The Snow Child Part 7

It had been many years since her father had died, but now she recalled his voice, melodic and rumbling.

aThere once was an old man and woman who loved each other very much and were content with their lot in life except for one great sadnessa"they had no children of their own.a Mabel s.h.i.+fted her eyes back to the ill.u.s.tration. It was similar to a Russian lacquer painting, the colors rich and earthy, the details fine. It showed two old people, a man and a woman, kneeling in the snow at the feet of a young girl who seemed to be made of snow from the ground to her waist but to be a real child from her waist up.

The snow childas cheeks glowed with life, and jewels crowned her blond hair. She smiled sweetly down at the old couple, her mittened hands held out to them. Her embroidered cloak spilled from her shoulders in a s.h.i.+mmer of white and silver, with no clear distinction between the cloak and the snow. Behind her the snowscape was framed by a stand of black-green spruce trees and, in the distance, snowy, sharp-peaked mountains. Between two of the trees stood a red fox with narrow, golden eyes like a catas.

She reached for her cup of tea to find that it had gone cold. How long had she stared at that single ill.u.s.tration? She sipped the cool tea and turned the page. It was night. The little girl ran into the trees. Silver stars glittered in the blue-black sky above her as the couple peered sadly out of their cottage door.

With each turn of the page, Mabel felt lightheaded and torn from herself.

She picked up the book and held it closer to her eyes. The next ill.u.s.tration had always been her favorite. In a snowy clearing, the girl stood surrounded by the wild beasts of the foresta"bears, wolves, hares, ermines, a stag, a red fox, even a tiny mouse. The animals sat on their haunches beside her, their demeanors neither menacing nor adoring. It was as if they had posed for a portrait, with their fur and teeth and claws and yellow eyes, and the little girl gazed plainly out at the reader without fear or pleasure. Did they love the little girl, or did they want to eat her? All these years later, Mabel still could find no answers in the wild, gleaming eyes.

She closed the book and traced the embossed snowflake with her fingertips. She began to gather the brown wrapping, and it was then that she saw her sisteras letter tucked into the folds of paper and nearly discarded.

Dearest Mabel, What a joy to read your letter, to see your lovely handwriting once again and know you are alive and well. It must sound terribly outlandish to you, but to all of us here it is as if you have been banished to the North Pole. It was a relief to know you are warm and safe and even have welcoming neighbors. They must be a rare blessing in that wilderness. I am pleased, too, to know you will once again pick up your sketchpad. I have always known you to be a talented artist. Wonat you send us some little drawings of your new homeland? We are anxious to share in your adventures.

As to your request for this book, it is a pure stroke of luck that I was able to send it to you. A student from the university, a Mr. Arthur Ransome, has been sorting through Fatheras collections and was particularly enamored with this book. Of all subjects, he is studying fairy tales of the Far North. I had no attachment to the book, so allowed him to have it for his studies. When I received your letter, I was thrilled to recall that I knew precisely where it was. Of course, I practically had to pry it from the young manas hands. He cautioned me that it was a rare find and should be treated with great care. He was appalled to learn that I would be mailing it to you in the farthest outreaches of civilization.

As I prepared to send the book to you, I happened to notice that it is all written in Russian. Unless you have learned the language while in Alaska, I was afraid you might be at witas end to discover the book is unreadable. Before I wrapped it, I asked the young man to tell me something of Snegurochka, the Snow Maiden.

Mr. Ransome says the story of the snow child is of similar import in Russia as Little Red Riding Hood or Snow White in our own country. Like many fairy tales, there are many different ways it is told, but it always begins the same. An old man and an old woman live happily in their small cottage in the forest, but for one sorrow: they have no children of their own. One winteras day, they build a girl of snow.

I am sorry to say no matter which version, the story ends badly. The little snow girl comes and goes with winter, but in the end she always melts. She plays with the village children too close to a bonfire, or she doesnat flee the coming of spring quickly enough, or, as in the version told in Fatheras book, she meets a boy and chooses mortal love.

In the most traditional tale, according to Mr. Ransome, the snow child loses her way in the woods. She encounters a bear, which offers to help her find her way. But she looks at the bearas long claws and sharp teeth, and fears he will eat her. She refuses his a.s.sistance. Then along comes a wolf, which also promises to lead her safely to the cottage, but he is nearly as ferocious looking as the bear. The child again refuses.

