The Snow Child: A Novel (45 page)

“She is an odd duck, isn’t she?”

Mabel had never thought of Faina in those terms, but the girl was peculiar, and even unconventional Esther could have misgivings about her son marrying her. A fascinating stranger was one thing, a daughter-in-law quite another.

“It is true—I have never met another person like Faina,” Mabel said, choosing her words carefully. “But then, I’ve never met anyone like you before, either.”

“All right. All right. I’ll give you that one. And I know I should count my blessings that someone is willing and able to put up with that son of mine.”

“She doesn’t just put up with him. I think she’s quite taken with him.”

“Hmmm.” Esther sounded doubtful.

“They have a great deal in common. They love this place, and each other.”

“But who is she? She’s a wild thing from the mountains. More times than not, Garrett doesn’t even know where she is. When she’s saddled with a screaming brat and a sinkful of dirty dishes, what then? Is she going to stick around long enough to be a wife and a mother?”

Mabel’s throat was swelling shut. She walked around the corner of the cabin, pretending to inspect the other wall. Esther was instantly at her side.

“Oh, Mabel. I meant no offense. I know she’s like a daughter to you, and my son surely loves her. That’ll have to do for the rest of us, won’t it?”

Mabel smiled and nodded and blinked away tears. The two women hugged and hooked arms to walk back to Jack and Mabel’s.

The nightmares had returned. Naked, crying babies melted as she held them, and dripped to the ground even as she tried to close her fingers and cup her hands. Sometimes she clutched the infants to her chest, only to realize that the warmth of her own body was the cause of their demise.

Then there was Faina—her face would appear in the trees like a scene through a rain-streaked windowpane. In her dream, Mabel would run outside and it would be raining the way it did back home in the summer, a blinding, warm downpour. She would call Faina’s name, try to run through the forest to find her, but the rain would fill her eyes and mouth and she would wake gasping. In another dream, Mabel stood hip deep in the river and clenched Faina’s wet hands as the current pulled her downstream. Mabel would try to hold on, but she was never strong enough, and Faina would slip from her grasp and be carried away in the silty water. The girl would flail her arms and cry for Mabel to help, please, please, help, but she would be unable to move. She would stand and watch as her beautiful daughter drowned at her feet. Never in these dreams could Mabel cry or move or even speak a word.

The day of the wedding came, and Esther was right—the cabin wasn’t finished, but it was all the more lovely, like a
cathedral sculpted of trees and sky. Mabel walked there in the morning and was grateful to be alone. It had become a holy place, the sound of the river, the fragrance of the freshly peeled spruce logs, the blue sky, the green meadow. The cottonwood trees were blooming, and the downy white seeds floated on the breeze like feathers.

Jack was back at their own place, loading the wagon with tables and chairs to haul to the cabin. George and Esther were coming just before the ceremony so they could bring the food for afterward. Garrett’s oldest brother would marry them. He wasn’t a pastor, or even one to attend church regularly, but Garrett had wanted him to perform the ceremony, and no one objected. Though he was a well-spoken man, Mabel would have preferred an ordained minister but never said so. The brothers, along with their wives and children, would be the only other guests at the wedding. No one else was invited; that much Mabel had insisted upon.

They had curtained off a section of the unfinished cabin with white sheets so that Faina could put on her dress and prepare herself. She had not yet appeared this morning, and she had the wedding gown with her.

Mabel had sewed the dress from raw silk Esther had given her, leftovers from her oldest daughter-in-law’s wedding gown.

“She had to have yards and yards of the stuff,” Esther said. “She wanted ruffles and pleats and layers. It was a miracle we could see her through it all. All I can say is, I’m glad her parents paid for the dress to be made.”

The ivory-hued silk was shipped from a specialty shop in San Francisco, and had certainly cost more than Mabel and Jack could have afforded, but Esther insisted that no one else had any use for the remnants. Mabel did not resist too much—the fabric was exquisite, weighted and fine and textured.

She didn’t have a pattern, but she could see Faina’s wedding gown clearly in her mind, and she sketched and sewed and embroidered for days on end. She had to be creative with the strips and odds and ends of raw silk; fortunately it was a simple dress that didn’t require much fabric. The skirt was straight and ankle length, the sleeves long, and the bodice slightly fitted to just below the ribs. The neckline scooped modestly along the collarbone. It was nothing like the flapper style so popular in recent years; nor was it in the style of the high-necked, formal gowns worn in Mabel’s youth. This was something different, something that reminded Mabel of European brides in country chapels, of alpine beauties, of Russian maidens.

