The Snow Child Part 2

He stopped, looked at the circle of snow on his pant leg and then up at Mabel, a mix of irritation and confusion on his face, and then even as his brow stayed furrowed, a small smile appeared at the corner of his lips. He bent and carefully lodged the lantern in the snow beside him, then smacked his gloved hand across the pant leg, dusting away the snow. Mabel held her breath. He remained bent over, his hand down by his boots, and then, quicker than Mabel could react, he scooped up a handful of snow and tossed a perfectly formed s...o...b..ll at her. It smacked her in the forehead. She stood motionless with her arms at her sides. Neither of them spoke. The snow fell around them, on the tops of their heads and their shoulders. Mabel wiped the wet snow from her forehead and saw Jack, his mouth open.

aIa thatas nota I hadnat meant toa"a And she laughed. Melting snow dripped down her temples, snowflakes landed on her eyelashes. She laughed and laughed until she was doubled over, and then she grabbed another handful of snow and threw it at Jack, and he threw one back, and the s...o...b..a.l.l.s lobbed through the air. Most of them fell at each otheras feet, but sometimes they softly thumped into shoulders and chests. Laughing, they chased each other around the cabin, dodging behind the log corners and peeking out in time to see another s...o...b..ll coming. The hem of Mabelas long skirt dragged in the snow. Jack chased her, a s...o...b..ll in each hand. She tripped and fell, and as he ran to her she flung loose snow at him, all the time laughing, and he gently tossed the s...o...b..a.l.l.s down at her. Then he put his hands to his knees, bent at the back and breathing loudly.

aWeare too old for this,a he said.

aAre we?a He reached down and pulled Mabel to her feet until they stood chest to chest, panting and smiling and covered in snow. Mabel pressed her face into his damp collar and he wrapped his arms, thick with his wool coat, around her shoulders. They stood that way for a while, letting the snow fall down upon them.

Then Jack pulled away, brushed snow from his wet hair, and reached for the lantern.

aWait,a she said. aLetas make a snowman.a aWhat?a aA snowman. Itas perfect. Perfect snow for a snowman.a He hesitated. He was tired. It was late. They were too old for such nonsense. There were a dozen reasons not to, Mabel knew, but instead he set the lantern back in the snow.

aAll right,a he said. There was reluctance in the hang of his head, but he pulled off his leather work gloves. He took her cheek in his bare hand, and with his thumb wiped melted snow from beneath her eye.

aAll right.a The snow was perfect. It stuck in thick layers as they rolled it into b.a.l.l.s along the ground. Mabel made the last, smallest one for the head, and Jack stacked them one atop the other. The figure barely stood above his waist.

aItas kind of small,a he said.

She stepped back and inspected it from a distance.

aItas just fine,a she said.

They patted snow into the cracks between the s...o...b..a.l.l.s, smoothed the edges. He walked away from the light of the lantern and cabin window, into a stand of trees. He came back with two birch branches, and he stuck one into each side of their creation. Now it had arms.

aA girl. Letas make it a little girl,a she said.

aAll right.a She knelt and began shaping the bottom into a skirt that spread out from the snow girl. She slid her hands upward, shaving away the snow and narrowing the outline until it looked like a little child. When she stood up, she saw Jack at work with a pocketknife.

aThere,a he said. He stepped back. Sculpted in the white snow were perfect, lovely eyes, a nose, and small, white lips. She even thought she could see cheekbones and a little chin.

aOh.a aYou donat like it?a He sounded disappointed.

aNo. Oh no. Sheas beautiful. I just didnat knowaa How could she speak her surprise? Such delicate features, formed by his calloused hands, a glimpse at his longing. Surely he, too, had wanted children. They had talked about it so often when they first married, joking they would have a bakeras dozen but really planning on only three or four. What fun Christmas would be with a household full of little ones, they told each other their first quiet winter together. There was an air of solemnity as they opened each otheras presents, but they believed someday their Christmas mornings would reel with running children and squeals of delight. She sewed a small stocking for their firstborn and he sketched plans for a rocking horse he would build. Maybe the first would be a girl, or would it be a boy? How could they have known that twenty years later they would still be childless, just an old man and an old woman alone in the wilderness?

