirst.Tootenderhearted,Isuspect.AndGodknowsyouthinktoomuch.Butyou’renofeeblemindedsimpleton.Ifyousaythischildofyoursisreal,thenbyGodshemustbereal.”

“Thank you, Esther, but I know you are humoring me. As a friend, I’m pleased to hear. Buthumoringallthesame.”

“Haveyoueverknownmetochangemymindjusttohumorsomeone?”Esthersaid.Mabelgaveasmallsmile,slowlyturningtheteacuparoundinherhands.“Whyaren’tyoujumpingupanddown?Thismightbeafirst.I’mowningupthatIjustmightbe

wrongaboutsomething.Butdon’ttellGeorge.Theshockwouldprobablykillhimdead.”“It’salmostspring,youknow,”Mabelsaid.“Haveyouseenhowthesnowismelting?Theriver

willsoonbreakup.”“Yep.Seenthat.What’sthattodowith…”“Soonshewillleaveagain.It’sjustlikeinthefairytale.Fainawillleaveusinthespring,andIjust

can’tbearthethoughtofit.Whatifweloseher?Whatifshenevercomesbacktous?”“Hmmm.”Esthersippedherteathoughtfully.ThenshesethercupdownandlookedatMabelasif

carefullymeasuringherwords.“Dear,sweetMabel,”shesaid.“Weneverknowwhat isgoing tohappen,dowe?Life isalways

throwingusthiswayandthat.That’swheretheadventureis.Notknowingwhereyou’llenduporhowyou’llfare.It’sallamystery,andwhenwesayanydifferent,we’rejustlyingtoourselves.Tellme,whenhaveyoufeltmostalive?”

CHAPTER35

TheMarchdaysbegantolengthen.Jackwatchedthesunclimbhigherabovethemountainseachday.Thesnowwasheavyandwetandmeltedfromtheeaves.Waterranalongthesurfaceoftheriverice.Andthenonenighttheskiesclearedandcoldfelllikeafogoverthevalley.Jackawoketofindthefireburnedtoblackcoalsandthewindowsfrostedinsideandout.AfterkindlingthefireandpullinganotherquiltoverMabelassheslept,hesetofffortown.Itwasthecoldestithadbeenallwinter,andby the time he arrived at the general store, hewondered if his nosewas frostbitten.He stood justinside the door and rubbed it gingerly. “Don’tworry,”George teased fromwhere he stood at thepotbelliedstove.“Mabelprobablywon’tleaveyouwhenitfallsoff.”

Jackjoinedhimatthestoveandrubbedhishandsattheheat,tryingtoworksomesensationbackintothem.

“I’vebeenmeaningto tellyou,Mabelstillwears thathatmosteveryday.Itwasagenerousgiftyoursongaveher.”

“You know that’s the only silver fox he’s ever caught? The boy could barely contain himself.WeeksonendhekeptaskingmeifBettywasdonewithityet.”

“Well,sheputsitonevenifshe’sjustdashingouttotheouthouse.Especiallywiththisweather.”Georgelaughedandslappedhisownbackside,asifhispantshadgottentoohot.“Esther ’llgeta

kickoutofthat—Mabelintheouthousewithafinefox-furhat.”“Nowdon’tyousayaword,oryou’llgetmeintroubleforsure.”Georgelaughedagain.“Thatboyofmineisgoinggangbustersthiswinter—runningtrapsupanddowntheriver,gone

days at a time.Boyd’soldmarten line, andnowhe’sgoingafter thewolvesEsther sawout atourplace.”

“Wolves?”“Apackbroughtdownacowmoosebytheriver.Notmuchshakesupmywife,butthatdid.She

watched the whole bloodymess. The cow struggled hard, with the snow so deep, and the wolvesnippedatherandrippedouthergutsevenwhileshewastryingtorun.MeandGarrettwalkeddowntothekillsiteafewdayslater,andtherewasnothingleftbutbones.Youcouldseetheirteethmarksalongtheribcage.Pluckedclean,notevenaspeckofgristleleft.Neverseenanythinglikeit.”

“We’veheardthemhowlafewtimesoverourway.Thatsoundstayswithyou.”“Thatitdoes.Thatitdoes.”Jackdecidedhewouldn’tmention thewolves toMabel.Hehadmade thatmistakeoncebefore,

afterGeorge toldhimabout a lynx.Oneof theBensons’neighborshada small flockofdomesticducks.Onenightthefarmerwasmarchinghisflockintotheshedwhenalynxraninandsnatchedaduckrightoutfromunderhisnose.Thewildcatreturnedagainandagainoverthenextseveralweeks,slowlypickingoffbirdsanddestroying the farmer ’s investment.The lynxwouldcome inatnight,killafew,feedoffthemforseveraldays,thenreturntotakemore.Onemorningasthemanopenedtheduckshed,thelynxdashedoutathim.Nearlygavethefarmeraheartattack.BothGeorgeandJackgot a few chuckles out of the thought of the poor farmer stumbling backward as the overgrownhousecatchargedpasthim.

Mabel,however,hadnotbeenamused.Sherefusedtogototheouthouseaftersunset,saidshewasafraidsomewildanimalwouldbelurkingthere.Jacktriedtoreassureher,butfoundhimselfstandingguardbytheouthousedoormorethanonenight.

Jackwaspreparingtoleavethegeneralstorewithacrateofsupplieswhenhecaughtsightoftheiceskates, theirbladesgleaminginthesunlitfrontwindow.Hehadnotthoughtofthemsincehewasaboy,skatingonthecowpond.Itwasacrazywhim,buthewenthomewiththreepairs.

ThenexteveningFainacame,and theysettled into their familiarhabitsofpreparingdinnerandgatheringatthetable.WhenFainayawned,Jackstoodandannounced,Getyourcoats.We’regoingout.

What?Goingoutwhere?Mabelasked.Downtotheriver.Thechildjumpedtoherfeet,hereyesalive.Willweallgo?sheasked.Jacknodded.Butit’sfreezingoutthere,Mabelsaid.Andwhyonearthwouldwegototheriver?Notimeforquestions.Getdressed.He rarely gave orders so bluntly, andMabel seemed surprised into submission. They got their

coatsandboots,andJackinsistedMabelputonlongunderwearandwoolpants.Hewrappedascarfaroundherneck.

Therenow.Mabel,youtakethelantern.Hegrabbedacanvasbagfrombesidethedoor.What’sthatyou’rebringing?Mabelasked.Hemerelyraisedaneyebrowcomicallyandgrinned.Andwhyarewegoingoutinthemiddleofthenight?Again,justaflickofthebrow.Idon’tthinkItrustyou.Notonelittlebit.Itwascoldoutside,clearandstill,withanearlyfullmoonshiningjustabovethemountains.With

the fresh snow and moonlight, they didn’t need the lantern, but it gave a comforting glow. TheyfollowedthetraildowntotheWolverineRiver.

This way, Jack said, and he led them through a stand of willows and out toward a small sidechannel of the river.Thewindhadblown the ice cleanof snow, and it glistenedblackbeneath themoon.JackfoundadriftwoodlogandhadFainaandMabelsitsidebyside.Hekneltbytheirfeet.

Forheaven’ssake,Jack.Whatareyoudoing?Jackpulledtheskatesoutofthebag.Mabelstartedtostand.Ohno,youdon’t!shesaid.Haveyoulostyourmind?Youarenotgettingthoseonmyfeet.I’llfall

flatonmyback,orI’llbreakthroughtheiceanddrown.Jacklaughed,grabbedherfeet,andbuckledthebladesontoherboots.Mabelsputteredindignantly.Quick,Faina,Jacksaid.Doyouknowwhattheseare?Thegirlshookherhead,herlipspinchedtightinfearandexcitement.They’reiceskates.Youputthemonyourfeetandslideontheice.Heshowedherhowtoputthemonandbucklethestraps.ThenhereturnedtoMabelandputhis

mouthtoherear.I’dneverletanythinghappentoyou.Youknowthat,don’tyou?

Mabel’seyesglitteredinthemoonlight.Yes.Idoknow,andshewobbledasshestoodup.Theriver ’sstillfrozenthick,hesaid.Allthislastthawdidwassmooththeicetoaperfectshine.

Andevenifwedidfallthrough,thisisn’tthemainchannel.Thewater ’sonlyafootdeep.We’djustgetcoldandwet,buteventhatwon’thappen.Ipromise.

Jackputonhisownskatesandledthemontotheice.Mabel was hesitant, but soon her childhood came flying back to her and she slid confidently

acrosstheice.Thechild,ontheotherhand,seemedtohaveleftherbraverself,theonewhoslewwildanimalsandsleptaloneinthewilderness,backonsolidground,andshesurprisedJackbyclingingtohisarmlikeatoddler.

It’sallright,hetoldher.Evenifyoufall,itonlysmacksyourbottomabit.Noharmdone.Asifoncue,Mabelslippedandfell.Dashitall!shesaid.BeforeJackcouldshakefreeofFainaandrushtoherside,Mabelhadeasedontoherkneesand

stoodagain.Ishouldhavestrappedapillowtomybackside.Shelaughedanddustedherselfoff.Jackskatedfaster,whileFainamerelyheldonandletherselfbepulled.Mabeljoinedthem,andthe

threeheldhandsandslowlyskatedinacircle.Theriverbedechoedwiththesoundoftheirwhoopsandlaughterandtheirbladescarvingintotheice.

Mabelletgoandskatedfartherupthechannel.Howfarisitsafe?shecalledback.Allthewaytothatcorner,andhewatchedasMabelgainedspeed.Willshebeallright?Fainawhispered,stillholdingontohisarm.Yes.Yesshewill.EventuallyFainagrewcomfortableontheskates,andJacksetthelanterninthecenteroftheice.

Mabelreturnedtoskateslowlybutgracefullyaroundandaroundthelight,whileFainafollowedlikea long-legged fawn learning towalk. Jack skated in the opposite direction and caughtMabel by ahand.

Weused to skate like this togetherwhenwewere young, he said as theypassedFaina.Doyouremember?

HowcouldIforget?Youwerealwaystryingtokissme,butIcouldoutskateyou,soyounevergotthechance.

Shelaughed,pulledherhandfree,andskatedupriver.Jackpursuedheracrosstheice,thenight-blackenedtreesandskyflyingpasthim.

Faster!Gofaster!Fainacalledout,andJackdidn’tknowwhoshewascheeringon,butheskatedasfastashedaredandprayedhisbladeswouldn’tcatchinacrackorroughspot.Mabelstayedjustoutofreach,untilsheslowedandswungaroundtofacehim.HandinhandtheyskatedbacktowhereFainastoodinhersmallcircleoflanternlight.Withoutaword,JackandMabeleachtookoneofthechild’shandsandskateduptheriver,followingthecurvesofthebank.Fainasquealedindelight.Eventhroughthecushionoftheirthickcoats,Jackcouldfeelhersmallarmfoldedinhis,anditwasasifhisveryheartwerecradledin thosejoinedelbows.Theicewaslikewetglass,andtheyglidedfastenough tocreateabreezeagainst their faces.He lookedatMabel and saw tears runningdownhercheeksandwonderedifitwasthecoldthatmadehereyeswater.

Astheynearedthecorner,wherethesmallchannelrejoinedthemainriver,theyslowedtoastop

andthethreeofthemstoodarminarm,JackandMabelgaspingforbreath.Themoonlituptheentirevalley,gleamingofftherivericeandglowingonthewhitemountains.

Let’s keep going, Fainawhispered, and Jack, too, wanted to skate on, up theWolverine River,aroundthebend,throughthegorge,andintothemountains,wherespringnevercomesandthesnownevermelts.

As she gazed upon him, love… filled every fiber of her being, and she knew that thiswas theemotionthatshehadbeenwarnedagainstbytheSpiritoftheWood.Greattearswelledupinhereyes—andsuddenlyshebegantomelt.

—“Snegurochka,”translatedbyLucyMaxym

CHAPTER36

Hewasn’talwaysthere.SomedaysMabelcreptthroughthesnowanddowntothecreekbehindthecabin,andthecreaturewouldn’tshowhimself.There’dbeonlythetrickleofwaterthroughsnowandice.But if she sat,patient and silent, at thebaseof the spruce tree, eventuallyhemightappear.Hissmallbrownheadwouldpeekupfromapoolofopenwaterinthecreek,orhistailwoulddisappearoverasnowyhummock.

ThisNovemberday,theriverotterdidnotkeepherwaiting.Sheheardicesplinter,asplash,andthen he was just the other side of the small creek. She expected him to dash across a log or runhumpbackeddownthebankashealwaysdid.Insteadhepausedatthewater ’sedge,turnedtowardher,and stooduponhis hind legs.Hewas remarkably still, supported byhis thick tail, his front pawsdanglingathischest.ForlongerthanMabelcouldholdherbreath,theotterstaredatherwithhiseyeslikedeepeddies.Andthenhedroppedtoallfoursandscampereddownthecreek.

Farewell,oldman,untilwemeetagain.Shehadnowaytoknowitsageorgender,buttherewassomethinginthelight-coloredchinand

long, coarsewhiskers that reminded her of an oldman’s beard. From a distance the otter gave acomical,mischievousimpression,butwhenitslitheredcloseMabelcouldsmellfishbloodandawetchill.

She toldnooneof theotter.Garrettwouldwant to trap it;Fainawould askher todraw it.Sherefusedtoconfineitbyanymeansbecause,insomestrangeway,sheknewitwasherheart.Living,twistingmusclebeneathbristlydampfur.Breaking through thin ice, splashing incoldcreekwater,slidingbelly-downacrosssnow.Joyful,thoughitshouldhaveknownbetter.

Itwasn’tjusttheriverotter.Sheoncespiedagray-browncoyoteslinkingacrossafieldwithhismouthhalfopenasifinlaughter.ShewatchedBohemianwaxwingsliketwilightshadowsflockfromtreetotreeasifsomegreaterforceorchestratedtheirflight.Shesawawhiteerminesprintpastthebarnwithafatvoleinitsmouth.Andeachtime,Mabelfeltsomethingleapinherchest.Somethinghardandpure.

Shewasinlove.Eightyearsshe’dlivedhere,andatlast thelandhadtakenholdofher,andshecouldcomprehendsomesmallpartofFaina’swildness.

Theseasonsofthepastsixyearshadbeenlikeanoceantide,givingandtaking,pullingthegirlawayand then bringing her back. Each spring Faina left for the alpine high countrywhere the cariboumigratedand themountains cuppedeternal snow,andMabelno longerwept, though sheknewshewouldmissher.

Homesteaders called that bittersweet seasonwhen the river ice givesway and the fields turn tomud“breakup,”butMabelfoundsomethingtenderandgentleinit.Shesaidgoodbyetothegirljustasthebogvioletsbloomedpurpleandwhitealongthecreeksandcowmoosenuzzledtheirnewborns,justasthesunbegantopushwinteroutofthevalley.

And then, when the days stretched long, the land softened and warmed and the farm thrived.Beyondthebarn,beneathacottonwoodtree,therewasthepicnictableJackandGarretthadbuilt,and

oftenontopofitduringthesummertherewouldbeamoonshinejarfilledwithwildflowers.MostSundays,theysharedamealwiththeBensons,sometimeshere,sometimesattheirhomestead.Whentheweatherwas fine and the bugsmiraculously scarce, they ate outdoors. Jack andGeorgewouldbuild an alder fire in a pit early in themorning and then roast a hunk ofmeat from a black bearGarretthadshot in thespring.Estherwouldbringpotato-and-beetsalad;Mabelwouldbakeafreshrhubarbpieandspreadawhitetablecloth.Thenthetwowomenwouldwalktogetherarminarmandpickfireweedandbluebells.Inthebackgroundtheywouldhearthementalkingandlaughingastheflamesinthepitsputteredandflaredwiththebear-fatdrippings.WhenMabelwentintothecabintogetplatesandsilverware,Jackwouldsometimescomeupbehindher,softlypullbackthewispsofherhair,andkissherneck.“You’veneverbeenmorebeautiful,”hewouldsay.

Harvestwould come, and sometimes during those long, exhausting days, itwould be asMabelonceimagined—sheandJacktogetherinthefieldastheygatheredpotatoesintoburlapsacksorcutcabbages from their stalks, andevenas shewiped sweat fromher faceand tastedgritbetweenherteeth,shetriedtobreatheinthesweetnessofthemoment.Atnighttheywouldrubeachother ’ssoremuscles and jokingly complainof their aches,Mabel alwaysmore than Jack, though sheknewhispainwassomuchworse.

Then,whenthedaysshortenedandthefirstfrostcame,theywhisperedtheirblessingsandprayedforsnow.MabelwouldtrytoguesshowmuchFainahadgrownsincetheyhadlastseenher,andshewould sewwool stockings and long underwear and sometimes a new coat, always bluewoolwithwhitefurtrimandsnowflakesembroidereddownthefront.

Eachtimethegirlarrived,shewastallerandmorebeautifulthantheyhadremembered,andshewouldbringgiftsfromthemountains.Oneyearitwasasackofdriedfish,anotheritwasacaribouhide,tannedsuppleandscentedwithwildherbs.Shewouldhugthemandkissthemandsayshehadmissedthem,andthenshewouldrunoffintothesnowytreesshecalledhome.

MabelnolongershoutedFaina’snameintothewildernessortriedtothinkofwaystomakeherstay.Instead,shesatatthetableandbycandlelightsketchedherface—impishchin,clevereyes.Thenshe tucked these sketches into the leather-covered children’s book that told the story of the snowmaiden.

Winterafterwinter,Faina returned to theircabin in thewoods,and inall that time,nooneelseeversawher.ItsuitedMabelfine.Justaswiththeotter,shecametoguardthegirlasasecret.

CHAPTER37

Garrettwatchedthefoxthroughhisironsights.Itwasstillafewhundredyardsaway,butitsgaitdidnot falter as it traveled up the river toward him. Itwouldn’t be long before it closed the distance.Garrettleanedbackintothecottonwoodlog,wedgedhiselbowagainsthisknee,steadiedhisrifle.Hisfingerrestedlightlyatthetrigger.

Heknewitcouldbetheone.Foryears,Jackforbadehimfromkillingtheredfoxthathuntedthefieldsandriverbedneartheirfarm.Hesaiditbelongedtoagirlwholivedaloneintheforest,huntedinthemountains,survivedwintersthatkilledgrownmen.Agirlnooneeversaw.

Garrett’sriflegentlyroseandfellwithhisbreaths,buthiseyesremainedfixedontheanimal.Hecouldn’tbesure.InthefadingNovemberlight,itcouldalmostbeacrossfox,amixofsilver-blackandred.Itstoppedandraiseditsnosetotheair,asifithadscentedsomething,thenresumeditspathupthesnowyriver.Thesunsankadegreeandthelastgoldenraysdisappeareddownthevalley.

Heletthefoxcome.Whenitwaslessthan150yardsaway,Garrettsatforward,puthischeektotheriflestock,shuthislefteye,andlinedtheironsightsonthefox’sspine.Butthefoxveered,abruptlyturned its tail towardGarrett, and passed behind awillow shrub, headed for the nearby poplars. Itmovedquickly.Garrettloweredtherifle.He’dhesitatedamomenttoolong.Itwouldsoonbetoodarktoshoot,andthefoxwouldbelosttothetrees.

Then he saw that the animal had stopped and sat watching him from the forest’s edge. Garretleanedagainintohisrifle,squinteddownthebarrel,andpulledthetrigger.

Ittookonlytheoneshot.Theimpactwasenoughtoflipthesmallanimalontoitsside,anditdidnotmoveagain.Garrettejectedtheshell,thengotupfromhispositionagainstthelog.Withhisrifleathisside,hewalkeduntilhestoodoverthedeadfox.

Theanimalhadthinnedtoascruffyframe,andthefuralongitsmuzzleandhackleshadwhitenedwithagesothatperhaps,inpoorlightandatadistance,itcouldbemistakenforacross.Buttherewasnodoubt.Itwastheone.

Alltheseyears,GarretthadobeyedJack’scommand.Thefoxwoulddartacrossafieldorcrosshispathintheforest,andGarrettwouldletitpass.Eachtimewasanirritation.Nothingindicatedthatthisfoxwasanythingmorethanarangingwildanimal.

Butnowthathehadkilledit,heregrettedit.Hewashonorbound.Heshouldtakeit toJackandMabel’sdoor.Heshouldconfess,apologize.Jack’sreproachwouldbestern.Mabelwouldbesilent.Shewouldsmoothherapronwithherhands,gentlyshakeherhead.

Hehadtogetridofit.Hecouldskinitoutandtrytosellthepelt,butitwasshabbyandpracticallyworthless.Hismomwouldaskwherehegotit.Hisdadwouldwanttoseethefur.Garrettwouldenduptellinglies,andlieshadawayofgettingcomplicated.

Heshoulderedhisrifle,pickedupthefox,andcarriedit intothetrees.Hewassurprisedathowthinandbonyitfeltinhisarms,likeanoldbarncat.

Beyondthepoplars,inadensestandofspruce,Garrettarrangedtheanimalinthesnowatthebaseofatree.Hebrokeoffevergreenboughsandlaidthemoverit.Hehopeditwouldsnowagainsoon.

Asheturnedtowalkhomeinthedusk,henolongerfeltlikeanineteen-year-oldmanbutinsteadashamefullittleboy.

“Garrett.Gladyoucouldcomeover.”

Jack greeted him at the cabin door and shook his hand. “We were hoping you’d make it thisevening.”

Atthekitchentable,Mabelsmiledupathim.“Momsaidyouallwantedmetocomeover.”“Yes,it’sabouttime,”Mabelsaid.“What’sitabout?”Garrett’sstomachturned.“Haveaseat,”Jacksaid.Heheldoutachair.“Allright.”GarrettsatandlookedfromJacktoMabelandbacktoJackagain.“Sothisishowitis,”Jackbegan.“We’vebeenwantingtotalktoyouaboutthefarm…”“Butmaybeweshouldeatdinnerfirst?”Mabelasked.“Nope.Businessfirst.Thisissomethingwe’vebeenmeaningtodoforalongtime.”Helookedat

Garrett.“Youknowwecouldn’thavemadeagoofthisplacewithoutyou.”“Idon’tknowaboutthat.Justbeenahiredhand.Couldhavebeenanotherone.”“That’swhereyou’rewrong.Thesepastyears,wehaven’tbeenabletopayyounearwhatyou’re

worth.”“Andyouwerenever justahiredhand.You’vebeensomuchmore, tobothofus,”Mabelsaid.

“WhatwouldIhavedonewithoutyoutodiscussMarkTwainandCharlesDickenswith?”Garrett’sshouldersrelaxedsome,andheletoutaslowbreath.“Youknowwhatthisis?”Jackgesturedtowardsomepapersspreadonthetableinfrontofthem.“No.Can’tsaythatIdo.”“Thesearelegalpapersthatmakeyouapartnerinthisfarm.Andtheyalsolayoutthatwhenwe

arebothgone, thisplacewillbecomeyours.Now,hearusoutbeforeyoustart shakingyourhead.Youknowwedon’thaveasonofourowntoleavethisplaceto.Andthetruthis,youmadeitwhatitistoday.”

