The Snow Child by Eowyn Ivey
“Well, Jackson. Time to head home after all, eh?”
He didn’t normally talk to a horse, but he was uneasy. The snow was falling steadily now, and a slight wind blew up from the riverbed. He pulled himself into the saddle and was momentarily disoriented. The air was so thick with snowflakes he could see only the outlines of the nearest trees.
“Down the hill, Jackson? Can’t go wrong by heading toward the river.”
Soon, though, blowing snow blinded Garrett, and the horse stumbled along the disappearing trail.
“Jesus,” he said under his breath. “Where did this come from?” Never before had he seen a winter storm come up so quickly, whipped out of nothing.
He turned up the collar of his coat and pulled a wool hat out of his saddlebag. He slid off the saddle and the snow was above his knees. It had come down fast, and it was still falling. He got back on the horse and maneuvered it through the trees, but he had lost his bearings. He thought he had been following the slope down toward the river, but now he seemed to have fallen off into a ravine running the opposite direction. He tried to remember what he had brought with him. No tarp. No bedroll. Only his most basic emergency supplies—some matches, a pocketknife, a spare pair of wool socks. The lunch his mother had packed for him. Not much else. He saw the vague silhouette of a large spruce tree and headed toward it.
He could wait out the storm here, for a while. He broke off some of the tree’s lowest branches, and then used the edge of his boot to scrape snow away from the trunk. It was a shelter of some sort. He broke the branches over his knee into smaller pieces, then peeled some bark off a nearby birch. He had his ax. Once he got the fire going, he could chop larger pieces of wood.
Sitting cross-legged beneath the tree, he piled the bark and spruce branches and lit a match, but it quickly sputtered out in the driving snow. Another. Another. Only a few left. Eventually he got a small piece of the papery bark to light, but only for seconds before the wind snuffed it out. He stood and kicked at the pile. Snow from the branches above toppled onto his head.
“Well, Jackson. Guess we’re pushing on.”
As he rode through the trees he thought of stories he had heard of men killing their horses and climbing into their body cavities to stay warm. “Don’t worry, Jackson. We’re not that desperate yet.”
But this wasn’t good. He could see that. He had slept out many nights, but never so ill-prepared in such bad conditions. Snow was embedded in the creases of his pants and coat. The horse’s mane was coated in ice. He had no choice—he rode on, not knowing his direction.
When he found himself on the banks of what appeared to be a frozen lake, a lake he had never seen or heard of before, he was afraid. He dismounted and stood beside the horse at the snowy shore.
Goddamn. Goddamn, and he kicked the ground in front of him. The horse slowly blinked, too fatigued to move away from the commotion.
You’re lost.
Garrett jumped at the voice, an eerie whisper in his ear. Over his shoulder he saw the girl like a ghost in the snow. Angry at being startled, he shouted, What do you want?
You have lost your way, she said, and again her voice was hushed and nearer than the girl herself.
No I haven’t.
But they both knew he was lying.
You won’t find your way home, she said.
No, I damn well won’t. But I don’t see you can do a thing about it.
The girl turned and began to walk away.
Follow me, she said.
What?
I’ll show you the way.
He wanted to yell, to kick his feet, to fight this absurd turn of events, but he took up the reins and led his horse after the girl. Without looking back she walked quickly and easily through the snow. At times he lost sight of her, but then she would reappear, waiting beside a birch or in a stand of spruce.
I didn’t mean for this to happen, she said. Even though I was angry. I didn’t mean for you to lose your way.
Well, of course not. How could this be your fault?
The girl shrugged and walked again. The snow slowed and patches of blue sky appeared overhead. When the mountains again revealed themselves, they were not where Garrett thought they would be. Where would he have ended up, he wondered, if she hadn’t come for him?
