The Snow Child Part 11

aNothing at all? Ever?a aSorry,a he said.

It was a cold night, and Jack had started a fire. The dirty dishes were left piled in the kitchen, and Mabel sat in a chair in front of the woodstove and stretched her feet to the warmth. She was more tired than she could ever remember being. Her muscles ached and hummed. When she closed her eyes, tilled rows stretched to the horizon. She drifted along the earth.

aMabel. Youare falling asleep. Come to bed.a Jack rubbed her shoulders. aThis has been too much for you.a aNo, no.a She looked up at him. aIt feels wonderful to share in the work, to feel like Iam doing something. Today might very well have been one of the best days of my lifeaa Her voice trailed off as she understood what she was saying. Jack nodded without speaking.

She put on her nightgown and got into bed. Jack, stripped to his long underwear, sat on the edge.

aJack?a aHmmm?a aWe are going to be all right, arenat we? I mean, the two of us?a He groaned as he eased his feet onto the bed. He rolled on his side to face Mabel, reached to her, and ran his hand down her unbraided hair, again and again, without speaking. Mabel saw tears in the corners of his eyes, and she propped herself on an elbow. She leaned to him and kissed him on his closed wet eyelids.

aWe will, Jack. We will be all right,a and she cradled his head in the crook of her arm and let him cry.

CHAPTER 25.

That summer was a farmeras blessing. Even Jack could see that. At perfect intervals the skies rained and the sun shone. Of his own accord, Garrett planted rows of vegetables to supply the railroad, and the plants flourished in the fields.

Jackas back still gave him trouble, and there were mornings when he had to slide out of bed to the floor and crawl to the bureau to pull himself to a standing position. His hands and feet sometimes went numb, and other days his joints swelled and ached. He suspected a morning would come when he wouldnat be able to get out of bed at all.

But in the evenings, when the snow-capped mountains went periwinkle in the twilight of the midnight sun, he would walk the fields alone, and his step was lighter. He would go down the perfect rows of lettuce and cabbage, their immense leaves green and lush. The earth was soft beneath his boots and smelled of humus. Often he would scoop some of the soil in his hand and run his thumb over it, marveling at its richness, and sometimes he would pull a radish, rub it clean on his pants, and bite into it with a satisfying crunch, then toss the greens into the trees. From there he would walk down to the new field where the potato plants had grown thigh high and had just begun to flower. It hardly seemed the same stretch of lifeless, bone-bruising ground the horse had dragged him across last winter.

He owed this to Esther, he knew, and the boy. Garrett staggered the lettuce and radish crops so they were ready when the railroad needed them week to week. He weeded and hilled the potatoes. He knew which kind of fertilizers worked and which didnat, so Jack didnat have to trust the salesman in Anchorage but could go on real experience.

Even at fourteen the boy was a dependable farmer, but his heart wasnat in it. With permission, Garrett would leave for days at a time, taking his horse, a rifle, and a knapsack. Sometimes he returned with the pack full of rainbow trout or spruce grouse for dinner. Once he brought Mabel a beaded moosehide pouch sewn by an Athabascan woman upriver. Other times he came back with stories of a mountain waterfall he had discovered or a grizzly bear he had seen playing on a patch of snow.

aThat bear was just like a little kid, running to the top and sliding down, then back up to the top.a One evening, the summer sun glinting down the valley, Garrett asked to join Jack on his stroll around the fields.

aIall bring a gun. Maybe weall run into a grouse or two.a Jack was self-conscious about his slow pace and disinclined to give up his solitude. Also, he didnat care much for the boy shooting game on the farm. Jack had spooked a grouse or two on his walks, and he enjoyed the burst of excitement it gave him when the bird flapped noisily up from his feet and then settled, plump and ruffled, on a spruce branch. He said nothing in hopes the boy would take the hint, but Garrett dashed to the barn to get his shotgun.

aWeall be back in a bit,a Jack said over his shoulder as he walked out the door, but he doubted Mabel had heard. She was bent over the table, working on the sewing project that had consumed her evenings, and he felt a rush of affection for her.

