The Snow Child Part 12

My G.o.d, Mabela"and he knew he sounded shakena"itas Faina. Sheas here. At our door.

Oh, child. I wondered when youad come.

Mabel, calm and smiling. How could she stand so a.s.suredly when he, a grown man, was staggered by the sight of the girl? Why didnat she cry, run to the child, even fall at her feet?

Mabel stood behind her and brushed the snow from her shoulders. Look at you. Just look at you.

Mabelas eyes glistened and her cheeks were bright, but she did not shriek or bawl. Faina began to unb.u.t.ton her coat, and Mabel helped her out of it, shook off snow.

There. Now let me see.

She held the girl at armas length.

I knew youad have grown.

Grown? Surely Mabel had lost her mind. No talk of the blood, the childas desperate appearance, her months-long absence.

Jack touched the girlas chin and turned her face up to his.

Whatas happened to you, Faina? Are you all right?

Oh, this?

The girl looked at her hands.

I was skinning rabbits, she said.

Her eyes were wide, expectant.

Iam here, she said. Iave come back.

Of course you have. Of course, and Mabel said it easily, as if there had never been a doubt.

Howa but Jackas words were lost as Mabel ushered the girl to the table.

I knew it would be soon, she said. Thatas why Iave hurried so. I just finished tonight. But wait. Iam rus.h.i.+ng ahead of myself. You need to wash up and get settled, yes?

Faina smiled and held out her hands. They were cold-chafed and stained, each fingernail rimmed with blood, but Mabel merely clucked like a mother hen, as if it were a bit of dirt smudged on a boy who had played in the mud. She tucked her sewing project onto one of the chairs.

Well, letas see, she said. I had water on the stove already for tea. There should be enough to wash with.

Faina smiled shyly. Before long, Mabel was sitting with her, was.h.i.+ng her hands in soapy, lukewarm water, wiping her face with a washcloth. Jack stood beside the woodstove, bewildered as much by his wifeas calm as by the childas appearance. When Mabel left to get something from the bedroom, Jack strode to Fainaas side, knelt at her chair, fought the urge to embrace her again.

He pointed to the b.l.o.o.d.y water in the basin and spoke more sternly than he intended.

What is all this? Where have you been? What has happened to you?

Jack, donat pester her so, Mabel said from behind him. Sheas tired to the bone. Let her rest.

Faina started to speak, but Mabel shushed her gently and held the mirror up for the child to see.

Everythingas fine now. Youare here, safe and sound. And you look beautiful.

It was true. The child was alive and well, here in their cabin. Garrett had doubted it was even possible, and Jack felt a rush of pride in her. She had survived, against all odds.

What do you think? Mabel asked Jack, turning Faina to face him.

The child stretched out her arms and gazed down at the new coat. Jack had never seen anything like it. It was the cool blue of a winter sky, with silver b.u.t.tons that glistened like ice and white fur trim at the hood and cuffs and along the bottom edge. But the coatas splendor came from the snowflakes. The varying sizes and designs gave them movement, so they seemed to twirl through the blue wool. Its strange beauty suited the child.

Lovely, he said, and he had to choke back his emotion at the sight of the little girl in the snowflake coat, come home at last.

How about you? he asked. Do you like your new coat?

The child didnat speak, but seemed to frown.

Faina? Oh, dear child, itas all right, Mabel said. If you donat like it, itas all right. Itas just a coat.

The girl shook her head, no, no.

Really. Itas nothing. If itas too tight, I can make another. If itas too big, we can set it aside for another year. Donat fret.

You did this? Faina whispered. You made this, for me?

Well, yes. But itas nothing but fabric and a few st.i.tches.

The girl smoothed her hands down the front, over the snowflakes falling one by one.

Do you like it?

In answer, the girl leapt to Mabelas arms and turned to rest her head against Mabelas shoulder, and in the childas smiling face Jack saw such affection.

I love it more than anything, she said against Mabelas arm.

Oh, you couldnat make me happier. Mabel stood and held the childas hands in her own and looked her up and down.

It does fit well, doesnat it?

The girl nodded, then glanced to where her old coat hung.