As they stood together, the snow fell heavier and faster, making it difficult to see more than a few feet.

aShe needs some hair,a he said.

aOh. Iave thought of something, too.a Jack went toward the barn, Mabel to the cabin.

aHere they are,a she called across the yard when she came back out. aMittens and a scarf for the little girl.a He returned with a bundle of yellow gra.s.s from near the barn. He stuck individual strands into the snow, creating wild, yellow hair, and she wrapped the scarf around its neck and placed the mittens on the ends of the birch branches, the red string that joined them across the snow childas back. Her sister had knitted them in red wool, and the scarf was a st.i.tch Mabel had never seen beforea"dewdrop lace, her sister called it. Through the broad pattern, Mabel could see white snow.

She ran to a corner of the cabin where a wild cranberry bush grew. She picked a handful of the frozen berries, returned to the snow girl, and carefully squeezed the juice onto her lips. The snow there turned a gentle red.

She and Jack stood side by side and gazed at their creation.

aSheas beautiful,a she said. aDonat you think? Sheas beautiful.a aShe did turn out, didnat she?a Standing still, she became aware of the cold through her damp clothes and trembled.

aChilled?a She shook her head.

aLetas go in and warm up.a Mabel didnat want it to end. The quiet snow, the closeness. But her teeth began to chatter. She nodded.

Inside, Jack added several birch logs to the woodstove and the fire crackled. Mabel stood as close as she dared and peeled off wet mittens, hat, coat. He did the same. Clumps of snow fell onto the stovetop and sizzled. Her dress hung heavy and wet against her skin, and she unb.u.t.toned it and stepped out of it. He unlaced his boots and pulled his damp s.h.i.+rt off over his head. Soon they were naked and s.h.i.+vering beside each other. She was unaware of their bare skin until he stepped closer and she felt his rough hand at the small of her back.

aBetter?a he asked.

aYes.a She reached up over his shoulders where his skin was still cool to the touch, and when she pressed her nose into the crook of his neck, melted snow clung in droplets to his beard.

aLetas go to bed,a Jack said.

After all these years, still a spot within her fluttered at his touch, and his voice, throaty and hushed in her ear, tickled along her spine. Naked, they walked to the bedroom. Beneath the covers, they fumbled with each otheras bodies, arms and legs, backbones and hip bones, until they found the familiar, tender lines like the creases in an old map that has been folded and refolded over the years.

After, they lay together, Mabelas cheek against his chest.

aYou wonat really go to the mine, will you?a He put his lips to the top of her head.

aI donat know, Mabel,a he whispered into her hair. aIam doing the best I can.a

CHAPTER 5.

Jack woke to the cold. In the few hours head slept the weather had changed. He could smell it and feel it in his arthritic hands. He propped himself on an elbow and grabbed at the nightstand until he found a match and lit the candle. His back and shoulders were stiff as he eased his legs over the side of the bed. He sat on the edge of the mattress until the cold was unbearable. Not far from the pillow where Mabel slept, frost crept between the logs with its feathery crystals. He swore quietly and pulled the quilt up over her shoulder. A warm, secure homea"he couldnat even give her that much. He carried the candleholder into the main room. The heavy metal door on the woodstove clanged noisily as he opened it. A few coals smoldered in the ash.

As he reached for his boots, through the window he saw a flicker. He stood at the frost-edged gla.s.s and peered out.

Fresh snow blanketed the ground and glittered and glowed silver in the moonlight. The barn and trees beyond were muted outlines. There, at the edge of the forest, he saw it again. A flash of blue and red. He was groggy with sleep. He closed his eyes slowly, opened them again, and tried to focus.

There it was. A little figure dashed through the trees. Was that a skirt about the legs? A red scarf at the neck, and white hair trailing down the back. Slight. Quick. A little girl. Running at the edge of the forest. Then disappearing into the trees.

