Harvest would come, and sometimes during those long, exhausting days, it would be as Mabel once imagineda"she and Jack together in the field as they gathered potatoes into burlap sacks or cut cabbages from their stalks, and even as she wiped sweat from her face and tasted grit between her teeth, she tried to breathe in the sweetness of the moment. At night they would rub each otheras sore muscles and jokingly complain of their aches, Mabel always more than Jack, though she knew his pain was so much worse.

Then, when the days shortened and the first frost came, they whispered their blessings and prayed for snow. Mabel would try to guess how much Faina had grown since they had last seen her, and she would sew wool stockings and long underwear and sometimes a new coat, always blue wool with white fur trim and snowflakes embroidered down the front.

Each time the girl arrived, she was taller and more beautiful than they had remembered, and she would bring gifts from the mountains. One year it was a sack of dried fish, another it was a caribou hide, tanned supple and scented with wild herbs. She would hug them and kiss them and say she had missed them, and then she would run off into the snowy trees she called home.

Mabel no longer shouted Fainaas name into the wilderness or tried to think of ways to make her stay. Instead, she sat at the table and by candlelight sketched her facea"impish chin, clever eyes. Then she tucked these sketches into the leather-covered childrenas book that told the story of the snow maiden.

Winter after winter, Faina returned to their cabin in the woods, and in all that time, no one else ever saw her. It suited Mabel fine. Just as with the otter, she came to guard the girl as a secret.

CHAPTER 37.

Garrett watched the fox through his iron sights. It was still a few hundred yards away, but its gait did not falter as it traveled up the river toward him. It wouldnat be long before it closed the distance. Garrett leaned back into the cottonwood log, wedged his elbow against his knee, steadied his rifle. His finger rested lightly at the trigger.

He knew it could be the one. For years, Jack forbade him from killing the red fox that hunted the fields and riverbed near their farm. He said it belonged to a girl who lived alone in the forest, hunted in the mountains, survived winters that killed grown men. A girl no one ever saw.

Garrettas rifle gently rose and fell with his breaths, but his eyes remained fixed on the animal. He couldnat be sure. In the fading November light, it could almost be a cross fox, a mix of silver-black and red. It stopped and raised its nose to the air, as if it had scented something, then resumed its path up the snowy river. The sun sank a degree and the last golden rays disappeared down the valley.

He let the fox come. When it was less than 150 yards away, Garrett sat forward, put his cheek to the rifle stock, shut his left eye, and lined the iron sights on the foxas spine. But the fox veered, abruptly turned its tail toward Garrett, and pa.s.sed behind a willow shrub, headed for the nearby poplars. It moved quickly. Garrett lowered the rifle. Head hesitated a moment too long. It would soon be too dark to shoot, and the fox would be lost to the trees.

Then he saw that the animal had stopped and sat watching him from the forestas edge. Garret leaned again into his rifle, squinted down the barrel, and pulled the trigger.

It took only the one shot. The impact was enough to flip the small animal onto its side, and it did not move again. Garrett ejected the sh.e.l.l, then got up from his position against the log. With his rifle at his side, he walked until he stood over the dead fox.

The animal had thinned to a scruffy frame, and the fur along its muzzle and hackles had whitened with age so that perhaps, in poor light and at a distance, it could be mistaken for a cross. But there was no doubt. It was the one.

All these years, Garrett had obeyed Jackas command. The fox would dart across a field or cross his path in the forest, and Garrett would let it pa.s.s. Each time was an irritation. Nothing indicated that this fox was anything more than a ranging wild animal.

But now that he had killed it, he regretted it. He was honor bound. He should take it to Jack and Mabelas door. He should confess, apologize. Jackas reproach would be stern. Mabel would be silent. She would smooth her ap.r.o.n with her hands, gently shake her head.

He had to get rid of it. He could skin it out and try to sell the pelt, but it was shabby and practically worthless. His mom would ask where he got it. His dad would want to see the fur. Garrett would end up telling lies, and lies had a way of getting complicated.