It humiliated him at first, knowing she was working the farm in his place. Now, with summer mostly gone, he knew his step was lighter in part because of her. She was no longer a lost soula"she was right there beside him, the same dirt on her hands, the same thoughts on her mind. How many rows of reds should we plant next year? Do we need to lime the north field? When the new hen starts laying, should we let her hatch a dozen or so? The fate of it all, the farm, their happiness, was no longer his alone. Look what weave done, she said to him one morning as she pointed to the rows of radishes, cabbage, broccoli, and lettuce.

Shotgun in the crook of his arm, Garrett trotted down the dirt road and caught up with Jack. aWeall probably never see another year like this,a the boy said. He shook his head in disbelief as he looked out over the field. aCan you believe it? We want rain, it rains. We want sun, the sun shines.a aItas been good.a Jack bent and pulled two plants. He handed a radish to Garrett. They both wiped them on their pants and silently ate them.

aCanat thank you enough for everything youave done here.a Jack tossed his greens into the trees.

aItas nothing.a aNo, it is something.a They followed the trail that led to the new field. Garrett led the way, carrying his shotgun and kicking at dirt clods. What are you feeding my boy over there? Esther had joked, and Jack, too, had noticed that Garrett had shot up several inches during the summer. He had lost some of the boyhood softness in his face, and his jawline and cheekbones were more prominent. His mannerisms had matured as well. He looked Jack in the eye, spoke his opinions clearly, and rarely had to be asked to do something. George doubted it, said they were too kind to speak so of his youngest son, but during their visits he eventually saw the change, too. Maybe we should have sent our others over as well, George said and laughed. But Jack suspected the boy could only come into his own without his brothers looming over him. There was even some sign that Garrett took pride in the work he had done here at their homestead.

The trail ran along the edge of the field and past a swath of black spruce. The waning daylight did not penetrate far into the spindly, dense trees, and the air was noticeably cooler in their shadow. It was such a thin line, just a wagon trail, that separated the forest from the tidy green of the field, and Jack was thinking of the work that had gone into it when Garrett stopped in the trail and broke down his shotgun as if to load it. Jack looked past him. It took a moment for his eyes to focus, and just as they did, Garrett dug a cartridge from his pocket and thumbed it into the barrel.

aNo! Wait.a Jack put his hand on the boyas back. aDonat.a Garrett looked at him out of the corner of his eyes, and took aim.

aI said donat shoot it.a aThat fox? Why not?a Garrett squinted in disbelief, then swept his eyes back down the gun barrel, as if he had misheard. The fox ran out of the woods and crouched in the trail. Jack couldnat be surea"one red fox from another. But the markings looked the same, the black ears, near-crimson orange fur, the black-socked feet. It was all he had left of her.

aLeave it be.a aThe fox?a aYes, for Christas sake. The fox. Just leave it be.a Jack shoved the gun barrel down.

The animal took its chance and darted into the potato field. Jack glimpsed the fluffy red tail between the plants, and then it was gone.

aAre you crazy? We could have had it.a Garrett broke down the shotgun, pulled out the cartridge, and stuffed it in his pocket. Their eyes met and Jack saw a flash of irritation, maybe even contempt.

aLook, I wouldnat have minded buta"a aHeall be back, you know.a Garrettas short, disrespectful tone surprised Jack.

aWeall see.a aThey always are. Next time heall be picking through your dump pile or sniffing around the barn.a Garrett walked ahead, and as they circled the field he watched where the fox had run but didnat say anything. It wasnat until they neared the house that he spoke again. aIt doesnat make any sense, letting it get away.a aLetas just say I know that one. He used to belong to somebody,a and Jack found the words hard.

aBelonged? A fox?a They neared the barn and Jack wanted the talk done and Garrett off to bed, but the boy stopped in front of the door.

aWho did it belong to?a aSomebody I knew.a aThereas n.o.body else around here for milesaa His voice trailed off and he turned to the barn, then back again. aWait. Itas not that girl, is it? The one I heard Mom and Dad talking about? The one Mabel says came around last winter?a aYep. That was her fox, and I donat want anyone shooting it.a Garrett shook his head and exhaled sharply out his nose.

aIs there a problem with that?a aNo. No, sir.a It had been a long time since he had called Jack sir.