“Idon’tknow…”“Now,weunderstandfarminghasn’talwaysbeenyouraim,”Jackwenton,“butitseemstousthat

youtakeprideinwhatyou’vehelpedusdohere.Andmaybeyou’dbeabletorunthisplace,alongwithyourtrappingandsuchinthewinters.”

“Or,”Mabeladded,“youwouldbefreetoselltheplace.Afterwe’regone.”“Iwouldn’t…Idon’tknow.”“Well, think it over, if you’d like,” Jack said. “We aren’t rushing off to the grave yet, arewe,

love?”“No.Ihopenotanytimesoon.ButGarrett,whateveryoudecide,wewantyoutounderstandhow

muchyou’vemeanttous.Weareproudofthemanyou’vebecome.”“Mabel,you’reembarrassingtheboy.”“Pleaseletmefinish.Itistrue,whatJacksaid.Wewouldn’tbehere,thisfarmwouldn’tbehere,if

itweren’tforyouandallyourhardwork.Wedon’thavemuchinthisworld,butwewanttoofferyouwhatlittlewedohave.”

“Areyousure?Imean, isn’t thereanybodyelse,somebodyfromyourfamily?”Garrettslid thepapersbacktowardJack.

“Nope.You’retheclosestwe’vegot,”Jacksaid.

“Iwasneverexpectinganythinglikethis.”“Weknow.Butit’stherightthingtodo.”“Ishouldtalkitoverwithmyfolks,”Garrettsaid.“ButIguessit’smostlyuptoyoutwo.”“We’ve never beenmore sure,” Jack said, and he reached across the table and shook his hand

again.

CHAPTER38

ItwasonlythemiddleofNovember,butthesnowlayheavyanddeepacrosstheland.Garrettwentonfoottosearchfortracks.Wolf,marten,mink,coyote,fox—butitwaswolverinehehadhisheartseton.Hewasatrapperofexperience,andyeteverywinterthisoneanimaleludedhim.Hecouldn’thaveput it towords, buthehungeredafter itsboldwill, its ferocious and solitarymanner.Toenter thewolverine’sterritory,hewouldhavetotravelfartherintothemountainsthanheeverhadbefore.

Hehikedupfromtheriverbedintothefoothills,andasthelandsteepened,hewishedhehadwornsnowshoes.Hecarriedalightpackwithenoughsuppliestogethimthroughthenightifnecessary,butin thisweatherhewouldbewetandcold.As themorningworeon, itbegantosnowagain,andheconsideredturningback.Butalwaysthenextridge,thedrawbeyond,luredhimon.Maybejustaheadhewould finda rocky,narrowvalleyandwolverine tracks.Whenhecresteda foothilldottedwithspruceandsawspreadbeforehimamarsh,itshummocksofgrasscoveredinsnow,heturnedtogoback.Therewouldbenowolverinehere,andthefreshsnowwasburyinganytracks.

Hewasstoppedbyasound likeawoodstovebellows,air forcedhard.Hespunaroundandsawsomethingattheotherendofthemarsh.Hecrouchedlowbehindabirchlogandsquintedagainstthefallingsnow.

Atfirstitappearedtobeamoundofsnowliketheothersinthemarsh,butlargerandstrangelyformed,andthengreatwhitewings,broaderthanGarrett’sownarmspan,beatagainsttheair.Againheheardthesoundofbellowsandknewitcamefromthosewings.Hecrawledonhishandsandkneesaround thefallenbirch, thesnowup tohischest.Hecreptcloser,hidingbehindonehummockandthen another.When he again focused on the white creature, he saw something else. Blond hair, ahumanface.Snowflakespeltedhiseyes,andheblinkedhard,butthefaceremainedamongthebeatingwingsandtheawfulhissingsound.Hisskinprickledalonghisneckandsweatrandownhisback,butstillhecreptcloser,soclosethatthenexttimethecreaturebeatitswings,hethoughttheairmovedagainsthisface.

Awhiteswan,itslongneckserpentine,turneditsheadtothesideandlookedathimwithoneofitsgleamingblackeyes.Then it lowered itshead,hunched itswings,andhissed.Behind thewings thefaceappearedagain.Agirlcrouchedinthesnowjustbeyondtheswan.Shestood,andatfirstGarrettthoughtshehadspottedhim,butshewas lookingonlyat theswan.Herbluecoatwasembroideredwithsnowflakes,andonherheadsheworeamarten-furhat.

Itwasher,theonetheyhadwhisperedaboutalltheseyears.ThechildnoonebutJackandMabelhadeverseen.Thegirlwhomadeapetofawildfox.Winterafterwinter,notevenapassingglimpse,notasinglefootprintinthesnow,andnowhereshewasbeforehim.Andshewasn’tthelittlegirlhehadalwayspictured.Shewastallandslender,onlyafewyearsyoungerthanhe.

The swan’s head nearly reached the girl’s shoulders, and itswings enveloped her as it flappedtheminwarningandhopped towardher.Garrett saw then thatoneof its feetwasbound inasnareloop.Itwasnotthethin-bonedhareordownyptarmiganshehadprobablyintendedtocatch.Theswanwasabeautifulgiant,muscleandsinewpoundingbeneathwhitefeather,blackeyessetdeepandfiercetotheblackbeak.Hewonderedifthegirlwouldsetitfree.Perhapsshecouldslipbehinditandsnapthesnare,buthedoubtedshecouldgetcloseenoughwithouttheswanattackingher.

Then he wondered—would she kill it? The possibility sickened him, and he didn’t knowwhy.Because thegirlwaswillowy,withdelicate featuresand smallhands?Because the swanhadwingslikeanangelandflewthroughfairytaleswithamaidenuponitsback?Garrettknewthetruth—theswanmeatcouldfeedthegirlforweeks.

Shebegantounbuttonhercoat.Spellbound,Garrettwatchedevenashefeltheshouldlookaway.Shesetthecoatonabushbehindher,thenherhataswell.Sheworeafloweredcottondresswithwhatlookedlikelongunderwearbeneathit.Shebentandremovedaknifefromasheathonherleg.

The swan strained at thewillowbush that anchored the snare.Thegirl held theknife and creptslowlyaroundahummock to theother sideof theswan, trying topositionherselfbehind it.But itfollowedher,turneditsheadandhoppedaroundtofaceher.Shewouldneverbeabletotakeitheadon.Thebird’sbeakwouldcutthroughherskin,breakhersmallbones.Ithissedagainandsweptitswingsather,nottoflybuttoattack.Garrettloweredhimselftotheground,notwantingtobeseen.

Asthegirlsteppedtowardtheswan,thebeatingofitswingsbecamemorepowerful,swirlingthesnowandair,anditshissesturnedintoaterrible,crackinggrowl.Shecircledquicklyarounditsbackand jumped onto the swan. Its free leg gaveway and it crumpled, but itsmassivewings still beatbeneathher.Thegirlheldtightly,herfaceturnedtotheside,andgrabbedtheswan’ssinewyneck.Sheslidonehandupuntilitclenchedjustbelowthebird’sheadandshehelditatarm’slength.Itseemedfatiguedfromthestruggle,andforamomentbothwerestill.Garrettcouldhearthegirlbreathing.

But then the swan’s neckwrithed in her hand and it lunged toward her face. The beak glancedacrosshercheek.Sheshovedtheswan’sheaddownintothewetsnowandspreadherselfontopofthebird.Garrettcouldimaginetheheatoftheswan’sbodybeneathher,couldhearthebirdhissingandsputteringandthatgrowlfromsomewhereinitsstrangeroundbody.Theswanfought,thencalmed,andthegirlreachedwithherknifetowarditshead,sliditundertheneck,andcutsharplyupward.

She wiped her face with the back of her bloody hand and then, beneath her, the swan’s wingsflappedweakly,spasmed,werestillagain.Thegirlcollapsedbesidethebird,itsdeadwingsstretchedbroad.Thebloodspreadbrightlybeneaththemandthesnowfell.

Shedidn’tmove for some time.Garrett’s legswere stiff from the cold, andhe felt the need tostandbut,mesmerized,couldnot.

Forthenexthour,hewatchedassheguttedtheswanandcutofftheheadandblackwebbedfeet.Steamrosefromthebodycavityandstrewnentrails.Shesetasidetheliver,theplum-sizedheart,thesinewy neck. She steadily skinned the swan until she held a sagging pelt of white wings, whitefeathers,andbloodyskin.Garrettexpectedhertothrowitaside,butinsteadshelaiditoutinthesnowandcarefullyrolled itup, thewingsfoldedwithin theskin.Sheput thepelt insideasack.Thenshedraggedthecleanedcarcassawayfromthekillsite,wherethescrapsandbloodwouldattractravens,magpies,andotherscavengers.Garrettwatchedherclimbasmallspruceattheedgeoftheclearingandbegintotiethecarcassandsacktoalimb.

Shewas facingaway fromhim, soasquicklyashecouldGarrettcrawledback thewayhehadcome.Whenhereachedthesprucetrees,hehidbehindoneandwatchedherkneelinthemarshandscrubherhandsandtheknifebladeinthesnow.Thensheputonhercoatandhat.Garrettturneddownthehillandran.

Thesnowhadstoppedanditwasbeginningtoclear.Twilighthintedatwintertocome.Twistingswaths of fog rose up from the river, and as he ran down themountainside, it was as if heweredescendingintoclouds.OverheadheheardaVofmigratingsnowgeesecrytheirgoodbyesintothepurplingsky,andforthefirsttimeinhislife,thesoundfrightenedhim.

CHAPTER39

MabelandFainawerecuttingoutpapersnowflakestodecoratethelittlesprucetreeinthecornerofthe cabinwhen theBensons showed up unannouncedwithChristmas gifts. Esther shoved the dooropenwithoutknocking,andFainaboltedtotheoppositesideoftheroom,hereyeswidewithfear,hermuscles tautas if ready to spring.Foramoment,Mabel feared thegirlwould try tobreakout theglasswindow.Shewenttoherandgentlytookholdofherwrist,hopingtocalmherwithhertouch.

Estherstoodstock-still,hermouthgaping.MabelwouldhavefounditamusinghaditnotbeenforFaina’sterror.

Mabelstraightened,stillholdingontothegirl’sarm,andtookaslowbreath.Esther,shesaid.IwouldlikeyoutomeetFaina.Faina,thisismydearfriendEsther.Just thenGeorge andGarrett bumpednoisily through the door behind her, andEstherwaved a

handandshushedthemasiftheywereabouttostartleawoodlandcreature.It’sthegirl,George,shewhisperedwithouttakinghereyesoffFaina.She’shere.She’srighthere,

infrontofme.Georgelaughedoutloud,butbehindhimGarrettwassilent.Theboy’seyesweredarkandwide,

untilhecaughtMabellookingathim,andthenhesteppedbackbehindhisfather.Mabelnudgedthegirl.Hello,Fainasaidquietly.MyGod,Esthersaid.Sheisreal.Yourgirlisfleshandblood.

Thenextfewhourswereawkward.EsthertriedtoincludeFainainthebarrageofgiftsandtreats,asifshe’dknownallalongshewouldbethere.

Oh,here.Thisoneisforyou,Esthersaid,handingherawrappedpackage.Fainawassilent,andatfirstdidnotevenputoutherhandstoacceptit.MabelandJackbothmoved

tointercede,butstoppedthemselves.Thegirltookthepackageandwithasomberexpressionhelditinherlap.

Well,goonthen.Aren’tyougoingtoopenit?Esthersaid.Faina looked so frightened and confused, her cheeks flushed an unhealthy crimson, thatMabel

longedtoopenthedoortoletherescapeintothecold.

Doyouneedhelp,Faina?Thecabinwasstiflinglyhot.Noonespoke.Alleyeswereonthegirl.FinallyFainabegantopull

awaythepaper.Whenatlastsheheldupaflower-embroideredhandkerchiefandsmiledasifinpoliterecognition,Mabelthoughtshewouldfaintwithrelief.

Thankyou,Fainasaid,andEsther ’seyesglistened.Asthetwofamiliesgatheredfordinner,thetensioneased.Fainaremainedquiet,butshewaswell

mannered,carefullypassingdisheswhenpromptedandgivingasmallsmilehereandthere.Garrett,however,seemedincapableofspeakingorlookingatanyone,particularlythegirl.Herverypresenceseemedanaffronttohim,andMabeldidnotknowwhattomakeofit.

“Youknowtheboyiscatchingapileoflynxthisyear,”Georgesaidaroundamouthfuloffruitcake.“Theharepopulationisup,sothereareatonofcatsalloverthevalley.”

“Isthatso?”Jackasked.Mabel lookedatGarrett, andhis face called tomind that first summerhe came toworkon the

farm—irritable,petulant.“Well?Themanaskedyouaquestion.”GeorgeswunghisarmacrossthebackofGarrett’schair.

Garrettlookedbackdownathisplateandmumbledincoherently.“Hmmm,”Jacksaidagreeably,thoughMabelknewhehadnotheardGarrett’sresponseeither.“What’s thematterwithyou,boy?Speakup.You’vegotnothingtobeashamedof.You’vebeen

doingsomegoodtrappingthisyear.”“Yeah,IguessI’vegottenafew.”Andthenhisheadwasdownagainandhepokedathisdessert

withoutevertakingabite.Wasthisthehonoraryson,theonewhonowcastsullenlooksineveryone’sdirection?Wasn’titat

this very table thatGarrett had shaken Jack’s hand and said itwould be a privilege to be farmingpartners,toinheritthehomesteadwhenthattimecame?

Fortherestoftheevening,theboydidnotutteraword.GeorgeandEstherwentonwith their stories.MabelcleanedupdinnerandpacedbehindFaina.

Thegirlwasshrinkinginherchair,beadsofsweatgatheringonthebridgeofhernose.Mabelfannedherwithanapkinandwipedathertemples.

Toowarm,muchtoowarm,Mabelwhisperedtoherself.AtlasttheBensonssaiditwastimetoleave,andMabelwasrelievedtousherthemalloutthedoor

—George,Esther,andGarretttotheirhorsesandwagon,andFainatothesnowyforest.

CHAPTER40

Garrettcursedandurgedhishorseup thesteephill to followthefootprints.Heducked toavoidaspruce branchbut stillmanaged to get covered in snow.Whenhe reached the top of the ridge, hereinedinthehorse,shookthesnowfromhisshoulders,andleanedfromthesaddle.Thetrackswereold, shapeless indentations beneath several inches of snow, but theywere hers. The horse shifted,antsy toeithergobackorgoon,soGarrettwenton, followingthe tracksas theywoveamongthesprucetrees.

Hewastiredofthegirl.ForsixyearshehadlistenedtoJacktalkabouther.Faina,Faina,Faina.Theangelfromthewoods.Andyet,forallthetalk,neveroncehadGarrettseenhidenorhairofthegirl.Eachwinterhewatchedforhertracks,halfhopinghe’dspotthem,halfhopingJackandMabelwerecrazy.Sometimeshewouldthinkhesawaflickerinthebrush,butitwouldonlybeabird.

Sohowwasitthatthiswinterwasdifferent,thateverywherehewenttheforestsnowwasriddledwithhertracksandhecouldn’tbefreeofher?

Everythingaboutthegirlfilledhimwithguilt.Hehadshotherfoxandtoldnoone.Hehadspiedonher.Againandagainhismindreturnedtothescene,tothegirl’sstrugglewiththeswan.Theemotionsitsparkedbotheredhim,buthecouldnotleaveitbe.

Ashepursuedherhe toldhimselfhewasonlygoingwherehewanted—toward themountains,towardthewolverine.Anditwastrue.Wolverineroamedhigherinthealpinecountry,closertotheglacier.Hewouldnevercatchoneinthelowlandswherehetrappedcoyote,fox,beaver,andmink.

He followed the tracks up into a narrow ravinewhere boulderswere hidden by the snow. Thehorsestumbledoccasionally,andfinallyGarrettdismountedandledtheanimal.Althoughgettingoninyears,thegeldingwasstillsteadyandsure-footed,andknewthemountainslikefewotherhorses.

Garrett’strapsandchainsclankedintheburlapsacksstrappedbehindthesaddle.Waterrandownthrough the boulders, beneath the snow.At anymoment he expected to see the stout, bearlike pawprints of a lonewolverine. Insteadhe saw small tracks, this time fresher.Thegirl again.Probablytoday.Garrettpaused,handsonhisknees,tolookatthetrail.Baretracesontopofthesnow,likealynxorsnowshoehare.ThegirlwasnearlyastallasGarrett,sohowcouldshebesoinsubstantialasto not sink into the snow? Irritated fascination twisted in his gut. He stomped ahead, erasing thedelicatetrackswithhisboots.

Shewasnear.Hewascertain.Something in theairhadchanged. Itwas thesamewhenhestalkedamoose—abruptlythewoodsquietedandhissensessharpened.Whenhelookedahead,hesawthegirlstandingjustoutofthetrees,herbluecoatdecoratedinsnowflakes,herhairanunearthlyblond.Hecouldturnback,butsurelyshe’dseenhim,too.Shewaitedforhim.Hecontinueduptheravine,tryingtowalkslowerthanhisheartraced.

Shedidnotmoveorspeakuntilhewaswithinseveralfeetofher.Sheeyedthehorsenervously,

butwhenGarrettstartedtotellhertonotbeafraid,shespokeoverhim.Youaretheonewhokilledmyfox.ForamomentGarrettcouldnotmakehismouthwork.Howcouldsheknow?Yes,hefinallychoked.Whydidyoucomehere?Hecouldhaveaskedherthesame.Hehadnoreasontofeelinferiortoher.Wolverine,hesaid.I’mscoutingforwolverine.Here?There’sgottobeoneonthiscreek.I’msureofit.Thegirlturnedherheadsidetoside.FuryslowedGarrett’shearttoadullthud.Whatdoyouknow?heasked.Youknowthiswholevalley?Shegaveashortnod.WhyshouldIbelieveyou?Garrettpushedforward,asiftogopasther,andcaughtherscent.Labradortea,elderberry,nettle,

freshsnow.Itwassofaintthathefoundhimselfinhalingdeeply,tryingtocatchmoreofit.The girl turned her back and bent to the ground. In the snowwas awoven birch-bark pack he

hadn’tnoticed.Shestooditupatherfeetandbegantopullsomethingfromit.Whenshefacedhim,sheheldadeadwolverinebyitsfrontpaws.Itsheadwaslikethatofasmallbear,itsbodycompact,legsshortandpowerful.Itwasalargeanimal,closetofortypounds,Garrettguessed,andsheshouldhavestruggledunderitsweight,butsheeasilytosseditathisfeet.Behindhimthehorsenickeredandpulledback.

What’sthis?heasked.Awolverine.Icanseethat.Whatareyoudoingwithit?I’mgivingittoyou.Soyoucanleave.Garrettwasspeechlessforamoment.Idon’twantit,hesaidcrossly.Notlikethis.I’llskinitforyou,saidthegirl,andsheturnedagaintoherpack.What?Hell,that’snotwhatImean.Whyshouldyougiveittome?Idon’twantit.Youdo.Why’dyoukillit,ifyoudidn’twantit?Itwasstealingmartenandbait.Takeit.Garretthadneverbeensomadinhislife.Tothinkoftheyearshehadtriedtofindawolverineto

trap, andherewas thisgirl throwingoneathis feet like adiscardedcarcass.Andorderinghim toleave.Heturnedbacktohishorse,grabbedthesaddlehorn,andmounted.

Won’tyoutakeitwithyou?Thegirl’svoicewashigherpitched,morechildlikethanbefore.Garrettdidn’tanswer.Heshookthereins,andthehorsebegantoworkitswayslowlydownthe

ravine.Therearenoothershere,thegirlshoutedafterhim.Justthisone.Hedidnotlookback.Takeitwithyou,shecalled.Soyoudon’thavetocomeback.Idon’twantyourblastedwolverine,heyelledoverhisshoulder.AndI’llbebackifIwantto.You

don’townthisland.Hedidnotallowhimselftolookbackuntilhewasnearingtheridge.Whenhedid,hesawthegirl

stillstandinginthesameplace,thewolverineatherfeet.Hecouldn’tbesure,buthethoughttherewas

angerinthetightlineofherlips.

Once Garrett believed he was out of the girl’s sight, he dismounted again. The ground was tootreacheroustoride.Beneaththesnow,creekwaterwasfrozeninpoolsandicecoatedtheboulders.Heledthehorsetoabitofopenwaterinthecreekandletitdrink.Whenthehorsewasdone,hecrouchedandscoopedsomeofthewaterinhishandanddrank.Itwassweetandcold,andlefthimqueasy.

Hehadnointentionofgoinghomeyet.Hestillhadmostofthedayaheadofhim,andhehadnotsetasingletrap.

He had always been respectful of other trappers’ territories. A bachelor not much older thanGarretthadclaimed the landdownstreamfromJackandMabel’s,andhedidnot trespass there.Hehadn’ttrappedBoyd’strails,evenwhenhesawthattheoldman’spolesetswentuntouched,untilBoydbestowedthelineuponhim.Amancouldbeshotforstealingatrapper ’scatch,andevenedginginonhisterritorywasconsidereddisrespectful.Butthis?Thiswasjustagirl,agirlsnaringafewrabbits.Nevermindthewolverine.Thathadbeenafluke,surely.

Butheknewitwasnosuchthing—wolverineweren’tcaughtonafluke,andhehadwatchedherkilltheswan.Shewascapable.

Hewipedcreekwateracrosshisbrowanddriedhishandonhiscoatbeforepullinghis leatherglovesbackon.Itwasbeginningtosnow.Hehadn’tanticipatedthat.Theskyhadbeencloudlessthismorning.Whenhehadgonetotheouthousebeforesunrise,hehadseenthenorthernlightstwistingandturningthroughtheblacknessthewaytheydoonlyonclear,coldnights.Buthereitwas,onlyafewhourslater,snowing.Helookedtowardthemountains,butlow-lyingcloudshadswallowedthem.

“Well,Jackson.Timetoheadhomeafterall,eh?”Hedidn’tnormallytalktoahorse,buthewasuneasy.Thesnowwasfallingsteadilynow,anda

slight wind blew up from the riverbed. He pulled himself into the saddle and was momentarilydisoriented.Theairwassothickwithsnowflakeshecouldseeonlytheoutlinesofthenearesttrees.

“Downthehill,Jackson?Can’tgowrongbyheadingtowardtheriver.”Soon,though,blowingsnowblindedGarrett,andthehorsestumbledalongthedisappearingtrail.“Jesus,”hesaidunderhisbreath.“Wheredidthiscomefrom?”Neverbeforehadheseenawinter

stormcomeupsoquickly,whippedoutofnothing.He turned up the collar of his coat and pulled awool hat out of his saddlebag.He slid off the

saddleandthesnowwasabovehisknees.Ithadcomedownfast,anditwasstillfalling.Hegotbackonthehorseandmaneuvereditthroughthetrees,buthehadlosthisbearings.Hethoughthehadbeenfollowingtheslopedowntowardtheriver,butnowheseemedtohavefallenoffintoaravinerunningtheoppositedirection.Hetriedtorememberwhathehadbroughtwithhim.Notarp.Nobedroll.Only

hismostbasicemergencysupplies—somematches,apocketknife,asparepairofwoolsocks.Thelunchhismotherhadpackedforhim.Notmuchelse.Hesawthevaguesilhouetteofalargesprucetreeandheadedtowardit.