The girl’s steps laced through naked birch trees, and a few times she lightheartedly looped an arm around one of their trunks as she passed by. She didn’t seem to take note of where she was going or where she had been. She was like a fearless child playing in the woods, and yet she was tall and almost a woman, her blue coat tapered in at the waist, her hair blond and straight down her back.
You were there, she said, when I killed the swan.
She did not look back at him when she spoke but ran ahead, her feet light on the snow, and for that, at least, Garrett was grateful. He didn’t have to answer. He just had to follow and hope she never, ever spoke to him again. They traveled for some time in silence.
Your horse won’t make it up here much longer, she said after a while. The snow will be too deep.
Garrett stopped walking and rubbed the back of his neck. Of all the blasted things she could say.
I know that, he said. Don’t you think I know that? I need a team of dogs. But my folks won’t let me. Jackson’s a good horse, though. I was going to use him a while, then snowshoe in. It would have worked.
If it weren’t for you, he wanted to add. But he hated the whiny sound of his own voice, like a spoiled boy who hasn’t gotten his way. Why couldn’t he just keep quiet? That’s what a man would do.
There, the girl said, and pointed down through the trees. It was Jack and Mabel’s place. He could see the fields white with snow and smoke curling up from their stovepipe.
He nodded and mounted his horse. When he had ridden down into the clearing, he spun the horse around to search the trees for the girl, for her blue coat and shining blond hair, but she was gone.
CHAPTER 41
Faina came with a tall basket made of birch bark that she wore as a pack with moosehide straps. Outside the cabin, she shrugged it from her shoulders, set it in the snow beside her feet, took a fish from it, and held it up to Jack.
It was the most hideous creature he had ever seen. It draped nearly two feet between the girl’s hands, skin mottled and slick, long body fat and limp as a slug. It had thick lips and a wide, flat head with a barb jutting from its chin. Like an overgrown, malformed tadpole.
What in God’s name is that?
A burbot, she said. I caught it through the ice just now. I brought it for dinner.
I don’t think Mabel will allow it in the kitchen, Jack said.
Oh.
No, I’m only teasing you. I’ve never seen one before. Is it safe to eat?
Yes, she said. They swim in the deepest, coldest water. They are hard to catch, but the very best to eat.
Well, then, I guess we’d better clean it.
He led the girl behind the cabin and down to the creek.
You have a river otter, Faina said, pointing to the opposite bank.
Jack saw the tracks where they veered around a fallen tree.
Otter, you say? I never noticed it.
She crouched beside a pool of open water, took a knife from a sheath at her leg, and opened the fish belly with a slice.
Here, let me do that, Jack said.
She stayed by the creek, pulled the entrails from the fish and tossed them into the flowing water. Then she put a hand inside the body cavity and scraped the kidney from the spine.
Why does Garrett come to the mountains? she asked as she shook the clotted blood from her fingertips.
You’ve seen him?
Yes. Many times. Why does he come?
Must be putting out traps.
Oh, she said.
You don’t have to be frightened of him. He doesn’t mean you any harm.
All right, she said.
She set the fish in the snow and washed the blood from her
CHAPTER 42
Garrett’s nights were haunted by the girl. The day she led him out of the snowstorm, he returned home exhausted but found he could not sleep, and he did not sleep well for weeks. He lay in his bed and thought of her blue eyes and the delicate features of her face, but they were always veiled by falling snow or covered in the fall of her blond hair, and he could not re-create them clearly in his mind. He tried to remember the shape of her lips. He wondered what it would be like to touch them. And more than anything, he wanted to remember her scent, vague and so familiar.
He returned again and again to the foothills to find her trails skimming across the snow. He told everyone, perhaps even himself, that he was trapping, and yet for days he did not put out a single set and sometimes even forgot to bring his bait and snares. He no longer thought of wolverine, but only of her, and his eyes grew weary from watching for any flash of a blue coat or white-blond hair. He suspected that she kept herself hidden, but still he went back.
