The Snow Child Part 3

He had never thought himself a city boy. Head worked hard all his life on the family farm in the Allegheny River valley. He knew how to handle tools and work animals and plow the earth. But back home the land had been farmed for generations, and it showed in its soft curves and stately trees. Even the deer were half tamed, lazy and well fed as they grazed in the fallow fields. As a boy, he had strolled along the creek down by the family orchard. He picked stalks of gra.s.s and chewed on their tender ends. The very air had a soft greenness to it, not too cold, not too hot, a gentle breeze. He climbed the friendly branches of oaks and wandered along the backs of gra.s.sy knolls. Those aimless walks as a child were among his most peaceful memories.

This was nothing like back home. He didnat enjoy his solitude in these woods but instead was self-conscious and alert, fearing most of all his own ineptness. When he worked the ground, he stumbled over sprawling roots, axed tree after tree to extend his clearing by a few feet, and uncovered boulders so large he had to use the horse to drag them from the field. How could this land ever be farmed?

Wherever the work stopped, the wilderness was there, older, fiercer, stronger than any man could ever hope to be. The spindly black spruce were so dense in places you couldnat squeeze an arm between them, and every living thing seemed barbed and hostilea"devilas club thorns that left festering wounds, stinging nettles that raised welts, and at times swarms of mosquitoes so thick he had to fight panic. In the spring when he first began felling trees and turning over the soil, mosquitoes rose from the disturbed earth in clouds. He wore a head net; it was hard to see, but without it he couldnat have endured. When he wiped the horseas flank with his hand, his palm came away b.l.o.o.d.y with engorged insects.

That was one blessinga"it was too cold for mosquitoes now. Gone, too, was the lushness of summer, the thick green of cottonwood boughs, the broad leaves of cow parsnip, the flare of fireweed. Bare of foliage, the snowy benches and ravines rose to the mountains like a weather-bleached backbone. Jack watched through the naked trees and saw no sign of life. No moose, no squirrels, not a single songbird. A mangy raven pa.s.sed overhead, but it flew steadily on as if seeking richer grounds.

When Jack told his brothers he was moving to Alaska, they envied him. G.o.das country, theyad said. The land of milk and honey. Moose, caribou, and bearsa"game so thick you wonat know what to shoot first. And the streams so full of salmon, you can walk across their backs to the other side.

What a different truth he found. Alaska gave up nothing easily. It was lean and wild and indifferent to a manas struggle, and he had seen it in the eyes of that red fox.

Jack came to a log and made a halfhearted attempt to brush the snow away before sitting on it. He laid the rifle across his knees, took off his wool hat, and ran his fingers through his hair. For some time he sat bent over, his elbows on the rifle, head in his hands. Doubt crouched over his shoulder, ready to take him by the throat, whispering in his ear, You are an old man. An old, old man.

If he were to fall dead in these woods, nothing would rush to his aid. The north wind would blow down from the glacier, the ground would stay frozen, and a red fox like the one he had looked in the eye might be the first to sniff at his dead body and take a nibble here and there. The ravens and magpies would come to tear away at his frozen flesh, maybe a pack of wolves would eventually find its way to his carca.s.s, and soon head be nothing but a strewn pile of bones. His only hope would be Mabel, but then he thought of her struggling under his dead weight. He stood and shouldered his rifle.

He had only cried a few times in his adult lifea"when his mother died, and when he and Mabel lost that little baby. He wouldnat let himself now. He put one foot in front of the other and walked without seeing or feeling.

It was the quiet that pulled him out of his gloom. A quiet full of presence. He brought his head up.

It was the child. She was before him, just a few yards away. She stood atop the snow, arms at her sides, the hint of a smile at her pale lips. White fur trimmed her coat and leather boots. Her face was framed by the velvety brown of a sable hat, and she wore Mabelas red scarf and mittens. The child was dusted in crystals of ice, as if she had just walked through a snowstorm or spent a brilliantly cold night outdoors.