I was thinking, Faina. Perhaps I could take your old coat and make it into a blanket for you. That way, youad still have it. Would that be all right? Iad have to cut it into pieces, but then I could sew them back together into a nice new blanket.

Really? You could? And Iad still have it?

Oh, yes. Most definitely yes.

Mabel was giddy and talkative as she cooked dinner, not allowing Jack or the child to speak of anything except the joy of being together. Maybe that should have been enough. Maybe he should have been grateful, without asking for more.

It was only when the cabin became overheated, with the woodstove and steam from cooking, when the girl seemed to wilt in her chair, only then did Jack sense some ripple beneath the surface, some doubt or fear in Mabelas desperate happiness. She dashed to the door and brought in a handful of snow. She dabbed it to the girlas cheeks and forehead.

There, there. Itas much too hot in here. There, there.

Jack put the back of his hand to the childas forehead, but she was cool to the touch.

I suspect sheas just tired, Mabel.

But she continued with the snow, putting some to the girlas lips.

Too hot, too hot, Mabel murmured. Please, get some more snow.

Jack opened the door to the swirling storm, driven in all directions by the wind off the river. It was a miserable night. Shead be soaked through in no time, and the wind would suck away any last heat. He would not let the girl leave, not to go back to that cold, lifeless hovel in the mountains.

Youall stay here tonight, he said as he brought in another handful of snow.

Mabel frowned.

Will she?

Yes.

He spoke with more confidence than he felt.

The girl sat forward in her chair, her blue eyes narrowed and fierce.

I will go, she said.

Not tonight, he said. Youall stay here with us.

Oh yes, you must, child. Canat you hear that wind blowing? You can sleep in the barn.

Jack wondered at his wife. The barn? Why would she suggest such a thing? It was freezing out there, nearly as cold as being outdoors, but she persisted.

Youall be comfortable, she said. We even have a little bedroom made up, for the boy who helped us this summer. Itas perfectly cozy and out of the wind.

Faina was on her feet. When she looked at Jack she didnat speak, but it was as if she were shouting. You promised. You canat keep me here.

He wondered what he could do. Physically hold the child, force her to stay against her will? She would fight like a trapped polecat. She would hit and scream, maybe even bite and scratch, of that he had no doubt, and he would be left feeling a beast himself.

But he could not let her go back to the lonely wilderness after stumbling, bloodstained, into their home. If she were injured or killed, when he could have kept her safe, he would never forgive himself.

Faina had already fastened the s.h.i.+ning silver b.u.t.tons on her new coat.

Please donat be angry, she said.

Canat you hear the wind? Jack said.

The child was already at the door. He waited for Mabel to protest, even to beg.

All right, she said. If you must go, you must. But youall be back, wonat you? Promise to always come back.

Solemnly, as if swearing an oath, the child said, I promise.

Jack watched her leave, and it seemed like a disturbing dream, the child with her blood-smeared brow and twisted blond hair and snowflake coat, and his wife, composed and accepting. He stood some time at the window, staring into the night. Behind him Mabel bustled with the dishes and sewing sc.r.a.ps.

aHow could you have known?a he asked.

aHmmm?a aHow could you have known she was coming back? Now? Ever?a aItas the first snow. Just like that night.a Jack looked at her, slowly shook his head, not comprehending.

aDonat you remember? The night when we built the snow child. Snowflakes as big as saucers. Remember? We threw s...o...b..a.l.l.s at each other. Then we made her. You carved her lovely face; I put on her mittens.a aWhat are you saying, Mabel?a She went to her shelves and brought back an oversized book bound in blue leather, adorned with silver gilding.

aHere,a she slid it across the table toward him. aYou wonat be able to read it, though. Itas in Russian.a Jack lifted the book. It was surprisingly heavy, as if the pages were made of lead rather than paper. He flipped through the ill.u.s.trations, impatient.

aWhat is this?a aItas a storybookaa aI can see that. Whatas that to do witha"a aItas about an old man and an old woman. More than anything they want a child of their own, but they canat have one. Then, one winter night, they make a little girl out of snow, and she comes to life.a Jack felt a stomach-turning sinking, as if he had stepped into bottomless wet sand and try as he might could not get back onto firm ground.

