The Snow Child: A Novel (34 page)

Mabel drank it in a gulp, then took another after Esther emptied the bottle into their glasses.

“There now. That’ll do.”

Just then George and Jack came in, kicking snow off their boots.

“Well, where’s the cake? You didn’t leave it in the wagon, did you?”

George smiled sheepishly, one hand behind his back.

“Sorry, dear. Couldn’t help myself.” He smacked his lips. “It was mighty good, though.”

“You’d better be joking or I’ll—”

George grinned and pulled the cake out from behind his back. “Not one piece missing. Jack’ll vouch for me.”

Jack gave a nod with exaggerated gravity. Then he looked at Mabel. “Are you feeling well?”

“What makes you ask?”

“Your cheeks are flushed.”

Mabel saw Esther out of the corner of her eye, tipping a thumb up to her lips as if her hand were a bottle. “Tried to slow her down, but you know how she can be.”

“Esther!” Mabel protested.

“Oh, I’m just teasing. That cordial does have a kick, though, doesn’t it?”

“A kick? You mean it has alcohol in it?”

“Does it have alcohol in it? Are you pulling my leg? Don’t know what the point be, otherwise.”

“Oh, Jack. I had no idea. I thought it was just a sweet dessert drink. But it did seem hot in my throat.”

Jack grinned and kissed Mabel on the cheek. “You got any more of that, Esther?”

“Nope. Your wife polished it off.”

The room was warm and soft-edged as Mabel tried to keep up with the flow of conversation and the passing of food around the table. For a moment she seemed to slip out of her body, and it was a pleasant sensation to see four friends sharing food, laughing and talking in the small cabin in the wilderness.

“Well? Cat ain’t so bad, eh?”

“No, George.” Jack leaned back in his chair and patted his
belly. “I’ve got to say, I had my doubts, but that was tasty. Thanks, Esther. And give our thanks to Garrett, too.”

After they cleared the table, Esther insisting the men help as well, Jack and George went to the barn to look at the plow they had been trying to patch together for another season. As the men left the cabin, the fresh night air rushed against Mabel’s face and she stood in the open door and breathed deeply. Behind her she heard Esther fussing with the dishes.

“Oh, please don’t wash those. I’ll take care of them tomorrow.”

“Splendid idea.” Esther sat down heavily at the table and propped her feet on the chair across from her. “Wish we had a spot more cordial.”

Mabel laughed. “I think I’ve had enough, thank you very much. But I’ll get us some tea.”

“Good, and then sit down. We’ve got some catching up to do. I’m a little worried about you.”

“Worried? What makes you say such a thing?”

“I’m hearing things again. About you and that little girl. Now, don’t think I don’t see your lips sealing up tight. You think you’re not going to say a word, but we’ve got to talk this out. Why is this all coming up again?”

The cabin became so quiet Mabel could hear the fire crackling and the clock ticking. She didn’t speak or move for some time, while Esther waited patiently. Then Mabel went to the shelf and handed the book to Esther.

“What’s this?”

“A children’s book. It’s one my father used to read to me. Not read, actually. See, it’s in Russian.” She opened the pages to one of the first color plates.

“And?”

“It’s the story of an old couple who desperately want a child, and they make one out of snow. And… she comes to life. The snow child does.”

“I don’t think I’m following you here.”

“My sister always said I was a scatterbrain, my mind too full of fancies. A wild imagination, she called it.”

“And?”

So Mabel told her everything, about the winter they had shaped a child out of snow, and how Faina had come wearing the red mittens and scarf and looking so much like the little girl they had made. She described how Jack had buried the father in the mountains and learned he had died, leaving Faina an orphan, just hours before they built the snow figure. It was that night the child had come to them for the first time.

“We have tried to convince her to stay with us, but she refuses. She says the wilderness is her home, and I’ve gone with her there, and it’s true. It is her home. She walks on top of the snow. And I know it seems unbelievable, Esther, but she can hold a snowflake in the palm of her hand without it melting. Don’t you see? She was reborn that night… reborn out of snow and suffering and love.”

“Not to be quarrelsome, but nobody else has seen any sign of her. Me and Garrett, here working the farm with you those months. Nary a glimpse of the child.”

“She left. She was gone the entire summer. Just as I told you.”

“And now?”

“She came back. With the snow.”

Esther silently flipped through the pages of the book and looked at each illustration.

“You think I’m crazy, don’t you? It’s like you said—the
winters and the small cabin. A fever, didn’t you call it? Cabin fever?”

Esther let out a long sigh, then turned back to the first illustration of the old couple and the child, half snow and half human.

“Is that what you think?” Esther asked.

“No,” Mabel said. “As fantastic as it all sounds, I know the child is real and that she has become a daughter to us. But I can’t offer a single bit of evidence. You have no reason to believe me. I know that.”

Esther closed the book and with her hands folded on top of it looked directly at Mabel. “I got to tell you, I had you wrong.”

