The Snow Child (40 page)

It was like a terrible thirst. He could drink and drink her in and it was never enough.

When they were together, wandering the riverbed or hiking up a creek, they shared everything they knew. The color of a black wolf’s eyes. The way to catch a muskrat through the ice. Where snow geese nest and marmots den. The sound of a herd of caribou running across the tundra. The taste of mountain blueberries and tender spruce tips.

They studied the mud in the trails, pointed to tracks and named them. Garrett tried to teach her how to call like a lovesick bull moose. Faina tried to teach him the songs of wild birds. Then they would laugh and chase each other through the trees until they found one with wide boughs and a bed of spruce needles beneath it. There they would huddle together and taste each other’s lips and eyes and hearts.

And when they were apart, he felt as if he were dying of thirst.

CHAPTER 47

S
o I guess that’s that,” Jack said. He smacked the soot from his hands. At his feet was a pail of ashes he had cleaned out of the stove. “I guess we’re through with him. We won’t be seeing that boy around here again.”

“You don’t know,” Mabel said.

“I know. He won’t be back. Planting time, and I’ll be out there breaking my back, trying to get the fields done. And where is he?”

“I think you underestimate him.”

“We’ll see.” He knocked on the stovepipe and listened to the creosote fall. Then he shoveled it from the stove into the pail.

“He’s the same young man we’ve always known. He’s just in love.”

“We’ll see.”

The horse was gone. Jack closed and opened the barn door again, thinking he had lost his mind, but no, the horse still wasn’t there. He walked through the barn and out into the pasture and saw, on the far side, that the gate was open.

He was late coming out to feed and water the horse. He’d meant to be working the fields just after daybreak. The end of May and the ground was finally starting to dry. Several of the largest fields still needed plowing. But his back had been stiffer than normal this morning, so he had eased his way slowly around the cabin for several hours.

As Jack crossed the pasture, he noticed boot prints in the mud. He shut the gate and followed the trail toward the nearest field, wondering if he should have gone back for his shotgun.

Blinded by the sun, at first Jack couldn’t see. He stood at the edge of the field and shielded his eyes with his hand.

Garrett was at the plow, tilling along the outside edge of the field.

He thought the boy nodded at him, but from this distance it was impossible to be sure. Jack started to wave at him, then stuffed his hand in his pocket. He turned on his heels and walked home.

“You’re back already?”

“The horse was gone. I went looking for it.”

Mabel raised her eyebrows.

“And? Did you find it?”

“Yep. I did.”

“Well?”

“Garrett has it. He’s plowing a field.”

“Oh, is he?” Mabel pressed her lips together. Maybe she was trying not to smile. Maybe she was keeping herself from saying I told you so.

“I know, I know. You said so.”

“I just had faith in him. He’s a young man who honors his obligations.”

“Well, when he comes in for lunch, tell him I think the north field will have to be redone. It was too much muck when I went after it.”

“You could always tell him yourself,” she said gently.

“No, that’s where you’re wrong.”

Mabel sighed.

“I won’t be your messenger forever, you know. You two will have to talk to each other someday.”

“We’ll see,” he said.

CHAPTER 48

A
misty chill hung over the spring morning, but they left the cabin because the girl was like a caged animal, tense and fidgety. Mabel knew something was wrong and that Faina might tell her if they went for a brisk walk, just the two of them. They followed the wagon trails around the fields, striding side by side, until the words poured out of her.

Am I dying? the girl asked without looking at Mabel.

Why would you say such thing?

I was bleeding. For months it came and went, and I doubled over in pain.

Why didn’t you tell me? No, it’s my fault. I should have talked with you. Have you bled again?

I thought I was better, because the bleeding stopped and didn’t come back. But now I wake and eat and can keep nothing in my belly. And all day I just want to lie down and sleep.

Mabel understood at last; she led the girl to the picnic table and sat on the bench.

