The Snow Child (39 page)

“Hmmm?” He ladled some beans onto his plate.

“I’m concerned about the children… well, that’s it, isn’t it? They aren’t children anymore. A young man and a young woman, I should say.”

“Hmm.”

“Are you listening, Jack?”

He was buttering a slice of bread, but nodded.

“Well, it’s just… they seem awfully close, don’t you agree? They spend so much time together, just the two of them, and I’m not sure it’s appropriate. Considering their age.”

“Hmm.”

“Jack, for goodness’ sake. Do you even know who I’m talking about? Are you listening to a word I say?”

He set his knife and fork down and looked across his plate at Mabel.

“I’m not eating my dinner, am I?”

“I’m sorry. It’s just… it’s Garrett and Faina. I think they may be, well…”

“What?”

“Haven’t you noticed? All the time they spend together? The way they walk arm in arm?”

“They’re just kids. It’s good for her to have a friend.”

“But Jack, they aren’t children. Not anymore. Don’t you see that? Faina must be sixteen or seventeen now, Garrett nearly nineteen.”

It did surprise him, how time had passed. Faina had been a small child when she first came to their door, and only yesterday Garrett was a thirteen-year-old boy keenly interested in trapping weasels and not much else.

“I suppose you’re right, Mabel. The years have slipped by me. But I wouldn’t trouble yourself. Garrett isn’t one for chasing after girls. And courting is still a long ways off for those two.”

“No, Jack. You’re wrong.”

“We were nearly twice their age when we courted.”

“But we were unusual. My youngest sister was married by the time she was as old as Faina.”

Jack stared down at his cold beans and hardening bread. Mabel’s knack for conjuring troubles, present or future, wore on him. Sometimes he wished he could just eat his beans warm and his bread fresh, and leave worries be.

“I’m sorry, Jack. Maybe it’s nothing. It just seems dangerous for them to be spending so much time alone together without chaperoning. And I’ve seen a change come over Faina, something I can’t quite explain. But what can we do? It’s not as if we can forbid her. She isn’t our daughter, is she?”

This last shot struck its target. How many times had he spoken those precise words? Faina wasn’t their daughter. They couldn’t determine her life. All they could do was be grateful for any time they had with her. And this other bit, about Faina running off into the woods with the boy, this rubbed like a small pebble in a boot. At first it seems like nothing but a nuisance, but eventually it hobbles you.

For days, Jack thought of little else. When he had been a young man, he had been oblivious to girls. While his friends spiffed themselves up each weekend for dances, he was more interested in spending the evenings whittling on a wood project or caring for a foaling horse. Sure, he had kissed a few girls behind the barn, but only when pressed to, and he often wondered what had been different about Mabel that his attention was caught and firmly held. She was quiet and gentle and preoccupied, and at first showed no interest in him. Over time, though, they had formed an affection that was also quiet and gentle, and at times reserved.

So he had thought it would be for Garrett. Esther had joked that there was no one on God’s green earth who would be willing to put up with that headstrong boy. While his older brothers rushed into marriages with pretty, giggly girls, Garrett tended to keep to himself. Jack suspected that eventually, maybe years down the line, a woman with an unlikely temperament would come along and be the perfect match for Garrett.

But Faina? It was impossible. No matter her age, she was childlike, pure and fragile. Garrett had more decency than to defile that.

Then he watched the two of them, the way they stood so their arms touched as they talked, the way they squeezed hands when saying goodbye to one another. One night in bed, Mabel broke the news, and in her voice he could hear vindication and alarm.

“Faina isn’t leaving. She says she will stay for the summer.”

“What?”

“You heard me. She’s not leaving when the snow melts.”

“Why?”

“Do you have to ask?”

“What did she tell you?”

“She says Garrett wants to take her salmon fishing and to the tundra to hunt caribou. She says she’ll stay all summer.”

Jack couldn’t put his finger on why it unnerved him. Wasn’t this their wish? The girl would be with them all year, and for those long summer months they wouldn’t have to wonder about her safety. But it wasn’t what he wanted. He missed her when she was gone, but he liked even more to think of her in the mountain snow, far from the hot sun and the mosquito-infested river valley.

“Don’t you know what this means, Jack?”

He said nothing.

The sun came and the snow began to drip, first from the eaves and tree branches, then down the mountainsides. Spring came fast and warm, and the river broke up in a great crashing rush. Jack told Mabel he was going to watch the ice flow past, but in truth he was following them. Garrett was already staying in the barn, though planting season was far off, and this morning the boy rose early and met Faina and the dog in the yard. They hadn’t even come to the cabin to wish Jack and Mabel a good morning or a goodbye or a how-do-you-do before they walked down the trail toward the river.