Jack would have spoken to her, but her eyesa"the broken blue of river ice, glacial creva.s.ses, moonlighta"held him. She blinked, her blond lashes glittering with frost, and darted away.

aWait!a he called out. He stumbled after her. aWait! Donat be afraid!a He was clumsy, tripping over his own boots and kicking up snow. She sprinted ahead, but stopped often to look back at him.

aPlease,a he called again. aWait!a A sound came to Jackas ears like wind stirring dried leaves or snow blowing across ice, or maybe a whisper from far away. Shhhhh.

He did not call out again. He ducked beneath tree branches and waded through the snow as the girl led him farther and farther into the forest. He had to watch his feet to keep from tripping, but each time he looked up, she was waiting.

And then she wasnat. He stopped, squinted, and scanned the snow for her tracks. He saw no sign. Once again he became aware of the quiet, the strange calm of the forest.

From behind him came a high, chirpy whistle like a chickadeeas call, and he turned, expecting to see a bird, or maybe the child. Instead, a bull moose stood not fifty yards away. It raised its head slowly, as if the ma.s.sive, many-pointed antlers were a ponderous burden. Snow sprinkled its long nose and brown hackles. It swayed its antlers slowly side to side. Never had Jack seen such a magnificent animal. On lanky legs, it must have stood more than seven feet at the withers, and its neck was as stout as a tree trunk.

In his wonder, Jack nearly overlooked the obviousa"this was his quarry. He had hunted only a few times as a boy, mostly rabbits and pheasants, although he had a vague memory of deer hunting with his cousins one cold, wet morning. This was different, though. This wasnat sport or boyhood adventure. This was livelihood, and yet he was so ill prepared. He couldnat remember much of that deer hunt, but he knew he had never taken a shot.

He expected the animal to spook as he chambered a cartridge in the rifle, but it was only mildly interested and went back to eating the tips of willow branches.

Jack rested his cheek against the wooden stock and tried to steady his grip. His exhalations rose as steam in the cold air and clouded his vision, so he held his breath, aimed for the mooseas heart, and pulled the trigger. He never heard the explosion or registered the rifleas recoil. There was only the moment of impact, the animal staggering as if a great weight had come crashing down upon it, and then its fall.

He lowered the rifle to his side and took a few steps toward the moose. It kicked its legs and twisted its neck at a miserable angle. He chambered another round. The moose flailed in the snow, and for a second Jack looked into its rolling, wild eyes. He raised the rifle and shot a bullet into the animalas skull. It did not move again.

Jackas knees were unsteady as he leaned his rifle against a tree and went to the dead moose. He put his hands on its still-warm side and at last understood its size. Its antlers could have held Jack like a cradle, and his arms could not have circled its barrel chest. It had to weigh more than a thousand pounds, and that meant hundreds of pounds of good, fresh meat.

Head done it. They had food for the winter. He would not go to the mine. He wanted to jump up and whoop and holler. He wanted to kiss Mabel hard on the lips. He wanted someone like George to smack him on the back and tell him well done.

He wanted to celebrate, but he was alone. The woods had a solemn air, and beneath the thrill in his own chest, there was something else. It wasnat guilt or regret. It was trickier. He grabbed the base of each antler to reposition the head. It was heavy, but by leaning into the antlers he was able to jostle the head and neck around. Then he took his knife out of his pack and sharpened it on a steel, all the while considering the feeling in his gut. At last he knewa"it was the sense of a debt owed.

Head taken a life, a significant life judging by the animal laid out before him. He was obliged to take care of the meat and bring it home in grat.i.tude.

But it was something about the child, too. Without her, he never would have seen the moose. She led him here and alerted him when, like a clod, he had pa.s.sed by the animal. She moved through the forest with the grace of a wild creature. She knew the snow, and it carried her gently. She knew the spruce trees, how to slip among their limbs, and she knew the animals, the fox and ermine, the moose and songbirds. She knew this land by heart.