But then she meets a fox. aI will take you home,a he vows. The child decides the fox looks friendlier than the others. She takes hold of his fur scruff, and the fox leads her out of the forest. When they arrive at the old coupleas cottage, the fox asks for a fat hen in payment for her safe return. The old people are poor and so decide to trick the fox by instead giving him a sack with their hunting dog inside. The fox drags the sack into the woods and opens it. The dog lunges out, chases the fox, and kills it.

The snow child is angry and saddened. She bids the old couple farewell, saying that since they do not love her even as much as one of their hens, she will return to live with her Father Winter and Mother Spring.

When the old woman next looks outside, all that remains are the childas red boots, red mittens, and a puddle of water.

What a tragic tale! Why these stories for children always have to turn out so dreadfully is beyond me. I think if I ever tell it to my grandchildren, I will change the ending and have everyone live happily ever after. We are allowed to do that, are we not Mabel? To invent our own endings and choose joy over sorrow?

CHAPTER 16.

Couldnat we keep just one?a Mabel pleaded. aThe red hen. Sheas such a dear, and we could feed her table sc.r.a.ps.a aChickens arenat solitary creatures,a Jack said. aThey like a flock. It wouldnat be right.a aWonat Mr. Palmer allow us a little more credit, just to buy some feed for the rest of the winter? It wouldnat cost so much, would it?a Jackas s.h.i.+rt collar tightened at his throat, and the cabin was too warm and too small. Chicken feed, for Christas sake. What kind of man canat afford chicken feed? They had already run out of coffee, and the sugar wouldnat last much longer.

aItas got to be done.a He went to the door and had nearly shut it on his way out when he heard Mabel.

aEsther says itas best to dip them in boiling water to pluck them. Shall I heat a pot?a aThatad be fine.a And he closed the door.

Jack took no pleasure in slaughtering the chickens. If head had his choice, he would have kept them alive and plump in the barn for all the days of their lives. During the summer, they were good layers, most of them, and he knew Mabel had some attachment. But you couldnat let an animal starve under your care. Better to kill it and be done with it.

He eyed the ax by the woodpile as he walked to the barn. He wished now that head thought to ask George for some advice as well. His grandmother had been known to strangle a chicken with her bare hands, but mostly head heard of cutting their heads clean off and letting them bleed out. An unpleasant task, no matter how it was to be done.

A dozen headless chickens, and soon he would be bringing them into the kitchen to poor Mabel, who had doted on them. She would do it, though. Shead gut the birds and pluck the feathers and never once complain, just as she hadnat complained about the dwindling supplies or the endless meals of moose meat and potatoes. The past few weeks, she had gathered frozen wild cranberries and rosehips and jarred some jam, and shead figured out how to make an eggless cake that wasnat all that bad. She was making do, and somehow it suited her. She had a rosiness to her cheeks and laughed more than she had in years, even as she served yet another plate of fried moose steak.

Shead picked up her books and pencils again, too. Jack took note of that. The child was always bringing something new for her to drawa"an owl feather, a cl.u.s.ter of mountain ash berries, a spruce bough with the cones still attached. The two of them would sit at the kitchen table, the cabin door propped open aso the child wonat get too warm,a their heads together as she drew. It was good to see.

But it also scared him how much the girl was growing on Mabel. On him, too. He could admit that. He might not watch out the window, but he waited just the same, and hoped for her. Hoped she wasnat lonely or in danger. Hoped she would appear out of the trees and come running, smiling, to him.

Sometimes he wanted to tell Mabel the truth. It was a burden, and he wasnat sure he carried it right. He wanted to tell Mabel about the dead man and the lonely place in the mountains where he had buried him. He wanted to tell her about the strange door in the side of the mountain. The knowledge of the childas suffering sat heavy and cold in his gut, and sometimes he could not look at her small, wan face for fear of choking.

He had promised the girl, but maybe that was just an excuse. The awful truth of what the child had witnessed would wrench Mabelas heart, and the last thing on earth he wanted to do was cause her any more sadness. Her capacity for grief frightened him. Head wondered more than once if she had ventured onto the river ice in November knowing full well the danger.

Jack grabbed a hen by her feet and carried her, squawking and flapping her wings, out to the chopping block by the woodpile. The racket didnat stop for some time, even well after the head was cut off. Only eleven more to go, Jack thought grimly as he laid the dead bird in the snow.