Just as the girl predicted, the snow in the mountains was soon too deep for his horse, so he snowshoed. Sometimes he siwashed, sleeping beneath a canvas tarp and cooking on an open campfire. Those nights were the worst, because sleep never came. He stared into the cold blackness and listened for a whisper of movement. He was sure the girl was just outside, watching him from the trees, and sometimes he found her footprints the next morning. But still she did not reveal herself to him. Not until the day he stood desperate and exhilarated beside her fresh trail and called out her name.
Faina! Faina! I just want to talk with you. Won’t you let me?
The trees were silent. The sky was overcast and dense with snow yet to come.
Faina! I know you’re there. Won’t you come out?
I’m here, she said, and she stepped from behind a snow-heavy spruce branch. What do you want with me?
I don’t know, and Garrett was surprised at his own honesty. He was reckless and emboldened. I don’t know, he repeated.
She narrowed her sharp blue eyes but did not retreat.
Have you seen any more wolverine? he asked, only because he could think of nothing better to say. The girl shook her head.
And you? Have you found your wolverine?
No. Never, actually. I’ve never caught a wolverine.
Oh.
I’ve always wanted to.
Is that why you’re here?
No, it isn’t.
Why then?
You. I think.
The girl shifted, wary now, but she stood her ground.
I’m sorry about your fox. I shouldn’t have shot it…. Wait. Don’t leave. Won’t you talk with me? I’ve never met anyone like you before.
She shrugged. A peculiar expression passed over her face, and he thought she smiled.
Do you want to see something? she asked.
All right.
She darted around the spruce tree and was gone. Afraid to lose sight of her, he ran as well as he could in the snowshoes. He followed her through the trees, up through aspens and alpine blueberry bushes. They made their way above the tree line, where the snowy slopes rose over their heads into rocky mountaintops. Although he was damp with sweat and his lungs ached, the girl seemed tireless. She waited on a wind-blown rock until he managed, huffing, to climb to her.
Faina had taken off her mittens, and she put a finger to her lips, shushing him. Then she pointed across the slope to one side. Garrett saw nothing but white. It was humiliating. He always had keen eyes for game, but this time he had to shake his head no, he did not see.
She smiled, not unkindly, and knelt beside the rock. From her coat pocket she removed a handful of rounded and smooth stones, all of similar size, as if carefully chosen. She picked one, stood, and threw it. Garrett heard a stifled squawk and saw a white flapping. The girl chose another rock, threw again, and another bird was hit. Without looking back at him, she sprinted across the slope toward her prey. A flock of pure-white ptarmigan burst to life from around her feet in a noisy flutter. Hundreds—more ptarmigan than Garrett had ever seen at once—filled the sky and dispersed in all directions, some landing just a few hundred yards away and disappearing white into the white, others clumsily flying over the next ridge.
The girl ran to him, smiling and holding two dead ptarmigan by their feathered toes. Annoyed, he sat with arms crossed. He had tried such a trick before. After hurling dozens of rocks, he had poorly wounded one and had to shoot it with his shotgun after all.
So, is that what you wanted to show me? he asked.
No. You are rested now?
Instead of leading him higher up the mountain, as he expected, she began to traverse the slope. Where her feet touched, tiny snowballs formed and rolled down the hill, leaving dotted trails. Covering the steep ground in snowshoes was difficult, but Garrett knew if he removed them he would sink well past his waist in the snow, so he slogged on. Soon they descended into a steep-sided ravine thick with alder bushes.
At the base of a small knoll, the girl went to one knee and again gestured for him to be quiet. Deep snow covered the hill, except for a spot no bigger than a man’s head. Come closer, the girl said with her hands.
It was a gloomy hole in the earth, part of a much larger entrance mostly buried in snow. Recognition sunk in as a cold shiver up his neck and along his scalp. She had led him to a bear den.