As Jack knelt in the b.l.o.o.d.y snow, he wondered if that was how a man held up his end of the bargain, by learning and taking into his heart this strange wildernessa"guarded and naked, violent and meek, tremulous in its greatness.

The work was beyond Jackas strength and experience. He had carved up chickens and a few sides of beef, but this wasnat the same. This was a colossal, fully intact wild animal sprawled in its own blood in the middle of the woods. His shot had been good, through the front shoulders and lungs. He needed to open the gut to let the viscera and heat escape before the meat spoiled, but it would be no easy task. The mooseas legs, each weighing more than a hundred pounds, were c.u.mbersome and in the way. He tried to lodge his shoulder beneath a hind leg to expose the belly, but it was too unwieldy. He took a section of rope from his pack and wrapped it around the mooseas hind ankle. Using all his strength, he pulled it up and away, and then tied the rope to a tree behind the moose. This exposed the abdomen, though Jack feared that if the rope gave way, the leg could deliver quite a blow to the back of his head.

He sharpened his knife again, only because he wasnat sure how to begin. Daylight was wasting, so he plunged his knife into the belly, remembered he didnat want to puncture the gut sack and contaminate the meat, and pulled his knife back out slightly before cutting from stem to stern.

He was up to his elbows in blood and bowels when he heard something approaching through the forest. He thought it might be the child, but then he recalled how silently she traveled. A horse nickered. Jack stood, stretched his back, and wiped his knife on his pants.

It was Garrett Benson, walking a horse through the trees.

ah.e.l.lo there,a Jack called to him.

aI heard shots. You got one down?a aYep.a aA bull?a Jack nodded.

The boy tied the horse to a nearby tree. As he neared, his eyes widened.

aHoly Moses! Thatas one big moose.a Garrett went to the antlers, tried to stretch his arms from one side to the other and failed. aHo-ly Moses,a he said again, more softly.

aIs he big?a ah.e.l.l yeah.a A boy trying out a manas language. ah.e.l.l yeah!a aI didnat know. This is the first bull Iave seen up close.a Garrett took off his glove and held out his hand. aCongratulations! Heas a dandy!a Jack wiped some of the blood onto his pant legs and took the boyas hand.

aThanks, Garrett. I appreciate that. I have to say, I wasnat expecting this.a aNo kidding. I mean, heas a jim-dandy!a This was an aspect of Garrett he hadnat seen. The sulky smirk was gone, and his boyish face beamed.

aI was riding the river, looking for places to put out traps, when I heard your rifle,a Garrett said. aBam. Bam. Two shots. Thatas always a good sign. I figured you had something down. But boy howdy, I sure didnat think it would be something like this.a aHe seemed good-sized to me,a Jack said.

The boy was quiet, reverent as he ran a hand down the antler bone.

aItas bigger than any Iave ever seen,a he said. aSure bigger than anything Iave ever shot.a His opinion of Garrett improved. Not many thirteen-year-old boys could win a wrestling match with envy.

aGuess Iave got my work cut out for me,a Jack said.

aItas a lot. But with two of us, itall go all right.a aDonat feel youare under any obligation to lend a hand.a The boy took a knife from a sheath at his belt. aIad like to.a aWell, itad be much appreciated. Maybe you can just give me a few pointers, walk me through some of it. The truth is, Iam in over my head.a aLooks like youare starting fine, pulling those guts out.a And the boy drew back the hide and peered inside the rib cage. aYeah, see there? You can just cut that away and itall all come out slick.a When they sliced away the heart and liver, each broader than a dinner plate, Jack slid them still wet into a gunnysack.

For the next several hours, Jack and the boy worked at the moose. It was wearying. Jackas hands were cold and numb, and several times he nicked himself with the knife. His back and knees pained him. The sun slithered through the trees, the air cooled, the dead animal stiffened, but they kept at it. Sometimes Garrett offered advice about where to make a cut or how to separate a joint. He held the legs in place or pulled back the hide so Jack could work more easily. They joked some and talked some, but mostly just worked, and it was comfortable.