He hadnat planned on helping with the plucking, but then he saw what a long, unpleasant ch.o.r.e it would be for a person alone. Side by side at the kitchen counter, covered in feathers and their sleeves rolled up, Jack and Mabel took turns dipping a chicken in the boiling water, then pulling handful after handful of feathers. They tried to gather the red and black and yellow feathers into burlap sacks, but soon more were stuck to the floor and floating around the cabin than in the bags.

aMaybe we should have done this outside,a Mabel said as she tried to wipe a wet feather from her forehead with the back of her hand.

Jack chuckled.

aIad get that for you, but Iam afraid Iad only leave more,a he said and held up his feather-coated hands.

aAnd this horrid smell,a Mabel said. The steam that rose from the boiling water smelled of scalded feathers and half-cooked chicken skin.

aI was thinkinga"maybe we should have chicken for dinner,a Jack said, trying to keep his face stern.

aNo, no. I couldnat beara Oh, youare teasing me,a and she flicked a feather in his direction.

As he began plucking another bird, Mabel sighed beside him.

aWhat is it?a aItas dear, sweet Henny Penny,a she said and looked sadly down at the dead hen in her hands.

aTold you it was best not to name them.a aItas not the names. I would have known them no matter what I called them. Henny Penny used to follow me about while I gathered the eggs, clucking like she was giving me advice.a aI am sorry, Mabel. I donat know what else to do.a He flexed his hand, felt the tendons give and take, and wondered how he could again and again disappoint her.

aYou think I blame you?a she said.

an.o.body else to. Itas on my shoulders.a aHow is it that you always arrive at that conclusion? That everything is your fault and yours alone? Wasnat it my idea to come here? Didnat I want this homestead, and all the hard work and failure that would come with it? If anything, Iam to blame, because Iave done so little to help.a Jack still looked at his hands.

aDonat you see? This was to be ours together, the successes and the failures,a Mabel said, and as she spoke she gestured grandly as if to encompa.s.s everything, the plucked chickens, the wet feathers.

aAll of this?a he said, and couldnat help a smile.

aYes, all of this.a Then she too smiled. aEvery blasted feather. Mine and yours.a Jack leaned over and kissed her on the tip of her nose, then stuck a chicken feather behind her ear.

aAll right then,a he said.

When they had finished the last chicken, they attempted to sweep the feathers out of the cabin, but the impossibility of the task left them both laughing, until Mabel gave up and collapsed in a kitchen chair, legs stretched out in front of her. Jack used his forearm to wipe sweat from his forehead.

aWho would have thought it would be so much work, getting chickens ready to eat?a Mabel fanned herself with a hand. Jack nodded in agreement, then took the birds to hang in the barn with the moose meat. They would stay frozen until they could bring themselves to eat them.

When he returned, he saw that Mabel had set one aside.

aWe were joking, werenat we? About cooking one for dinner tonight?a aItas not for us.a aThen what?a Mabel put on her coat and boots.

aIam taking it to a place in the woods.a aWhat place?a aWhere you left her the treats and the doll.a So shead known all along.

aBut a dead chicken?a he asked. aFor the child?a aNot for her. For her fox.a aYouare going to feed one of our chickens to a wild fox?a aI need to do this.a aWhat for?a Jackas voice rose. aHow in G.o.das name does it make a bit of sense, when weare just barely getting by, to throw a dinner out into the woods?a aI want her to knowaa and Mabel held her chin up, as if what she said took some courage. aFaina needs to know that we love her.a aAnd a chicken will tell her that?a aI told you, itas for her fox.a As Mabel carried the naked, dead bird into the night, Jack wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it. Instead he found himself thinking of what Esther had said about a dark winteras madness.

CHAPTER 17.

As he neared the cabin, Jack heard the chatter of womenas voices, and when he came through the door with an armload of firewood, he found Esther with her feet propped indecorously on a chair in front of the woodstove. She wore menas navy wool pants with the cuffs tucked into long red-striped socks. A big toe stuck out through a hole in one sock, and as Jack loaded more wood into the stove, she wiggled her toes toward the heat.

aI was just telling Mabel, I hope that boy of mine donat pester you too awful much. I know heas coming around a lot this winter, talking your ear off Iam sure,a she said.