Jack rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. Not enough sleepa"that had to be it. Too many long days. He left the window and stepped into his boots, leaving the laces untied. He opened the door, and the chill air sucked the breath out of him. The snow crunched beneath his boots as he walked to the woodpile. It was only as he was returning with an armload of split birch that he noticed their little snow girl. He set the wood on the ground and with empty arms went to where it had stood. In its place was a small, broken heap of snow. The mittens and scarf were gone.

He pushed at the snow with the toe of his boot.

An animal. Maybe a moose had stumbled through. But the scarf and mittens? A raven or a whiskey jack, maybe. Wild birds had been known to s.n.a.t.c.h things. As he turned away, he caught sight of the tracks. Moonlight fell in the hollows. The prints ran through the snow, away from the cabin and into the trees. He bent over them. The silvery blue light was weak, so at first he didnat trust his eyes. Coyote, or maybe lynx. Something other than this. He bent closer and touched the track with the tips of his bare fingers. Human footprints. Small. The size of a childas.

Jack s.h.i.+vered. His skin p.r.i.c.kled with goose b.u.mps, and his bare toes ached cold inside his boots. He left the tracks and the pile of snow, stacked the wood in the crook of his arm, and went inside, quickly closing the door behind him. As he shoved each piece of wood into the stove, he wondered if the racket would wake Mabel. Just his eyes playing tricks. It would come to sense in the morning. He stayed beside the woodstove until the fire roared again, and then he closed the damper.

He eased himself beneath the quilt and against Mabelas warm body, and she moaned softly in her sleep but did not wake. Jack lay beside her, his eyes wide and his brain spinning until finally he drifted into a kind of sleep that wasnat much different than wakefulness, a mystifying, restless sleep where dreams fell and melted like snowflakes, where children ran soft-footed through the trees, and scarves flapped between black raven beaks.

When Jack woke again it was late morning, the sun was up, and Mabel was in the kitchen. His body was tired and stiff, as if he had never slept at all but instead spent the night splitting wood or bucking hay bales. He dressed and in socked feet made his way to the table. He smelled fresh coffee and hot pancakes.

aI think it worked, Jack.a aWhat?a aThe sourdough starter Esther gave me. Here, try them.a Mabel set a plate of pancakes on the table.

aDid you sleep all right?a she asked. aYou look positively worn out.a With a hand on his shoulder, she reached over him to pour coffee from the blue enamel pot into his cup. He picked up the cup, held it warm between his hands.

aI donat know. I guess not.a aItas so cold out, isnat it? But beautiful. All that white snow. Itas so bright.a aYouave been outside?a aNo. Not since I dashed to the outhouse in the middle of the night.a He got up from the table.

aArenat you going to eat breakfast?a she asked.

aJust going to get some wood. Nearly let the fire go out.a He put on his coat this time, and some gloves, before opening the door. The snow reflected sunlight so brilliantly he squinted. He walked to the woodpile, then turned back to the cabin and saw the snow child, or what was left of it. Still just a shapeless pile of snow. No scarf. No mittens. Just as it had been last night, but now exposed as truth in the light of day. And the footprints still ran through the snow, across the yard and into the trees. Then he saw the dead snowshoe hare beside the doorstep. He stepped past without pausing. Inside, he let the wood fall to the floor beside the stove in a clamor, then stared without seeing.

aHave you noticed anything?a he finally said.

aYou mean the cold snap?a aNo. I mean anything out of the ordinary.a aLike what?a aI thought I heard something last night. Probably nothing.a After breakfast Jack left to feed the animals. On the way to the barn, he scooped up the dead hare and held it close to his side, so Mabel wouldnat notice out the window. Once in the barn, he looked at it closely. He could see where it had been strangled, most likely with a thin snare that cut into its white coat and soft underfur. It was frozen stiff. Later, after he had taken care of the animals, he went behind the barn and threw the dead hare as far as he could into the trees.