Jack walked toward the house.

aItas justa there wasnat really a girl, was there?a Jack almost kept walking. This wasnat a conversation he wanted to have. He was tired. His evening had been disturbed, and he wished he had stayed put at home in front of the woodstove. But he faced Garrett.

aYes. There was a girl. She raised that fox from a pup. It still comes around sometimes, and itas never done any harm, only taken what weave offered.a Again there was the shake of the head and the soft snort.

aThereas no way.a aWhat? Raising a fox from a pup?a aNo. The girl. Living by herself around here, in the woods. In the middle of winter? She wouldnat stand a chance.a aYou donat think a person could do it? Live off this land?a aOh, somebody could. A man. Somebody who really knew what he was doing. Not many,a and he said it as if he were one of the few. aCertainly no little girl.a Garrett must have seen a look pa.s.s over Jackas face, because his confidence seemed to falter. aI mean, Iam not doubting what you think you saw. Maybe thereas just another way to account for it.a aMaybe.a Jack walked slowly toward the house. He didnat wait for Garrett to say more, but as he neared the door he heard him call out, aGood night. And tell Mabel good night, too.a Without turning around, Jack held up the back of his hand in a brief wave.

aNice walk?a Mabelas eyes were on her sewing. She had lit a lantern and in the weak light was bent close to the fabric. Jack eased off his boots and went to the basin to wash his hands. He splashed the cold water over his face, too, and then dried his face and the back of his neck.

aHowas the sewing coming?a aSlow but sure. I just had to rip out a few seams, so Iam pulling my hair out right now.a She put down her work, sat back in the chair, and stretched her neck. aDid you two have a nice walk?a aIt was all right. Quieter on my own.a aYes. Heas become quite a talker, hasnat he? But I do enjoy him. And he is a hard worker.a aYes. He is.a Jack stoked the woodstove and added a log. Nights were cooler now as autumn approached.

aSo what have you been sewing on over there?a aOh, just a little something.a aA secret? A Christmas present, then, is it?a aNot for you. Not this one,a and Mabel smiled up at him.

aWell, what then?a aOh, nothing reallyaa and he knew she wanted to tell him.

aCome on. Out with it. Youare like a cat with a goldfish in its mouth.a aAll right, then. Itas for Faina. A new winter coat. I think Iave figured out how to do the trim.a Mabel stood and held the pieces of the coat in front of her, laying the blue boiled wool across her front and along her arms as if it were sewn together. Then she picked up a few strips of white fur.

aFor Faina?a aYes. Isnat it beautiful? This is rabbit fur. Snowshoe hare, actually. I asked Garrett for it. I told him I was working on a sewing project. He said this was the softest, and it is. Feel it.a So this is what shead spent her time on these past few days. This is what kept her up at night, sketching in her little notebook, smiling and lighthearted. He wanted to yank the thing from her hands and throw it to the floor. He felt sick, lightheaded even.

aDonat you like it? You see, I noticed last time we saw her, how her coat was frayed and worn. And she had nearly outgrown it last winter. Her wrists were sticking out. I wasnat sure about the size, but I tried to remember how tall she had been when she was sitting in this chair, and how narrow her shoulders were.a Mabel spread the coat on the table and picked up some spools of thread. Her face was radiant. aItall be lovely. I know it will. I just hope I can finish it in time.a aIn time for what?a aFor when she comes back.a She said it as if it were as plain as the nose on his face.

aHow do you know?a aKnow what?a aFor Christas sake, Mabel, sheas not coming back. Canat you see that?a She stepped back, her hands at her cheeks. He had frightened her, but then her temper flared in her eyes. aYes she is.a She folded the coat and began sticking pins in the little tomato pincushion, her movements quick and angry. Jack sat in the chair by the woodstove. He put his elbows on his knees and cradled his head in his hands, his fingers in his hair. He couldnat look at Mabel. He heard her in the kitchen, clattering dishes and slamming cups, and then walking to the bedroom door. There she stopped. He did not raise his head. She was out of breath, her voice hushed but sharp.

aShe is coming back. And d.a.m.n it, Jack, I wonat let you or anyone else tell me differently.a She carried the last lit lantern with her into the bedroom, leaving Jack alone in the dark.