When they had cut away the legs and ribs, the tenderloin and backstrap and neck meat, Garrett fetched a handsaw from his saddlebags and they sawed the antlers from the skull.

aYouave got to bring these back tonight,a Garrett said, aso we can show everybody. Theyall never believe it if we just tell them.a Jack would have rather left the antlers and hauled more of the meat home, but he decided the quarters would be safe enough hanging in the trees until he could come back with the horse and wagon in the morning. He hated to disappoint the boy after all head done to help, so they strapped the antlers, vital organs, and some of the finest cuts of meat to Garrettas saddle.

aThatas a good horse you got there,a Jack said as they secured the load. aDoesnat balk at meat being strapped on.a aI bought him myself from a miner who used him for packing. Iam going to make him into a trapping horse.a b.l.o.o.d.y and tired, they made their way through the trees, Garrett leading the horse by a rope. Jack hadnat realized how close he was to his field, and from there they followed the wagon trail. It was nearing dark as they came into the yard.

aI sure am grateful for your help,a Jack said. aIad still be out there hacking away by myself.a aSure. Sure,a Garrett said. aWait till Mom and Dad see it.a With Jack hobbling after him, Garrett rushed ahead.

aLooks like your folks beat you here,a Jack called out when he saw the sleigh in the yard. Just then, George and his two older sons came out of the barn.

aYouare not going to believe this!a Garrett hollered. aJack shot the biggest d.a.m.n moose you ever saw!a

CHAPTER 8.

As she prepared that morning for the Bensonsa arrival, Mabel reminded herself of how it had been at their house for Thanksgiving. She would not fret about the stains on the tablecloth or the rough-plank floor that could never be scrubbed clean. Dinner would be well made, but not so much that it seemed she was trying to show them up. She didnat own any menas overalls and never intended to. Her long skirt and formal sleeves might be overdone, but they were all she had.

By late morning, the cabin was clean and the table set. She spent an hour or so fussing with her hair and rearranging the place settings. She was relieved when dusk came and the Bensons arrived on a sleigh pulled by one of their draft horses. George and the two older boys took the horse to the barn, while Esther unloaded some things from the sleigh and came to the door. There was no knock or opportunity to invite her in as Esther pushed past Mabel.

aThank G.o.d, weare finally here.a She tossed a dusty grain sack on the table, nearly knocking a plate to the floor. aI thought you could use some onions. We ended up with more than we need.a She opened her coat and unloaded Mason jars from her oversized pockets. aThis one hereas rhubarb jam. Terrific on sourdough pancakes. Did you get that sourdough to take? Youave got to baby it some. Donat let it get too hot or too cold. Oh, this one here is blueberry-raspberry, I think. Might have some currants in there. Hard to tell. Sure it will be good, though. Oh, and hereas some spicy pickled peas. Georgeas favorite. Donat tell him I snuck you some.a She took off her coat and threw it across the back of a chair. aI feared those were going to freeze on the way over. I had to keep them up next to me, just to be sure.a She laughed and looked up at Mabel as if finally taking notice of her. She flung her arms around Mabelas shoulders, squeezed her tightly, and pressed her cold cheek up against Mabelas.

aOh, itas so good to see you. Iave been after George ever since Thanksgiving to get us over here. Itas no good being a woman in this country, is it? Too many men, in my opinion. And of course I go off and have all boys myself, as if there werenat enough already.a Esther laughed and shook out her long braid. Then she looked around the cabin and Mabel felt a mixture of pride and shyness, sure that Esther was inspecting the curtains and clean kitchen and a.s.sessing her skills as a homemaker.