Hecouldwaitoutthestormhere,forawhile.Hebrokeoffsomeofthetree’slowestbranches,andthenusedtheedgeofhisboottoscrapesnowawayfromthetrunk.Itwasashelterofsomesort.Hebrokethebranchesoverhiskneeintosmallerpieces,thenpeeledsomebarkoffanearbybirch.Hehadhisax.Oncehegotthefiregoing,hecouldchoplargerpiecesofwood.

Sittingcross-leggedbeneaththetree,hepiledthebarkandsprucebranchesandlitamatch,butitquicklysputteredoutinthedrivingsnow.Another.Another.Onlyafewleft.Eventuallyhegotasmallpieceof thepaperybarktolight,butonlyforsecondsbeforethewindsnuffeditout.Hestoodandkickedatthepile.Snowfromthebranchesabovetoppledontohishead.

“Well,Jackson.Guesswe’repushingon.”Asherode throughthe treeshe thoughtofstorieshehadheardofmenkilling theirhorsesand

climbingintotheirbodycavitiestostaywarm.“Don’tworry,Jackson.We’renotthatdesperateyet.”Butthiswasn’tgood.Hecouldseethat.Hehadsleptoutmanynights,butneversoill-preparedin

suchbadconditions.Snowwasembeddedinthecreasesofhispantsandcoat.Thehorse’smanewascoatedinice.Hehadnochoice—herodeon,notknowinghisdirection.

Whenhefoundhimselfonthebanksofwhatappearedtobeafrozenlake,alakehehadneverseenorheardofbefore,hewasafraid.Hedismountedandstoodbesidethehorseatthesnowyshore.

Goddamn.Goddamn, and he kicked the ground in front of him.The horse slowly blinked, toofatiguedtomoveawayfromthecommotion.

You’relost.Garrettjumpedatthevoice,aneeriewhisperinhisear.Overhisshoulderhesawthegirllikea

ghostinthesnow.Angryatbeingstartled,heshouted,Whatdoyouwant?Youhavelostyourway,shesaid,andagainhervoicewashushedandnearerthanthegirlherself.NoIhaven’t.Buttheybothknewhewaslying.Youwon’tfindyourwayhome,shesaid.No,Idamnwellwon’t.ButIdon’tseeyoucandoathingaboutit.Thegirlturnedandbegantowalkaway.Followme,shesaid.What?I’llshowyoutheway.Hewantedtoyell,tokickhisfeet,tofightthisabsurdturnofevents,buthetookupthereinsand

ledhishorseafterthegirl.Withoutlookingbackshewalkedquicklyandeasilythroughthesnow.Attimeshelostsightofher,butthenshewouldreappear,waitingbesideabirchorinastandofspruce.

Ididn’tmeanforthistohappen,shesaid.EventhoughIwasangry.Ididn’tmeanforyoutoloseyourway.

Well,ofcoursenot.Howcouldthisbeyourfault?Thegirlshruggedandwalkedagain.Thesnowslowedandpatchesofblueskyappearedoverhead.

Whenthemountainsagainrevealedthemselves,theywerenotwhereGarrettthoughttheywouldbe.Wherewouldhehaveendedup,hewondered,ifshehadn’tcomeforhim?

Thegirl’sstepslacedthroughnakedbirchtrees,andafewtimesshelightheartedlyloopedanarmaroundoneoftheirtrunksasshepassedby.Shedidn’tseemtotakenoteofwhereshewasgoingorwhereshehadbeen.Shewaslikeafearlesschildplayinginthewoods,andyetshewastallandalmostawoman,herbluecoattaperedinatthewaist,herhairblondandstraightdownherback.

Youwerethere,shesaid,whenIkilledtheswan.Shedidnotlookbackathimwhenshespokebutranahead,herfeetlightonthesnow,andforthat,

atleast,Garrettwasgrateful.Hedidn’thavetoanswer.Hejusthadtofollowandhopeshenever,everspoketohimagain.Theytraveledforsometimeinsilence.

Yourhorsewon’tmakeitupheremuchlonger,shesaidafterawhile.Thesnowwillbetoodeep.Garrettstoppedwalkingandrubbedthebackofhisneck.Ofalltheblastedthingsshecouldsay.Iknowthat,hesaid.Don’tyouthinkIknowthat?Ineedateamofdogs.Butmyfolkswon’tletme.

Jackson’s a good horse, though. Iwas going to use him awhile, then snowshoe in. Itwould haveworked.

If itweren’t for you, hewanted to add.But he hated thewhiny sound of his own voice, like aspoiledboywhohasn’tgottenhisway.Whycouldn’thejustkeepquiet?That’swhatamanwoulddo.

There,thegirlsaid,andpointeddownthroughthetrees.ItwasJackandMabel’splace.Hecouldseethefieldswhitewithsnowandsmokecurlingupfromtheirstovepipe.

Henoddedandmountedhishorse.Whenhehadriddendownintotheclearing,hespunthehorsearoundtosearchthetreesforthegirl,forherbluecoatandshiningblondhair,butshewasgone.

CHAPTER41

Faina camewith a tall basketmade of birch bark that shewore as a packwithmoosehide straps.Outsidethecabin,sheshruggeditfromhershoulders,setitinthesnowbesideherfeet,tookafishfromit,andheldituptoJack.

Itwas themost hideous creature he had ever seen. It draped nearly two feet between the girl’shands,skinmottledandslick,longbodyfatandlimpasaslug.Ithadthicklipsandawide,flatheadwithabarbjuttingfromitschin.Likeanovergrown,malformedtadpole.

WhatinGod’snameisthat?Aburbot,shesaid.Icaughtitthroughtheicejustnow.Ibroughtitfordinner.Idon’tthinkMabelwillallowitinthekitchen,Jacksaid.Oh.No,I’monlyteasingyou.I’veneverseenonebefore.Isitsafetoeat?Yes,shesaid.Theyswiminthedeepest,coldestwater.Theyarehardtocatch,buttheverybestto

eat.Well,then,Iguesswe’dbettercleanit.Heledthegirlbehindthecabinanddowntothecreek.Youhaveariverotter,Fainasaid,pointingtotheoppositebank.Jacksawthetrackswheretheyveeredaroundafallentree.Otter,yousay?Inevernoticedit.Shecrouchedbesideapoolofopenwater,tookaknifefromasheathatherleg,andopenedthe

fishbellywithaslice.Here,letmedothat,Jacksaid.Shestayedbythecreek,pulledtheentrailsfromthefishandtossedthemintotheflowingwater.

Thensheputahandinsidethebodycavityandscrapedthekidneyfromthespine.Why does Garrett come to themountains? she asked as she shook the clotted blood from her

fingertips.You’veseenhim?Yes.Manytimes.Whydoeshecome?Mustbeputtingouttraps.Oh,shesaid.Youdon’thavetobefrightenedofhim.Hedoesn’tmeanyouanyharm.Allright,shesaid.Shesetthefishinthesnowandwashedthebloodfromherhands.

CHAPTER42

Garrett’s nightswere haunted by the girl.The day she led himout of the snowstorm, he returnedhomeexhaustedbutfoundhecouldnotsleep,andhedidnotsleepwellforweeks.Helayinhisbedand thought of her blue eyes and the delicate features of her face, but theywere always veiled byfallingsnoworcoveredinthefallofherblondhair,andhecouldnotre-createthemclearlyinhismind.Hetriedtoremembertheshapeofherlips.Hewonderedwhatitwouldbeliketotouchthem.Andmorethananything,hewantedtorememberherscent,vagueandsofamiliar.

He returned again and again to the foothills to find her trails skimming across the snow.He toldeveryone,perhapsevenhimself,thathewastrapping,andyetfordayshedidnotputoutasinglesetandsometimesevenforgottobringhisbaitandsnares.Henolongerthoughtofwolverine,butonlyofher,andhiseyesgrewwearyfromwatchingforanyflashofabluecoatorwhite-blondhair.Hesuspectedthatshekeptherselfhidden,butstillhewentback.

Just as the girl predicted, the snow in the mountains was soon too deep for his horse, so hesnowshoed.Sometimeshesiwashed,sleepingbeneathacanvastarpandcookingonanopencampfire.Thosenightsweretheworst,becausesleepnevercame.Hestaredintothecoldblacknessandlistenedforawhisperofmovement.Hewassurethegirlwasjustoutside,watchinghimfromthetrees,andsometimeshefoundherfootprintsthenextmorning.Butstillshedidnotrevealherselftohim.Notuntilthedayhestooddesperateandexhilaratedbesideherfreshtrailandcalledouthername.

Faina!Faina!Ijustwanttotalkwithyou.Won’tyouletme?Thetreesweresilent.Theskywasovercastanddensewithsnowyettocome.Faina!Iknowyou’rethere.Won’tyoucomeout?I’mhere,shesaid,andshesteppedfrombehindasnow-heavysprucebranch.Whatdoyouwant

withme?Idon’tknow,andGarrettwas surprisedathisownhonesty.Hewas recklessandemboldened. I

don’tknow,herepeated.Shenarrowedhersharpblueeyesbutdidnotretreat.Haveyouseenanymorewolverine?heasked,onlybecausehecouldthinkofnothingbettertosay.

Thegirlshookherhead.Andyou?Haveyoufoundyourwolverine?No.Never,actually.I’venevercaughtawolverine.Oh.I’vealwayswantedto.Isthatwhyyou’rehere?No,itisn’t.Whythen?You.Ithink.Thegirlshifted,warynow,butshestoodherground.I’msorryaboutyourfox.Ishouldn’thaveshotit….Wait.Don’tleave.Won’tyoutalkwithme?

I’venevermetanyonelikeyoubefore.Sheshrugged.Apeculiarexpressionpassedoverherface,andhethoughtshesmiled.Doyouwanttoseesomething?sheasked.Allright.Shedartedaroundthesprucetreeandwasgone.Afraidtolosesightofher,heranaswellashe

couldinthesnowshoes.Hefollowedher throughthetrees,upthroughaspensandalpineblueberrybushes.Theymadetheirwayabovethetreeline,wherethesnowyslopesroseovertheirheadsintorockymountaintops.Althoughhewasdampwithsweatandhislungsached,thegirlseemedtireless.Shewaitedonawind-blownrockuntilhemanaged,huffing,toclimbtoher.

Fainahadtakenoffhermittens,andsheputafingertoherlips,shushinghim.Thenshepointedacross theslope tooneside.Garrettsawnothingbutwhite. Itwashumiliating.Healwayshadkeeneyesforgame,butthistimehehadtoshakehisheadno,hedidnotsee.

Shesmiled,notunkindly,andkneltbesidetherock.Fromhercoatpocketsheremovedahandfulofroundedandsmoothstones,allofsimilarsize,asifcarefullychosen.Shepickedone,stood,andthrewit.Garrettheardastifledsquawkandsawawhiteflapping.Thegirlchoseanotherrock,threwagain,andanotherbirdwashit.Withoutlookingbackathim,shesprintedacrosstheslopetowardherprey.Aflockofpure-whiteptarmiganbursttolifefromaroundherfeetinanoisyflutter.Hundreds—more ptarmigan thanGarrett had ever seen at once—filled the sky and dispersed in all directions,somelandingjustafewhundredyardsawayanddisappearingwhite intothewhite,othersclumsilyflyingoverthenextridge.

Thegirlrantohim,smilingandholdingtwodeadptarmiganbytheirfeatheredtoes.Annoyed,hesatwitharmscrossed.Hehadtriedsuchatrickbefore.Afterhurlingdozensofrocks,hehadpoorlywoundedoneandhadtoshootitwithhisshotgunafterall.

So,isthatwhatyouwantedtoshowme?heasked.No.Youarerestednow?Insteadof leadinghimhigherup themountain, ashe expected, shebegan to traverse the slope.

Where her feet touched, tiny snowballs formed and rolled down the hill, leaving dotted trails.Coveringthesteepgroundinsnowshoeswasdifficult,butGarrettknewifheremovedthemhewouldsinkwellpasthiswaistinthesnow,sohesloggedon.Soontheydescendedintoasteep-sidedravinethickwithalderbushes.

Atthebaseofasmallknoll,thegirlwenttoonekneeandagaingesturedforhimtobequiet.Deepsnowcoveredthehill,exceptforaspotnobiggerthanaman’shead.Comecloser,thegirlsaidwithherhands.

It was a gloomy hole in the earth, part of a much larger entrance mostly buried in snow.Recognitionsunkinasacoldshiveruphisneckandalonghisscalp.Shehadledhimtoabearden.

Garrettsquattedinhissnowshoesbesideherandleanedintothehole.Hethoughthecouldmakeoutrootsandblackdirt,but itwassodarkhecouldn’tbesure.Heexpected it tobecavernousandfoul, but all he could smell was snow and earth and maybe damp leaves and fur. He could hearnothingbuthisownbreathing.

Hepointedand raisedhis eyebrowsat thegirl as if to ask, Is it in there?Shenodded,her eyeslivelyandhermittenedhandonhisshoulderinwarning.Eventhroughhisheavywintercoat,hecouldfeelthepressureofherhandonhisskin,anditlefthimlight-headed.Theyslowlybackedawayfromthedenandwalkedinsilenceuntiltheyweredowninthecreekbed.

Isitinthere?hewhispered.Now?Yes.Iwatcheditdigthedenfromupthere,andthegirlpointedtotheslopeontheoppositesideof

thecreek.Brownbear?Garrettasked.Shenodded.Aboar?No.Amama,withtwocubs.Noanimal in thewildernessmoredangerous,Garrett thought.Hehadwatchedbrownbearson

mountainsides,seentheirmusclesrippleacrosstheirhumpedbacks,theirfurundulateinwaves.Eachtimehecaughtevenapassingglimpseofone,hewasawestruck.Butneverhadhebeen thisclose.Snowalonehadseparatedhimfromasowgrizzly,heavywithsleepandpower,hercubsnursingatherside,herlongclawstrailingfromherpaddedfeet.

CHAPTER43

TheboywasatMabel’sdoor,coveredwithsnowandleadingahalf-grownpuppyonaropeleash,andhecameaskingafterFaina.

“Pardon?”“Faina?Isshehere?”“Why,no,Garrett.Sheisn’t.Butcomeoninside.”Hepausedinthedoorwayandlookeddownattheblack-and-white,floppy-earedpup.“I suppose you can bring your new friend in aswell,”Mabel said, gesturing them through the

doorandclosingitbeforetoomuchsnowblewin.Thepuppywaggeditstailfuriously,andwhenMabelbentbesideit,triedtojumpintoherlap.She

laughedandletitlickherfacebeforeshestoodagainandwipedherhandsonherapron.“Soyougotyourselfanewpuppy?”“Naw.YouknowMomandDadwon’tletmehaveanysleddogs,”hesaid.Heremainednearthe

door,shiftingawkwardlyinhisboots.“No,actually,well,Ibroughtitforher.”“NotforFaina?”“Youdon’tthinkshe’lllikeit?”“Oh.Well,yes.Isupposemostanychildwouldadoreapuppy,butI’mnotsure…”“She’snotachild.”Histonewasunexpected—irritable,evenalittledefensive.“No,Iguesssheisn’tachildanymore,isshe?”MabelhadnoticedachangeinFaina.Hercheekshadthinnedsothatthebonestructurewasmore

striking,andherlimbshadgracefullylengthened.Sheseemedtaller,moreconfident.Closetosixteenorseventeenyearsold,Mabelguessed.

“Areyouexpectinghertonightmaybe?”“Idon’tknow.Wecanneverbesurewhenshewillcome.”Thepuppywascavortingaround thesmallcabinandhadalreadymanaged to leaveapuddleof

urine in one corner, drag a dish towel to the floor, and begin chewing Jack’s slippers beside thewoodstove.Mabelgrabbedthedishtowelandbegancleaningupthemess.

“I’msorry,Garrett.Idon’tknowwhenwe’llseehernext,andtobehonest,I’mnotsureit’ssuchagoodidea.Shemightnotbeabletocareforapuppyonherown.”

“Shecould.”“Well, let’sseewhatJackthinks.He’llbehomeinafewhours.I’doffertokeepthepuppyhere

untilhernextvisit,butitwouldberatherinconvenient.”“CouldIstayhere,withthepuppy?Inthebarnmaybe,untilshecomesagain?”“Oh.Well,Isuppose.Ifthat’swhatyou’dliketodo.Itwillbecold,though.”“I’llbeallright.Andshe’llprobablycomesoonenough,don’tyouthink?”Garrett took thepuppyoutside to romp in the snow, andMabelwas left tomuddle throughher

thoughts.Whatanoddturnofevents,theboybringingFainaapuppy.Mabeldoubtedthegirlwouldeven come into the house if she knewGarrettwas there. Faina never visitedwhen strangerswerearound.HowlongwouldGarrettstay,waitingtoseeher?

“Garrett’shere?”Jacksaidwhenhereturnedjustbeforenightfall.“Sawhishorseisinthebarn.”

“Yes.He’scomewithagiftforFaina.”“Faina?Whatkindofgift?”“Apuppy.”“Apuppy?”“Yes.Garrettsaidit’sahusky,onethatcouldbetrainedasasleddog.”“Adog?ForFaina,yousay?”Heseemedpuzzledatfirst.Thenhegrinnedbroadly.“Apuppy!”“Youthinkthisisagoodidea?”“Ofcourse.Sheneedsafriend.”“Butcanshecareforit?”“Oh,she’llmanagefine.It’llbegoodforher.”“Areyousure?”Jackmusthavenoticedheranxioustonebecausehelookedathermoreclosely.“She’slonesome,Mabel.Youmustseethat.Pulledbetweenhereandthere—uneasyinourhome,

allaloneinthewoods.I’llbetshe’sneverevenbeenaroundahappy-go-luckypup.”MabelwastemptedtoexplainherotherreservationsaboutGarrettandhispeculiarbehavior,but

shecouldn’tfindthewordstoexpressthemandknewshewouldsoundfretfulandsilly.

WhenFainaknockedatthedoorlaterthatevening,Jack,Mabel,andGarrettwereonthefloorwiththepuppy,tossingaknottedragaroundtheroom.Atthesoundoftheknock,Garrettstumbledtohisfeet.

MabelopenedthedoorandwonderedifFainawouldsprintawaywhenshesawtheyhadcompany,butthegirlstoodjustinsidethedoorwithoutremovingherhatandcoat.WhenshesawGarrett,hereyeswidened.

Here,child,Mabelsaid.Letmetakeyourcoat.Hasitstartedsnowingagain?ThoughFainadidnotanswer,sheremovedherhatandcoat,herstareneverleavingGarrett.You rememberGarrett,don’tyou?EstherandGeorge’s son?Hewashereearlier in thewinter.

He…well,hehasbroughtyousomething.Garretthadbeenholdingthepuppybyits leash,butnowheslippedtheropefromitsneck.The

puppy charged toward Faina, tail wagging, tongue flapping. The girl backed away, until she was

pressedagainstthedoorandthepuppywasjumpingather.It’sallright,child.It’sonlyapuppy,Mabelsaid.AndI’dsayit’salreadyquitefondofyou.Hewon’tbite.Ipromise,Garrettsaid.HekneltatFaina’sfeetandputhishandsonthedogtosettleit.See?Heonlywantstoplay.He’syoung,justafewmonthsold.Garrettreachedup,tookFaina’shand,andbroughtitdowntothedog’shead.There.Youcanpethim.Thepuppylappedatthegirl’sfingers,andFainagiggled.So,youlikehim?Garrettasked.Fainanodded,smiling,andlettingthepuppylickherfingertips.Becausehe’sforyou.ThegirllookedatMabel,thenbacktoGarrett,herbrowfurrowed.That’sright.He’syours,Garrettsaid.Iknowhe’snotlikeyourfox.Ithoughtabouttryingtolive-

traponeforyou,butthenIthoughtapupmightbebetter.Fainaputherpalmstothepuppy’scheeks,andthepuppyleanedintohertouchsothatitseemedto

begrinning.You’ll have to feed it regularly, Jack spoke up for the first time. He stood with an amused

expressionandhisarmsfolded.Justfeeditwhateveryou’reeating,anditwilldofine.AndIwasthinkingmaybeyoucouldsleepwithhiminsideyourcoat,untilhegetsalittlebigger,

Garrettadded.Fainawasstillpettingthedoginpurewonderment.Mabelexpectedhertosaythankyouoraska

question,butthegirlwassilent.Youdon’thavetotakethedogifyoudon’twantit.EvenasMabelsaidthis,sheknewitwasridiculous.Fainawouldnotleavewithoutthedog.You’llhavetothinkofaname,then,ifhe’sgoingtobeyours,shesaid.Fainanoddedearnestly,likeachildpreparedtomakeanypromisetokeepherpet.That’sasleddogyou’vegotthere,youknow,Faina,Jacksaid.He’llcarryapackorpullasled.

And thesedogs love thesnow.He’llgoeverywherewithyou.Takehimout in theyard,you’ll seewhatImean.

Jackopened thedoor then, and thedogboundedout into the snow.FainaandGarrett followed,buttoningtheircoatsastheyran.JackclosedthedoorafterthemandwenttothewindowtowatchwithMabel.Thecabin’s lantern light spilledoutside, andnear the trees shecould seeGarrett andFainatossingsnowatthepuppyandrunningasitchasedafterthem.

“So,you’resurethisisagoodidea?”Mabelasked.Jacknoddedandsqueezedhershoulders.Shecouldsee,though,thathewasthinkingofthedog,

andshewasn’tcertainthatwaswhatshehadmeant.

Overthenextfewweeks,GarrettandFainaandthepuppycavortedthroughthesnowandtreesoutsidetheircabin.OftenGarrettwouldcomeearlyintheday,usuallywithsomeexcuseofbringingajarofhismother ’sjamoranaxhandlehehadmendedforJack.Then,inevitably,Fainaandthedogwouldemergefromtheforest.Thegirl’sblueeyeswerealightwithjoy,yetMabelwasapprehensive.Shetried to enjoy the afternoons when they all came indoors, the young dog sprawled beside thewoodstove,GarrettandFainaeatingpieatthekitchentable.This,too,hadbeenpartofalifesheoncehopedforherself—childrendancingoutsideherwindow,childrensafeathertable.Shetried,justas

shehadduringharvestwhensheandJackhadworkedtogether,totakeeverybitofpleasurefromthatmoment,knowingitmightnotlast.