CHAPTER 26.

Snow had come to Mabel in a dream, and with it hope. Her coat as blue as her eyes, her white hair flashing as she skipped and spun down mountain slopes. In the dream, Faina laughed, and her laughter rang like chimes through the cold air, and she hopped among the boulders and where her feet touched rock, ice formed. She sang and twirled down the alpine tundra, her arms open to the sky, and behind her snow fell and it was like a white cloak she drew down the mountains as she ran.

When Mabel woke the next morning and looked out the bedroom window, she saw snow. Just a dusting across the distant peaks, but she knew it had been more than a dream.

The child did not have to die. Maybe she wasnat gone from them forever. She could have gone north, to the mountains, where the snow never melts, and she could return with winter to her old man and old woman in their little cottage near the village.

Mabel only had to wish and believe. Her love would be a beacon to the child. Please, child. Please, child. Please come back to us.

No matter how she turned it over in her mind, Mabel always traced the childas footsteps back to the night she and Jack had shaped her from snow. Jack had etched her lips and eyes. Mabel had given her mittens and reddened her lips. That night the child was born to them of ice and snow and longing.

What happened in that cold dark, when frost formed a halo in the childas straw hair and snowflake turned to flesh and bone? Was it the way the childrenas book showed, warmth spreading down through the cold, brow then cheeks, throat then lungs, warm flesh separating from snow and frozen earth? The exact science of one molecule transformed into anothera"that Mabel could not explain, but then again she couldnat explain how a fetus formed in the womb, cells becoming beating heart and hoping soul. She could not fathom the hexagonal miracle of snowflakes formed from clouds, crystallized fern and feather that tumble down to light on a coat sleeve, white stars melting even as they strike. How did such force and beauty come to be in something so small and fleeting and unknowable?

You did not have to understand miracles to believe in them, and in fact Mabel had come to suspect the opposite. To believe, perhaps you had to cease looking for explanations and instead hold the little thing in your hands as long as you were able before it slipped like water between your fingers.

And so, as autumn hardened the land and snow crept down the mountains, she sewed a coat for a child she was certain would return.

Mabel ordered several yards of boiled wool, and then in a giant kettle dyed it a deep blue that reminded her of the river valley in winter. The lining would be quilted silk, and the trim white fur. It would be st.u.r.dy and practical, but befitting a snow maiden. The b.u.t.tonsa"sterling silver filigree. They came from a shop in Boston, and she had saved them for years in her b.u.t.ton jar, never finding a purpose for them until now. The white fur trim she would sew around the hood and down the front of the coat, along the bottom, and around each cuff. Snowflakes, embroidered with white silk thread, would cascade down the front and back of the coat.

She retrieved her sketchbook and a copy of Robert Hookeas Micrographia: Or Some Physiological Descriptions of Minute Bodies Made by Magnifying Gla.s.ses. It was one of the few natural history books of her fatheras that she had brought with her, and she thought of it one evening as she worked on Fainaas coat. The old book contained ill.u.s.trations of magnified images, and as a child Mabel had been particularly enamored of the foldout copperplate engraving of a louse with all its spindly legs. But she remembered, too, that there had been drawings of snowflakes.

aExposing a piece of black Cloth, or a black Hatt to the falling Snow, I have often with great pleasure, observad such an infinite variety of curiously figurad Snow, that it would be as impossible to draw the Figure and shape of every one of themaa and beside these words Hooke had included his sketches of a dozen snowflakes, looped and feathered, stars and hexagons. Mabel copied several of the designs. Then, from memory, she tried to re-create the one she had seen on her coat sleeve the night she and Jack made the snow child.

She followed a simple coat pattern she had ordered from a catalog. In the evenings, even when it was still bright outside, the trees and roof eaves kept the sunlight from coming in through the small cabin windows, so she lit a lamp and unfolded the fabric on the table. Following the pattern offered a kind of comfort, a quiet balance to working in the fields during the day. The farmwork was coa.r.s.e, exhausting, and largely a matter of faitha"a farmer threw everything he had into the earth, but ultimately it wasnat up to him whether it rained or not. Sewing was different. Mabel knew if she was patient and meticulous, if she carefully followed the lines, took each step as it came, and obeyed the rules, that in the end when it was turned right-side out, it would be just how it was meant to be. A small miracle in itself, and one that life so rarely offered.