Mabel handed her a cup of tea and she slurped at it.

aNo. No.a He tried not to look at the bare toe. aNot at all. Truth be told, I kind of enjoy his company. I could learn a lot from him.a aDonat you dare tell him that. Itall go straight to his head, and weall never hear the end of it. That boy knows a lot, but not half as much as he thinks he does.a aAh well. Suppose that was true about most of us at that age.a aHeas taken a liking to you, though. Heas always talking about you. Jack says this and Jack says that.a Mabel handed Jack a cup of tea. aThere are johnnycakes, too. Esther brought them.a The two women had spent most of the day sharing recipes and patterns, and even out in the yard he had heard their laughter. He was glad for Mabel to have the company.

Esther stood and stretched and took a johnnycake from the plate.

aI was also dispensing a little advice. I told Mabel here sheas got to get out of the cabin more. All this talk about little girls running around in the trees. Next thing you know sheall be holding tea parties in the front yard, wearing nothing but her skivvies and a flowered hat.a Esther nudged Mabel with an elbow and winked, but Mabel did not smile.

aOh look at you, white as a ghost. Iam not telling you anything you donat know. This is nonsense, all this talk about a little girl.a aIam not crazy, Esther.a Mabelas voice was tight, and she caught Jackas eyes with her own.

aSo you do have some fight in you, my girl.a Esther hugged her waist. aYouall need every bit of that to survive around here.a Jack expected Esther to find some reason to leave then, but either she took no notice of Mabelas cross silence or she had more strength in the face of it than he could ever muster. She plopped herself into a chair at the table and swished tea around in her mouth.

aGood tea. Real good tea,a she said. aDid I ever tell you about the grizzly tea?a aNo. Canat recall that you did,a Jack said. He had intended to work outside for another hour or two, but he pulled up a chair across from her and Mabel and took another johnnycake.

aDannya Jeffers? Jaspers? Ah h.e.l.l, my mindas going. Anyway, Danny carried around a nasty-smelling burlap bag filled witha"well, letas just say the less-than-desirable parts of grizzly bears. He swore you could brew a tea with it that would improve your love life.a Estheras eyes sparkled mischievously. aSoooo, you always knew who was having trouble in the sack, based on who was talking to old Danny.a aOh, you had to drink the stuff? How dreadful.a Mabel wrinkled her nose.

aI was thinking more about those poor grizzly bears,a Jack said. aImagine enduring that!a Esther laughed and held her belly.

aNow that would be a sight, wrestling a grizzly bear to the ground.a aWell you donat meanaa Mabel wore an appalled expression.

Esther could barely speak for laughing so hard. aNoa noa The bears werenat alive. He killed them first.a aOh,a Mabel said quietly, and Jack couldnat tell if she was embarra.s.sed or thinking of all the dead bears.

aI suppose a lot of characters have come through here over the years,a he said.

aOh, sure. This place draws kooks like flies. We count ourselves among the sane ones, and that tells you something.a Mabel did smile then.

aYou must have heard about the fellow who painted his cabin bright orange?a Esther asked.

aNo, no.a Mabel laughed and shook her head. aI wonat believe you anymore. Youare making it up.a Esther solemnly held up her right hand. aI swear itas the truth. Orange as a piece of fruit. Said it would help him keep cheerful during the black winters. His place was down just the other side of the tracks. I thought it was kind of pretty myself, but all the men in town teased him no end.a aDid it work?a Jack asked.

aCanat say that it did. He burned up in his cabin that winter, the whole thing down to the ground. I always kind of wondereda"he complained about the cold more than any man Iave ever known. What in the Sam Hill he was doing in Alaska is beyond me. Everyone said the fire was an accident, and that all the paint fueled the flames, but maybe he was just sick of being cold. Wanted to go out in a blast of heat, like old Sam McGee.a aSam who?a Mabel asked. aDid he live around here?a aSam who! And your own father was a literature professor?a Esther went on to recite some verses by a Yukon poet named Robert Service that told of all the strange things done under the midnight sun.