He shouldered his rifle, picked up the fox, and carried it into the trees. He was surprised at how thin and bony it felt in his arms, like an old barn cat.

Beyond the poplars, in a dense stand of spruce, Garrett arranged the animal in the snow at the base of a tree. He broke off evergreen boughs and laid them over it. He hoped it would snow again soon.

As he turned to walk home in the dusk, he no longer felt like a nineteen-year-old man but instead a shameful little boy.

aGarrett. Glad you could come over.a Jack greeted him at the cabin door and shook his hand. aWe were hoping youad make it this evening.a At the kitchen table, Mabel smiled up at him.

aMom said you all wanted me to come over.a aYes, itas about time,a Mabel said.

aWhatas it about?a Garrettas stomach turned.

aHave a seat,a Jack said. He held out a chair.

aAll right.a Garrett sat and looked from Jack to Mabel and back to Jack again.

aSo this is how it is,a Jack began. aWeave been wanting to talk to you about the farmaa aBut maybe we should eat dinner first?a Mabel asked.

aNope. Business first. This is something weave been meaning to do for a long time.a He looked at Garrett. aYou know we couldnat have made a go of this place without you.a aI donat know about that. Just been a hired hand. Could have been another one.a aThatas where youare wrong. These past years, we havenat been able to pay you near what youare worth.a aAnd you were never just a hired hand. Youave been so much more, to both of us,a Mabel said. aWhat would I have done without you to discuss Mark Twain and Charles d.i.c.kens with?a Garrettas shoulders relaxed some, and he let out a slow breath.

aYou know what this is?a Jack gestured toward some papers spread on the table in front of them.

aNo. Canat say that I do.a aThese are legal papers that make you a partner in this farm. And they also lay out that when we are both gone, this place will become yours. Now, hear us out before you start shaking your head. You know we donat have a son of our own to leave this place to. And the truth is, you made it what it is today.a aI donat knowaa aNow, we understand farming hasnat always been your aim,a Jack went on, abut it seems to us that you take pride in what youave helped us do here. And maybe youad be able to run this place, along with your trapping and such in the winters.a aOr,a Mabel added, ayou would be free to sell the place. After weare gone.a aI wouldnata I donat know.a aWell, think it over, if youad like,a Jack said. aWe arenat rushing off to the grave yet, are we, love?a aNo. I hope not anytime soon. But Garrett, whatever you decide, we want you to understand how much youave meant to us. We are proud of the man youave become.a aMabel, youare embarra.s.sing the boy.a aPlease let me finish. It is true, what Jack said. We wouldnat be here, this farm wouldnat be here, if it werenat for you and all your hard work. We donat have much in this world, but we want to offer you what little we do have.a aAre you sure? I mean, isnat there anybody else, somebody from your family?a Garrett slid the papers back toward Jack.

aNope. Youare the closest weave got,a Jack said.

aI was never expecting anything like this.a aWe know. But itas the right thing to do.a aI should talk it over with my folks,a Garrett said. aBut I guess itas mostly up to you two.a aWeave never been more sure,a Jack said, and he reached across the table and shook his hand again.

CHAPTER 38.

It was only the middle of November, but the snow lay heavy and deep across the land. Garrett went on foot to search for tracks. Wolf, marten, mink, coyote, foxa"but it was wolverine he had his heart set on. He was a trapper of experience, and yet every winter this one animal eluded him. He couldnat have put it to words, but he hungered after its bold will, its ferocious and solitary manner. To enter the wolverineas territory, he would have to travel farther into the mountains than he ever had before.

He hiked up from the riverbed into the foothills, and as the land steepened, he wished he had worn snowshoes. He carried a light pack with enough supplies to get him through the night if necessary, but in this weather he would be wet and cold. As the morning wore on, it began to snow again, and he considered turning back. But always the next ridge, the draw beyond, lured him on. Maybe just ahead he would find a rocky, narrow valley and wolverine tracks. When he crested a foothill dotted with spruce and saw spread before him a marsh, its hummocks of gra.s.s covered in snow, he turned to go back. There would be no wolverine here, and the fresh snow was burying any tracks.