“What do you mean?” Mabel asked.

“There at the beginning, I took you for soft. A woman whose thoughts could be twisted around by a lonely winter. Someone better suited to a different place, a different kind of life.”

Mabel’s temper started to rise in her chest.

“Don’t go getting all riled up,” Esther went on. “Hear me out, because I’ve thought this through. I was wrong. I’ve gotten to know you pretty well, I’d say. Count you one of my dearest friends. And you’re no weakling. A bit standoffish at first. Too tenderhearted, I suspect. And God knows you think too much. But you’re no feebleminded simpleton. If you say this child of yours is real, then by God she must be real.”

“Thank you, Esther, but I know you are humoring me. As a friend, I’m pleased to hear. But humoring all the same.”

“Have you ever known me to change my mind just to humor someone?” Esther said.

Mabel gave a small smile, slowly turning the teacup around in her hands.

“Why aren’t you jumping up and down? This might be a
first. I’m owning up that I just might be wrong about something. But don’t tell George. The shock would probably kill him dead.”

“It’s almost spring, you know,” Mabel said. “Have you seen how the snow is melting? The river will soon break up.”

“Yep. Seen that. What’s that to do with…”

“Soon she will leave again. It’s just like in the fairy tale. Faina will leave us in the spring, and I just can’t bear the thought of it. What if we lose her? What if she never comes back to us?”

“Hmmm.” Esther sipped her tea thoughtfully. Then she set her cup down and looked at Mabel as if carefully measuring her words.

“Dear, sweet Mabel,” she said. “We never know what is going to happen, do we? Life is always throwing us this way and that. That’s where the adventure is. Not knowing where you’ll end up or how you’ll fare. It’s all a mystery, and when we say any different, we’re just lying to ourselves. Tell me, when have you felt most alive?”

T
he March days began to lengthen. Jack watched the sun climb higher above the mountains each day. The snow was heavy and wet and melted from the eaves. Water ran along the surface of the river ice. And then one night the skies cleared and cold fell like a fog over the valley. Jack awoke to find the fire burned to black coals and the windows frosted inside and out. After kindling the fire and pulling another quilt over Mabel as she slept, he set off for town. It was the coldest it had been all winter, and by the time he arrived at the general store, he wondered if his nose was frostbitten. He stood just inside the door and rubbed it gingerly. “Don’t worry,” George teased from where he stood at the potbellied stove. “Mabel probably won’t leave you when it falls off.”

Jack joined him at the stove and rubbed his hands at the heat, trying to work some sensation back into them.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you, Mabel still wears that hat most every day. It was a generous gift your son gave her.”

“You know that’s the only silver fox he’s ever caught? The boy could barely contain himself. Weeks on end he kept asking me if Betty was done with it yet.”

“Well, she puts it on even if she’s just dashing out to the outhouse. Especially with this weather.”

George laughed and slapped his own backside, as if his pants had gotten too hot. “Esther’ll get a kick out of that—Mabel in the outhouse with a fine fox-fur hat.”

“Now don’t you say a word, or you’ll get me in trouble for sure.”

George laughed again.

“That boy of mine is going gangbusters this winter—running traps up and down the river, gone days at a time. Boyd’s old marten line, and now he’s going after the wolves Esther saw out at our place.”

“Wolves?”

“A pack brought down a cow moose by the river. Not much shakes up my wife, but that did. She watched the whole bloody mess. The cow struggled hard, with the snow so deep, and the wolves nipped at her and ripped out her guts even while she was trying to run. Me and Garrett walked down to the kill site a few days later, and there was nothing left but bones. You could see their teeth marks along the rib cage. Plucked clean, not even a speck of gristle left. Never seen anything like it.”

“We’ve heard them howl a few times over our way. That sound stays with you.”

“That it does. That it does.”

Jack decided he wouldn’t mention the wolves to Mabel. He had made that mistake once before, after George told him about a lynx. One of the Bensons’ neighbors had a small flock of domestic ducks. One night the farmer was marching his flock into the shed when a lynx ran in and snatched a duck right out from under his nose. The wildcat returned again and again over the next several weeks, slowly picking off birds and destroying the farmer’s investment. The lynx would come in at
night, kill a few, feed off them for several days, then return to take more. One morning as the man opened the duck shed, the lynx dashed out at him. Nearly gave the farmer a heart attack. Both George and Jack got a few chuckles out of the thought of the poor farmer stumbling backward as the overgrown housecat charged past him.

Mabel, however, had not been amused. She refused to go to the outhouse after sunset, said she was afraid some wild animal would be lurking there. Jack tried to reassure her, but found himself standing guard by the outhouse door more than one night.

Jack was preparing to leave the general store with a crate of supplies when he caught sight of the ice skates, their blades gleaming in the sunlit front window. He had not thought of them since he was a boy, skating on the cow pond. It was a crazy whim, but he went home with three pairs.