aNice tight cabin youave got here. George says youave got some problems with the frost coming through, but that happens to us all on those cold days. Just crank up the fire, I say. Looks like youave got a st.u.r.dy woodstove. That makes all the difference.a Esther stood next to the stove much the way Jack did, with her hands spread wide to the heat. Mabel realized she had never really studied the stove before, just as she knew that Esther had yet to notice the carefully set table or the few photographs hanging on the walls. It was as if she were seeing a different cabin altogether.

aJack hasnat come home yet. He should be here anytime, and then we can have dinner. Would you like some tea? I put some water on.a aOh, that would be terrific. Iam cold and damp from the ride over. Iam not complaining, though. Iave always liked the snow.a aI do know what you mean. Or at least I can say I am finally getting accustomed to it. Thereas been a lot to get used to here.a Esther laughed. aIsnat that the truth. I donat know if you ever get used to it really. It just gets in your blood so that you canat stand to be anywhere else.a The women sat at the table, Mabel sipping her tea and Esther talking. Mabel waited for a chance to ask about the child, but Esther never seemed to take a breath.

aI know Iam going to talk your ear right off tonight. Itas just so good to have a woman to visit with. Those boys, they do their best, but really theyare happier if I keep quiet. Around the dinner table itas always grunt, harrumph, give me some more of this and that. Me, I like to have a good sit-down and talk. Thatas about all I really miss about town sometimes. Just a good conversation now and then. I donat even care too much what we talk about.a She then went on to talk about last yearas crops and the railroadas plans to expand, how the bigwigs from back in Washington had come all the way to the Territory to inspect the tracks and pose for photographs, and how all of this mining and expansion would mean more demand for farm goods. Then she talked about the wolves that were running the river and how their younger son wanted to trap a few for the bounty money.

aThat boy of mine hasnat showed up yet, has he? Heas supposed to meet us here, coming by horse on the river.a Then Esther asked about the fox Jack had seen in the fields. aTheyall s.n.a.t.c.h your chickens as soon as they get a chance,a she said. aYou ought to shoot him next time you see him.a Never in her life had anyone suggested Mabel shoot something. She didnat mention she had never picked up a gun. It seemed an embarra.s.sing fact in front of Esther.

aOh. Yes,a she said. aI suppose so.a She was preparing to say that she had indeed seen the fox, with a little girl, right near their barn, but just then the door burst open.

aWell, call it beginneras luck,a George said. aJackas gone and shot the biggest moose in the entire valley. Gals, youave got to come and see this.a Mabel tried to imagine what she would see in the barn as she followed George and Esther through the snow. She expected an entire animal, still in its skin and fur, still a moose. When she stepped into the lantern light and saw the disembodied antlers atop their b.l.o.o.d.y stump, she drew in a breath.

aHoly Moses!a Esther said.

aThatas exactly what I said, Mom. Isnat it?a and the boy turned to Jack. aHo-ly Moses.a His excited, youthful voice startled Mabel nearly as much as the scene before her.

aThose antlers got to go seventy inches across,a Garrett said, posing behind them like an African hunter with his trophy.

Suddenly Jack grabbed her about the waist from behind, swung her around to face him, and for a second lifted her off her feet.

aI did it, love. I got our moose!a He kissed her quick and hard on the neck, like he was a much younger man, and she a younger woman. He smelled of wild animal and moonshine, and his eyes twinkled from drink. When he set her back down on the straw floor, she was disoriented.

aOh,a was all she could manage.

The barn was a garble of talk and cheers while Jack told how he had heard something behind him, turned around, and here was this bull moose just a few strides from his own field, and he had shot it, and then Garrett came along and he couldnat have done it without him. A bottle was pa.s.sed none too discreetly among the men and the two older sons, and each held it up and called out aCheers!a while Garrett begged in vain for a swig.

aNot just yet, sprout,a Esther said, and then she took a drink herself, and the men all laughed. Mabel kept quietly to herself. But Esther turned to her and held out the bottle.

aOh come, come,a she said playfully. aDrink a toast to your hunter!a So Mabel took the moonshine and held the cold gla.s.s to her mouth. The vapor alone was enough to make her cough, but she tipped it back and let the icy-hot liquid splash against her lips, and then she coughed and coughed and handed the bottle back while everyone laughed merrily.

aSo no coal mine for you this year, eh, Jack?a George asked.

aSuppose not. I guess weall have an old-fashioned Alaskan wintera"moose and potatoes until we can stand them no more.a Mabel smiled up at Jack and knew she should be glad, but she couldnat rid her mind of the sawed edge of skull bone at her feet.