Garrettsoonhatchedaplantotrainthedog,andMabelteasedthatthishadbeenhismotivationallalong, tohaveahandinraisingasleddog.Helaughedbutsaidheknewthispupwasbornfor thesnow. The next time he came, he brought a smallwooden sled he had built and a harness he hadfashionedoutofropeandleather.Sincethedogwasfarfromfullgrown,hesaid,itwouldpullthesledempty.Mabelwatchedasthepuppychargedtowardtheriver, thesledbumpingalongbehinditandGarrettandFainarunningafter.Theyweregoneforsometime,longenoughthatMabelbegantoworry.WhenJackcameinfromthebarn,shetoldhimasmuch.

“They’refine,Mabel.ThosetwochildrenknowthesewoodsbetterthananyoneI’veevermet.Didyouseethatpuprun?He’llmakeFainaafinedog.”

Garrettreturnedalonejustbeforesunset.“Tomorrowwe’regoingtotakethedogforalongrun,uptheriver.We’remeetinghereinthemorning.CanIsleepinthebarnforthenight?”

“Sure,”Jacksaid.“Lookslikeyoufoundheragoodhusky.”“Yep.He’safastlearner,andthere’snothinghewantstodomorethanwork.”“Tomorrowthen?You’regoinguptheriverfortheday?”Mabelwaswringingherhandslikea

grandmother,oldandfussy.

Thenextmorning,asshegaveGarrettalunchshehadpackedforthetwoofthem,includingachunkofmooseroastforthepuppy,shecouldnolongerkeephersilence.

“Garrett,promisemesomething,”shespokeinanearwhisper.Jackdidn’tneedtohearwhatshehadtosay.

“Sure.What?”“Promisemeyouwon’tbuildafire?”“Afire?”“Yes.Whenyoustopforyour lunchor ifyoucatchachill.Promisemeyouwon’tbuildafire,

evenjustalittleoneoftwigs.”“Butwhywould…”“This is important,”Mabel said, and shehad tokeepherself from reachingup and shaking the

youngman’sshoulders.“PromisemethatyouwillneverletFainanearanykindoffire.”Ashervoiceclimbed,Jackglancedupfromthepaperworkhewasreadingatthekitchentable,but

then,distracted,wentbacktoit.Mabelquietedherself.“Iknowitmustsoundlikeastrangerequest,butwillyoupromise?”Garrettlookeddownatherkindly,andforamomentshewantedtotellhimthetruth.Maybeshe

andGarrettcouldlaughattheimprobabilityofit,andthenitmightnevercometopass.“Idon’tunderstand,butIpromise,”Garrettsaidearnestly.“AndIwouldneverletanythinghappen

toFaina.Youmustknowthat.”Andinhisface,shecouldseethathebelievedhisownwords.

CHAPTER44

ThebeardenwasagiftFainahadgivenhimdeliberatelyandwithsomeunderstandingofhisheart.IttookGarrett time to think of a gift of equal significance, and at first heworried the puppywas amistake.Hehadn’tforeseenthatshewouldbefrightenedofit.

Weekslater,hewasmoreconfidentinhischoice.Thepuppywasthrivingunderhercare,itsblackcoatthickandshiny.ItwatchedFainacloselywithitsoneblueeyeandonebrown.Whenit thoughtshehaddisappeared,itwouldsitandwaitsomberlylikeamucholderdog.Whenshereappeared,thepup leapt andyipped.She stillhadn’tnamed it, but called it easily toher sidewithawhistle likeachickadee.

AndFaina—shewastransformed.WhereshehadbeenquietandseriousaroundGarrett,shenowlaughedanddanced.Sheandthepuppywouldchaseeachotherintighterandtightercirclesuntilthegirlfellgigglingtothesnowandthepuppyboundedontopofher.Whenshewasonherfeetagainandhadshakenthesnowfromherlonghair,shesometimestookGarrettbyanarmandpulledhimthrough the trees as she ran after the puppy, and itwas as if hewere swimming through a snowydream.Inthatdream,hesometimesevenkissedhercool,drylips.

Now,astheyheadeduptheWolverineRiver,sunlightflashedoffthesnowandeverybranchanddeadleafglitteredwithfrost.TheairstungGarrett’slungs,andtheexposedskinofhisfaceburnedinthecold.Untiltheybeganwalkinginearnest,hisfeetfelthalffrozen.FainaandthedogranaheadandthenwaitedforGarretttocatchup.Whentheystoppedforlunchatapileofdriftwoodlogs,GarrettthoughtofstartingacampfiretowarmthemselvesbutthenrememberedMabel’splea.Theyatecoldsandwichesfromwax-paperwrappingandfedthepuppythebitoffrozenmooseroast.

Wecouldheadbacknow,Garrettsuggestedwhentheywerefinishedeating.No,justalittlefarther.Please?Sotheycontinuednorth,sometimescrossingthefrozenchannels,othertimesweavingthroughthe

treesalongtheshore.Theriverbedwasblownclearofsnow,andGarrettcouldseewherethewhite-blueicehadbuckledandfrozeintogreatswellsanddips.Inplaceshehesitatedtowalktheice,butFainabeckonedhimacross.Hebelievedinher,trustedsheknewwhereitwasrottenandshearedandwhereitwasstrongandclearasglass,andhealwaysmadeitsafelytoherside.

Astheycametoabend,Garrettrealizedthiswasthefarthesthehadevertraveledupriver.Aroundthecurvethevalleyopenedup,andinthedistancespiresofblueiceglowed.Itwastheriver ’ssource—a glacier cradled betweenwhitemountains. From somanymiles away, the craggy peaks of iceseemedtowaverinthesunlightlikeamirage,closeanddistant,realandunreal.

Comeon!Fainacalled,andsheandthedogdartedacrosshard-packedsnowdriftsandintoastandofwillowalongtheriverbank.Garrett triedtofollowbuthecouldnotweavesoeasilybetweenthefrost-encrustedwillows.Stumblingthroughthebrush,hedidnotseethegirluntilsuddenlyshewasinfront of him. She had hooked her arm around the trunk of awillow, and it bent gently under herweight. She leaned out from the sparkling branches and gazed at Garrett with a look he did notunderstand.Thensheleanedcloser,andhefeltherbreathcoolonhisskin.Likeastartledsnowshoehare,Garrettdidn’tmove,notuntilherlipstouchedhis.

Hercheeksweresosmooth,socoldagainsthis,andshetastedofthefragrancethatallwinterhad

hauntedhim—mountainherbsandwetstoneandnewsnow.Heslowlycircledhisarmsaroundherandpulledhercloserstill.Heshookoffagloveandputhisbarepalmtoherhair,somethinghenowknew he had longed to do since he had first laid eyes on her, that daywhen she killed the swan.Pressedagainsthis,theentirelengthofherbodywasdelicatebutsteady,aliveandcool,likenothinghehadeverfeltbefore.

Youarewarm,shewhisperedagainsthislips.Garrett let hismouth followher jawlinedown toherneckandback toher ear andheknewhe

couldlosehimselfintheplacewhereherblondhairmethersoftskin.Hecouldlosehimselfinherpalesmoothness,inhergentlefingers,inherwideblueeyes.

Hewantedtolethiskneesgivewayandpullthembothdown,tolietogetherinthesnow,buthedidn’t.He stayedonhis feet,onearmaroundherwaist, theother at thebackofherhead,his faceagainstherneck.

Itwasher—shereachedupandbeganunfasteningthesilverfiligreebuttonsofhercoat.No,no,Garrettmumbled.Why?You’llbetoocold.Shedidn’t speakagainbutcontinuedunbuttoninghercoat.Garrett shookhisotherglove to the

groundandslidhishandsbeneaththewool,hisroughskincatchingonthesilklining.Awaveofguiltshuddered throughhim, thatsomehowwhat theyweredoingwaswrong,but itwas too late.There,alongherdelicateribcage…there,againstherbeatingheart…there,hewaslost.

CHAPTER45

I’mtroubled,Jack.”He’dseenitcoming.ThewayMabelhadbeenstaringoutthewindowallday,bitingherlowerlip,

sighingasshesweptandwashed.Whyshealwayswaiteduntilmealtimetomakeherworriesknown,thathehadneverbeenabletofigure.

“Hmmm?”Heladledsomebeansontohisplate.“I’m concerned about the children… well, that’s it, isn’t it? They aren’t children anymore. A

youngmanandayoungwoman,Ishouldsay.”“Hmm.”“Areyoulistening,Jack?”Hewasbutteringasliceofbread,butnodded.“Well, it’s just…theyseemawfullyclose,don’tyouagree?Theyspendsomuch time together,

justthetwoofthem,andI’mnotsureit’sappropriate.Consideringtheirage.”“Hmm.”“Jack,forgoodness’sake.DoyouevenknowwhoI’mtalkingabout?Areyoulisteningtoaword

Isay?”HesethisknifeandforkdownandlookedacrosshisplateatMabel.“I’mnoteatingmydinner,amI?”“I’msorry.It’sjust…it’sGarrettandFaina.Ithinktheymaybe,well…”“What?”“Haven’tyounoticed?Allthetimetheyspendtogether?Thewaytheywalkarminarm?”“They’rejustkids.It’sgoodforhertohaveafriend.”“But Jack, they aren’t children. Not anymore. Don’t you see that? Faina must be sixteen or

seventeennow,Garrettnearlynineteen.”Itdidsurprisehim,howtimehadpassed.Fainahadbeenasmallchildwhenshefirstcametotheir

door, andonly yesterdayGarrettwas a thirteen-year-old boykeenly interested in trappingweaselsandnotmuchelse.

“I supposeyou’re right,Mabel.Theyears have slippedbyme.But Iwouldn’t troubleyourself.Garrettisn’toneforchasingaftergirls.Andcourtingisstillalongwaysoffforthosetwo.”

“No,Jack.You’rewrong.”“Wewerenearlytwicetheiragewhenwecourted.”“Butwewereunusual.MyyoungestsisterwasmarriedbythetimeshewasasoldasFaina.”Jack stareddownat his coldbeans andhardeningbread.Mabel’s knack for conjuring troubles,

presentorfuture,woreonhim.Sometimeshewishedhecouldjusteathisbeanswarmandhisbreadfresh,andleaveworriesbe.

“I’m sorry, Jack.Maybe it’s nothing. It just seemsdangerous for them tobe spending somuchtimealonetogetherwithoutchaperoning.AndI’veseenachangecomeoverFaina,somethingIcan’tquiteexplain.Butwhatcanwedo?It’snotasifwecanforbidher.Sheisn’tourdaughter,isshe?”

Thislastshotstruckitstarget.Howmanytimeshadhespokenthoseprecisewords?Fainawasn’ttheirdaughter.Theycouldn’tdetermineherlife.Alltheycoulddowasbegratefulforanytimethey

hadwithher.Andthisotherbit,aboutFainarunningoffintothewoodswiththeboy,thisrubbedlikeasmallpebbleinaboot.Atfirstitseemslikenothingbutanuisance,buteventuallyithobblesyou.

Fordays,Jackthoughtoflittleelse.Whenhehadbeenayoungman,hehadbeenoblivioustogirls.Whilehisfriendsspiffedthemselvesupeachweekendfordances,hewasmoreinterestedinspendingtheeveningswhittlingonawoodprojectorcaringforafoalinghorse.Sure,hehadkissedafewgirlsbehind the barn, but only when pressed to, and he often wondered what had been different aboutMabelthathisattentionwascaughtandfirmlyheld.Shewasquietandgentleandpreoccupied,andatfirstshowednointerestinhim.Overtime,though,theyhadformedanaffectionthatwasalsoquietandgentle,andattimesreserved.

SohehadthoughtitwouldbeforGarrett.EstherhadjokedthattherewasnooneonGod’sgreenearthwhowouldbewillingtoputupwiththatheadstrongboy.Whilehisolderbrothersrushedintomarriageswithpretty,gigglygirls,Garretttendedtokeeptohimself.Jacksuspectedthateventually,maybe years down the line, awomanwith an unlikely temperamentwould come along and be theperfectmatchforGarrett.

ButFaina?Itwasimpossible.Nomatterherage,shewaschildlike,pureandfragile.Garretthadmoredecencythantodefilethat.

Thenhewatchedthetwoofthem,thewaytheystoodsotheirarmstouchedastheytalked,thewaytheysqueezedhandswhensayinggoodbyetooneanother.Onenightinbed,Mabelbrokethenews,andinhervoicehecouldhearvindicationandalarm.

“Fainaisn’tleaving.Shesaysshewillstayforthesummer.”“What?”“Youheardme.She’snotleavingwhenthesnowmelts.”“Why?”“Doyouhavetoask?”“Whatdidshetellyou?”“She saysGarrettwants to take her salmon fishing and to the tundra to hunt caribou. She says

she’llstayallsummer.”Jackcouldn’tputhis fingeronwhy itunnervedhim.Wasn’t this theirwish?Thegirlwouldbe

withthemallyear,andforthoselongsummermonthstheywouldn’thavetowonderabouthersafety.Butitwasn’twhathewanted.Hemissedherwhenshewasgone,buthelikedevenmoretothinkofherinthemountainsnow,farfromthehotsunandthemosquito-infestedrivervalley.

“Don’tyouknowwhatthismeans,Jack?”Hesaidnothing.

The sun came and the snow began to drip, first from the eaves and tree branches, then down themountainsides.Springcamefastandwarm,andtheriverbrokeupinagreatcrashingrush.JacktoldMabel he was going to watch the ice flow past, but in truth he was following them. Garrett wasalreadystayinginthebarn,thoughplantingseasonwasfaroff,andthismorningtheboyroseearlyandmetFainaandthedogintheyard.Theyhadn’tevencometothecabintowishJackandMabelagoodmorningoragoodbyeorahow-do-you-dobeforetheywalkeddownthetrailtowardtheriver.

“I’ll be back in a bit,” Jack said.He avoidedMabel’s eyes.Allmorning shehadbeen subdued,speakinglittleandmovingquietlyaroundthecabin.Asheputonhisworkjacket,shereachedoutandtookoneofhishands.Shelookedupathimasiftosaysomething,butjustkissedhischeek.

Whiletheyardandmainroadweremuddy,thetrailtotheriverwasmorepleasantasitmeanderedamong spruce trees. The ground was dry and mossy and webbed with roots. A squirrel chirpedoverhead,butJackcouldn’tseeitintheslantinglight.Hereandtherepatchesofsnowstillclungtotheearth.Dwarfdogwoodleavesandfernheadssproutedfromthedampground.Soonheheardtheroaroftheriver,andwhenhenearedthewater,hesawsoft,silverypussywillowsbudding.Hewentto pick some from the limbs to bring back for Mabel, then remembered his grim task and keptwalking.

Hehopedtofindthemattheshore,throwingrocksatrottenrivericeortuggingastickfromthedog’smouth. Theyweren’t there, so he followed the trail along the river and through thewillowshrubsuntil iteventually ledhimbackontohighergroundand intoanotherspruceforest.Here thetreesweretallerandthicker,andthelandhadahushed,shadedquality.Hekepthiseyesdowntoavoidtrippingoverroots,andhisglancecaughtonaclusterofsmallpinkflowersbloomingupthroughmoss and fallen spruce needles. Fairy slippers—that’s what Mabel had called them. Once he hadpickeda tinybouquetof thewildspringorchids forherandshehadscoldedhim, tellinghimtheywererareandeveryflowerhehadpickedhadmeantthedeathoftheentireplant.

Hesteppedaroundtheblooms.Thetraildwindledtonothing,butoccasionallyheheardvoices.Hecouldcallout,alertthemtohispresence,butitwouldbesenseless.Hewasheretospyonthem,andhewassickwithit.

He found them tuckedunderoneof the largestevergreens, theircoats spreadbeneath them likeblankets.Itwasabeautifulplace;thesunshonethroughtheneedledbranchesanddappledtheground,andtheairwasscentedwithsharp,cleanspruce.Hewatchedthroughthetreesonlylongenoughtounderstandwhathewasseeing,andthenhelookedawayandwassoovertakenbyshameandragethathecouldbarelyseetofindhiswayhomeagain.

ItseemedsuchaterriblylongtimethatJackwasgone,andMabelpassedbackandforthinfrontofthewindowmoretimesthanshecouldcount.Shehadmadeamistake,tellinghim.Sheshouldhavesetasideherownuneasinessandtalkedfranklytothegirlherself.Nowitwastoolate.

WhenJackwalkedbackintotheyardshewasatfirstrelieved.Hewasalone.Thenshenoticedhowuprighthestrodetowardthebarn,howhekickedatthedoortoenterandthenslammeditshutagain,turninginplaceasifhedidn’tknowwheretogoorwhattodowithhimself.Hewenttothewoodpileandpickedupthesplittingmaul.MyGod,shethought,heisgoingtokillhim.Buthebegansplittinglogs,oneaftertheother,andshewasnearlyasdistressed.Garretthadsplitandstackedenoughwoodthispastwintertolastthemyears.Jackwasn’tdoingachore—hewasunleashinghisfury.Shewantedtogotohim,totellhimaboutthegenuineaffectionshehadseeninGarrett’sface,orhowshehadwatched thegirl pull himby an arm.Shenow realized that despite everything Jackhad said aboutFainanotbeingtheirdaughter,hewasviewingthisallthroughafather ’seyes.

Mabeldidn’tnoticewhenGarrettcameoutofthetrees,butwhenshenolongerheardtherhythmiccrackofwood,shelookedout thewindowandsawthe twomenstandingbeside thewoodpile.Shecouldn’theartheirwords,buttheywerespeaking—firstJack,thenGarrett.Jackwavedhishands,andshesawtheyoungman’sshouldersslump.Thenhestoodstraightagainandspokemoreanimatedly.Mabelwasatthewindow,onehandagainsttheglasspane.Andthen,seeminglywithoutwarning,JackpunchedGarrettinthejawandsenthimsprawlingtotheground.

Maybe it was some mistake. She had never seen Jack strike anyone, and she prayed she hadmisjudged the scene. But when Garrett sat up, he rubbed his jaw with the back of his hand. Jackreacheddown,perhapsasanoffertohelphimstand,buttheyoungmanrefusedandstumbledtohisfeet.

WhenJackcameintothecabin,neitherhenorMabelspoke.Sheledhimtothewashbasin,whereshesoakedhisswellingknucklesandwrappedtheminacoldwetcloth.OutsidesheheardGarrett’shorsegallopfromtheyard.

CHAPTER46

Thissummerwe’llgodowntheriver,towardtheocean.Willwe?That’swherewe’llcatchsalmonfreshfromthesaltwater,when theystill shineallsilver.We’ll

makeabonfireofdriftwoodandsleepinthesand.Maybewe’llgoallthewaytotheocean.I’veneverbeenthere.It’sbig.Iknow.I’veseenitfromthemountains.Youknowwhatelsewe’lldo?Fainaturnedherheadagainsthischest.No,shesaid.Whatwillwedo?We’llswimintheriver.We’lltakeoffallourclothesandswimnakedintheriver.Won’tyoubecold?Nah.There’stheselittlepondsontheriverbed,wherethewaterjustsitsandgetswarmfromthe

sun.They’reclearandblue.You’llsee.We’llswimandfloatonourbacksandwhenweputourheadsunderthewater,I’llkissyou.Justlikethis.

Itwaslikeaterriblethirst.Hecoulddrinkanddrinkherinanditwasneverenough.

When theywere together,wandering the riverbed or hiking up a creek, they shared everythingtheyknew.Thecolorofablackwolf’seyes.Thewaytocatchamuskratthroughtheice.Wheresnowgeesenestandmarmotsden.Thesoundofaherdofcaribourunningacrossthetundra.Thetasteofmountainblueberriesandtendersprucetips.

Theystudiedthemudinthetrails,pointedtotracksandnamedthem.Garretttriedtoteachherhowtocalllikealovesickbullmoose.Fainatriedtoteachhimthesongsofwildbirds.Thentheywouldlaugh and chase each other through the trees until they found onewithwide boughs and a bed ofspruceneedlesbeneathit.Theretheywouldhuddletogetherandtasteeachother ’slipsandeyesandhearts.

Andwhentheywereapart,hefeltasifheweredyingofthirst.

CHAPTER47

SoIguessthat’sthat,”Jacksaid.Hesmackedthesootfromhishands.Athisfeetwasapailofasheshehadcleanedoutofthestove.“Iguesswe’rethroughwithhim.Wewon’tbeseeingthatboyaroundhereagain.”

“Youdon’tknow,”Mabelsaid.“Iknow.Hewon’tbeback.Plantingtime,andI’llbeouttherebreakingmyback,tryingtogetthe

fieldsdone.Andwhereishe?”“Ithinkyouunderestimatehim.”“We’ll see.”He knocked on the stovepipe and listened to the creosote fall. Then he shoveled it

fromthestoveintothepail.“He’sthesameyoungmanwe’vealwaysknown.He’sjustinlove.”“We’llsee.”

Thehorsewasgone.Jackclosedandopenedthebarndooragain,thinkinghehadlosthismind,butno,thehorsestillwasn’tthere.Hewalkedthroughthebarnandoutintothepastureandsaw,onthefarside,thatthegatewasopen.

Hewaslatecomingouttofeedandwaterthehorse.He’dmeanttobeworkingthefieldsjustafterdaybreak.TheendofMayandthegroundwasfinallystartingtodry.Severalofthelargestfieldsstillneeded plowing.But his back had been stiffer than normal thismorning, so he had eased hiswayslowlyaroundthecabinforseveralhours.

AsJackcrossedthepasture,henoticedbootprintsinthemud.Heshutthegateandfollowedthetrailtowardthenearestfield,wonderingifheshouldhavegonebackforhisshotgun.

Blindedbythesun,atfirstJackcouldn’tsee.Hestoodattheedgeofthefieldandshieldedhiseyeswithhishand.

Garrettwasattheplow,tillingalongtheoutsideedgeofthefield.Hethoughttheboynoddedathim,butfromthisdistanceitwasimpossibletobesure.Jackstarted

towaveathim,thenstuffedhishandinhispocket.Heturnedonhisheelsandwalkedhome.

“You’rebackalready?”

“Thehorsewasgone.Iwentlookingforit.”Mabelraisedhereyebrows.“And?Didyoufindit?”“Yep.Idid.”“Well?”“Garretthasit.He’splowingafield.”“Oh,ishe?”Mabelpressedherlipstogether.Maybeshewastryingnottosmile.Maybeshewas

keepingherselffromsayingItoldyouso.“Iknow,Iknow.Yousaidso.”“Ijusthadfaithinhim.He’sayoungmanwhohonorshisobligations.”“Well,whenhecomesinforlunch,tellhimIthinkthenorthfieldwillhavetoberedone.Itwas

toomuchmuckwhenIwentafterit.”“Youcouldalwaystellhimyourself,”shesaidgently.“No,that’swhereyou’rewrong.”Mabelsighed.“Iwon’tbeyourmessengerforever,youknow.Youtwowillhavetotalktoeachothersomeday.”“We’llsee,”hesaid.

CHAPTER48

Amistychillhungoverthespringmorning,buttheyleftthecabinbecausethegirlwaslikeacagedanimal,tenseandfidgety.MabelknewsomethingwaswrongandthatFainamighttellheriftheywentforabriskwalk,justthetwoofthem.Theyfollowedthewagontrailsaroundthefields,stridingsidebyside,untilthewordspouredoutofher.