“I’ll be back in a bit,” Jack said. He avoided Mabel’s eyes. All morning she had been subdued, speaking little and moving quietly around the cabin. As he put on his work jacket, she reached out and took one of his hands. She looked up at him as if to say something, but just kissed his cheek.

While the yard and main road were muddy, the trail to the river was more pleasant as it meandered among spruce trees. The ground was dry and mossy and webbed with roots. A squirrel chirped overhead, but Jack couldn’t see it in the slanting light. Here and there patches of snow still clung to the earth. Dwarf dogwood leaves and fern heads sprouted from the damp ground. Soon he heard the roar of the river, and when he neared the water, he saw soft, silvery pussy willows budding. He went to pick some from the limbs to bring back for Mabel, then remembered his grim task and kept walking.

He hoped to find them at the shore, throwing rocks at rotten river ice or tugging a stick from the dog’s mouth. They weren’t there, so he followed the trail along the river and through the willow shrubs until it eventually led him back onto higher ground and into another spruce forest. Here the trees were taller and thicker, and the land had a hushed, shaded quality. He kept his eyes down to avoid tripping over roots, and his glance caught on a cluster of small pink flowers blooming up through moss and fallen spruce needles. Fairy slippers—that’s what Mabel had called them. Once he had picked a tiny bouquet of the wild spring orchids for her and she had scolded him, telling him they were rare and every flower he had picked had meant the death of the entire plant.

He stepped around the blooms. The trail dwindled to nothing, but occasionally he heard voices. He could call out, alert them to his presence, but it would be senseless. He was here to spy on them, and he was sick with it.

He found them tucked under one of the largest evergreens, their coats spread beneath them like blankets. It was a beautiful place; the sun shone through the needled branches and dappled the ground, and the air was scented with sharp, clean spruce. He watched through the trees only long enough to understand what he was seeing, and then he looked away and was so overtaken by shame and rage that he could barely see to find his way home again.

It seemed such a terribly long time that Jack was gone, and Mabel passed back and forth in front of the window more times than she could count. She had made a mistake, telling him. She should have set aside her own uneasiness and talked frankly to the girl herself. Now it was too late.

When Jack walked back into the yard she was at first relieved. He was alone. Then she noticed how upright he strode toward the barn, how he kicked at the door to enter and then slammed it shut again, turning in place as if he didn’t know where to go or what to do with himself. He went to the woodpile and picked up the splitting maul. My God, she thought, he is going to kill him. But he began splitting logs, one after the other, and she was nearly as distressed. Garrett had split and stacked enough wood this past winter to last them years. Jack wasn’t doing a chore—he was unleashing his fury. She wanted to go to him, to tell him about the genuine affection she had seen in Garrett’s face, or how she had watched the girl pull him by an arm. She now realized that despite everything Jack had said about Faina not being their daughter, he was viewing this all through a father’s eyes.

Mabel didn’t notice when Garrett came out of the trees, but when she no longer heard the rhythmic crack of wood, she looked out the window and saw the two men standing beside the woodpile. She couldn’t hear their words, but they were speaking—first Jack, then Garrett. Jack waved his hands, and she saw the young man’s shoulders slump. Then he stood straight again and spoke more animatedly. Mabel was at the window, one hand against the glass pane. And then, seemingly without warning, Jack punched Garrett in the jaw and sent him sprawling to the ground.

Maybe it was some mistake. She had never seen Jack strike anyone, and she prayed she had misjudged the scene. But when Garrett sat up, he rubbed his jaw with the back of his hand. Jack reached down, perhaps as an offer to help him stand, but the young man refused and stumbled to his feet.

When Jack came into the cabin, neither he nor Mabel spoke. She led him to the washbasin, where she soaked his swelling knuckles and wrapped them in a cold wet cloth. Outside she heard Garrett’s horse gallop from the yard.

CHAPTER 46

T
his summer we’ll go down the river, toward the ocean.

Will we?

That’s where we’ll catch salmon fresh from the salt water, when they still shine all silver. We’ll make a bonfire of driftwood and sleep in the sand. Maybe we’ll go all the way to the ocean.

I’ve never been there.

It’s big.

I know. I’ve seen it from the mountains.

You know what else we’ll do?

Faina turned her head against his chest. No, she said. What will we do?

We’ll swim in the river. We’ll take off all our clothes and swim naked in the river.

Won’t you be cold?

Nah. There’s these little ponds on the riverbed, where the water just sits and gets warm from the sun. They’re clear and blue. You’ll see. We’ll swim and float on our backs and when we put our heads under the water, I’ll kiss you. Just like this.