You will have a baby, you and Garrett. You are carrying his child.

The fog lay low along the riverbed, and their breath was visible in white clouds from their lips. Rigid and straight-backed, Faina stood and stared toward the distant mountains.

I know you are frightened, child, but you can do this. I believe in you.

How can I? What do I know of babies, or mothers?

The girl turned to Mabel and her eyes strained in a desperate grief.

But you, she said suddenly. You must know something about babies. Please. You must. Take it and be its mother.

Mabel folded her hands in her lap.

For years, her arms had ached with longing. It was a self-indulgence she didn’t often permit herself, but sometimes she would sit in a chair, her eyes closed, her arms crossed against her breast, and she would imagine holding a small baby there—its trusting warmth against her body, its tiny head smelling of milk and talcum powder, its skin softer than flower petals. She had watched other women with infants and eventually understood what she craved: the boundless permission—no, the absolute necessity—to hold and kiss and stroke this tiny person. Cradling a swaddled infant in their arms, mothers would distractedly touch their lips to their babies’ foreheads. Passing their toddlers in a hall, mothers would tousle their hair or even sweep them up in their arms and kiss them hard along their chins and necks until the children squealed with glee. Where else in life, Mabel wondered, could a woman love so openly and with such abandon?

So now an infant, or at least the potential of an infant, was unexpectedly placed before Mabel, and she was tempted to accept it as a gift. Perhaps it was fate. Everything had led to this moment when at last her wish was granted.

And it was the right thing to do, wasn’t it? How could a girl who lived alone in the wilderness, a mere child herself, keep an infant warm and safe and cared for? Whereas she and Jack, as old as they were, were equipped to raise the baby. They had a home, a living. The child would have a clean bed to sleep in and warm food on its plate. When the time came, the child could go to school in town and compete in spelling bees and draw lovely, silly little pictures for them.

Mabel allowed herself this brief daydream, then pushed it away. As much as she had ever wanted a baby, this one wasn’t hers to take. It was Faina’s, and she at last told her so.

The girl was poised to run, the way she had so many times before. To the forest. To the wild. Away. Mabel reached up and took one of her hands, gently coaxing her to sit beside her.

You can’t run, child. Not from this. It is within you.

Faina’s thin fingers, like the cool, pale bones of a bird, rested in Mabel’s hand. How different from her own crooked hands, warm and heavy and spotted with age.

You will have help, Mabel said gently. From all of us. Me and Jack. And Esther. She’s the most generous woman I have ever known, and she will be only too eager to help. And there’s Garrett, too.

The girl cast her eyes down.

You must tell him, Faina. Now that you understand what is happening, that you two have created a child and it is growing inside you. Now that you know, you must tell him.

He will be angry.

No. He won’t. He’ll be scared, like you, but he won’t be angry. He loves you. And I believe in him, just as I believe in you.

Faina left her sitting alone at the picnic table, and Mabel shivered inside her coat and crossed her arms tightly. It was a lonely, forlorn act, giving up a child. Faina, a frightened wisp of a thing, disappeared into the forest, and Mabel was angry at the injustice of it—that she should have wanted a baby so dearly and be denied one, and that this young girl should be cursed with one as a burden she might not have the strength to bear.

“Faina is pregnant.”

Mabel knew it was a terrible habit, waiting for dinner to tell Jack bad news, but it was one of the few quiet moments they had together. This time, though, she feared she might have unintentionally killed him. He was choking, coughing until his face was a horrid reddish purple. It went on long enough that She got to her feet, prepared to strike him on the back to dislodge the object, but then he was able to stop and clear his throat. Mabel waited for him to speak, but he didn’t.

“She’s pregnant, Jack.”

“I heard you.”

“So…”

“So?”

“Well, don’t you have anything to say?”

“What is there to say? It’s entirely our fault. She was more innocent than a child has ever been, and we were the only ones who could protect her. We let this happen.”