AmIdying?thegirlaskedwithoutlookingatMabel.Whywouldyousaysuchthing?Iwasbleeding.Formonthsitcameandwent,andIdoubledoverinpain.Whydidn’tyoutellme?No,it’smyfault.Ishouldhavetalkedwithyou.Haveyoubledagain?IthoughtIwasbetter,becausethebleedingstoppedanddidn’tcomeback.ButnowIwakeandeat

andcankeepnothinginmybelly.AndalldayIjustwanttoliedownandsleep.Mabelunderstoodatlast;sheledthegirltothepicnictableandsatonthebench.Youwillhaveababy,youandGarrett.Youarecarryinghischild.

Thefoglaylowalongtheriverbed,andtheirbreathwasvisibleinwhitecloudsfromtheirlips.Rigidandstraight-backed,Fainastoodandstaredtowardthedistantmountains.

Iknowyouarefrightened,child,butyoucandothis.Ibelieveinyou.HowcanI?WhatdoIknowofbabies,ormothers?ThegirlturnedtoMabelandhereyesstrainedinadesperategrief.Butyou,shesaidsuddenly.Youmustknowsomethingaboutbabies.Please.Youmust.Takeitand

beitsmother.Mabelfoldedherhandsinherlap.For years, her arms had ached with longing. It was a self-indulgence she didn’t often permit

herself,butsometimesshewouldsitinachair,hereyesclosed,herarmscrossedagainstherbreast,andshewouldimagineholdingasmallbabythere—itstrustingwarmthagainstherbody,itstinyheadsmellingofmilkandtalcumpowder,itsskinsofterthanflowerpetals.Shehadwatchedotherwomenwithinfantsandeventuallyunderstoodwhatshecraved:theboundlesspermission—no,theabsolutenecessity—to hold and kiss and stroke this tiny person. Cradling a swaddled infant in their arms,motherswoulddistractedlytouchtheirlipstotheirbabies’foreheads.Passingtheirtoddlersinahall,motherswouldtousletheirhairorevensweepthemupintheirarmsandkissthemhardalongtheirchinsandnecksuntil thechildren squealedwithglee.Whereelse in life,Mabelwondered, couldawomanlovesoopenlyandwithsuchabandon?

Sonowaninfant,oratleastthepotentialofaninfant,wasunexpectedlyplacedbeforeMabel,andshewastemptedtoacceptitasagift.Perhapsitwasfate.Everythinghadledtothismomentwhenatlastherwishwasgranted.

Anditwastherightthingtodo,wasn’tit?Howcouldagirlwholivedaloneinthewilderness,amerechildherself,keepaninfantwarmandsafeandcaredfor?WhereassheandJack,asoldastheywere,wereequippedtoraisethebaby.Theyhadahome,aliving.Thechildwouldhaveacleanbedtosleepinandwarmfoodonitsplate.Whenthetimecame,thechildcouldgotoschoolintownand

competeinspellingbeesanddrawlovely,sillylittlepicturesforthem.Mabelallowedherselfthisbriefdaydream,thenpusheditaway.Asmuchasshehadeverwanteda

baby,thisonewasn’therstotake.ItwasFaina’s,andsheatlasttoldherso.

Thegirlwaspoisedtorun,thewayshehadsomanytimesbefore.Totheforest.Tothewild.Away.Mabelreachedupandtookoneofherhands,gentlycoaxinghertositbesideher.

Youcan’trun,child.Notfromthis.Itiswithinyou.Faina’sthinfingers,likethecool,palebonesofabird,restedinMabel’shand.Howdifferentfrom

herowncrookedhands,warmandheavyandspottedwithage.Youwillhavehelp,Mabel saidgently.Fromallofus.MeandJack.AndEsther.She’s themost

generouswomanIhaveeverknown,andshewillbeonlytooeagertohelp.Andthere’sGarrett,too.Thegirlcasthereyesdown.Youmusttellhim,Faina.Nowthatyouunderstandwhatishappening,thatyoutwohavecreateda

childanditisgrowinginsideyou.Nowthatyouknow,youmusttellhim.Hewillbeangry.No.Hewon’t.He’llbescared,likeyou,buthewon’tbeangry.Helovesyou.AndIbelieveinhim,

justasIbelieveinyou.Fainalefthersittingaloneatthepicnictable,andMabelshiveredinsidehercoatandcrossedher

arms tightly. It was a lonely, forlorn act, giving up a child. Faina, a frightened wisp of a thing,disappearedintotheforest,andMabelwasangryattheinjusticeofit—thatsheshouldhavewantedababysodearlyandbedeniedone,andthatthisyounggirlshouldbecursedwithoneasaburdenshemightnothavethestrengthtobear.

“Fainaispregnant.”

Mabelknewitwasaterriblehabit,waitingfordinnertotellJackbadnews,butitwasoneofthefewquietmoments theyhad together.This time, though, she feared shemighthaveunintentionallykilled him.Hewas choking, coughing until his facewas a horrid reddish purple. Itwent on longenoughthatShegottoherfeet,preparedtostrikehimonthebacktodislodgetheobject,butthenhewasabletostopandclearhisthroat.Mabelwaitedforhimtospeak,buthedidn’t.

“She’spregnant,Jack.”“Iheardyou.”“So…”“So?”“Well,don’tyouhaveanythingtosay?”“Whatistheretosay?It’sentirelyourfault.Shewasmoreinnocentthanachildhaseverbeen,and

weweretheonlyoneswhocouldprotecther.Weletthishappen.”“Oh,Jack.Whydoesitalwayshavetobesomebody’sfault?”“Becauseitalwaysis.”“No.Sometimesthesethingshappen.Lifedoesn’tgothewayweplanorhope,butwedon’thave

tobesoangry,dowe?”He continued eating, but without any pleasure as far as Mabel could tell. It was as if he was

gaggingdowneachbite.Finallyhegaveupandpushedhisplateaway.

“There’llbeawedding,Isuppose?”Thedisgustedexpressionhadn’tlefthisface.“Oh.Well.Noonehasspokenofit.”“Therewillbeawedding,”anditwasahard,clearstatementthatleftnoroomforargument.“We’llhavetosharethenewswithGarrettandFaina,then,”andshegaveherhusbandanironic

smile.“ButIagree.It’stheonlyway.”

Itwasn’tuntilthatnight,asshelayinbedconsideringweddingplans,thatshethoughtofthefairytale.Sheclimbedoutofbedandinherbarefeetlitacandleandwenttothebookshelf.Sheremovedherloose sketches from thebookas sheopened iton the table, and thenshe flipped through thecolorplatesuntil she found theoneshe remembered. Itwasa forestmeadow, lushwithgreen leavesandbloomingflowers.Thesnowmaiden,herwhitegownglitteringinjewelsandherheadcrownedwithwildflowers, stood beside a handsome young man. Fair Spring was before them, performing theweddingceremony.Overhead,thesunshonebrightly.

Mabel wanted to slam the book closed, throw it into the woodstove, and watch it burn in theflames. Instead she turned the pages until she came to the illustration she dreaded. There was thecrown ofwildflowers, no longer on the snowmaiden’s head, but blooming from the earth like agravemarker.Sheputahandoverherlips,thoughitwasunnecessary.Shemadenosound.

Jackstirredinbed.Mabelgatheredthesketchesandslidthembackintothebookbeforereturningittotheshelf.Itwouldbealongtimebeforeshelookedatitagain,andneverwouldshespeakofit.

CHAPTER49

Jackwascalm.Hecouldundonothing,butatleasthehadaplanofaction.It beganwhenGarrett came tohima fewdaysafterMabel’snewsaboutFaina.Heassumed the

youngmanhadreturnedtofinishthefightortoendallassociation.Insteadhecamewithhishatinhishands.

“I’mheretoaskpermissiontomarryFaina.Iknowwe’reyoung,andIdon’thavemuchtoofferher,butwe’reboundtogethernow,andImeantomakethebestofit.”

Itwaslikeablowtothechest,andJackhadtositdowninakitchenchair.Garrettstoodby,shiftingonhisfeetandclearinghisthroat.

Hehadn’tseen thiscoming.Hewassure theywouldmarry;hehadassumedGarrettwould takeresponsibility.Buttheboycametohim—Jack—toaskpermission.

Ithadn’thappenedinstantly,thewayhehadalwaysimagined,withagushofbloodandapiercingwail,butinsteadfatherhoodhadarrivedquietly,gradually,overthecourseofyears,andhehadbeenblindtoit.Andnow,justashefinallyunderstoodthatadaughterhadbeenflittinginandoutofhislife,nowhewasbeingaskedtolethergo.

“I’lldogoodbyher.Youhavemyword.”Jack’sfocusreturnedtotheboy,andwhenhelookedupattheearnestface,hesawwhatMabelhad

triedtotellhim—Garrettdidlovethegirl.Butwasthatenough?Theboyhadbetrayedhistrust,liedtohimunderhisownroof,andtakenadvantageofcircumstances.JackeasedhimselfoutofthechairuntilhestoodeyetoeyewithGarrett.

“Youwilldogoodbyher,”Jacksaid,anditwasn’tanagreementbutacommand.HereachedouttoGarrett,andtheyshookhandsliketwomenwhohadonlyjustmetandweren’tyetcertainofeachother.

ThatnightJack’splancametohim,andhewokeMabel.

“We’llbuildthemahome,hereonourhomestead.”“What?Jack,whattimeisit?”“We’llbuildthemacabindownbytheriver.ThatwayGarrettwillbeclosetothefarm,butthey’ll

havetheirownplace.”“Hmmm?”Mabelwasstillhalfasleep,buthewenton.“Fainaandthebabywillbeclosetoyou,soyoucanhelp.We’llstartbuildingrightafterplanting.

Maybewecanevenhavetheweddingthere.”“Where?Wedding?”“Here,Mabel.They’regoingtolivehere,nearus.It’llbegood.”“Hmmm?”ButJackletherdriftbackintosleep.Hewassatisfied.

He noticed the way the cleanmorning light slanted in through the window and lit up the side of

Faina’sface,andhewonderedifitwasalwayssohard,beingafather.They’dfinishedapotofteaandafewslicesofbreadwithblueberryjam,andhewasleftwithnootherwayaroundtheconversationhe’d promised Mabel. At the kitchen counter, Mabel tried to wash the dishes silently. She neverwashedtheminthemorning,butnoweachplate,eachfork,waswipedandrinsedanddriedasifitweremadeofpreciouschina,forshewasstrainingtohear.

Jackclearedhisthroat,hopingtosoundfatherly.Faina?Isthiswhatyouwant?It’swhatyoudowhenyoulovesomeone,isn’tit?Yourlifeisgoingtochange.Youwon’tbeabletodisappearintothewoodsforweeksatatime.

You’llbeamother,awife.Doyouunderstandwhatthatmeans?Fainatiltedherheadto thesideinahalfshrug,but thenshefocusedherblueeyesonJack,and

theirclarityseizedhim.Her facecarried thesame lookhehadseenmany timesbefore,a startlingblendofyouthandwisdom,frailtyandfierceness.Hesawitwhenshehadscatteredsnowacrossherfather ’s grave,when she had appeared at their doorwith her hands smearedwith blood. Itwasn’tsorroworlove,disappointmentorknowledge;itwaseverythingatonce.

Idolovehim.Andourbaby.Iknowthat.Soyouwanttomarryhim?Webelongtogether.Jackhadexpectedtobehappy.Isn’tthatwhatafathershouldfeel?Joy?Notthisgrief-ladenheart?

Theyhadhiddentheirloveaffairandcreatedachildoutofwedlock,butsomethingmoreweighedonhim.Fainawouldneveragainbethelittlegirlhehadseendartingthroughthewintertrees,herfeetlighton thesnowandhereyes likeriver ice.Shehadbeenmagic in their lives,comingandgoingwiththeseasons,bringingtreasuresfromthewildernessinhersmallhands.Thatchildwasgone,andJackfoundhimselfmourningher.

CHAPTER50

Thestrawberryplantswerejustbeginningtogreenandsendouttheirreddish-purplerunners.Mabelbentfromplanttoplantandwithapairofshearssnippedofflastyear ’sgrowthandtossedthecurled,brownleavestotheside.Whenshereachedtheendoftheraisedbed,shestood,slidtheshearsintothepocketofhergardeningapron,andpushedthewidebrimofherstrawhatupfromherforehead.

Itwasstillthere.Theverylastpatchofsnowintheyard,bankedintheshadeagainstthenorthsideof the cabin where it had drifted the deepest. It had dwindled in the warming days until all thatremainedwasacirclethesizeofawagonwheel.

Shesquintedupatthesun,alreadywhitehotinthesky,andpushedupherdresssleeves.Itwouldbeascorcher,asGarrettwasfondofsaying.HeandJackwereworkinginshirtsleevesastheyplantedthefields.Theywouldcomehomesunburned,shewascertain.

Mabel pulled her hat brim down to shade her eyes again, took the rake fromwhere it leanedagainstafencepost,andbeganscratchingandproddingatthestrawberrygarden,looseningthesoil,cleaninguptherows.Outofthecornerofhereye,shewatchedsunlightglistenoffthewhitesnow.Itwouldsoonbegone.

ShehadthoughtoftenofAda’swordsaboutinventingnewendingstostoriesandchoosingjoyoversorrow. In recentyearsshehaddecidedhersisterhadbeen inpartwrong.Sufferinganddeathandlosswereinescapable.

Andyet,whatAdahadwrittenaboutjoywasentirelytrue.Whenshestandsbeforeyouwithherlong,nakedlimbsandhermysterioussmile,youmustembraceherwhileyoucan.

WhenFainasteppedoutofthespruceforest,thesun’sraysstruckherandsetherblondhairalightinapeculiargoldensilver,sothatevenfromacrosstheyardMabelwasremindedofstarlitfairiesandfireflies.Faina’spuppy, grown lanky andbig footed, pantedup at her and followedher across theyard.

Thegirl’sleanarmsandlegswerebare.Sheworeonlytheplaincottondresswithitspatternofblueflowers thatMabelhadsewedforher.Herstridewas longandsureasshemovedthroughthe

newlysproutedgrassandbeneaththeleafingcottonwoodtree,andasshenearedMabelsawthatherskinwastanned.Sheworenoshoesormoccasins.Tallandlean,sheshowednosignsofpregnancyyet.

Fainastoppedattheedgeofthestrawberrypatchandcrouchedbesidethedog.Sheputonehandbeneathitschinandranherotherhandbackbetweenitsears,andthedoggrinnedasithadthatfirstday.Whenshestoodandsilentlygestured,thedogpromptlylayinthedirt,stillpanting,itsblackfurgleaming.

Shewalked down the strawberry rows, and her bare feet pressed so firmly to the ground thatMabelcouldseethesoilsquishbetweenhertoes.ShetookMabel’shandsandkissedheronthecheek.Whensheletgo,Mabelembracedherandheldherforalongtime,evenasshecouldfeeltheheatofthesunonFaina’sback.

Youlookwell,Mabelsaid.Iam,shesaid.Iam.

CHAPTER51

JackledGarrettdownthewagontrailandoutintoameadowwithinsightoftheriver.“It’s yours,” Jack said. “Consider it a wedding gift.We’ll build the cabin right in here, facing

towardthemountains.”“It’safineplace.”Theverynextevening,aftertheystoppedplantingforthedayandatedinner,hesupposedGarrett

hadgonetosleepinthebarn.HetoldMabelhewasgoingoutforsomefreshair,andhewalkedtothemeadow.TherehefoundGarrettwithashovelandanax,roughsketchingtheoutlineofacabinintothedirt.

Theworkhadarhythmandpurpose,andJackandGarrettfellintoitwithease,evenrelief:theback-and-forth pull of the two-man saw and the thunderous crash of trees falling; the slide of the drawknifealongthesprucelogs,thebarkpeelingoffinlongstrips;thechopandsliceofthesharpenedax,eachnotchhand-carved.Love anddevotion, thedevastatinghope and fear contained in awoman’sswellingwomb—thesewere leftunspoken.Atmidnight, as theyheftedanother log intoplace, theycouldhearthered-breastedrobinsanddark-eyedjuncoschirpinginthetrees,andthatwasenough.

By the timeplantingwasdone, theyhad the logwallsupwaisthigh,and itwent fasternowthattheyhadallofeachday.JackletGarrettdotheheaviestofthework,andattimeshewouldsitonalogtoresthistiredbackandwatchtheyoungermanwork.Mabeloftencamewithlunchinabasket,andsometimesshewouldstaylongenoughtodiscusswhereawindowshouldgoorwhatkindoffrontporchtheyshouldbuild.

Fainawasnowheretobeseen.JackassumedsheandGarrettmetalonesometimes,butthegirldidnotcometoJackandMabel’sfordinner.Foronce,itwasJackwhoworried.

“Shouldn’tsheberesting,eatingregularmeals?”“She’sfine,”Mabelsaid.“Whyisn’tshehere,stayingwithusuntilthewedding?”“She’swheresheneedstobe.Shedoesn’thavemuchlonger.”“Muchlonger?”“Her life isgoing tochangesoon.Whateverelsehappens,shewon’tbeable torun throughthe

woodslikeasprite.Everythingwillbedifferent.”“Isuppose.Ijustwanttomakesureshe’ssafeandhealthy.”“Iknow,”andMabel’svoicehadabittersweetacceptanceinitthathehadneverheardbefore.

Faina came on awarm June day, she and the dog loping out of the trees as if theywere halfwaythroughacloserace.GarrettwasstraddlingtheunfinishedwallasJackusedapulleytoraiseanotherlogintoplace.Fainarantotheminbarefeetandashort-sleeveddress,herarmsandlegsbronzedandmuscled,herlonghairbleachedwhitebythesun.

SheandGarrettgaveeachothershysmiles,andJackfelt likeanintruder.Garrett jumpeddownfromthelogwallandledherthroughtherough-cutdoorwayandintotherooflesscabin.

I know it’s hard to see,with just the fourwalls, but over here, thiswill be the kitchen and thewindowwilllookouttotheriver.Won’tthatbefine?

Fainanodded,buthergazewasdistant,asifthisallwereastrangedreamtoher.Thewoodstovewillgohere.Andthroughthere,that’llbeourbedroom,andthebaby’s.Iknowit’s

notrealbig,butdon’tyouthinkit’lldo?Fainanoddedonce,slowly.Garrettseemedunnervedbyhersilence.It’llbeOK,won’tit?Oncewegetsomewindowsanddoorsin,it’llfeellikearealhome.Don’t

youthink,Jack?It’scomingtogether?Jackstartedtosaythatyes,hethoughtitwouldbeadandylittlecabinforafamilystartingout,but

thenhesawthegirlsmileupatGarrett,atender,reassuringsmile.Jackwasstruckwiththenotionthatperhapsshewasthewiserandstrongerofthetwo.

Faina stayedwhile the twomenworked.She threw sticks for the dog.She ran through the tall,greengrass around the cabin andpickedbluebells andwildyellowasters, but her eyeskept to thetrees.Thedogran,barking,tochaseasquirrelintothewoods,andFainafollowed.Whenshereachedtheedgeofthemeadow,shelookedoverhershoulderandgaveasmallwavebacktowardthemen.

“She’sleaving,”Garrettsaid.“Sheis,butshe’llbeback.”“Iknow.ButsometimesIwonder.”“What’sthat?”“Ifthisisthebestforher—ababy.Me.Ifit’stherightkindoflifeforher.”“Toolatetochangethatnow,”Jacksaid.Heregrettedhisanger.“Maybeshedoesn’thavetogiveupeverything,”Garrettsaid.“Youknow.We’llruntrapstogether

thiswinter,afterthebabycomes.I’lltakeheroutinthewoodsandshecanputoutherlittlesnares.Itdoesn’tallhavetochange.”

“Itwill.Everythingwillchange.Butyou’lldothebestyoucan.”Jackturnedbacktothecabin,becausethatwassomethingamancoulddo—felltreesandscribe-fit

logsandbuildahome.“Comeon,now,”he said. “We’realmost to the ridgepole.We’vegot toget this thingclosed in

beforethebigday.”

CHAPTER52

There’snowayinhellthatcabinisgoingtobedoneintimeforthewedding.”Esther ’shandswereonherhipsasshestoodlookingupatthehoney-coloredlogs.“Justafewmoredays,Mom.That’swhathesaystome.We’vealmostgotitwrappedup,hesays.Whyisitmenalwaysoverestimatetheirownprowess?”

Mabelsmiledinspiteofherself.“Theyhavedoneagreatdeal.”“Suretheyhave.ButItellyou,itwon’thavearoofonitbeforeSunday.”“Perhapsthat’sallright.”Mabel thoughtofFainalookingupthroughthelogsintoanopensky,

andsomehowitwascomforting.“It’sallgood,aslongasthere’snotadropofrainorasinglemosquito…inAlaska…inJuly.”

Esther made no attempt to hide her sarcasm. Then she hoisted her overall straps like a man andshrugged.“Ahwell.Whenyou’reyoung,everythingisromantic,right?Evenacabinwithoutaroof.”

“It is lovely. I’ve already sewed some curtains for the windows. And George tells me you’remakingthemaquilt.”

“Yep.AnditwillbedonebySunday.”Estherlaughedatherselfandadded,“Imightnotsleepmuchthisweek,eh?Buthow’sthedresscoming?”

“It is finished,butFainahas secretplans.She’sbeenworkingon it thesepast fewnights atourhouse.Shewaitsuntilwegotobed,andthenshestaysupatthetabledoingsomething,butshewon’ttellmewhat.”

“Sheisanoddduck,isn’tshe?”Mabel had never thought of Faina in those terms, but the girl was peculiar, and even

unconventionalEsthercouldhavemisgivingsabouthersonmarryingher.Afascinatingstrangerwasonething,adaughter-in-lawquiteanother.

“Itistrue—IhavenevermetanotherpersonlikeFaina,”Mabelsaid,choosingherwordscarefully.“Butthen,I’venevermetanyonelikeyoubefore,either.”

“Allright.Allright.I’llgiveyouthatone.AndIknowIshouldcountmyblessingsthatsomeoneiswillingandabletoputupwiththatsonofmine.”

“Shedoesn’tjustputupwithhim.Ithinkshe’squitetakenwithhim.”“Hmmm.”Esthersoundeddoubtful.“Theyhaveagreatdealincommon.Theylovethisplace,andeachother.”“Butwhoisshe?She’sawildthingfromthemountains.Moretimesthannot,Garrettdoesn’teven

knowwheresheis.Whenshe’ssaddledwithascreamingbratandasinkfulofdirtydishes,whatthen?Isshegoingtostickaroundlongenoughtobeawifeandamother?”

Mabel’sthroatwasswellingshut.Shewalkedaroundthecornerofthecabin,pretendingtoinspecttheotherwall.Estherwasinstantlyatherside.

“Oh,Mabel.Imeantnooffense.Iknowshe’slikeadaughtertoyou,andmysonsurelylovesher.That’llhavetodofortherestofus,won’tit?”