aStop,a he said.

aShe leaves each summer, and comes back when it snows. Donat you see? Otherwisea she would melt.a Mabel looked a little frightened at her own words, but she didnat falter.

aJesus, Mabel, what are you saying?a She opened the book to an ill.u.s.tration of the old man and old woman kneeling beside a beautiful little girl, her feet and legs bound in snow and her head crowned in silver jewels.

aSee?a she said. She spoke like a nurse at a bedside, calm and knowing. aYou see?a aNo, Mabel. I donat see at all.a He slammed the book closed and stood. aYouave lost your mind. Youare telling me you think that little child, that little girl, is some sort of spirit, some sort of snow fairy. Jesus. Jesus.a He stomped to the other side of the cabin, wanting to escape but unable.

Mabel gently pulled the book back and slid her hands up and down the leather. She was shaking slightly.

aI know it sounds implausible, but donat you see?a she said. aWe wished for her, we made her in love and hope, and she came to us. Sheas our little girl, and I donat know how exactly, but sheas made from this place, from this snow, from this cold. Canat you believe that?a aNo. I canat.a He had the urge to take Mabel by the shoulders and shake her.

aWhy not?a aBecausea because I know things you donat.a Now she looked frightened. She held the book to her chest, her lips pursed and trembling.

aWhat do you know?a aJesus Christ, Mabel, I buried her father. He drank himself to death in front of that poor child. She begged him to stop. She put her little hands to his face, trying to warm him even as he was dying in front of her. Her own father. All those days I was gone? Where did you think I was? I was up there, in the mountains, trying to help her. Digging a G.o.dd.a.m.ned grave in the middle of winter.a aBut you never told me this.a As if he was lying, inventing this awful tale to prove her wrong. So tightly she held on to her illusions. Jack clenched his jaw again and again, felt the muscle work as he bit back his anger.

aShe made me promise not to tell you or anyone else.a It sounded so weak. A grown man making a promise like that to a little girl. Head been a fool.

aWhat about a mother?a aDead, too. When she was just a baby.a He was old and tired and couldnat holler such things in an argument. aI think it must have been consumption. Faina said she died of a coughing sickness, in the Anchorage hospital.a She stared blankly. Her head nodded slightly, all the blood drained from her face. He went to her, knelt beside her chair, took her hands in his.

aI should have told you. Iam sorry, Mabel. I am. Iad like it to be true, that she was ours, that she was a wilderness pixie. I would have liked that, too.a She whispered through her teeth, aWhere does she live?a aWhat?a aWhere does she live?a aIn a sort of cabin dug into the side of the mountain. Itas not that bad, really. Itas dry and safe, and she has food. She takes care of herself.a He wanted to believe that the child was tough and sure-footed, like a mountain goat.

aBy herself? Out there?a aOf course, Mabel,a he pleaded. aWhat could you have thought, that when she wasnat here with us she was some kind of snowflake, a snow child? Is that what you thought?a She yanked her hands from his and stood with such force she knocked her chair over.

ad.a.m.n you! d.a.m.n you! How could you?a Her anger startled him. aMabel?a He put his hands on her shoulders, thinking to hold her, but he could feel the heat of her fury through the fabric of her dress.

aHow could you? Let her live out there, like a starving animal? Motherless. Fatherless. Starving for food and love. How could you?a She shoved her way past to the coat hooks.

aMabel? What are you doing? Where are you going?a He took her by an arm, but she pushed him away. She wrapped a scarf around her neck, pulled on gloves and a hat, then took the oil lantern down from its hook above the table.

aMabel? What are you doing?a He stood there in his socked feet as she slammed the door behind her.

She would come back. It was night, and it was snowing. She couldnat go far. She didnat know the way, had rarely left the homestead except by a wagon he drove.

But the silence of the cabin unnerved him. He lit another lantern, paced at the door. The minutes ticked by on the old wooden clock on the shelf. Finally he put on his coat and boots and took the lantern. Outside the snow was thick. It fell so densely that he could see no more than a foot or two in front of him, and Mabelas tracks had disappeared.