The Snow Child (43 page)

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.”

“All right, Mom. All right.”

Bill and his wife and two small children piled out of the automobile looking as if they had stepped off the streets of Manhattan. The children were dressed in ruffles and bows and shoes that shined in the sun. The wife was wearing a stylish flapper dress in mauve silk and a brimless hat pulled low over her bobbed hair.

“They don’t even look like they’re part of the family, do they?” Esther whispered in Mabel’s ear. “But I guess you can’t kick them out just for that.” And, in fact, Mabel was surprised to find them all warm and charming. Bill’s wife, Lydia, quickly offered to help with food and flowers and anything else that needed doing, while the children ran happily around the meadow.

The Bensons’ other son, Michael, arrived next with his wife and three daughters, the youngest still in her mother’s arms.

“Is she here yet? I can’t believe none of us has even met her before,” Mabel heard the two young wives whispering. “I wonder what she’ll wear? Have you heard anything about the gown?”

As she helped Esther spread white tablecloths over the picnic and kitchen tables, Mabel tried to concentrate on the billow of fabric and the feel of the linen over rough, splintery wood as she smoothed out the wrinkles.

I’m here.

The voice was a whisper over Mabel’s shoulder, but when she turned, no one was there.

Here. Inside the cabin. Will you help me?

It was Faina. Her voice came through the empty window frame of the cabin. How had she gotten past without anyone noticing? Mabel excused herself and stepped through the cabin door. The log frame overhead broke the sunlight into sections and dazzled Mabel’s eyes.

I’m here.

Have you put on the dress?

No. You can’t see it yet. But will you help me with my hair?

Faina stood in bare feet, wearing the cotton slip Mabel had sewed for her. There was the slightest rounding in her belly, just enough to pull the slip tight, and across her breasts as well. Faina was no longer a child, but a tall, beautiful young woman, and she had never seemed so substantial, so full of life. Mabel quickly let the curtain fall closed behind her. This morning she had hung the bridal cloche and veil on a hook on the log wall and laid out the boar-bristle brush and hand mirror with their mother-of-pearl shining in the sun. Faina swept her hair across one bare shoulder.

Will you plait it for me?

That would be perfect, child, with the veil I’ve made for you.

So Mabel brushed Faina’s long hair, so blond it was white. She brushed out the tiny bits of lichen and torn ribbons of birch bark, the knots of yellow grass. Once it was as smooth as silk, Mabel braided it into two plaits, one on each side, that laid neatly down the front of her chest. Just as Faina looked away, out the empty window frame, Mabel pulled a tiny pair of sewing scissors from a pocket in her dress and snipped some hair from one of the plaits. Silently she slid the scissors and hair into her pocket.

There. There, now. You look lovely.

For my head, a veil you called it?

You can’t put it on until your dress is on.

I can do it. Just help me, please. You mustn’t see the dress yet.

Mabel took the cloche and veil from its hook and set it on Faina’s head, securing it with hairpins. Then she wove the wild pink roses and white starflowers into the lacework above Faina’s braids and across her forehead. But it wasn’t a crown, not a circle of flowers that could sprout from the earth.

You will leave now, so I can put on the dress.

Are you sure? It will still be a surprise.

Mabel let her eyes dart around the room, but the dress was nowhere to be seen.

Please.

All right. All right, child. We’ll all be waiting for you. Your bouquet is there, in the pail.

Faina reached out for Mabel’s hand and squeezed it. Her touch was strong and warm, and Mabel squeezed back and then impulsively brought the girl’s hand to her lips to kiss it.

I love you, child, she whispered.

Faina’s face was quiet and kind.

I wish to be the mother you are to me, she said so softly Mabel doubted her own ears. But those were the words she spoke, and Mabel took them into her heart and held them there forever.

When Faina stepped across the cabin threshold and onto the green grass, a hush fell across the small gathering. Even the children quieted and stared up at her, and Faina bowed her head down to them and smiled as if she had known them all her life.