Mabel smiledandnoddedandblinkedaway tears.The twowomenhuggedandhookedarms towalkbacktoJackandMabel’s.

The nightmares had returned. Naked, crying babies melted as she held them, and dripped to thegroundevenasshetriedtocloseherfingersandcupherhands.Sometimessheclutchedtheinfantstoherchest,onlytorealizethatthewarmthofherownbodywasthecauseoftheirdemise.

Then therewas Faina—her facewould appear in the trees like a scene through a rain-streakedwindowpane.Inherdream,Mabelwouldrunoutsideanditwouldberainingthewayitdidbackhomeinthesummer,ablinding,warmdownpour.ShewouldcallFaina’sname,trytorunthroughtheforesttofindher,buttherainwouldfillhereyesandmouthandshewouldwakegasping.Inanotherdream,Mabel stood hip deep in the river and clenched Faina’s wet hands as the current pulled herdownstream.Mabelwould try to hold on, but shewas never strong enough, and Fainawould slipfromhergraspandbecarriedawayinthesiltywater.ThegirlwouldflailherarmsandcryforMabelto help, please, please, help, but shewould be unable tomove. Shewould stand andwatch as herbeautifuldaughterdrownedatherfeet.NeverinthesedreamscouldMabelcryormoveorevenspeakaword.

Thedayoftheweddingcame,andEstherwasright—thecabinwasn’tfinished,butitwasallthemorelovely,likeacathedralsculptedoftreesandsky.Mabelwalkedthereinthemorningandwasgratefultobealone. Ithadbecomeaholyplace, the soundof the river, the fragranceof the freshlypeeledspruce logs, thebluesky, thegreenmeadow.Thecottonwood treeswereblooming,and thedownywhiteseedsfloatedonthebreezelikefeathers.

Jackwasbackat theirownplace, loading thewagonwith tablesandchairs tohaul to thecabin.GeorgeandEstherwerecomingjustbeforetheceremonysotheycouldbringthefoodforafterward.Garrett’s oldest brother would marry them. He wasn’t a pastor, or even one to attend churchregularly,butGarretthadwantedhimtoperformtheceremony,andnooneobjected.Thoughhewasawell-spokenman,Mabelwouldhavepreferredanordainedministerbutneversaidso.Thebrothers,alongwiththeirwivesandchildren,wouldbetheonlyotherguestsatthewedding.Nooneelsewasinvited;thatmuchMabelhadinsistedupon.

TheyhadcurtainedoffasectionoftheunfinishedcabinwithwhitesheetssothatFainacouldputonherdressandprepareherself.Shehadnotyet appeared thismorning, and shehad theweddinggownwithher.

MabelhadsewedthedressfromrawsilkEstherhadgivenher,leftoversfromheroldestdaughter-in-law’sweddinggown.

“She had to have yards and yards of the stuff,”Esther said. “Shewanted ruffles and pleats andlayers.Itwasamiraclewecouldseeherthroughitall.AllIcansayis,I’mgladherparentspaidfor

thedresstobemade.”The ivory-huedsilkwasshippedfromaspecialtyshop inSanFrancisco,andhadcertainlycost

morethanMabelandJackcouldhaveafforded,butEstherinsistedthatnooneelsehadanyusefortheremnants.Mabeldidnotresisttoomuch—thefabricwasexquisite,weightedandfineandtextured.

Shedidn’thaveapattern,but shecouldseeFaina’sweddinggownclearly inhermind,andshesketchedandsewedandembroideredfordaysonend.Shehadtobecreativewiththestripsandoddsandendsofrawsilk;fortunatelyitwasasimpledressthatdidn’trequiremuchfabric.Theskirtwasstraightandankle length, thesleeves long,and thebodiceslightly fitted to justbelowthe ribs.Thenecklinescoopedmodestlyalongthecollarbone. Itwasnothing like theflapperstylesopopular inrecentyears;norwas it in thestyleof thehigh-necked,formalgownsworninMabel’syouth.Thiswassomethingdifferent,somethingthatremindedMabelofEuropeanbridesincountrychapels,ofalpinebeauties,ofRussianmaidens.

Thedress itselfwaseasy to sew; itwas theembroidery thatkeptMabelup lateeachnight,bentoverthekitchentableandsquintingasifhereyeswerefailing.Alongthesleeves,acrossthenarrowbodiceandscattereddown theskirt,Mabelusedwhitesilk thread toembroider tiny, starry flowersandloopsofthinvinesandpearl-dropleaves.Thepurewhitestitchesontheivorysilkweresubtle;whenthelightcaughtthemjustso,theflowerscouldbemistakenforsnowflakes,thevinesforeddiesinsnow.

Still,MabelhadyettoseethegownonFaina.It’sasurprise,Fainasaid.Waitandsee.Mabelhadseweditherself,sohowcoulditbeasurprise?Butallshecoulddowasmakethegirl

promisethatifitdidnotfitperfectly,shewouldbringitbackintimeforalterations.ShehadnotseenFainasince.

Garrettwasn’t tobe found thismorning, either, andhehad thewedding rings.Again therewassecrecy—Esther had wanted one of the grandchildren to carry the rings and another to serve asflowergirl.GarrettsaidheandFainahadotherplans.HeaskedMabeltoweaveawreathofflowers.

“ForFaina’shead?”Mabelasked,hervoicetrembling.No,shethought.Iwon’tallowthat.Notacrownofflowers.

“Nah.NotforFaina,”Garrettsaid.“Itneedstobebigger.Aboutthisbig,”andheheldhisarmsinacirclethesizeofalargemixingbowl.

Mabel had waited until the day of the wedding, knowing wildflowers would quickly wilt in thesummerheat.Anditwashot.Barelypasteightinthemorning,andalreadythedewwasofftheleavesandthearcticsunburnedoverthemountaintops.

FlowersforFaina’sveilandflowersforherbouquet,flowersfortheMasonjarsandflowersforthe wreath Garrett had requested, petals and stems, leaves and blossoms—Mabel longed to beconsumedbythem,asshehadbeenbytheembroidery.Shewantedtoescapethesensethatfatewasrolling in over themountains like thunder. Shewanted to forgetmelting clumps of snow, flowercrownsandfierykisses,andfairy-taleendings.

Carefulnottoriphernewlysewncottonfrock,Mabeltookhermetalpailandwalkedtheedgeofthemeadow: fireweed, their tall stalks just beginning to bloom fuchsia; bluebellswith their sweetnectar; wild roses, simple with five pink petals and prickly stems; geraniums, their thin petalslavenderwithdeeperpurpleveins.Fartherintothewoods,awayfromtheharshsun,Mabelbentand

pluckeddelicatewhite starflowers suspendedabove thegroundonstemsas thinand tautas thread;dwarfdogwoodwiththeirfatwhitepetals;oakfernsandladyferns;andatthelastminute,afewwildcurrantbrancheswiththeirmany-pointedleavesandtrailingvinesofriperedberriestranslucentasjewels.

TheBensonscamejustasshewasarrangingthefireweedandoakfernsinglassjarsfilledwithcoldriverwater.

“Well,lookatus,”Esthersaidasshejumpeddownfromthewagon.“Mygoodness,Esther,Idon’tthinkI’veeverseenyouinadressbefore!”“Don’tgetused to it. I’vebroughtmyoveralls for the reception.”The twowomen laughedand

hugged.“Sowhere’sthehappycouple?Theyhaven’tuppedandelopedhavethey?”“Ihaven’t theslightest idea.IhopeFainaarrivessoon, though.Ineedtohelpherwithherdress

andhair.Whattimeisit?”“Nearlyhighnoon.Time’sa-wasting.”Justthentheyallturnedtowardastrangerumblingsoundcomingfromthewagontrail.“Whatisthat?”Mabelasked.“That’ll be Bill,” said George, and from around the corner appeared a shiny, bouncing

automobile,astreamofdustkickedupbehindit.Esther made a disgusted face atMabel. “It was a present from her family.Must be nice to be

rollinginthedough.”Jackstoodmotionless,clearlyimpressed.“ThatoneofthosetrucksI’vebeenhearingabout?”“Yep. A FordModel A pickup truck,” George boasted, and Esther rolled her eyes in Mabel’s

direction.“TheyhadtohaveitbargedupfromCalifornia,thenshippedoutonthetrain.Allsotheycandrive

fromourhousetoyours,”EsthertoldMabel.Theautomobilecametoagrindingstopinthegrassjustshortofthepicnictable,andtheBensons’

oldestsonopenedthedoorandstoodgrinningontherunningboard.“Notabadwaytotravel,eh?”hecalledout.HetippedhiswhitefedorainMabel’sdirection.“Youcouldbackitupafewfeetthere,”Esthersaid.“Noneedtoparkyourselfrightinthefood.”“Allright,Mom.Allright.”Billandhiswifeandtwosmallchildrenpiledoutoftheautomobilelookingasiftheyhadstepped

offthestreetsofManhattan.Thechildrenweredressedinrufflesandbowsandshoesthatshinedinthesun.Thewifewaswearingastylishflapperdressinmauvesilkandabrimlesshatpulledlowoverherbobbedhair.

“Theydon’tevenlooklikethey’repartofthefamily,dothey?”EstherwhisperedinMabel’sear.“ButIguessyoucan’tkickthemoutjustforthat.”And,infact,Mabelwassurprisedtofindthemallwarmandcharming.Bill’swife,Lydia,quicklyofferedtohelpwithfoodandflowersandanythingelsethatneededdoing,whilethechildrenranhappilyaroundthemeadow.

TheBensons’otherson,Michael,arrivednextwithhiswifeandthreedaughters,theyoungeststillinhermother ’sarms.

“Isshehereyet?Ican’tbelievenoneofushasevenmetherbefore,”Mabelheardthetwoyoungwiveswhispering.“Iwonderwhatshe’llwear?Haveyouheardanythingaboutthegown?”

As shehelpedEsther spreadwhite tableclothsover thepicnic andkitchen tables,Mabel tried toconcentrate on the billow of fabric and the feel of the linen over rough, splintery wood as shesmoothedoutthewrinkles.

I’mhere.

ThevoicewasawhisperoverMabel’sshoulder,butwhensheturned,noonewasthere.Here.Insidethecabin.Willyouhelpme?ItwasFaina.Hervoicecamethroughtheemptywindowframeofthecabin.Howhadshegotten

pastwithout anyone noticing?Mabel excused herself and stepped through the cabin door. The logframeoverheadbrokethesunlightintosectionsanddazzledMabel’seyes.

I’mhere.Haveyouputonthedress?No.Youcan’tseeityet.Butwillyouhelpmewithmyhair?Fainastoodinbarefeet,wearingthecottonslipMabelhadsewedforher.Therewastheslightest

roundinginherbelly,justenoughtopullthesliptight,andacrossherbreastsaswell.Fainawasnolongerachild,butatall,beautifulyoungwoman,andshehadneverseemedsosubstantial,sofulloflife.Mabelquicklyletthecurtainfallclosedbehindher.Thismorningshehadhungthebridalclocheand veil on a hook on the logwall and laid out the boar-bristle brush and handmirrorwith theirmother-of-pearlshininginthesun.Fainasweptherhairacrossonebareshoulder.

Willyouplaititforme?Thatwouldbeperfect,child,withtheveilI’vemadeforyou.SoMabelbrushedFaina’slonghair,soblonditwaswhite.Shebrushedoutthetinybitsoflichen

and torn ribbons of birch bark, the knots of yellow grass. Once it was as smooth as silk,Mabelbraideditintotwoplaits,oneoneachside,thatlaidneatlydownthefrontofherchest.JustasFainalookedaway,outtheemptywindowframe,Mabelpulledatinypairofsewingscissorsfromapocketinherdressandsnippedsomehairfromoneoftheplaits.Silentlysheslidthescissorsandhairintoherpocket.

There.There,now.Youlooklovely.Formyhead,aveilyoucalledit?Youcan’tputitonuntilyourdressison.Icandoit.Justhelpme,please.Youmustn’tseethedressyet.MabeltooktheclocheandveilfromitshookandsetitonFaina’shead,securingitwithhairpins.

ThenshewovethewildpinkrosesandwhitestarflowersintothelaceworkaboveFaina’sbraidsandacrossherforehead.Butitwasn’tacrown,notacircleofflowersthatcouldsproutfromtheearth.

Youwillleavenow,soIcanputonthedress.Areyousure?Itwillstillbeasurprise.Mabellethereyesdartaroundtheroom,butthedresswasnowheretobeseen.Please.Allright.Allright,child.We’llallbewaitingforyou.Yourbouquetisthere,inthepail.FainareachedoutforMabel’shandandsqueezedit.Hertouchwasstrongandwarm,andMabel

squeezedbackandthenimpulsivelybroughtthegirl’shandtoherlipstokissit.Iloveyou,child,shewhispered.Faina’sfacewasquietandkind.

Iwishtobethemotheryouaretome,shesaidsosoftlyMabeldoubtedherownears.Butthosewerethewordsshespoke,andMabeltookthemintoherheartandheldthemthereforever.

WhenFainasteppedacrossthecabinthresholdandontothegreengrass,ahushfellacrossthesmallgathering.Eventhechildrenquietedandstaredupather,andFainabowedherheaddowntothemandsmiledasifshehadknownthemallherlife.

Atfirst,Mabelcouldnotseewhatwasdifferentaboutthedress.Itfitherperfectlyandmovedwithasoft rustleagainstherskin.Fainawore leathermoccasinsbeaded inshimmeringwhitebeadsandtiedwithwhiteribbonsuphercalves.Theveilfloweddownherbackandtheflowersweresprinkledacrossherforehead.Sheheldthebouquetofwildflowers,ferns,andcurrantvines.

Then,asFainasteppedcloser,Mabelsawthefeathers—whitefeathers,stitchedalongthenecklineofthedress.Theylayflatagainstthefabricsothattheyseemedpartoftherawsilk,amerevariationinthetexture.Mabelcouldseethepatternnow,howthefeatherswentfromsmaller to largerat thecenter of her chest. Other feathers were sewed along the hemline, and not one covered herembroideryofsnowflowers,buteachseemedpartofthedesign.

Mabel heard someone take in a breath, perhaps one of the young women, but then Faina waswalkingpasthertoJack’sside,andshecouldseethebackofthedress.Purewhitefeathersfelldownthecenteroftheskirtandfannedoutintolargerandlargersizesuntilalongthehemsomewereaslongasawoman’sforearm,alllaidflatagainstthefabricandmovinggentlywiththesilk.Likethefabric,thefeathersgleamedeversoslightly,asortofluminositythatcamefromwithinthefilamentsthemselves.

Jack,wearinghisbestandonlysuit,tookFaina’sarm,andtheybegantowalkslowlytowardtheriverwherethejarsofwildflowerssatontreestumps.Thesmellofcutsprucewasstrongintheair.Everyone followedwithout speaking,and the rustleofFaina’sgownbecame thegentle roarof theriver.Theyarrangedthemselvesneartheshore,thejagged,snowymountainpeaksbehindthem.

“WhereisGarrett?”Mabelheardsomeonewhisper.Theyshiftedawkwardlyintheirdressshoes,andthebabyletoutawhimper.ThesunwasunbearablyhotonMabel’sheadandshoulders,andhereyesachedfromthepiercingbrightness.WhenshelookedupatJack,henoddedatherandgesturedwithhischinback toward thewagon trail.She turnedand lookedoverhershoulder,and therewasGarrett,ridinghishorseatagallopacrossthemeadow.He,too,woreafinesuit,andwithonehandhekeptablackhatonhishead,andwiththeotherheheldontothereins.Atthehorse’sfeet,Faina’shuskysprinted,histongueflappingathismouth.

Garrettslowedthehorseashenearedthecabinanddismountedevenasthehorsewasstilltrotting.Helooselytiedaleadropetoanearbycottonwood,wipedhisforeheadwiththebackofhishand,and

walkedtowardthegathering.Mabelwassurprisedwhenhecamedirectlytoher.“Doyouhavetheflowers?”hewhispered.Mabelfrownedinconfusion.“Thewreath?”Then she remembered andpointed to the tablewhere the circle of fireweed and

rosesandfernslay.“Thankyou,”Garrettsaid,andhekissedheronthecheek.Curious,shewatchedhimpickupthewreathandthentapthesideofhislegwithonehand.Faina’s

dograntohim.Garrettheldupahand,andthedogsat.Heslippedthewreathovertheanimal’shead,andthenwhatlookedlikealoopofribbonandasmallpouch.Againhehelduphishand,andthedogstayedsittingwhileGarrettwalkedtotheweddinggathering.

“Notabadentrance,”BillwhisperedasGarrettjoinedhim.

Astheceremonybegan,MabelheldtoJack’sarm,butitwasasifshewerefloatingandspinning.Thehotsunblurredhervision.Shewouldfaint,oralreadyhad.Wordsswamanddodged,andshecouldnottelliftheywerespokenaloudoronlyinherhead…

…Hopeisthethingwithfeathers…perchesinthesoul…tohaveandtohold…Doyou?…hurry…hurry…totheraggedwood…norosesatmyhead…Doyou?…untildeathdoyoupart…untildeath…Ido…Ido…Ido…Ido…

Therewasawhistle,likeachickadee’s,andFaina’sdogtrottedpastasMabel’seyesfocusedagain.SheclungtoJack’sarm.Fainawascallingthehuskytoher,andGarrettwasgrinningproudly.Thedog, thewreathofwildflowersaround itsneck, satobedientlyat thebride’s feet, andGarrettkneltbesideitanduntiedtheribbonfromitsneck.Heopenedthepouchandpouredtwogoldringsintohishand.MabelheardachildclapandEstherlaugh.

Thenallsoundwaslosttotheriver ’sroar,andthegroundshiftedbeneathMabel.ShesawGarrettandFaina,facetoface.Shesawtheflickerofthegoldringsinthesun,andthentheywerekissingandsuddenlyeveryonewascheering.

“Areyouallright,Mabel?Mabel?”Jackheldherfrombehind,hisarmsfirmlybeneathherelbows.“Here,let’ssitdownatthetable.It’sthisheat.It’sgottenthebestofyou.”

Someonebroughtheraglassofwater,andoneoftheyoungwomensweptafanbackandforthinfrontofher.Atlastshecouldbreatheandthink.

“Faina?Where’sourFaina?”“She’sover there.” Jackpointed tooneof thebigcottonwoods,where thegirl stood,whiteand

shimmering,besideGarrett.

“But…isitsnowing?”andsheheardsomeonelaughbesideher.“Goodnessno,dear.”ItwasEsther.“Justcottonwoodseeds.Butitdoeslooklikesnow,doesn’tit?”The airwas filledwith thewhite down. Some floated up and over the trees,while other seeds

drifted lazily to theground.Faina lookedatMabel through the fallingwhiteandheldupahand,alittlewave,likewhenshewasachild.

“They’remarried?”Mabelwhispered.“Yes,theyare,”Jacksaid.

CHAPTER53

Thenightwascoolandpaleblue,andFainalaynakedatoptheweddingquilt.Shewasonherside,herlonglegsaskew,onearmbeneathherhead,theothercurvedbelowtheslightroundofherbelly.Garrett tookoffhissuit jacket.Hiswhitebutton-upshirtwasclammywithsweatandhisfeetachedfromthedressshoeshehadwornallday.Heundressedandlefthisclothesontherough-cutplankfloor.Ashewalkedtowardthebed,helethishandskimacrosstheweddinggownwhereithadbeenthrown over a chair, as if a giant wild bird had shrugged off its skin and cast it aside. After theceremony, as they ate fire-grilled salmon, potato salad, and an extravagant white cake with whitefrostingandcandied rosepetals, as thevoicesebbedand flowedand thesundancedoffglassesofhomemadeelderflowerwine,againandagainGarrett lethishands touch thesmallofFaina’sbackwherethefeatherslayflatagainstthesilk,andheknewtheyhadcomefromtheswan.

Aren’t you cold?Garrettwhispered as he lay beside her. She shook her head and slid her armaroundhisnecktokisshim.Overhead,mothsflutteredalongthelogpurlinsoftheroofframeandafewscatteredstarsshoneeveninthegloaming.Itcouldrain,thebugscouldbeferocious,hehadtoldher,butsheinsistedonsleepingintheirunfinishedcabin.

It’sourhome,shehadsaid.Sohehauledtheirweddingbedtothecabin,alongwiththequilthismotherhadsewedfor themand thefeatherpillowsandsoftsheets theyhadbeengivenasweddinggifts.

Faina’sfingertipsgrazedhisbarearm,andshelaughed.Butyouarecold.Yourskinisprickly.Garrettshrugged.It’sOK.Iwon’tfreeze.Astheymadelovebeneaththesummernightsky,hetriednottothinkaboutthechildinherwomb

ortheirrawgaspsandsighstravelingacrosstheland.Hewantedonlytothinkofher.

During the nextweeks, as Jack andGarrettworked beneath the endless sun to put the roof on thecabin,thenaddthedoorandwindowsandwoodstoveandcupboards,Fainadisappearedintothetrees,herdog trottingbesideher.Shewasgone forhours, sometimes theentireday,andGarrettdidnotknowwhattomakeofit.HepolitelydismissedinvitationstoJackandMabel’sfordinner,notwantingthemtoknowhowrarelyFainajoinedhimformeals.Hepreparedhisfoodaloneinthecabin,oftennothingmorethanacanofbeansheatedatopthewoodstove.OnenightGarrettsatup,waitingforhertoreturn,untilitwasnearlymorning.Nolongeropentothenightsky,thecabinwasdimandstifling,buthewouldn’tlethimselfprowloutsidelikearestlessanimal.Shewouldcomehome.

Wheredoyougo?

When?Everyday.Nights,too.Ithoughtyouwantedtobehere,withme,inourhome.

Ido.So?Butsheonlyblinkedherwhiteeyelashesathimandpattedthedog.Garrettwasremindedofthat

dayat the frozen lakewhenhehadwanted tocurseandkick thegroundand fightbackbut insteadcouldonlydumblyfollowher.

Weloveeachother,don’twe?Hedidn’twanthisvoicetowhine.Shecametowherehesat,heldhisfaceuptoherandkissedhimhard.Thatnightshestayed.

Whenharvestcame,Garrettspentlongdaysinthefieldsandcouldnolongerkeeptrackofwhereshewas.Afterweeksofraintheskyfinallycleared,andJackandGarrettworkedseveralnightsstraightthroughtocut thehay.Hesat inastuporatJack’s table,eatingabreakfastofpancakes,bacon,andfriedeggs,andwonderedifFainaeversleptaloneinthecabinashehad.

Itwas the endofSeptember, andcold.He smelledburningwoodoneeveningashewalked thewagontrail.Ashegotcloser,hesawsmokerisingfromtheirchimney,andthenFainawasstandinginthedoorway,herhandsonherswollenbelly.Garretthadneverseenanythingsowelcoming.

You’rehome,hesaid.Soareyou.Inside,rowsoflargebirchbasketscrowdedthefloor,eachfilledtooverflowing.What’sallthis?I,too,havebeenworking,shesaidwithasmallsmileatherlips.Sheledhimthroughtherowsofbasketsandpausedtoputaleaftohisnose,aberrytohislips.