Garrett squatted in his snowshoes beside her and leaned into the hole. He thought he could make out roots and black dirt, but it was so dark he couldn’t be sure. He expected it to be cavernous and foul, but all he could smell was snow and earth and maybe damp leaves and fur. He could hear nothing but his own breathing.
He pointed and raised his eyebrows at the girl as if to ask, Is it in there? She nodded, her eyes lively and her mittened hand on his shoulder in warning. Even through his heavy winter coat, he could feel the pressure of her hand on his skin, and it left him light-headed. They slowly backed away from the den and walked in silence until they were down in the creek bed.
Is it in there? he whispered. Now?
Yes. I watched it dig the den from up there, and the girl pointed to the slope on the opposite side of the creek.
Brown bear? Garrett asked. She nodded.
A boar?
No. A mama, with two cubs.
No animal in the wilderness more dangerous, Garrett thought. He had watched brown bears on mountainsides, seen their muscles ripple across their humped backs, their fur undulate in waves. Each time he caught even a passing glimpse of one, he was awestruck. But never had he been this close. Snow alone had separated him from a sow grizzly, heavy with sleep and power, her cubs nursing at her side, her long claws trailing from her padded feet.
CHAPTER 43
The boy was at Mabel’s door, covered with snow and leading a half-grown puppy on a rope leash, and he came asking after Faina.
“Pardon?”
“Faina? Is she here?”
“Why, no, Garrett. She isn’t. But come on inside.”
He paused in the doorway and looked down at the black-and-white, floppy-eared pup.
“I suppose you can bring your new friend in as well,” Mabel said, gesturing them through the door and closing it before too much snow blew in.
The puppy wagged its tail furiously, and when Mabel bent beside it, tried to jump into her lap. She laughed and let it lick her face before she stood again and wiped her hands on her apron.
“So you got yourself a new puppy?”
“Naw. You know Mom and Dad won’t let me have any sled dogs,” he said. He remained near the door, shifting awkwardly in his boots. “No, actually, well, I brought it for her.”
“Not for Faina?”
“You don’t think she’ll like it?”
“Oh. Well, yes. I suppose most any child would adore a puppy, but I’m not sure…”
“She’s not a child.”
His tone was unexpected—irritable, even a little defensive.
“No, I guess she isn’t a
Mabel had noticed a change in Faina. Her cheeks had thinned so that the bone structure was more striking, and her limbs had gracefully lengthened. She seemed taller, more confident. Close to sixteen or seventeen years old, Mabel guessed.
“Are you expecting her tonight maybe?”
“I don’t know. We can never be sure when she will come.”
The puppy was cavorting around the small cabin and had already managed to leave a puddle of urine in one corner, drag a dish towel to the floor, and begin chewing Jack’s slippers beside the woodstove. Mabel grabbed the dish towel and began cleaning up the mess.
“I’m sorry, Garrett. I don’t know when we’ll see her next, and to be honest, I’m not sure it’s such a good idea. She might not be able to care for a puppy on her own.”
“She could.”
“Well, let’s see what Jack thinks. He’ll be home in a few hours. I’d offer to keep the puppy here until her next visit, but it would be rather inconvenient.”
“Could I stay here, with the puppy? In the barn maybe, until she comes again?”
“Oh. Well, I suppose. If that’s what you’d like to do. It will be cold, though.”
“I’ll be all right. And she’ll probably come soon enough, don’t you think?”
Garrett took the puppy outside to romp in the snow, and Mabel was left to muddle through her thoughts. What an odd turn of events, the boy bringing Faina a puppy. Mabel doubted the girl would even come into the house if she knew Garrett was there. Faina never visited when strangers were around. How long would Garrett stay, waiting to see her?
“Garrett’s here?” Jack said when he returned just before nightfall. “Saw his horse is in the barn.”
“Yes. He’s come with a gift for Faina.”
“Faina? What kind of gift?”
“A puppy.”
“A puppy?”
“Yes. Garrett said it’s a husky, one that could be trained as a sled dog.”