He was stopped by a sound like a woodstove bellows, air forced hard. He spun around and saw something at the other end of the marsh. He crouched low behind a birch log and squinted against the falling snow.

At first it appeared to be a mound of snow like the others in the marsh, but larger and strangely formed, and then great white wings, broader than Garrettas own arm span, beat against the air. Again he heard the sound of bellows and knew it came from those wings. He crawled on his hands and knees around the fallen birch, the snow up to his chest. He crept closer, hiding behind one hummock and then another. When he again focused on the white creature, he saw something else. Blond hair, a human face. Snowflakes pelted his eyes, and he blinked hard, but the face remained among the beating wings and the awful hissing sound. His skin p.r.i.c.kled along his neck and sweat ran down his back, but still he crept closer, so close that the next time the creature beat its wings, he thought the air moved against his face.

A white swan, its long neck serpentine, turned its head to the side and looked at him with one of its gleaming black eyes. Then it lowered its head, hunched its wings, and hissed. Behind the wings the face appeared again. A girl crouched in the snow just beyond the swan. She stood, and at first Garrett thought she had spotted him, but she was looking only at the swan. Her blue coat was embroidered with snowflakes, and on her head she wore a marten-fur hat.

It was her, the one they had whispered about all these years. The child no one but Jack and Mabel had ever seen. The girl who made a pet of a wild fox. Winter after winter, not even a pa.s.sing glimpse, not a single footprint in the snow, and now here she was before him. And she wasnat the little girl he had always pictured. She was tall and slender, only a few years younger than he.

The swanas head nearly reached the girlas shoulders, and its wings enveloped her as it flapped them in warning and hopped toward her. Garrett saw then that one of its feet was bound in a snare loop. It was not the thin-boned hare or downy ptarmigan she had probably intended to catch. The swan was a beautiful giant, muscle and sinew pounding beneath white feather, black eyes set deep and fierce to the black beak. He wondered if the girl would set it free. Perhaps she could slip behind it and snap the snare, but he doubted she could get close enough without the swan attacking her.

Then he wondereda"would she kill it? The possibility sickened him, and he didnat know why. Because the girl was willowy, with delicate features and small hands? Because the swan had wings like an angel and flew through fairy tales with a maiden upon its back? Garrett knew the trutha"the swan meat could feed the girl for weeks.

She began to unb.u.t.ton her coat. Spellbound, Garrett watched even as he felt he should look away. She set the coat on a bush behind her, then her hat as well. She wore a flowered cotton dress with what looked like long underwear beneath it. She bent and removed a knife from a sheath on her leg.

The swan strained at the willow bush that anch.o.r.ed the snare. The girl held the knife and crept slowly around a hummock to the other side of the swan, trying to position herself behind it. But it followed her, turned its head and hopped around to face her. She would never be able to take it head on. The birdas beak would cut through her skin, break her small bones. It hissed again and swept its wings at her, not to fly but to attack. Garrett lowered himself to the ground, not wanting to be seen.

As the girl stepped toward the swan, the beating of its wings became more powerful, swirling the snow and air, and its hisses turned into a terrible, cracking growl. She circled quickly around its back and jumped onto the swan. Its free leg gave way and it crumpled, but its ma.s.sive wings still beat beneath her. The girl held tightly, her face turned to the side, and grabbed the swanas sinewy neck. She slid one hand up until it clenched just below the birdas head and she held it at armas length. It seemed fatigued from the struggle, and for a moment both were still. Garrett could hear the girl breathing.

But then the swanas neck writhed in her hand and it lunged toward her face. The beak glanced across her cheek. She shoved the swanas head down into the wet snow and spread herself on top of the bird. Garrett could imagine the heat of the swanas body beneath her, could hear the bird hissing and sputtering and that growl from somewhere in its strange round body. The swan fought, then calmed, and the girl reached with her knife toward its head, slid it under the neck, and cut sharply upward.

She wiped her face with the back of her b.l.o.o.d.y hand and then, beneath her, the swanas wings flapped weakly, spasmed, were still again. The girl collapsed beside the bird, its dead wings stretched broad. The blood spread brightly beneath them and the snow fell.

