The Snow Child Part 5

aWould you like some more? No? Are you sure? Thereas plenty here.a Mabel was alarmed to notice how flushed the childas cheeks had become. Her eyes had gone gla.s.sy as if from fever.

aYouare too warm, child,a Mabel said. aLet me take your coat. Your hat.a The girl shook her head firmly. Along the bridge of her nose, tiny beads of sweat formed, and as Mabel watched, a large droplet slid down the childas temple.

aOpen the door,a Mabel whispered to Jack.

aWhat?a aThe door. Prop it open.a aWhat? Itas well below zero.a aPlease,a she begged. aCanat you see? Itas much too hot in here for her. Goa"open the door!a So Jack did, and he wedged a piece of firewood in the doorway to keep it open.

aThere, child. That will cool you. Are you well?a The girlas eyes were wide, but she nodded.

aDo you have a name?a Mabel asked. Jack frowned. Perhaps she pushed too quickly, but she couldnat help herself. She was desperate to seize the child, to hold her and not let go.

aIam Mabel. This is Jack. Do you live nearby? Do you have a mother and father?a The girl seemed to understand but gave no expression.

aWhatas your name?a Mabel asked.

At this the child stood. Her coat was on before she reached the doorway.

aOh, donat leave. Please,a Mabel said. aIam sorry if I asked too many questions. Please stay.a But the girl was already out the door. She did not seem angry or frightened. As her feet hit the snow, she turned back to Mabel and Jack.

Thank you, she said, her voice a quiet bell in Mabelas ear. And then she slipped away into the night with her long blond hair trailing down her back. Mabel remained in the open door until the cold air seeped in around her feet.

CHAPTER 13.

The girl appeared and disappeared without warning, and it unnerved Jack. There was something otherworldly in her manners and appearance, her frosty lashes and cool blue stare, the way she materialized out of the forest. In ways she was clearly just a little girl, with her small frame and rare, stifled giggles, but in others she seemed composed and wise, as if she moved through the world with knowledge beyond anything Jack had encountered.

The child had not shown herself for several days when Garrett came to visit. It was a snowy afternoon, nearly dark even at midday, when the boy rode his horse in from the river.

ah.e.l.lo!a he called out to Jack. The boy dismounted and dusted snow from his hat brim.

Several times now Garrett had ridden through on his way home from his trapline. If head caught anything, head show it to Jack, and then for an hour or so he would follow Jack around while he worked. He would help stack wood or move pallets. Jack would ask him about trapping and hunting, but mostly the boy just talked without prompting. Ever since theyad field-dressed the moose together, the boy was different, as if eager to be friends. He even seemed to seek Jackas approval.

aYou bringing anything home today?a Jack asked with a nod toward Garrettas horse.

aNaw. Nothing. Missed a coyote that was too smart to come into my set. You leave any bit of scent behind, anything that rouses their suspicion, and you might as well call it a day. They wonat come near your trap. Sometimes I think theyare harder to catch than just aboutaa But Jack wasnat listening. Over Garrettas shoulder, through the falling snow, he spotted the little girl at the edge of the trees. She peered around the thick trunk of a cottonwood.

aYou see something?a Garrett asked. He turned to follow Jackas eyes, but the girl was gone.

aThought I did,a Jack said, abut it was just my old eyes playing tricks on me.a The next day when Jack was alone in the yard, the child approached silently and sat on a stump while he worked. A few times she opened her mouth as if to speak but then closed it again.

Jack was certain her visits were driven by more than just curiosity or hunger. It was something akin to sorrow or weariness, like a bruise in the skin beneath her eyes.

While Mabel continued to prod at the dinner table, sneaking in questions here and there that went unanswered, Jack chose to watch and wait. Eventually she would make her purpose known. For now, he enjoyed her company. Only a few times did she venture into their cabin, and always she refused to stay the night. But she brought them her little gifts: the white ermine pelt, the basket of berries, an arctic grayling cleaned and ready for the frying pan. Jack came to see that the dead snowshoe hare, strangled and left on their doorstepa"that, too, had been a gift from the child. He regretted throwing it into the woods.

Then the day came when she appeared without gifts but instead with the questions Jack had seen in her eyes. She arrived early, just after he had finished breakfast and stepped outside into the dim morning, and she followed him around the barn and yard like a shadow.

As he closed the barn door, he felt her small cool hands clasping at his wrist. She tugged at his arm so that he bent to her.

Will you promise?

Her voice small and frightened.

And before he knew the implications of such a promise, he was following her through the snow. The child ran as if alarmed, as if pursued, but when Jack fell behind, she slowed and led him toward the mountains and up the alpine slopes.