Just when her hands were going numb with cold, everyone decided to go back to the cabin for dinner. Jack took the lantern down from its hook on a beam and wrapped an arm around Mabelas shoulders as they walked through the snow. Suddenly she was married to a northern hunter, a woodsman who gutted moose and toasted moonshine in a barn. Everything was topsy-turvy and unfamiliar.

The raucous party made its way into the cabin, all of them talking at once and shaking snow from their clothes. When Jack took off his coat, his arms were plastered with cracked, dried blood, and it was smeared across his shirt and pants. No one else noticed, but he looked at Mabel and down at himself. aSuppose I should wash up before dinner.a Garrett brought in a gunnysack and set it on the kitchen counter. From it Esther took a veined, rounded muscle the size of a bread loaf and Mabel realized it was the animalas heart. Esther began to slice it thinly with a knife.

aHeat up a pan, dear,a she said over her shoulder to Mabel. aWeall have some of this with dinner. Fresh like this, thereas nothing better than moose heart.a Before Mabel could think or move, Esther had a cast-iron pan heating on the woodstove. aHand me one of those onions, will you? Iall cut one up to throw in the pan.a The next hour was a blur to Mabel, her head swimming in the smell of frying meat and onions and the noise of boisterous talking. Someone must have mashed the boiled potatoes. Someone must have put out the bread and sliced carrots and opened a jar of onion relish. Before she understood all that had happened, they were crowded at the table, Garrett with his plate on his lap, and Mabel was cutting a piece of moose heart with a steak knife and taking her first bite.

aTasty, isnat it?a Esther asked.

Mabel nodded and chewed and tried not to think about the muscle contracting and beating inside a mooseas rib cage. She tasted seared flesh and blood like copper, and it wasnat as awful as she had feared.

As the talk dwindled and everyone finished their meals, Esther looked across the table and said, aWerenat you getting ready to tell me something? When George came busting through the door?a aOh, I canat recall just now.a aWe were saying something about the foxaa Mabel was fl.u.s.tered.

aI did mean to ask youa but it can wait until later,a she said.

aOh, no oneas paying any attention. Out with it, then.a Esther waved impatiently. Mabel saw she was right, the men were telling hunting stories and oblivious to them.

aWell, I did mean to aska"do you know if thereas a little girl living anywhere near our place? A little blonde girl?a aA little girl? Let me think. There are only a few families in the valley right now. Most of the homesteads are run by single men who struck out with gold and such. The Wrights have a couple of girls, but theyare redheads. Curly red hair, and cheeks like little apples. And theyare nowhere near here. Theyare more the other side of us. Out your way here, well, there are a couple of Indian camps up the river, but theyare usually there only in the summer, when the salmon are running. And, of course, thereas not a single blonde among them.a Esther rose and began gathering the dishes and stacking them on the table. The men paused in their conversation to hand her silverware and knives, but went back to their talk.

aThe reason I ask,a Mabel said, leaning toward Esther and speaking quietly, ais we had a child on our place the other night. Jack got up in the middle of the night and he saw a girl run through the trees. The next morninga"we had built this little snowman, well, a little snow girl, actuallya"and it was knocked over and the scarf and mittens were gone. It sounds silly, but I think the child must have done it. Itas not that I mind, really. I would have given them to her if she needed them so. Iam just worried she was lost or something. Imagine, a little girl out in the woods in winter like that.a Esther stopped gathering the dishes and focused on Mabel. aHere, at your place, youare saying? You saw a little blonde child just sprinting about?a aYes. Isnat that odd?a aYouare sure about that? Sure it wasnat just an animal or something?a aNo, Iam certain. We even saw her tracks. Jack tried to follow them for a while, but they just went around and around in the woods. Then the other day I saw her, in the trees beyond the barn.a aThatas the dardnest thing. I mean thereas the Wright girls, but thatas a good ten miles off, probably moreaa Estheras voice trailed off as she sat down. Then she looked across the table into Mabelas eyes and smiled gently.