She didnat move for some time. Garrettas legs were stiff from the cold, and he felt the need to stand but, mesmerized, could not.

For the next hour, he watched as she gutted the swan and cut off the head and black webbed feet. Steam rose from the body cavity and strewn entrails. She set aside the liver, the plum-sized heart, the sinewy neck. She steadily skinned the swan until she held a sagging pelt of white wings, white feathers, and b.l.o.o.d.y skin. Garrett expected her to throw it aside, but instead she laid it out in the snow and carefully rolled it up, the wings folded within the skin. She put the pelt inside a sack. Then she dragged the cleaned carca.s.s away from the kill site, where the sc.r.a.ps and blood would attract ravens, magpies, and other scavengers. Garrett watched her climb a small spruce at the edge of the clearing and begin to tie the carca.s.s and sack to a limb.

She was facing away from him, so as quickly as he could Garrett crawled back the way he had come. When he reached the spruce trees, he hid behind one and watched her kneel in the marsh and scrub her hands and the knife blade in the snow. Then she put on her coat and hat. Garrett turned down the hill and ran.

The snow had stopped and it was beginning to clear. Twilight hinted at winter to come. Twisting swaths of fog rose up from the river, and as he ran down the mountainside, it was as if he were descending into clouds. Overhead he heard a V of migrating snow geese cry their goodbyes into the purpling sky, and for the first time in his life, the sound frightened him.

CHAPTER 39.

Mabel and Faina were cutting out paper snowflakes to decorate the little spruce tree in the corner of the cabin when the Bensons showed up unannounced with Christmas gifts. Esther shoved the door open without knocking, and Faina bolted to the opposite side of the room, her eyes wide with fear, her muscles taut as if ready to spring. For a moment, Mabel feared the girl would try to break out the gla.s.s window. She went to her and gently took hold of her wrist, hoping to calm her with her touch.

Esther stood stock-still, her mouth gaping. Mabel would have found it amusing had it not been for Fainaas terror.

Mabel straightened, still holding on to the girlas arm, and took a slow breath.

Esther, she said. I would like you to meet Faina. Faina, this is my dear friend Esther.

Just then George and Garrett b.u.mped noisily through the door behind her, and Esther waved a hand and shushed them as if they were about to startle a woodland creature.

Itas the girl, George, she whispered without taking her eyes off Faina. Sheas here. Sheas right here, in front of me.

George laughed out loud, but behind him Garrett was silent. The boyas eyes were dark and wide, until he caught Mabel looking at him, and then he stepped back behind his father.

Mabel nudged the girl.

h.e.l.lo, Faina said quietly.

My G.o.d, Esther said. She is real. Your girl is flesh and blood.

The next few hours were awkward. Esther tried to include Faina in the barrage of gifts and treats, as if shead known all along she would be there.

Oh, here. This one is for you, Esther said, handing her a wrapped package.

Faina was silent, and at first did not even put out her hands to accept it. Mabel and Jack both moved to intercede, but stopped themselves. The girl took the package and with a somber expression held it in her lap.

Well, go on then. Arenat you going to open it? Esther said.

Faina looked so frightened and confused, her cheeks flushed an unhealthy crimson, that Mabel longed to open the door to let her escape into the cold.

Do you need help, Faina?

The cabin was stiflingly hot. No one spoke. All eyes were on the girl. Finally Faina began to pull away the paper. When at last she held up a flower-embroidered handkerchief and smiled as if in polite recognition, Mabel thought she would faint with relief.

Thank you, Faina said, and Estheras eyes glistened.

As the two families gathered for dinner, the tension eased. Faina remained quiet, but she was well mannered, carefully pa.s.sing dishes when prompted and giving a small smile here and there. Garrett, however, seemed incapable of speaking or looking at anyone, particularly the girl. Her very presence seemed an affront to him, and Mabel did not know what to make of it.

aYou know the boy is catching a pile of lynx this year,a George said around a mouthful of fruitcake. aThe hare population is up, so there are a ton of cats all over the valley.a aIs that so?a Jack asked.