As light faded, Mabel asked her to stay for dinner, but she said no, she had to get home and cook for her houseful of men. Once she had dressed in her coat and boots and was ready to leave, she hugged Mabel again.

aDarn it if you havenat become my very best friend,a she said. aTake care, wonat you?a aI will,a Mabel said aIt was good to see you.a Jack followed Esther into the yard and offered to hitch their draft horse to the wagon.

aI got it just fine, Jack,a she said. She leaned in close to him and looked back toward the cabin.

aBut I do worry about her,a she said. aSheas got a bit of the sadness about her, like my own mother did. Keep a close watch over her.a Jack expected Mabel to be sullen and quiet when he went back inside, but she was humming to herself at the kitchen sink.

aYou two have a good visit?a aWe did. Iave never met anyone like her. She is full of surprises, and I rather enjoy it.a She poured water into a pot and didnat look at him. aWhy donat you ever speak up for me, tell her that youave seen the child as well?a So he was the one, not Esther, who had angered her.

aIt completely baffles me, Jack. Sheas real. Youave seen her with your own eyes, sat with her at this very table. And yet never once have you acknowledged it to the Bensons.a aI donat know,a he said. aMaybe Iam not as brave as you.a aYouare mocking me.a aNo. Youare different. True to yourself, even if it means people will say youare crazy. Well, mea I guess I justaa aYou donat say a word.a But there was more bemus.e.m.e.nt than anger in it.

She went back to sorting through a sack of potatoes.

aShould I get a pair of those wool pants like Esther was wearing?a she asked.

aOnly if you wear the holey socks as well.a aBut didnat they look warm and practical?a aThe socks?a he teased.

aNo no. Those socks were something else.a As she began to peel potatoes, he stood behind her and touched the tendrils of hair that had fallen from their clips and curled at the nape of her neck. Then he reached around her waist and leaned into her. All these years and still he was drawn to the smell of her skin, of sweet soap and fresh air. He whispered against her ear, aDance with me.a aWhat?a aI said, letas dance.a aDance? Here, in the cabin? I do believe youare the mad one.a aPlease.a aThereas no music.a aWe can remember some tune, canat we?a and he began to hum aIn the Shade of the Old Apple Tree.a aHere,a he said, and swung her around to face him, an arm still at her waist, her slight hand in his.

He hummed louder and began to twirl them around the plank floor.

aHmmm, hmm, with a heart that is true, Iall be waiting for youaa aa in the shade of the old apple tree.a She kissed him on the cheek, and he swept her back on his arm.

aOh, Iave thought of one,a she said. aLet me thinkaa and she began to hum tentatively. Jack didnat know it at first, but then it came to him and he began to sing along.

aWhen my hair has all turned gray,a a swoop and a twirl beside the kitchen table, awill you kiss me then and say, that you love me in December as you do in May?a And then they were beside the woodstove and Mabel kissed him with her mouth open and soft. Jack pulled her closer, pressed their bodies together and kissed the side of her face and down her bare neck and, as she let her head gently lean away, down to her collarbone. Then he scooped an arm beneath her knees and picked her up.

aWhat in heavenasa"youall break your back,a Mabel sputtered between a fit of laughter. aWeare too old for this.a aAre we?a he asked. He rubbed his beard against her cheek. She shrieked and laughed, and he carried her into the bedroom, though they had not yet eaten dinner.

CHAPTER 18.

The cranberries were tiny red rubies against the white snow, and Mabelas eyes searched them out. She had thought them inedible, but Esther told her they were actually sweeter once theyad frozen and perfect for sauces and jellies. The late February weather had warmed to just below freezing. The sky was blue, the air was calm, and it was surprisingly pleasant to be outside. Mabel waded through the deep snow near the cabin, carrying the birch basket Faina had given them. The berries were small and scattered among the bare, spindly branches, but Mabel was beginning to fill the basket a few at a time. She planned to make a savory relish with the cranberries, Estheras onions, and spices. Maybe it would make the moose meat taste like something other than the same meal theyad eaten every day for weeks on end. She was smiling to herself, thinking of how necessity truly is the mother of invention, when she looked up to see the child and the fox.

Faina never ceased to startle Mabel. It wasnat just the way the girl appeared without warning, but also her manner. She stood with her arms at her sides in her wool coat, mittens, scarf, fur trim, and flaxen hair. Her brown fur hat was dusted in snow, as were her eyelashes. Her expression was calmly attentive, as if she had been waiting, for minutes, perhaps years, knowing it was only a matter of time before Mabel came to this place in the woods.

Mabel was no longer sure of the childas age. She seemed both newly born and as old as the mountains, her eyes animated with unspoken thoughts, her face impa.s.sive. Here with the child in the trees, all things seemed possible and true.

Just as startling was the fox. It sat beside Faina with its silken red tail curled around its feet and its ears p.r.i.c.ked forward. Something in its predatory eyes and thin black mouth told of a thousand small deaths, and Mabel could not forget its muzzle smeared with blood.

Is he your friend? she asked the child.