As much as she enjoyed the sewing, it was in the embroidery that she would express her new hope, each st.i.tch a devotion, each snowflake a celebration of miracles. The first she chose to create was Fainaas, the one the child had held in her bare handa"a star with six perfect points, each with an identical fern pattern. Between the ferns the points of a smaller star overlapped, and at its center, the hexagonal heart.

Mabel was bent over the embroidery hoop in her hands, her nose a few inches from the fabric, when Jack came in from feeding the horse. She didnat mind that he stayed out later and later each evening, though she wondered why he avoided her. It was his irritability that gave her pause.

aIs everything all right?a she asked as she looked up from her needle and thread.

He nodded in her direction.

aI see it frosted last night,a she said. aWill we get all the potatoes out of the ground soon enough?a Another brusque nod.

aIs Garrett off to bed? I had meant to give him another book to read. I was thinking of another Jack London, or perhaps Treasure Island. If he doesnat finish it in time, he can always take it with him.a Mabel bit the thread in half and held the embroidered snowflake at armas length to inspect it. She could show it to Jack, but it would only make him angry. The coat, the snowflake sketches, all talk of Faina caused him to tighten his shoulders and stop speaking. She could have asked why, but she feared the answer. Leave it be, he was fond of saying, and so she did.

A week later, the last of the potatoes were in burlap sacks, and they woke to a skiff of snow across the land, but it was early and thin. By midday it would be gone, and Mabel was certain it would be several weeks before winter came to stay. All the same, the sight of it delighted her. She quickly fixed breakfast for Jack and Garrett and then put on her coat and boots.

aWhere are you off to?a Jack asked as he sc.r.a.ped the last forkful of egg and potato from his plate.

aI thought Iad go out for a walk, just to see the snow.a Jack nodded, but in the tired creases around his eyes, she saw his misgivings. That she was soon to be disappointed. That Faina would not return. That the child wasnat the miracle Mabel wished her to be.

Mabel b.u.t.toned up her coat to the neck and pulled on a hat and work gloves before stepping outside. It was warmer than she had expected. Already the clouds had cleared and the sun was coming through the trees. The cottonwoods and birches had lost their leaves, and the new snow lay along the branches in thin white lines. Her boots tracked the snow as she walked, uncovering dirt, browned gra.s.s, and yellowed leaves. Past the barn and the cottonwood, the fields were unbroken white. She thought she would walk to the river or follow the wagon trail to the far fields, but then she remembered it was Garrettas last day. He was going back with his family for the winter, and although they would surely see him during the next months, it still seemed a goodbye of sorts. She meant to let him choose a book to take with him.

When she returned, Garrett was washing the dishes.

aNo. No you donat. Not on your last day.a Mabel hung her coat on the hook beside the door. aWhat will we ever do without you, Garrett?a aI donat know. I could stay instead.a aI donat think your mother would agree to it,a Jack said, stacking the plates beside the washbasin. aSheas ready for her youngest to come home.a Garrett looked doubtful but seemed to bite his tongue. He had grown and changed these past few months. He had taken on much of the responsibility of the farm, and in the evenings they talked about crop varieties and weather patterns, books and art. Mabel no longer sat outside the circle of conversation. She was as eager to discuss the type of turnips they would plant as to describe the museums she had visited in New York.

Who would think that an adolescent boy would have anything to teach an old woman? But it was Garrett who had led her into the fields and closer to the life she had pictured for herself in Alaska. She could think of no way to explain that to him. With a mother like Esther, surely he could not imagine a woman doing anything against her will, or worse yet, not knowing her own will. It was as if Mabel had been living in a hole, comfortable and safe as it might have been, and he had merely reached down a hand to help her step up into the sunlight. From there she was free to walk where she would.

aGarrett, I was thinking you could borrow a book to take home with you. Only if you would like to, of course.a aCould I? You wouldnat mind? Iall be real careful with it.a aOf course you will. Thatas why Iam offering.a Mabel led him into the bedroom and knelt on the floor to pull out the trunk.