When he returned to the cabin, Mabel was heating water to wash.

aDid you see the tracks?a she called over her shoulder.

aWhat tracks?a She pointed out the window.

aThose?a he asked. aMust have been a fox.a aAre the chickens safe?a aFine. Theyare all fine.a Jack took his shotgun down from over the door and told her he would go after the fox. He knew now what unsettled him about the tracks. The trail began at the heap of snow and led in only one directiona"away and into the woods. There were no prints coming into the yard.

The trail wove among the birch trees, over fallen logs and around bare, th.o.r.n.y wild rose branches. Jack followed the loops and turns. They didnat seem like the tracks of a lost child. More like a wild animal, a fox or ermine. Das.h.i.+ng here and there, running across the top of the snow, circling back and around until Jack wasnat sure if he was still following the original trail. If she were lost, why hadnat she come to the door? Why didnat she ask for help? And the tracks did not lead down the wagon trail, toward the south, toward town and other homesteads. Instead, they moved through the trees without direction, but when he looked back over his shoulder, he could no longer see the cabin, and he understood that the trail was winding north, toward the mountains. The boot prints were joined here and there by another, different set of tracks. Fox, crisscrossing the childas footprints, then slipping away. He continued to follow the childas trail. Why would a fox stalk a little girl through the trees? He looked down from time to time, then doubted himself. Maybe the girl was following the fox. Maybe that was why her trail was so erratic.

Jack stopped at a fallen cottonwood, leaned back against its thick trunk. He must have gotten off the trail. He wiped sweat from his forehead. It was cold, but the air was dry and calm, and he was overheating. He wondered if he hadnat looked closely enough. Maybe he had been following fox tracks this entire time. He returned to the prints and stooped down next to them, half expecting to see pad and claw print. But no, they were still the smooth, child-sized footprints.

He followed the trail for a while longer, until it meandered down into a small ravine and a dense forest of black spruce. He could not easily fit through those trees. He had been gone for some time now. He turned back and felt a momentary rush of panica"so intently had he stared down at the footprints as he followed them, he had paid little attention to the landscape. The trees and snow were the same in all directions. Then he remembered his own boot tracks in the snow. It would be a long, looping way home, but it would get him there.

Mabel was anxious at the door when he returned. She wiped her hands on her ap.r.o.n and helped him take off his coat.

aI was beginning to worry.a Jack warmed his hands at the woodstove.

aWell? Did you find the fox?a aNo, just more tracks, all over the place out there.a He wouldnat tell her about the child, or the dead hare on their doorstep. Somehow, he thought they might upset her.

CHAPTER 6.

Mabel nervously eyed the trail across the snow as she returned from the outhouse. Never before had a fox come so close to their cabin. She knew they were small creatures, but all the same they frightened her. She stepped over the tracks, but then their smooth, oblong shape caught her eye. They werenat animal tracks at all. Each was a perfect print of the sole of a small boot. She brought her head up and with her eyes followed the trail back to the snow child she and Jack had built the night before. It was gone.

She hurried breathless into the cabin.

aJack? Someoneas ruined our snow child. Someoneas been in our yard.a He was at the counter, sharpening his pocketknife on a steel.

aI know.a aI thought you said it was a fox.a aThere are fox tracks, too, in the woods.a aBut those out there?a aA childas.a aHow can you know?a aThe size of the tracks. And Iam pretty sure I saw her. Last night. Running through the trees.a aHer? Who?a aA little girl. She was wearing your red scarf.a aWhat? Why didnat you tell me? Did you go after her?a aThis morning, when I told you I was going to look for the fox, I tried to see where she went, but I lost the trail.a aLast nighta there was a little girl alone outside in the freezing winter and you didnat see if she needed help? She must have wandered away from somebodyas cabin.a aI donat know, Mabel.a She went back outside and stared at the little tracks. Just one trail, leading across the snow, away from their cabin and into the trees.