Mabel looked at Garrett, and his face called to mind that first summer he came to work on the farma"irritable, petulant.

aWell? The man asked you a question.a George swung his arm across the back of Garrettas chair. Garrett looked back down at his plate and mumbled incoherently.

aHmmm,a Jack said agreeably, though Mabel knew he had not heard Garrettas response either.

aWhatas the matter with you, boy? Speak up. Youave got nothing to be ashamed of. Youave been doing some good trapping this year.a aYeah, I guess Iave gotten a few.a And then his head was down again and he poked at his dessert without ever taking a bite.

Was this the honorary son, the one who now cast sullen looks in everyoneas direction? Wasnat it at this very table that Garrett had shaken Jackas hand and said it would be a privilege to be farming partners, to inherit the homestead when that time came?

For the rest of the evening, the boy did not utter a word.

George and Esther went on with their stories. Mabel cleaned up dinner and paced behind Faina. The girl was shrinking in her chair, beads of sweat gathering on the bridge of her nose. Mabel fanned her with a napkin and wiped at her temples.

Too warm, much too warm, Mabel whispered to herself.

At last the Bensons said it was time to leave, and Mabel was relieved to usher them all out the doora"George, Esther, and Garrett to their horses and wagon, and Faina to the snowy forest.

CHAPTER 40.

Garrett cursed and urged his horse up the steep hill to follow the footprints. He ducked to avoid a spruce branch but still managed to get covered in snow. When he reached the top of the ridge, he reined in the horse, shook the snow from his shoulders, and leaned from the saddle. The tracks were old, shapeless indentations beneath several inches of snow, but they were hers. The horse shifted, antsy to either go back or go on, so Garrett went on, following the tracks as they wove among the spruce trees.

He was tired of the girl. For six years he had listened to Jack talk about her. Faina, Faina, Faina. The angel from the woods. And yet, for all the talk, never once had Garrett seen hide nor hair of the girl. Each winter he watched for her tracks, half hoping head spot them, half hoping Jack and Mabel were crazy. Sometimes he would think he saw a flicker in the brush, but it would only be a bird.

So how was it that this winter was different, that everywhere he went the forest snow was riddled with her tracks and he couldnat be free of her?

Everything about the girl filled him with guilt. He had shot her fox and told no one. He had spied on her. Again and again his mind returned to the scene, to the girlas struggle with the swan. The emotions it sparked bothered him, but he could not leave it be.

As he pursued her he told himself he was only going where he wanteda"toward the mountains, toward the wolverine. And it was true. Wolverine roamed higher in the alpine country, closer to the glacier. He would never catch one in the lowlands where he trapped coyote, fox, beaver, and mink.

He followed the tracks up into a narrow ravine where boulders were hidden by the snow. The horse stumbled occasionally, and finally Garrett dismounted and led the animal. Although getting on in years, the gelding was still steady and sure-footed, and knew the mountains like few other horses.

Garrettas traps and chains clanked in the burlap sacks strapped behind the saddle. Water ran down through the boulders, beneath the snow. At any moment he expected to see the stout, bearlike paw prints of a lone wolverine. Instead he saw small tracks, this time fresher. The girl again. Probably today. Garrett paused, hands on his knees, to look at the trail. Bare traces on top of the snow, like a lynx or snowshoe hare. The girl was nearly as tall as Garrett, so how could she be so insubstantial as to not sink into the snow? Irritated fascination twisted in his gut. He stomped ahead, erasing the delicate tracks with his boots.

She was near. He was certain. Something in the air had changed. It was the same when he stalked a moosea"abruptly the woods quieted and his senses sharpened. When he looked ahead, he saw the girl standing just out of the trees, her blue coat decorated in snowflakes, her hair an unearthly blond. He could turn back, but surely shead seen him, too. She waited for him. He continued up the ravine, trying to walk slower than his heart raced.

She did not move or speak until he was within several feet of her. She eyed the horse nervously, but when Garrett started to tell her to not be afraid, she spoke over him.