aI donat mean to speak out of turn, Mabel, but this isnat an easy place to get along. The winters are long, and sometimes it starts to get to you. Around here, they call it cabin fever. You get down in the dumps, everythingas off kilter and sometimes your mind starts playing tricks on you.a Esther reached across the table and put a hand over Mabelas. aYou start seeing things that youare afraid ofa or things youave always wished for.a Mabel let Esther hold her hand for a moment, but then pulled away.

aNo, you donat understand. We saw her. And we both saw the tracks, and the mittens and scarf are gone.a aMaybe it was an animal, or the wind. All sorts of explanations.a The men had stopped talking. They were all looking at her.

aItas true. Isnat it, Jack? We saw her. In her little blue coat.a Jack shifted in his chair and shrugged. aIt could have been anything,a he said.

aNo. No.a Mabel was angry. aIt was a little girl. You saw her, too. And there were her footprints in the snow.a aWell, maybe you could show us the tracks,a Esther said. aGarrett here is a good tracker. Head be able to tell something.a Mabel wanted to yell or cry, but she spoke each word carefully.

aThe tracks are gone. The blizzard last week covered them all.a aBlizzard? It hasnat snowed ina"a Esther stopped and pinched her lips together.

Mabel stood and took the dishes to the counter, glad to be free of the table. Jack avoided her eyes as he went to the woodstove and added another log. She busied herself with desserta"sourdough biscuits topped with Estheras homemade jam. As Mabel worked, Esther came up behind her and gently squeezed her elbow. It was an expression of friendship and sympathy, but it left Mabel miserable.

Soon the cabin was again full of lighthearted talk about the seasons, working the land, and storing food for the winter. George and Esther had Jack and the boys laughing with their wild stories of ill-mannered black bears, outhouse pranks, and stubborn horses. No one talked about the little girl, or the footprints that had vanished in the snow.

Darkness settled around the cabin, and Mabel glanced out the window occasionally with the thought that she might see the child, but there was only her own reflection in the lamplight.

CHAPTER 9.

Jack started with a biscuit, one of Mabelas sourdough biscuits.

He had risen early to haul the meat home in the wagon, and after head hung it from a beam in the barn and put away the horse, he went in for lunch. When Mabel wasnat watching, he slipped a biscuit in his pocket and told her he was going out to work in the barn. Instead he went to the edge of the woods.

It seemed wrong to bait a child this way. As a boy he had enticed deer and racc.o.o.ns with morsels of food, and his long patience often paid off. He once had a doe take a carrot right from his fingers before it fled to the trees. He never forgot the moment, after what seemed like hours of crouching and waiting, when the doe bent her long neck down to him and took the carrot. Head felt the touch of her soft muzzle on his fingers.

He dusted the snow from a stump and set the biscuit down, wondering if the same curiosity was driving him. The child was not a racc.o.o.n to bait and trap. He worried about her. Head felt foolish to admit it in front of the Bensons, but the little girl had come again and again to their homestead, and he did not know what brought her. Maybe she was in need but too shy or too frightened to knock on their door. Perhaps she was lonely and sought only companionship, but maybe it was something more urgent. Shelter. Clothing. Food. Help of some kind. The thought preoccupied him, and so he reached out to her the only way he knew how. For the next several hours, Jack worked outdoors, stacking wood and shoveling paths. All the while he watched out of the corner of his eye, but the biscuit went untouched and the forest remained quiet.