During the next several days the skies cleared, a deep cold settled on the valley, and the childas tracks became edged in frost. They trailed sparkling and delicate through Mabelas thoughts, and left her feeling as if she had forgotten something.

One evening she went to the shelf where a dozen of her favorite books were held in place by mahogany bookendsa"Emily d.i.c.kinsonas Poems, Henry David Th.o.r.eauas Walking, Frances Hodgson Burnettas Queen Silver-Bell. As she absentmindedly ran her fingers across the spines, she thought of a fairy tale her father had often read to her. She remembered the worn blue leather of the cover and the golden hue of the ill.u.s.trations. In one picture, she recalled, a child reached with her mittened hands down to the old man and woman who knelt before her, the old man and woman who had formed her from snow.

The next day when Mabel went to feed the chickens in the barn, she pa.s.sed the little boot prints.

She woke to a silent cabin and sensed the change before she looked out a window or opened the door. It was a m.u.f.fled quiet, a dense cold pressing at the cabin walls, though it was warm inside. Jack had left her a crackling fire before going to hunt moose again. Her senses were confirmed when she looked out the window and saw a s.h.i.+ning new landscape. The snow had come again, and this time it was a fine, driving snow that had acc.u.mulated quickly overnight and blanketed the cabin and outbuildings. It transformed boulders and stumps into soft, white lumps. It gathered in deep pillows on spruce boughs, it hung heavily over the cabinas eaves, and it had erased the tracks across their yard.

She carried a basket of bread crumbs and dried apple bits left over from a pie to the barn for the chickens. The hens comforted her, the way they roosted along their spruce pole, their feathers ruffled against the cold. When she came in, they hopped to the straw-strewn ground and clucked like old women welcoming a neighbor. They bustled and stretched their wings. One of the black-and-white hens pecked a sc.r.a.p from Mabelas fingers, and she stroked its feathered back as it waddled away. She reached into each nesting box. Finally, beneath the soft belly of a red hen, she found two warm eggs.

Mabel put them in her basket as she left the barn. When she turned to pull the door closed, she glimpsed blue in the snow-laden spruce trees beyond the yard. She strained her eyes and no longer saw blue, but instead red fur. Blue fabric. Red fur. A child, slight and quick in a blue coat, pa.s.sing through the trees. A blink, and the little coat was gone and there was slinking fur, and it was like the flipping black-and-white pictures she had seen in a coin-operated illuminated box in New York City. Appearing and disappearing motion, child and woodland creature each a pa.s.sing flicker.

Mabel walked toward the forest, slowly at first and then more quickly. She watched for the girl but had lost sight of her.

When she neared the edge of the woods and peered through the snowy boughs, she was startled to see the child only a hundred yards or so away. The girl was crouched, her back to Mabel, white-blond hair fanned down her blue wool coat. Wondering if she should call out, Mabel cleared her throat, and the sound startled the child. The girl stood, s.n.a.t.c.hed a small sack from the snow, and sprinted away. As she disappeared around one of the largest spruce trees, she looked back over her shoulder and Mabel saw her glancing blue eyes and small, impish face. She was no more than eight or nine years old.

Mabel followed, struggling through the knee-deep snow and bending to crawl beneath the boughs. Snow toppled onto her knit hat and trickled down the collar of her coat, but she pushed through the branches. When she emerged and wiped the snow from her face, she discovered a red fox where the child had been. Its muzzle was pressed into the snow and its back was hunched, like a cat licking milk from a bowl. It jerked its head to the side and tore something with its teeth. Mabel was transfixed. Never had she been so close to a wild animal. A few strides and she could have touched the black-tipped, auburn fur.

The creature looked up at her, its head still low, its long black whiskers brushed back along the tapered snout. Then Mabel saw the blood and fought the urge to gag. It was eating some dead thing, and blood splattered the snow and smeared the foxas muzzle.

aNo! You get! You get out of here!a Mabel waved her arms at the fox and then, feeling angry and brave, moved toward it. The animal hesitated, perhaps unwilling to abandon its meal, but then turned and trotted along the girlas path into the trees.