He followed as best he could. He was a huffing, slow-footed oaf next to her. Her steps were so light and sure. The way seemed much longer than before, when he had chased her through the woods at night. He sensed the girlas impatience. She paused just until he reached her, then sprinted away again before he had a chance to catch his breath. He no longer paid attention to where they were going, but only knew it was up. The long, slow climb cramped his calves and ached in his lungs. The solid gray sky pressed down on him. He was weak and heavy. Each time they reached the top of a ridge he thought, This is it. Weave finally arrived. But then they would continue higher, to the next ridge, and on again. The snow was deeper than before, and he slogged through while the girl seemed to float across it.

Are you well?

She stood above him.

Weare almost there, she said.

Fine, he said. Iam fine. Lead the way.

He tried to smile but knew it was more like a grimace.

Iam not as young as I once was, but Iall get there.

The girl seemed to make an effort to go slower, to show him where he could place his feet and where he could grab at a tree branch to pull himself up a ledge.

Then he saw rocky cliffs ahead of them and heard the trickle of a creek beneath the ice. He followed the girl up the ravine. Soon they were among a clump of large spruce trees that seemed out of place so high up the mountain, and the large boughs and immense trunks gave a sheltered feeling to the narrow valley. She slowed here without looking back at Jack and seemed reluctant to go on. Then she stopped and pointed toward a snow-covered heap beneath one of the trees.

What is it?

The girl didnat answer. She only pointed, so Jack walked past her to the heap. He brushed away some of the snow and uncovered a canvas tarp. He looked at the girl again, questioning, but she turned away.

When he pulled back the tarp, a dozen voles scuttled away into the snow, and he saw a manas neck where blond hair met a woodsmanas wool coat. Jackas heart beat loudly in his ears. He put his hand to the broad shoulder, and it was like shoving a cottonwood log, cold and frozen to the ground. Jack stepped around the corpse. He saw now where the voles had made their small tunnels through the snow, spreading in a maze in all directions from the dead man. He didnat want to, but he dusted the snow off the face and head, then off his side and chest. The corpse lay on its side, curled up like a child, but it was no child. He was a big man, much taller and broader in the shoulders than Jack, and there was no doubt he was gone to this world. His milky eyes, sunk back into his skull, stared blankly ahead. His skin was a ghastly blue. Ice crystals grew on his face and clothes and along his blond hair and long, bushy beard. The rodents had begun to gnaw away his frozen cheeks and nose and the tips of his fingers, and their droppings were everywhere.

Jesus. Christ almighty.

Then Jack remembered the girl. He turned and she was there at his elbow, peering down at the frozen man.

Who is he? Jack asked.

My papa, she whispered.

What happened?

I tried. I tried and tried.

Jack looked into her eyes, and it was like watching water gather on lake ice. No sloppy dribble, no sobs. Only a quiet pool on the blue.

I pulled on his arm and said, Please, Papa. Please. But he wouldnat come. He only sat in the snow.

Why wouldnat he move?

The girlas chin trembled as she spoke.

He told me Peteras water kept him warm, but I knew it wouldnat. I wanted to make him warm. I held his hands and then I held his face, just like this.

And the girl reached down and cupped the dead manas cheeks in her small hands with the tenderness of a daughteras touch.

I tried, but he was colder and colder and colder.

Jack went to one knee beside the corpse and caught the strong smell of liquor. A green gla.s.s bottle was clenched in a frozen claw of a hand. Jackas stomach turned. How could a man do this, drink himself to death in front of his child?

Why couldnat I make him warm? the child asked.

Still on one knee, Jack reached up and took hold of her small shoulders.

You arenat to blame. Your papa was a grown man, and no one could have saved him but himself. This is not your fault.

He pulled the canvas back over the dead man.

When did this happen?

The day the snow first came, the child said.

He knew when. It was the night he and Mabel had built the little snow figure in the yard. Nearly three weeks ago.

Why didnat you ask for help?

I kept Fox away. I threw stones and yelled. And I wrapped Papa so the birds wouldnat peck at him. But nowa the voles are eating him.

What choice did he have? He stood and dusted the snow from his knee.

I might have to get some help, from town, he said.

The girlas eyes flashed with anger. You promised. You promised.

And so he had. Jack sighed heavily and kicked the sides of his boots together. It was more than he had bargained for.

This isnat all going to happen today, he said. Iave got to think about this, about how weare going to take care ofa your papa.

All right.

The girl was tired and calm, the fight drained out of her.

You will stay with us until we can sort things out.

Jack spoke as he had that first day when head told her it was time to go in for dinner, as if this were the last word.

The girl stood straight, her eyes sharp again.

No, she said.

I canat leave you here in the woods. This is no place for a child.

Itas my home, she said.

She stood with her head high. The mountain wind blew through the spruce trees and stirred her blond hair.

This was her home. Jack believed it.