Someheknew—Eskimopotatoroot,blueberries,tendersprucetips.Afewoftheplantshehadseenbeforebutdidnotknow theirnames;others, like themushroomsand lichens,hewouldhavebeenafraidtoeatifhecameacrosstheminthewoods.Hetrustedher,though,andcarriedherbasketsupintothetall-leggedlogcachehehadbuilt.

Stillshereturnedto theforestwithhercanvaspackorherbirchbaskets.Sheworea longwoolskirt and full-cut blouseMabel had sewed for her, and she held the small of her back against theweightofhergrowingbelly.Shebroughthomegraylingandsalmon,grouseandrabbits,whichsheskinnedandcleanedanddriedinstripsonracksbytheshoreoftheWolverineRiver,wherethewindkeptawaytheflies.Sometimesshesmolderedagreenalderfirebeneaththerackstolightlysmokethemeat.

Eachnight,asthewindowpanesturneddarkerwiththecomingwinter,shewashome.SheservedGarrettstrange-smellingsoupsandbowlsofnamelessmush.Ittooktimetogetusedtohercooking.

Friedwildmushroomsandsmokedsalmonforbreakfast.Fordinner,grousesoupwithspruce tipsand ribbons of wet green that Garrett could not identify; rendered bear fat and crowberries fordessert. His mother noticed he had lost weight and smelled of smokedmeat and wild plants. ShewantedtoknowwhatFainawasfeedinghim,buthewouldpathisstomachandtellherhewasfaringfineonhermeals.Thenhewouldsneakafewofhismother ’sbutterybiscuitsorcookies,andwhensheforcedseveraljarsofsweetjamonhim,hedidnotrefuse.

Faina?Faina?Whereareyou?

Garrettheldhislanternagainstthewinternight.Hehadwokenand,alarmed,realizedshewasn’tinbedbesidehim.Itwasablusterysnowfall, thefirstoftheyear,butit lookedlikeitwouldstick.Hestoodshiveringinhisboots,barelegs,andwoolcoat.

Faina?Here,Garrett.Andhespottedher,downbytherivershore.Whatareyoudoingouthere?It’sthemiddleofthenight.It’ssnowing.Iknow.You’llcatchcold.Comeinside.He turned the lantern inherdirectionandsaw that shewaswearingonlyhercotton slip,which

billowedaroundherinthewindandsnow.Yes.Yes.I’llcomeinsideforyou.In the cabin, Garrett set the lantern on the table and put another log in the woodstove. Faina

remainedjustoutsidethedoorframe,herheadthrownback.Garretttookherbyahandandpulledherinside,closingthedoorbehindthem.Shegrinnedathim,herfacedampfromthesnow,andhewipedthewetnessfromhercheekswithhispalm.

Here,shesaid,andputhishandtoherswollenbelly.There.Doyoufeelit?Shepressedhishandmorefirmlyintoher,andsomethingpushedback.Wasthat…?Shegrinnedagainandnodded.HekepthishandthereandFaina’sbellymovedinaswell,asifthe

unbornbabywereturningasomersault.

Garrettwasn’t prepared for the screaming. Faina’s voice had always been clear and serene, like aglacierpond,butnowitwasrippedfromherthroatinabeastly,torturedgrowl.Hewentagainandagaintothecurtained-offdoor,butJackputahandonhisshoulder.

“It’snoplaceforyou.”“Issheallright?What’shappeninginthere?”Jacklookedtiredandold,olderthanheeverhad,buthewascalm.“It’snevereasy.”“Iwanttoseeher.”Just thenEstherpushedaside thecurtain,andGarrettcouldonlystareat thebloodcoveringhis

mother ’shandsandarmsallthewayuptotheelbows,likeshe’dbeenbutcheringamoose.“Weneedmorerags.”“IssheOK?IsthebabyOK?”“I saidmore rags,” and she turned back to the roomwhere Faina lay on their bed.Before the

curtain fell closed, Garrett caught a glimpse of her legs, her bare feet in the air, and blood,everywhereblood.

“Jesus Christ. Is this how it’s supposed to be?” Garrett thought he was going to be sick. Jackpushedbyhimwithabundleofdishtowelsinhisarms.Thewarm,humidsmellofbloodandsweatandsomethingelse,somethinglikeasaltymarsh,overpoweredGarrettandhestumbledtothedoor.

Outsideitwasdarkandcold.Howmanyhourshadpassedsincehefirstwentforhelp?Hegulpedthefreshairandwalked toward the river.ThenheheardFainacryoutagain.Couldhedonothingwhileshesuffered?HewentbackindoorsandaskedJackifheshouldfetchmoretowelsorheatmorewater.

AtsomepointinthenightGarrettdozedinachair,andwhenhewoketotheabsenceofscreaming,he jumped tohis feet.Hewent to the curtainand listened.Fainamoaned softly, and then therewasMabel’svoice,cooingandsoothinglikeamother ’s.

“Isithere?Hasthebabycome?”hewhisperedloudlythroughthefabric.Hismothercametohimandputherhandstohisshoulders.

“Notyet,Garrett.Notyet,”andhertone,gentleandkind,wassounlikehismotherthatitterrifiedhimallthemore.

“Jesus,Mom.IssheOK?Isthisallright?”“It’s hard. Harder than what I went through with you boys. But she’s strong, and she’s still

fighting.”“CanIseeher?”“Notnow.We’relettingherrestupabit,beforeshepushessomemore.She’saskingforsnow,of

allthings.Youcouldbringheracupful.Itcan’thurt.”Hepackedapitcherwithfreshsnowandgaveittohismother.“TellherIloveher.Willyoudothat?”

Itwashourslater,thesunafadedcircleinthesky,whenthevoicesroseagain.

Thereyougo.Comeon,dear.Pushwithallyourmight.Comeon.Comeon.Therewasthatferalscreamagain,andagain.Thehead’scrowning.Comeon,now.Don’tgiveuponusyet,girl.Comeon.Comeon.Andthentherewasacrylikethebleatingofacalf,andGarrettdidn’tunderstandwhatheheard.

HelookedatJack,whostoodbesidehim.“It’s your baby, Garrett. It’s here.” Jack guided him toward the curtain. “He’s coming in now,

ladies.Comingtoseehisbaby.”“Giveusjustacotton-pickingsecond.Letusgeteverybodycleanedup.”“IssheOK?Faina,areyouallright?Canyouhearme?”Yes,Garrett,anditwasthevoiceheloved,theonethatwaslikeasweetwhisperinhisear.We’re

allright.Thentherewasthechild’scryagain,rackingandtiny.Therewego,littleone,Esthersaid.Timetomeetyourdaddy.Mabelstoodbesidethebed,tearsstreamingdownhercheeks.Estherwasatthenightstand,dipping

rags intoabasin.Fainawasproppedupin thebedwithpillowsbehindher.Herfaceglistenedwithsweat,andherhairwasaraggedmess.ShelookedupatGarrettandthendownintoherarmswhereablanketwasbundled.

Goon.Don’tbeafraid,Esthersaid.Gomeetyourson.Son?That’sright.Asifthereweren’tenoughofyouaroundhere.When he got to the bedside, he put an arm around Faina’s shoulder and looked down into the

blanketwhere a small, wrinkled, and red face looked up at him. The newborn slowly blinked hisblearyeyesandscruncheduphisbrow.Garrettbentandputhislipstothebaby’scheek,andtheskinwassosofthecouldbarelyfeelit.ThenheturnedtoFainaandkissedherdampforehead.

CHAPTER54

ThedaysbecamefragileandnewtoMabel,asifshehadonlyjustrecoveredfromalongillnessandstumbledoutsidetodiscoversummerhadpassedtowinterwhilesheslept.ItwaslikethetimeshehadfollowedFainaintothemountains,whentheworldseemedjustcrackedopenandeverythingsparkledandshonewiththeinexplicablewonderofsnowcrystalsandaneternityofbirthsanddeaths.

Andallofthis—theentireworld—washeldinthelittleclenchedfistsofthenewbornbaby.ItwasinhiscryingmouthandinFaina’smilk-swollenbreastsandinthewordsMabelknewGarrettcouldnot speak because hewas too full of awe. But it was greater than all that. It was even in thewaysunlightshatteredagainsttheFebruarysnowsoMabelhadtosquintatthebrightness.

EachmorningshewalkedthesnowypathtoFainaandGarrett’scabin.Garretthadsuggestedshestayatnight,butsheknewthethreeofthemneededtimealone.Inabasket,shebroughthardboiledeggs,bread,orslicesofbaconleftoverfromherbreakfastwithJack,alongwithasackofdiapers,washcloths,andclothesthatshehadwashedathomeanddriedbythewoodstove.

Howareyoutoday,child?shewouldaskFaina,andFainawouldsmileandlookdownatthebabyinherarms.

Iamwell.Andsoishe.Seehowhelooksatyouwhenyouspeak.Heknowsyouarehere.Theinfantdidindeedseemtobethriving.Thefirstfewdaysofnursinghadbeenatrial,butEsther

hadhelpedguidethebaby’smouthtoFaina’snipplesandshowedherhowtostuffhismouthfullofherbreast.Don’tgivehimachancetochewonthatnipple,oryou’llbesorry,Estherhadadvisedasthebabyhowledandturnedhisfacethiswayandthat.It’suptohim,shesaid.He’sgottofigureitout.

Andhehad.Now,twoweekslater,heslurpednoisilyasFainacoveredherselfwithablanketofmuskrat furs shehad sewed.Shecooed tohimasheate, andclosedher eyescontentedlywhilehedozed,andMabeltookoutherdrawingpadandpencilsandmadelittlesketches.

When he woke, Mabel changed the baby’s diaper, his legs bending and straightening as hescreamedaprotest.

Hedoesn’tgetanymoreusedtothat,doeshe?Mabelsaid,asshepinnedthecleandiaper.ButFainawasn’tlistening.Shehadgonetothewindowandwaslookingoutoverthebrightsnow.Youcangooutdoorsforabit.I’llstayherewithhim.Fainadidnotspeakassheputonherbluewoolcoatandherknee-highmoccasins,butwhenshe

openedthedoor,sheglancedbackatMabelandherson.Shedidnotsmile,andMabelcouldnotreadherexpression.Didshe feelguilty forwantingsome timewithout thebaby?Wasshe frightened toleavehim,evenforamoment?

Whetherbecauseof thegustofcoldairor thesuddenabsenceofhismother, thebabyfussedinMabel’sarms,soshestoodandheldhimagainsthershoulder,bouncingslightlyasshewalkedfromoneendofthecabintotheother.GarretthadgonetohelpJacktakecareoftheanimalsbackattheirbarn,andthenhewasgoingtohaulsomemorefirewood.Ithadbeenacoldwinter,coldandcalmandsnowy,andthewoodpilesweredwindlingalready.

Mabel went to the window, still patting the newborn and swaying from side to side. The babyquieted and stared wide-eyed over her shoulder. She turned her face into him, into his smell andwarmth,andshewasfilledwiththewondershehadseenallaroundher.Shehadjustbeguntohum

intohissmallearwhenoutofthecornerofhereyeshesawthebluecoatagainstthewhitesnow.Fainawaswalking across themeadow and toward the trees, but she struggled in the snow and

stoppedfrequentlytorest.Itwassometimebeforeshereachedtheedgeoftheforest,andallthewhileMabelwatchedandwastroubledbywhatshesaw.Itwastoosoon.Sheshouldn’thavelethergoout.The labor and delivery had taken a terrible toll on her body, and she needed more rest. Sheconsidered going to the door and calling out for her to come back home, to come inside and liedown,but thenFainawasno longerwalking.Shedidn’tsprint into thespruce trees likeshehadsomany timesbefore.Shesimplystood,asingle, forlornfigure in thesnow, thewildernessstretchedout before her, her arms at her sides, her long blond hair shining in thewinter sun.And then sheturned back toward the cabin, toward her son and home, and followed her own deep trail backthroughthesnow.

Haveyounamedhimyet?

Fainadidnotanswer.Sherockedthebabyinawoodencradlebesidethewoodstove.Nightwascomingon,andMabelknewsheshouldbeginthewalkhomesoon.Youmustgivehimaname,child.Itcan’tbelikewiththedog.Hecan’tjustcometoabirdsong.

Weallhavetobeabletocallhimsomething.StillFainadidnotanswer,butonlyrockedthesleepingbabysidetoside.ItwasdarkwhenMabelleft.Garrettofferedtowalkwithherortosendherwithalantern,butshe

refusedboth.Itwasamoonlessnightandwellbelowzero,butshewouldfindherway.Astheglowofthecabinwindows turned to flickers through the trees and then toblack,her eyes adjustedand thestarlightaloneonthepurewhitesnowwasenoughtolightherway.Thecoldscorchedhercheeksandherlungs,butshewaswarminherfoxhatandwool.Anowlswoopedthroughthespruceboughs,aslow-flyingshadow,butshewasnot frightened.Shefeltoldandstrong, like themountainsand theriver.Shewouldfindherwayhome.

Mabelwokewithherpulseracing,satboltuprightinbed,andwaitedtounderstandwhathadstartledher.

“Mabel?Areyouawake?It’sme,Garrett.”Ahoarsewhisperfromthebedroomdoor.MabelscrambledoverJackandpulledasweateroverhernightgownasshewalkedintothemain

roomofthecabin.Shewouldhavebeenstartledbyanyonewakingherfromherbedinthemiddleofthenight,butGarrett’spresencewasenoughtomakehertremblingoldheartsinkintothepitofher

stomach.“I’msorrytowakeyou…”MabelheldupahandtoGarrett.Shewasweakandnauseous.“Letmesit.”Garrettpulledachairoutfromthetableandputahandonhershouldertosteadyher.“There.Letmecatchmybreath.”Shesatanddidnotspeak,andshewastemptedtogoonlikethat

for some time, keeping the truth at arm’s length. But finally she inhaled deeply and said, “Yes?Faina?”

“She’snotwell,”Garrettsaid,andjustthenJackcamefromthebedroom.“Whatisit?What’sgoingon?”“Shh.He’stellingus.Goon,Garrett.”“Alldayshewasrestlessandnotherself.Shekeptgoingoutside,ascoldasitis,andItriedtostop

her.ButIcouldn’t.Ishouldhave…”“Andnow?”Mabelasked,tryingtohelptheyoungmanfocus.“Shegotworse.Shesaidshehurt,andwhenIaskedwhere,shesaidallover,andhercheekswere

red.Shedidn’twanttogetoutofbed,andshewouldn’teatathing.Butshenursedthebaby,andtheybothwent to sleep, so I thought I’dwait untilmorning and see how shewas.But then, just now, Irolledoverandmyarmtouchedhers,andshe’sburninguphot.”

“Sheshouldhavehadthebabyatthehospital.WeshouldhavetakenhertoAnchorage,”Jacksaid.“She didn’t want to go,” Mabel reminded him. She went to the bedroom and got dressed by

candlelight.Whenshereturned,Garrettwassittinginakitchenchairwithhisheadinhishands.Theclocksaiditwasjustaftermidnight.

“Where’sthebaby?”“Ilefthimathome,sleepinginhiscradle.Ididn’tknowwhattodo.Itseemedtoocoldtobring

him.”“Youdidfine.”“Inthemorning,we’retakingherstraighttoAnchorage,”Jacksaidashelacedhisboots.“If the train’s running. If the tracksareclear,”Mabelsaid,but thenshesawGarrett’s frightened

face.“We’lldoeverythingwecan.Ifwecan’tgethertoAnchoragetomorrow,atleastwecansendatelegramtothehospitalandgetsomeadvicefromadoctor.It’sgoingtobeallright,Garrett.Now,let’sgotakecareofherandthatbabyofyours.”

On the way, Mabel tried to prepare herself for what she would find, and the same kind of calmdeterminationsettledoverheraswhenJackhad injuredhisback.When theyarrived, thebabywasstillasleepinhiscradle,andFainawasinbed.Garrettwasrighttobeconcerned.Shewascurleduponherside,armswrappedaroundhermiddleasshemoanedsoftly,andthensherolledoverontoherbackandMabelcouldseeherface.Dropletsofperspirationrandownhertemplesanddampenedherhair,andherskinwasflushedandblotchy.Mabelwenttoherbedsideandputahandtoherforehead.Itwashottothetouch.Sheclosedhereyes,herhandstillonFaina’sforehead,whenshefeltburningfingersaroundherwristandheardadry-throatedwhisper.

Mabel?Youarehere?SheopenedhereyesandFainawasholdingontoher.Atfirstshethoughtrivuletsofsweatwere

glidingdownhercheeks,butthenshesawthattheyweretears.Fainawascrying.

Whatishappeningtome?Shhh.Don’tbefrightened,child.Wewillgetyouwellagain.Whatsicknessisthis?Aninfectioninyourblood.Thatiswhatcausesthefever.Butthereisamedicineyoucantakethat

willmakeyoubetter.Iwon’tgotothehospital.Iwon’tleavemybaby.Mabelwasrelievedtoseethatdefiantjutofthechin,theflashintheblueeyes.Let’snotfretaboutthatnow.Here,Ibroughtyouwater.Youmustdrinkit.Itwillcoolyou,andit

willhelpyoumakemilkforthebaby.Mabel held theglass toFaina’s chapped lips, and shedrank anddrankuntil itwas empty.Then

Mabeldabbedawashclothatherforehead,wipingawaythesweat.WhenGarrettcametothebedroomdoor,sheaskedforabasinofsnow.Shedippedthewetclothintothecoldsnowandwrappedaclumpinsideit.WhenshepressedthistoFaina’sskin,thegirlgaspedandthensighedinrelief.Againandagain, until her cheeks began to cool and lose their ruddy coloring.With her bare hands,MabelpickedupahandfulofsnowandsliditacrossFaina’sbrow,thenputanotherclumptoherlips.Fainaopenedhermouth,andMabelbrokeoffasmallpieceforhertoeat.Itmeltedasittouchedhertongue.

There.There.Isthatbetter?FainanoddedandtookMabel’scold,damphandandheldittohercheek.Thankyou.SheclosedhereyesandrestedherheadagainstMabel’sarm.OnlyafterMabelwascertainshewas

asleepdidsheslideherhandoutfromunderhercheek.ShesmoothedbackFaina’shair,gentlypulleditawayfromhersweat-dampenedneck,andbroughtthebedsheetupoverhershoulders.

ItwasthreeinthemorningwhensheheardJackputtingmorewoodintothestove.Thetwomenhadalternatedsleepinginchairsandbusyingthemselveswithcontrivedchores.Thebabywokeforhisfeedingthen,andMabelcarriedhimintoFaina.

Yourlittleoneishungry,dear.Fainarolledtohersidebutneverseemedcompletelyawake,evenassheslidherbreastfromher

nightgownandheldthebabyagainsther.Onceagainherskinwashotandblotchy,andshebroughtherkneesupinpainasthebabynursed.

Notuntil thebabywasback inhiscradle, fedandchangedandfastasleep,didFainaawakeandbegintopleadwithMabel.

Please,shewhispered.Takemeoutside.No,child.Youmuststayinbedandrest.Mabelspokewithoutconviction.Perhapstherewashopethere,inthewinternight.Butwhatwould

GarrettandJacksay?Iamsohot,andIfeelasifIcan’tcatchmybreath.Please?

“Shewantstogooutside.”

“What?Now?Inthemiddleofthenight?”Jacksaid.“She’ssowarm,andit’ssostuffyinhere.Ithinkshefeelsasifshe’ssuffocating.Shejustwantsto

takeinsomeofthecoldnightair.”“Wecouldpropthedooropen,”Garrettsuggested.“Shewantstobeoutside,underthenightsky,”Mabelsaid,andGarrettnodded,understanding.

“OK,”hesaidfinally.“We’lltakeheroutside.”“Areyoutwomad?”Jacksaid.“It’stwentybelowzerooutthere.She’llfreezetodeath.”“Noshewon’t,”Garrettsaid.ThenheturnedtoMabel.“Willyouhelpherdress?”

MabeleasedFainaintoasittingpositionontheedgeofthebed.Shelacedthegirl’smoccasinbootsandpulledherbluewoolcoatonoverhernightgown.ThenshetooktheredscarfandmittensGarretthad handed her, and as she wrapped the scarf around Faina’s neck she recognized her sister ’sdewdrop-lacestitch.

I’vealwaysmeanttoaskyou…ButshestoppedherselfandslippedthemittensoverFaina’shands.You must promise me, child, you won’t go wandering off into the night.We’ll bring a chair

outside,andyoucansitinitforafewminutes.Ithurtstoomuch.Sitting?Thegirlnodded.Mabelhelpedher liebackon thebed.Whensheexplained toGarrett about thepain,he saidhe

knewwhattodo.AshortwhilelaterhereturnedtothebedsideandheandMabelhelpedFainatoherfeet.Garrettputhermartenhatonherheadandtiedthestrapsbeneathherchin.

ComeandseethebedI’vemadeforyouunderthestars.Fainasmiledupatherhusbandashehelpedherwalkoutside.Notfarfromthecabin,hehadlaid

severallogssidebyside,andontopofthesehehadpiledcaribouhidesandbeaverpeltsuntil theyformedathickmattress.

The night was calm and cold, perhaps the coldestMabel had ever known. The snow squeakedbeneathher boots, and the airwas sharp. Itwas thekindof deep freeze that penetrates the thickestwool and strangles the lungs, andMabel hesitated. Perhaps thiswas amistake.But then she heardFaina’s long, easybreaths and imagined the cold air againsther feverishbrow.With eachof themholdingoneofherarms,MabelandGarrettledhertheshortwayfromthecabintothemakeshiftbed,whereGarretthelpedherliedown.Sheletoutalongsighashespreadabeaver-peltblanketoverher.Mabelhadbroughttheweddingquiltfromtheirbed,andshelaidthisontop,too.

Lookatthestars,Garrettwhispered.Doyouseethemall?Yes.They’rebeautiful.Hestayedwithher,sittinginakitchenchairatherside,whileMabelwentintothecabin.Ashort

time later,when thebabyawokewanting tobeheld,MabelaskedGarrett ifhewould like tocomeindoorsforawhile.ShecouldsitwithFaina.

Doyouwantmetostay?heaskedFaina.Maybeyoushouldcomeinnow,anyways?No,shesaidgently.Goinside.Holdourson.MabelleanedoverFainaandtuckedtheweddingquiltaroundhersidesandpressedthefurflapsof

herhatagainsthercheeks.Thenshewrappedherselfinablanketshehadbroughtfromthecabinandsatinthechair.

Areyouwell,child?Oh,yes.Outhere,withthetreesandthesnow,Icanbreatheagain.