Mabel went to the place in the snow and saw what she hoped she wouldnat. A horrifying uncoilinga"silvery intestines, tiny bones, blood and feathers.

She had not counted the chickens this morning. She looked more closely and saw it wasnat one of her hens after all, but instead a wild bird of some kind with mottled brown feathers and its head small and torn away.

She left the half-eaten thing and followed the tangle of child and fox footprints into the trees. As she walked, a gust of wind knocked snow from the branches and blew cold into Mabelas face. It made breathing 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, and Mabel leaned into it, her eyes downcast, but she could no longer see where she was going. A small blizzard whipped out of nothing. Mabel turned her back to the wind and snow and set out for home. She wasnat dressed for such an expedition, and surely the girl was too far away now. Even as she neared the barn, the blowing snow filled in her tracks, and those of the child and fox. She did not see the dead bird or flecks of blood as she pa.s.sed bya"they had vanished as well.

aI saw the child,a Mabel told Jack when he came in for dinner. aThe girl you described from the other nighta"I saw her behind the barn.a aYou sure?a aYes. Yes. There was a fox following her, and I thought it had killed one of our chickens, but it was something else, a wild bird.a Jack squinted, as if cross.

aI did see her, Jack.a He nodded and hung his coat on the hook beside the door.

aHave you heard anything about someone missing a child?a she asked. aWhen you were in town yesterday, did you hear any news?a aNo. Nothing at all.a aDid you ask? Did you tell anybody about her?a aNo. I didnat see much point. I figured shead gone home or they would have gotten together a search party.a aBut she was here again today. Right near our barn. Why would she come here? If she is lost or needs help, why doesnat she just come to the door?a He nodded sympathetically, but then changed the subject. He said he hadnat spotted anything but a cow moose with a calf. They would have to kill the chickens as soon as the sack of feed ran out; they hadnat enough money to buy more. The good news, he went on, was that head run into George at the hotel restaurant yesterday and had invited the Bensons to dinner the coming Sunday.

It wasnat until this last part that Mabel listened attentively. She was glad the Bensons were coming. Certainly Esther could tell her something about the child; she knew the families in the valley, and maybe she would know why a little girl would be wandering alone through the forest.

CHAPTER 7.

At night when Jack closed his eyes to sleep, tree branches and game trails and snowy cliffs were imprinted on his eyelids so that sleep merged with his long days spent hunting. For days now he had risen most mornings before light and gone out with his rifle and pack to look for moose, feeling like an imposter every time. He wasted most of one afternoon stalking what turned out to be a porcupine chewing on a low-hanging branch. Head hiked up and down the Wolverine River, into the mountains, back and forth over the foothills, and he was sick to death of it.

He lay in bed longer than usual and considered not getting up at all. But George was righta"if he managed to get a moose, he and Mabel could live off meat and potatoes until harvest. Theyad run out of coffee, sugar, dried apples, powdered milk, lard. Theyad have to kill the chickens and let the horse go thin. There would be no bolts of new fabric or little trinkets from town. It would be a miserable winter, but they wouldnat starve.

He got up and dressed and decided that tomorrow he would go to town to inquire about the mining job. It might be hard on his old body, but at least he would have something to show for it at the end of the day. Despite the snow, Betty had told him, the train was running and the mine was open. The Navy had upped its coal order, and the railroad had hired a crew of men to keep the tracks clear. No one knew how long the work would last, but for now they were still hiring.

Town was closed up on Sundays, though, so he might as well throw another day to the woods. He had until afternoon, when the Bensons would arrive for dinner. He left the cabin with his rifle and pack and walked the wagon trail toward the far field. The snow was well over the tops of his boots. He had no intention of hiking up toward the mountains, where it would be even deeper. Head stick close to home and hope the snow had forced the animals down along the river.

The sky was overcast and leaden, and Jack was weighed down by it. He walked through the field, the snow slowing his way, and entered the woods, but his heart was not in it.