In Alpine, he asked around, saying head seen ax blazes on several trees, signs of marked trails. Had anyone been trapping near his homestead over the years? Anybody living up toward the mountains?

aYeah. Yeah. Funny you ask acause I havenat thought of that fellow in a c.o.o.nas age,a George said. aWe called him Swede, and he never told us different. Didnat give a name, now that I think of it. More likely Russian, Iad guessa"judging from the way he said his words.a aWhat did he look like?a Jack asked. aJust curious if I ever met him along the way.a aBig, strapping man. Built like a lumberjack. Light-colored hair. A beard. A little off, if you ask me. Not the friendly, talkative sort. Estheras known for inviting the bachelors over for Sunday dinner once in a while, but she never asked him. I wonder what happened to him. You think heas trapping around your place?a Betty remembered the man, too.

aOh he was an odd duck, that one,a she told Jack as she poured him a cup of coffee. aLike a lot of aem, he panned gold in the summers, trapped in the winters. Probably thought head strike it rich and go back to wherever he came from. Couldnat understand him half the time, always mixing another language in with his English.a aYou seen him lately?a Jack asked. aI just want to know who Iam dealing with, if heas trapping out my way.a aNope. Canat remember the last time he was in here. But then he only came into town a few times a year. Spent all his spare time drinking with the Indians upriver, from what I heard.a aWonder what acame of him.a Jack casually stirred his coffee.

aWho knows? Maybe he went back to wherever he came from. Or the river drowned him, or a bear ate him. Happens all the time. Men come and men go. Sometimes they just walk off the face of the earth.a aYou recall him having any children?a Or a wife? I was just thinking Mabel might want to get to know her.a aCanat say that I do. Seemed a pretty solitary type to me.a A tired sadness settled over Jack as he rode back to the homestead. The horse trotted sharply and tossed its head, as if invigorated by the brisk weather. Jackas hands stiffened in the cold as he held the reins. He thought of the girl on the side of the mountain with her dead, frozen papa and wondered if he was doing the right thing. She had made him promise not to tell anyone, especially Mabel, and Jack understood. Most any woman wouldnat allow a child to stay in the wilderness alone with her fatheras corpse. The girl feared being yanked away from what was familiar. Jack had watched when Mabel once or twice reached out to brush hair away from the girlas eyes or to help b.u.t.ton her blue wool coat. The girl flinched and pulled back. She clenched her teeth and pursed her lips as if to say, I can take care of myself.

Jack was fairly certain it was true. The girl knew the woods and trails. She found food, shelter. Was that all a child needed? Mabel would say no. Shead say the girl needed warmth and affection and someone to look after her, but Jack had to wonder if that didnat have more to do with a womanas own desires than the needs of a child.

Besides, he had promised the girl. He made few promises, but those he made, to the best of his abilities he kept.

The secret clung to Jack in the scent of black woodsmoke and melting snow. At night, Mabel pressed her face into his beard and touched his hair with her fingers.

aWhat have you been burning?a aJust some of those stump rows from last summer. Good weather to burn. Not too windy or dry.a aYes. I suppose so.a She didnat seem altogether convinced.

The ground was taking longer to thaw than he had predicted. He dragged the dead man out from under the tree and cut it down. Then he cut up the wood where it lay, and built a fire from its tinder-dry branches. The girl watched the tree burn. She stood well back and the flames flickered in her eyes. Jack asked her if she could tend the fire while he was gone, but she shook her head. So when the short day ended and night fell, he piled the wood as high as he dared and then climbed down the mountain. Behind him, the fire crackled and popped and flamed in the night.

The next day he sc.r.a.ped at the frozen earth beneath the smoldering wood, digging as far down as he could with a shovel. A December grave was hard-earned in this place, but it would come. He left the man beneath a tarp, far from the fire. It was a gruesome thought, but he didnat want the body to thaw. It was keeping well frozen.

On the third day, Jack trudged home covered with soot and weary to the bone. Mabel was waiting.

aGeorge came by,a she said. aI told him you were out in the new field, burning stumps.a aOh?a aHe said you werenat out there. He couldnat find you.a aHmm.a He didnat look into her face.

She took hold of his forearm and squeezed gently. aWhat is it? Where have you been?a aNothing. Iave just been working. George must have missed me somehow.a The next morning Jack returned to dig in the softening earth and build the flames back up. He was drenched in sweat and coated in dirt and charcoal from the half-burned logs. The girl was nowhere to be seen, but at times Jack felt something watching him from the trees and wondered if it was the girl or the red fox he had seen slip now and then between snow-covered boulders.

By midafternoon the pit seemed deep enough to bury a man. Jack sc.r.a.ped the last coals out of the hole and then leaned on the shovel, his cheek resting on his hand. This wasnat the first grave head dug alone. He thought back to a small grave, a tiny lifeless body, not much bigger than a manas heart.

Jack called for the child. Itas time, he said. Time to put your papa to rest.

She appeared from behind one of the spruce trees.

Is it gone? she asked.

You mean the fire? Yes, itas gone.

There was no coffin. He didnat have the lumber to build one and didnat want to attract too much attention by inquiring in town. The tarp would have to do. Jack shoved and pulled at the canvas until it broke free of ice, and then he dragged the body across the snow to the grave.

Have you said your goodbyes?