Itwaslikeanextraordinarydream:Faina’squietsighsandtheoccasionalpopandcrackofrivericeandtreebranchessnappinginthecold;thestarseverywhereinthebroad,deepnight,brokenonlybythejaggedhorizonofthemountainrange.Illuminationbehindthepeaksshotupintoshardsoflight,blue-greenlikeadyingfire,rippledandtwisted,thenspuncirclesintoribbonsofpurplethatstretchedupandoverMabel’sheaduntilsheheardanelectriccracklelikethesparksfromawoolblanketinadrycabinatnight.Shelookeddirectlyupintothenorthernlightsandwonderedifthosecold-burningspectersmightnotdrawherbreath,herverysoul,outofherchestandintothestars.

“Jesus,Mabel,you’reburiedinsnow.Where’sFaina?”

She did not remember falling asleep.Who could doze in such cold?But shewaswarm in hercocoonofwool and blanket, her nose nuzzled down into her coat, and she did notwake until sheheardthemen’svoices.

Faina.Aren’tyouhere,atmyside?Butshewasn’t.“Shemustbeinthecabin,tendingthebaby.”“No.Sheisn’tthere.”Stiff and sore,Mabel stood andwondered at all the snow covering her blanket. The night had

cloudedover,thestarsweregone,andithadsnowedseveralinches.Howmuchtimehadpassed?Shewentafterthemen,couldhearGarrettcallinginthecabin.

“Faina?Faina?”“Whereisshe,Mabel?”Jackturnedtoher,nearlyaccusing.“Shewasjustthere,besideme.Shemustbenear.Isn’tsheinthecabin?”“No.Ialreadysaidshe’snotthere.”Jackcalledintothetrees,“Faina!Faina!”Garrettcamefromthecabinwithalantern.“Whereisshe?”Therewasnoangerinhisvoice,onlydesperation,andherantowardtheriver.

“Faina!Faina!”Among the caribou hides,Mabel saw the wedding quilt buried in snow. How could she be so

negligent?Shepickedituptoshakethesnowoff,andcaughtsightofbluewool.“Jack?”Hecame toher side, lookeddownwhere shepointed, thenknelt andwithhis bare hands swept

away the snow. Faina’s blue coat, embroidered with snowflakes. Her scarf. Her mittens. Hermoccasins.Hepickedthemuponebyone,shakingoffthesnow.

“Oh, Jack.”There, still buttoned inside the coat,was Faina’swhite nightgown. “What does thismean?”

Silent, Jack draped the clothes over his arm and carried them inside.Mabel followedwith thesnow-dampenedquilt,andtheysetthemallonthetable.

“I’llgoafterGarrett.Careforthebaby,”hesaid.“ButJack…Idon’tunderstand.”“Don’tyou?”“She’sgone?”Henodded.“Butwhere?”Withoutanswering,heleftthecabin.

Whenthebabywoke,cryingforhismother ’smilk,Mabelwasataloss.Shedippedtheendofacleancloth intowarm, sweet tea and put it to hismouth.He sucked frantically, then turned his head andcried.Shewalkedhimbackandforthinfrontofthewindowuntilhecriedhimselftosleep,andallthistimeshesawnolanternlight,nosignofeitherGarrettorJack.Shesatinthechairandswayedsidetosidewiththesleepingbabyandprayedthisnightwasnotreal,thatindeeditwasanightmare.ButthenJackcamethroughthedooranddidn’tspeak.Behindhim,winterdawnwasbreakingpale.Sheraisedhereyebrowsathim,andheshookhishead.

“Nothing?”sheasked.“Notevenasetoftracks.”“Where’sGarrett?”“Hewon’tcomein.Hesayshe’llfindher.He’sgonetosaddlehishorse.”“Oh,God,Jack.Whathavewedone?”He didn’t speak for some time, but sat to unlace his boots and pull the snow and ice from his

beard.HestokedthewoodstoveandthenreachedtoMabel,totakethebaby.Surprised,shestoodandgentlyslidthebundleintohisarms.Jackswaddledtheblanketmorefirmlyandranafingeralongthebaby’scheek,hisheadbentsolowtothenewbornthatatfirstMabelcouldnotseethetearsstreamingfromhiseyes.

“Jack?”Mabelreachedupandheldhisfaceinherhands.“Oh,Jack.”Shetookthebabyfromhisarmsandsethiminthecradle,rockingitslowlyuntilshewascertainhewasstillasleep.Whenshestood,Jackwasbehindher.Mabelwenttohimandpressedherfaceintohischest,andtheyheldeachotherlikethatforsometime.

“Sheisgone,isn’tshe?”Jackclenchedhisteethandnoddedasifhisentirebodypainedhim.GriefsweptoverMabelwithsuchforcethathersobshadnosoundorwords.Itwasashuddering,

quakinganguish,andsheonlyknewthatshewouldsurvivebecauseshehadoncebefore.Sheweptuntil therewasnothingleft inher,andshewipedherfacewiththetipsofherfingersandsatinthechair,expectingJacktogooutthedoorandleaveheralone.Buthekneltatherfeet,puthisheadinherlap,andtheyheldeachotherandsharedthesorrowofanoldmanandanoldwomanwhohavelosttheironlychild.

Maybeitwasonlythewind,orherownterriblegrief,butMabelwascertainshecouldhearGarrett’svoice.Sometimesitwaslikeashout,downbytheriver.Othertimesitwasadeep,mournfulcrythatseemedtocomefromthemountainsthemselves.

SheandJackstayedwiththebabythatnight,waitingforGarretttocomehometohiscabin.Mabeldozedbesidethecradlewheretheinfantsleptquietly,butagainandagainshewasjoltedawake.

“Didyouhearthat?”sheasked.Jackstoodbesidethewoodstove,hisfacedrawn.“Whatwasthat?”sheasked.“Wolves,Ithink.”Butsheknewdifferently.SheknewitwasGarrett,ridingandsearchingandcryingintothestarless

nightsky.Faina.Faina.Faina.

EPILOGUE

Hello.Anyonehome?”Jackrappedonthecabindoor,andthenslowlyopenedit.“Hello?”Usinghiscane,hesteppedupintothecabin.Hestoodforamomentinthedoorwayandlistenedtothesilence.He had come looking forGarrett this autumnday but instead stumbled onmemories.There, on ashelfnearthewoodstove,wasFaina’sporcelaindoll,itsblondhairstillinneatbraids,itsredandbluedressasbrightasthedayJackhadsetitonastumpandcalledout,“Thisisforyou.Idon’tknowifyou’reoutthereorifyoucanhearme,butwewantyoutohaveit.”

Jackdidnotleavethedoorway,buthiseyeswandered.Foldedneatlyonthearmofachairwasthewool blanket Mabel had sewed from Faina’s childhood coat. When Jack saw a collection ofphotographshangingonthefarwall,hedidnotclosethedoorbehindhimselforevennoticehewascrossingthethresholdashewalkedtothem.MostwereofGarrettwithhisbrothers,andofEstherandGeorgeontheirweddingday.Buttheonethatcaughthiseyewasofawomanholdingatinyinfantswaddledinablanket.Theonlyothertimehehadseenthatphotographwasnearlyfifteenyearsago,whenhediscovereditinahutdugintothesideofamountain.ItwasFainaasababy.

Somewhere in the cabin, perhaps folded in a trunk or hanging in a closet, were a featheredwedding dress and a bluewool coat embroideredwith snowflakes.Garrettwould have kept them,evenashekepttheseothertokensofherlife.Buthowlittletherewas.ThisstruckJackashelookedaroundthecabin.ThesewerethefewearthlybelongingsFainahadleftbehind.

Ithappenedlikethis,thegrief.Yearsworeawaythecuttingedges,butsometimesitstilltookhimbysurprise.Likethenightjustafewweeksago,whenhehadspottedtheblueleather-boundbookontheirshelf.Itwasalwaysthere,yethiseyeshadpassedoveritdailywithoutcatching.Hewasfairlysurethatforyearsithadgoneunopened.AllthebooksMabellentGarretttoread,butneverthatone.HewascertainGarrettdidn’tknowitexisted,andneitherJacknorMabelevertalkedofit.

Mabelwas in thebedroombrushingherhairwhenhepulled thebookout from theothersand,standingat theshelf, flippedthroughthepages.Hetouchedthecoloredillustrationof thefairy-talegirl,halfsnowandhalfchild,withtheoldmanandwomankneelingbesideher.Whenpagescascadedtothefloorhethoughthehadbrokenthebinding.Glancingoverhisshouldertowardthebedroom,hequicklygatheredthem.Theyweren’tpagesfromthebook;theywereMabel’ssketches,andhelookedthrougheachofthemandmarveledattheskillanddetail.

Faina’sdelicate, childhood face, framedbyhermarten-furhat.Fainaat theirkitchen table, chinrestinginherhands.ThentherewerethedrawingsofFainaasayoungwoman,anewbornbabyatherbreast.Theywere studies, each from a different perspective, some closer and others farther away.Faina’shandonthesleepinginfant.Thebaby’stinyfist.Closedeyes.Openeyes.Mother.Child.

In the soft pencil marks something was captured that he had sensed but never could haveexpressed.Itwasafullness,akindofwarm,weightedlifethathadsettledintoFainaduringherlastdays,andageneroustendernessthatpoureddownuponherinfantsonlikegoldensunlight.

WhenMabelcalledout tohim,askingwhenhewascoming tobed,hehadcarefully folded thedrawings back among the pages of the book and returned it to the shelf, where it remained,unmentioned.

Jackbecameawarethathewasstanding,uninvited,inthemiddleofGarrett’scabin.

“Garrett?”hecalledoutagain,knowingtherewouldbenoanswer.Heleftandclosedthedoor.Hewasn’t far down the trail,walking at his slow, awkward gait, leaning on his cane,when he

heardtheboycallingthroughthetrees.“Papa!Papa!”Jayrandownthetrailtowardhim,andnotfarbehindhimlumberedtheolddog.Withnonameto

cometo,Faina’shuskyroamedfreelybetweenthetwocabins,butwheneverhersonwasoutdoors,thedogwasathisside.

“Papa! Lookwhat I caught.” The boy held up a willow branchwith one small, dusty graylinghangingfromit.

“Youcaughtit?”“Well,Maimehelped.ButIsetthehookallbymyself.”“Welldone.Welldone.”“AndMaimesaidwecouldeatitfordinner.”Jacktookthestringerfromtheboyandinspectedthefish.“AsIrecall,GrandpaGeorgeandGrandmaEstherarecomingfordinner,too.”“AndDaddy?”“Andyourfather.”“Didyoufindhim?”“No.He’sstilloutriding.Buthe’llbehomesoon.”“Helikesthemountains,doesn’the?Hegoesridingtherealot.HesaysthisyearIcancomeonhis

longtrapline,andmaybewe’llcatchawolverine.”“Thatwouldbefine,wouldn’tit?”Buttheboywasalreadydashingahead.“Jay?” Jackcalled tohim.“Doyou thinkwemightcatcha fewmore fish, tomakesure there’s

enoughforeveryone?”“Sure,Papa.Wecancatchsomemore.”The boy disappeared around the next bend in the trail, sprinting back toward Jack andMabel’s

cabin.“Justmeandyou,oldman,”Jacksaidandpattedthedog’sgrayingmuzzle.“Thinkyou’llfindmy

pacesuitsyoubetter.”The autumn day was chilly, and the trail was littered with yellow birch leaves. Along the

mountains,cloudsgathered.“Smellslikesnow,”Jacksaid,andthedoghelditsnosetotheairasifinagreement.Jackmadehiswaypasttheircabin,throughthebrushanddowntothestreamintimetoseeMabel

reelinagraylingasitsplashedthroughtheshallows.Theboyprancedexcitedlyonanearbyboulder.“Maimecaughtthebiggestoneever!Look,Papa.Look.”Theboyjumpedtotheshore,unhooked

thefishfromtheline,andhelditup.MabelsmiledatJack,thefishingrodstillinherhand.Herhairhadgonecompletelywhitenow,

andwrinklesfoldedsoftlyaroundhereyesandmouth,buttherewasayouthfulnessinhergaze.Shespentmanyanafternoonoutofdoorswiththeboy,teachinghimtocatchfishandlistenfor

birdsandwatchformoose.Howeasilyshetalkedwiththeboy.SomedaysshewouldtellJayabouthismother,howhehadherblueeyesandhowshehadcomefromthemountainsandsnowandknewtheanimalsandplantsasiftheywereherownhands.Andsometimesshewouldopenthelocketather

throat to show the boy the twist of blond hair and tell him about the lovely swan-featherweddinggownhismotherworethatday.

“LittleJackcouldhavehadthatbigfish,”Mabelsaidandkissedthetopof thechild’shead.“Hejustletitgetaway.”

LittleJack.That’swhatshealwayscalledhim.Garretthadaskedpermission,nearlyamonthafterFainawasgoneandthebabywasstillunnamed.Woulditbeallright ifInamedtheboyafteryou?He’syourgrandson,afterall.

“Jack?Didyouhearme?Ithinkyou’relosingyourhearinginyouroldage,”Mabelteasedasshehandedhimthestringer.“Orwereyoujustignoringmebecauseyoudon’twanttocleanthefish?”

“Doesn’tseemright,”Jacksaid,andwinkeddownattheboy.“Amandoesn’tgettocatchthefish,buthehastocleanthem.”

“CanIhelp,Papa?Please?”Mabel left the two of them at the creek to go back to the cabin and stoke the fire. Jack leaned

heavily on his cane as he shuffled to thewater ’s edge.The boy lined up the fish in the yellowinggrass.Jacktookhisfold-upknifefromhispantspocket.Withahandonhiscane,Jackwasloweringhimselftoacrouchwhenhefelttheboy’ssmallhandonhisarm.

“Here,Papa,”theboysaid,andthoughhewastoosmalltobeofhelp,somehowthechild’stouchmadethepaininJack’soldbonesseemlikenotmuchatall.

Theboygavehimagrayling,andJackheldit inthepalmofhishandasheslidtheknifebladebeneaththesilverskinandslicedopenthebelly.Heshowedtheboyhowtohookafingerinthelowerjawandpullfreetheglisteningentrails.Whentheytossedthemintotheclearrunningwater,youngsalmondartedandnibbledatthestringsofintestines.Jackreachedintothefishandslidhisthumbnailalongthespinetobreakfreethelineofkidneylikeaslenderbloodclot,andherinsedthebloodintothecreekwater,untilhishandsachedinthecold.

Theboywaited,crouchedbesidehim.“Last,thescales,”hetoldtheboy,andheshowedhimhowtoruntheknifebladeagainstthegrain.

When Jack rinsed the fish in the creek, the small, iridescent scales shimmered and scattered in thewater,driftedonthecurrent,andwashedupagainsttherocksliketransparentsequins.

“They’rekindofpretty,aren’tthey,Papa?”theboysaid,asinglescalepastedtohisfingertip.“Isupposetheyare,”Jacksaid.

GeorgeandEstherarrivedbeforenightfall,andasalwaysEstherwastalkingevenasshecameinthedoor and her arms were loaded with jars and towel-wrapped goodies. As they were flouring thegraylingandfryingtheminabutteredcast-ironpan,Jayrantothewindow.

“It’sDaddy!Daddy’shere!”JaywasinhisarmsbeforeGarrettcouldtakeoffhiscoatandhat.“Whatdidyousee,Daddy?Whatdidyousee?”“Well,letmethink.Oh,yes.Isaw…awolverine.”“Don’tteasetheboy,”Estheradmonishedassheflippedthesizzlinggrayling.“Noteasing.Iwaswayuphigh,abovethetreeline,inthislittlevalleyIoncevisitedalongtime

ago.Thereusedtobeawolverinethere,buttherehasn’tbeenforyears.”“Butyousawone?”theboyasked.“Idid. I’d tied thehorseoff toa treeandwashikingupover theserockswhen,on this ridge,a

wolverinewas lookingdownatme. I thought itmight jumponmyhead.Hehadclaws this long.”Garretthelduphisindexfingerandthumbtoindicateseveralinches.

“Wereyouscared?”“No.No.And he didn’t jumponmy head.He just looked atmewith his yellow eyes.Then he

turned,realslow,andsortoflopedawayandovertheridge.”“Whatelsedidyousee,Daddy?Whatelse?”“Iguessawolverine’snotenough,”Esthersaidandchuckled.“Well,notmuchelse.Exceptforthosecloudsoverthemountains.Lookslikesnow.”Theboylookedoutthewindow,thenbacktohisfather,withadisappointedexpression.“It’snot

snowing.”“Don’tworry.Betyouanythingit’llcometonight,”Garrettsaid.All through dinner, the boy could hardly stay in his seat, even as they commended him on the

good-tastingfishhehadhelpedcatch.“Settle down, Jay,” Esther said. “You know a watched sky never snows. Go sit with Grandpa

George.Maybehe’llsharehispieceofcakewithyou.”Georgeplayfullyscowledattheboy,thengrabbedhiminabearhugandtickledhim.“GoodGod!Watchoutforthedishes,”Esthersaid.“You’regoingtoknockthewholetableover.”Afterdessert,GeorgeandEstherbegantogathertheirbelongingsandtalkofgoinghome,andthe

boy looked crestfallen. He always protested when these gatherings ended, and he once said theyshouldalllivetogetherinJackandMabel’scabinsothatnoonewouldeverhavetoleave.

MabelhelpedEstherputonhercoat,JackshookhandswithGeorge,andGarrettsaidheandJaywouldcomeouttogetthehorsesandhitchthewagon.

“Putyourhaton,LittleJack,”Mabelcalledafterhim,buttheboyhadalreadyrunoutthedoor.Jackwasstackingdishesonthetablewhenheheardthewagonbegintocreakdownthedirtroad,

andthenheheardanothersound—yipsandlaughter.Mabelwasatthekitchenwindow.Jackpeeredoverhershoulder.Atfirsthecouldseeonlytheirreflectionsinthewindowpane,but

thenhebegantoseepasttheirtwooldfacestomakeoutthefiguresinthenight.Garrett stood near the barn with a lantern in his hand, and nearby the boy was leaping and

throwinghisarmsuptothesky.Evenfrominsidethelogcabin,Jackcouldheartheboy’swhoopsandcheers.Thedogbowedplayfullybesidetheboy,barked,thenjumpedandranincircles,too.

AsJack’seyesgrewaccustomedtothedarkness,hesawthegroundcoveredinwhiteand,inthelightofGarrett’slantern,snowflakesspinningandfalling.

HetookholdofMabel’shand,andwhensheturnedtohim,hesawinhereyesthejoyandsorrowofalifetime.

“It’ssnowing,”shesaid.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

First and foremost, thank you to Sam, who, always believed. To my daughter, Grace, whoseincredibleimaginationfedmyown.Tomymother,JulieLeMay,apoetwhotaughtmethemagicofwordsandthepowerofempathy.Tomyfather,JohnLeMay,whotaughtmetolovewildplaces,wildcreatures,and,always,books.Andtomybabybrother,ForrestLeMay,whofirsttaughtmeachild’slove.

Immensegratitudetomyeditors,AndreaWalkerandReaganArthur,andmyagent,JeffKleinmanofFolioLiteraryManagement—therearenotenoughpagestodescribeallthetalent,enthusiasm,anddiligenceyouputintothisproject.ThankyoutoeveryoneatReaganArthurBooks/Little,BrownandCompany,especiallyAmandaTobier,MarlenaBittner,TerryAdams,TracyWilliams,KarenTorres,HeatherFain,andMichaelPietsch.Thankyoutothepublishers,booksellers,andreadersaroundtheworldwhohavewelcomedFaina.AndtoAlessandroGottardoandKeithHayes,thankyouforabookcoverIwanttoframeandhangonmywall.

To my first, kind readers—John Straley, Victoria Curey Naegele, Rindi White, and MelissaBehnke—yourencouragementandadvicewereinvaluable.

Severalbooksinfluencedmywriting—ThesnowChildasretoldbyFreyaLittledaleandillustratedbyBarbaraLavallee;RussianLacquer, Legends andFairyTales byLucyMaxym, in particular thestory of “Snegurochka”; and “Little Daughter of the Snow” from Arthur Ransome’sOld Peter’sRussianTales.

Manypeoplethroughoutmylifehavetaught,inspired,andsupportedmeasawriterasIworkedtoward this first novel: James and Michele Hungiville, Jacqueline LeMay, Michael Hungiville,Kachemak Bay Writers’ Conference, David Cheezem and my friends and customers at FiresideBooks,AndromedaRomano-Laxand49Writers,andtheBaers.TotheBetties—thefirstsixoutoftheboxareyours.

AndthepartingglassIraiseinmemoryofourdearfriendLauraMitchellMcDonald(November26,1973–January1,2007).

ABOUTTHEAUTHOR

Eowyn LeMay Ivey was raised in Alaska and continues to live there with her husband and twodaughters.ShereceivedherB.A.injournalismthroughthehonorsprogramatWesternWashingtonUniversity and worked for nearly ten years as an award-winning reporter at the Frontiersmannewspaper.SheisabookselleratFiresideBooksinPalmer,Alaska.Thisisherfirstnovel.

Contents

FrontCoverImageWelcomeDedicationPart1Chapter1Chapter2Chapter3Chapter4Chapter5Chapter6Chapter7Chapter8Chapter9Chapter10Chapter11Chapter12Chapter13

Part2Chapter14Chapter15Chapter16Chapter17Chapter18Chapter19Chapter20Chapter21Chapter22Chapter23Chapter24

Chapter25Chapter26Chapter27Chapter28Chapter29Chapter30Chapter31Chapter32Chapter33Chapter34Chapter35

Part3Chapter36Chapter37Chapter38Chapter39Chapter40Chapter41Chapter42Chapter43Chapter44Chapter45Chapter46Chapter47Chapter48Chapter49Chapter50Chapter51Chapter52Chapter53Chapter54EpilogueAcknowledgments

AbouttheAuthorCopyright

Copyright

Thecharactersandeventsinthisbookarefictitious.Anysimilaritytorealpersons,livingordead,iscoincidentalandnotintendedbytheauthor.

Copyright©2012byEowynIveyCoverdesignbyKeithHayes.Copyright©2012byHachetteBookGroup,Inc.CoverillustrationbyAlessandroGottardo(Shout)

Allrightsreserved.InaccordancewiththeU.S.CopyrightActof1976,thescanning,uploading,andelectronicsharingofanypartofthisbookwithoutthepermissionofthepublisherisunlawfulpiracyandtheftoftheauthor ’sintellectualproperty.Ifyouwouldliketousematerialfromthebook(otherthanforreviewpurposes),priorwrittenpermissionmustbeobtainedbycontactingthepublisheratpermissions@hbgusa.com.Thankyouforyoursupportoftheauthor ’srights.

ReaganArthurBooks/Little,BrownandCompanyHachetteBookGroup237ParkAvenue,NewYork,NY10017www.hachettebookgroup.comwww.twitter.com/littlebrown

Firste-bookedition:February2012

Thepublisherisnotresponsibleforwebsites(ortheircontent)thatarenotownedbythepublisher.

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Excerpt from“TheSnowChild”copyright©1989byFreyaLittledale.Firstappeared inTheSnowChild, published by Scholastic, Inc. Reprinted by permission of Curtis Brown, Ltd. All rightsreserved.

ISBN978-0-316-19295-8