The dress itself was easy to sew; it was the embroidery that kept Mabel up late each night, bent over the kitchen table and squinting as if her eyes were failing. Along the sleeves, across the narrow bodice and scattered down the skirt, Mabel used white silk thread to embroider tiny, starry flowers and loops of thin vines and pearl-drop leaves. The pure white stitches on the ivory silk were subtle; when the light caught them just so, the flowers could be mistaken for snowflakes, the vines for eddies in snow.

Still, Mabel had yet to see the gown on Faina.

It’s a surprise, Faina said. Wait and see.

Mabel had sewed it herself, so how could it be a surprise? But all she could do was make the girl promise that if it did not fit perfectly, she would bring it back in time for alterations. She had not seen Faina since.

Garrett wasn’t to be found this morning, either, and he had the wedding rings. Again there was secrecy—Esther had wanted one of the grandchildren to carry the rings and another to serve as flower girl. Garrett said he and Faina had other plans. He asked Mabel to weave a wreath of flowers.

“For Faina’s head?” Mabel asked, her voice trembling. No, she thought. I won’t allow that. Not a crown of flowers.

“Nah. Not for Faina,” Garrett said. “It needs to be bigger. About this big,” and he held his arms in a circle the size of a large mixing bowl.

Mabel had waited until the day of the wedding, knowing wildflowers would quickly wilt in the summer heat. And it was hot. Barely past eight in the morning, and already the dew was off the leaves and the arctic sun burned over the mountaintops.

Flowers for Faina’s veil and flowers for her bouquet, flowers for the Mason jars and flowers for the wreath Garrett had requested, petals and stems, leaves and blossoms—Mabel longed to be consumed by them, as she had been by the embroidery. She wanted to escape the sense that fate was rolling in over the mountains like thunder. She wanted to forget melting clumps of snow, flower crowns and fiery kisses, and fairy-tale endings.

Careful not to rip her newly sewn cotton frock, Mabel took her metal pail and walked the edge of the meadow: fireweed, their tall stalks just beginning to bloom fuchsia; bluebells with their sweet nectar; wild roses, simple with five pink petals and prickly stems; geraniums, their thin petals lavender with deeper purple veins. Farther into the woods, away from the harsh sun, Mabel bent and plucked delicate white starflowers suspended above the ground on stems as thin and taut as thread; dwarf dogwood with their fat white petals; oak ferns and lady ferns; and at the last minute, a few wild currant branches with their many-pointed leaves and trailing vines of ripe red berries translucent as jewels.

The Bensons came just as she was arranging the fireweed and oak ferns in glass jars filled with cold river water.

“Well, look at us,” Esther said as she jumped down from the wagon.

“My goodness, Esther, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a dress before!”

“Don’t get used to it. I’ve brought my overalls for the reception.” The two women laughed and hugged.

“So where’s the happy couple? They haven’t upped and eloped have they?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea. I hope Faina arrives soon, though. I need to help her with her dress and hair. What time is it?”

“Nearly high noon. Time’s a-wasting.”

Just then they all turned toward a strange rumbling sound coming from the wagon trail.

“What is that?” Mabel asked.

“That’ll be Bill,” said George, and from around the corner appeared a shiny, bouncing automobile, a stream of dust kicked up behind it.

Esther made a disgusted face at Mabel. “It was a present from her family. Must be nice to be rolling in the dough.”

Jack stood motionless, clearly impressed. “That one of those trucks I’ve been hearing about?”

“Yep. A Ford Model A pickup truck,” George boasted, and Esther rolled her eyes in Mabel’s direction.

“They had to have it barged up from California, then shipped out on the train. All so they can drive from our house to yours,” Esther told Mabel.

The automobile came to a grinding stop in the grass just short of the picnic table, and the Bensons’ oldest son opened the door and stood grinning on the running board.

“Not a bad way to travel, eh?” he called out. He tipped his white fedora in Mabel’s direction.

“You could back it up a few feet there,” Esther said. “No need to park yourself right in the food.”