aHere, I can get that.a He easily tugged it out from under the bed. aThis is full of books? This whole thing?a aThat one, and a few others as well.a She laughed at Garrettas surprise. aYou should have seen my fatheras library. A room nearly the size of this whole cabin, lined with shelves and shelves of books. But I could bring only a few of them with me.a aDo you miss aem?a aThe books?a aAnd your family? And everything else? It must be real different than here.a aOh, sometimes I wish I had a certain book or could visit with a certain friend or relative, but mostly Iam glad to be here.a Mabel opened the trunk and Garrett began pulling books off the stacks inside.

aTake your time. Your mother isnat expecting you until dinner.a She stood and dusted off her skirt. She was at the door when she heard Garrett say, aThank you, Mabel.a She thought of expressing her own grat.i.tude, of trying to explain what he had done for her.

aYouare welcome, Garrett.a

CHAPTER 27.

Dearest Ada, Congratulations on your new grandchild. What a blessing! And to have them all so near. It must be wonderful to hear the pitter-patter of all the childrenas feet on the old wooden stairs when they come to visit. I was so sorry to hear of Aunt Harrietas pa.s.sing, but it sounds as if she left the world the best way any of us can, quietly and at an old and respectable age. All your news of the family was a precious gift to me.

We are well here, and I truly mean it. I know you thought us mad to move to Alaska, and for some time I wondered that myself. This past year, however, has made up for it all. I have begun to help more with the farmwork. Imagine mea"the one they always called atimida and adelicateaa"in the fields digging up potatoes and shoveling dirt. But it is a wonderful feeling, to do work that really seems like work. Jack has transformed this untamed stretch of land that we call home into a flourishing farm, and now I can claim a small hand in it as well. Our pantry shelves are stocked with wild berry jams and jars of meat from the moose Jack shot this fall. Oh, I do sometimes miss aBack East,a as they call it here, and certainly my heart longs to see you and everyone else in the family, but we recently decided we are here to stay. It has become our home, and Jack and I have a new way of life here that suits us well.

I am sending you a few of my recent sketches. One is of the strawberry patch I am so proud of and that filled many a strawberry pie this past summer. The other is of fireweed in bloom along the riverbed. In the background you can see the mountains that frame this valley. The last is of a snowflake I had the pleasure of observing this past winter. Several times I have redrawn this single snowflake, as I never seem to tire of its infinitesimal elegance.

Tucked among these pages is also a pressed cranberry bouquet. The small white flowers are easily overlooked now that they are dried, but they are so lovely when they fill the woods in the spring. And I am sending a pair of booties for Sophieas new baby daughter. The fur trim is from a snowshoe hare a neighbor boy provided to me. I hope they reach you before she has outgrown them altogether.

I expect we will soon have snow. The mountains are white and the mornings have a chill, and I look forward to its coming.

Sincerely, your loving sister, Mabel

CHAPTER 28.

Winter came hard and fast at the tail end of October. It wasnat the slow, wet snow that marks a gentle end to autumn, but instead a sudden, grainy snowstorm blown by a cold river wind. Just after dinner it was already midnight-dark, and Jack and Mabel listened to the storm knock against their cabin. Jack looked up from greasing his boots by the woodstove and Mabel paused in her sewing at the kitchen table. The knock came again and again, louder. At last, Jack went to the door and opened it.

He had the momentary notion that what stood before him was a mountain ghost, a bloodstained, snowy apparition. Faina was taller and, if possible, thinner than he remembered. Her fur hat and wool coat were covered in snow, and her hair hung like damp, fraying rope. Dried blood streaked her brow. Jack could not speak or move.

The girl took off her hat, shook the snow from it, and looked up.

Itas me. Faina.

She was slightly breathless, but her voice, even and cheerful, broke his spell. He took the child in his arms and held her, rocking on his heels.

Faina? Faina. Dear G.o.d. Youare here. Youare really here.

He wasnat sure whether he spoke the words aloud or only heard them in his head. Then he pressed his beard into her hair and smelled the glacier wind that blows over the tops of the spruce trees and the blood that courses through wild veins, and his knees nearly gave way. With one arm still around her shoulders, he pulled the girl into the cabin and closed the door.