Faina shrugged her small shoulders.

We hunt together, she said.

Who does the killing? Mabel asked.

Both of us.

Do you ever pet him?

The girl shook her head.

Once I did, she said. When he was a kit, he took pieces of meat from my fingers, and he never bit me. At night he sometimes slept beside me. But he is too wild now. We run and hunt together, but that is all.

As if to show the truth of what she had said, Faina reached her mittened hand down toward the fox. It swiftly ducked and darted around the childas legs and into the trees. The girl watched, and Mabel thought she saw a look of wonder and longing on her face.

Have you picked many berries? Faina turned back to her.

A few, Mabel said. Not as many as I should have. But itas a lovely day. I donat mind that it has taken me most of the morning.

The girl nodded, then pointed past a stand of spruce.

There are more just over there, she said.

Thank you. Wonat you come with me?

But the girl was already running away, toward the cabin. She flickered through the trees and skimmed across the top of the snow, until Mabel was alone again in the forest. Sunlight sparkled on the snow and she could hear the wind blowing down from the glacier, but here it was quiet, so quiet Mabel was left to wonder if she had always been alone. She walked through the snow and into the spruce trees.

It took some time to identify what she was hearing. Mabel had filled her basket to overflowing with the cranberries Faina had pointed her toward. She pulled her mittens back on and held the basket carefully, not wanting to spill a single berry into the snow. As she neared the cabin, she thought she heard shouts. Or maybe it was singing. Then, as she broke through the trees and out into the yard, she heard it clearlya"laughter.

Jack and the child stood side by side, their arms outstretched and hands nearly touching. Then, without warning, they threw themselves backward into the deep snow.

Come see! Come see! the child called out to Mabel.

Jack? Faina? What on eartha Weare snow angels, Jack called out, and the girl giggled.

Mabel walked to them, the basket in her hands, and looked down. Jack had sunk nearly a foot into the snow, and he was waving his arms and legs like a drowning man. He grinned, and Mabel saw that his beard and mustache were caked with snow.

Nearby the child lay on top of the snow, smiling, her blue eyes wide.

She saw now that they were surrounded by angels in the snowa"Jackas large, deep-set figure and the childas, smaller and lighter. A dozen or more were sprinkled across the yard two at a time, and they shone in the sunlight. Mabel had never seen anything more beautiful, and she walked among them.

Jack struggled to his feet. Then he reached down to Faina and grabbed her hands.

Watch, the child called to her.

Jack plucked Faina from the snow, both of them laughing.

What Mabel beheld in the snow took her breath away. The angel was so delicate, and its wings perfectly formed, like the print left on snow where a wild bird has taken flight.

Isnat that something? Jack asked.

I donat understand. Howa Donat you remember doing this when you were a little girl? Jack said. You just wave your arms and legs around. Come on. Give it a try.

Mabel hesitated, held up her basket of berries.

Oh, please. Wonat you? the child begged.

Jack took the basket and handed it to Faina.

I donat know. With my long skirts and all.

But he took her by the shoulders and, before she knew his intentions, gently shoved her backward. She expected it to hurt, but the powdery snow was like a thick duvet that softened her fall and m.u.f.fled all sound. She saw Jack and the child grinning down at her and above their faces the brilliant blue sky. Closer, she could see the individual snow crystals that encased her.

Go on, then, Jack called down to her. Youave got to flap your arms to make the wings.

Mabel swept her arms up and felt the drag of the snow, then back down again. Then she moved her legs side to side.

All right? she asked.

Jack reached down to her, they clasped hands, mittens and work gloves, and he grunted as he pulled her to her feet.

Oh, look! Look! the child cried out. Isnat it perfect?

Mabel looked down at her own snow angel. Like Jackas, it was set deep into the snow and the wings werenat feathery. But it was lovely, she had to agree.

Yours is the most beautiful of all, Faina said, and she threw her arms around Mabelas waist and hugged her tightly, and Mabel felt as if she were falling again, tumbling, laughing, backward into the powdery snow.

The snow angels remained in the yard, even as the little girl came and went from the forest, and Mabel smiled at them. It wasnat just their whimsical presence, dancing from barn to cabin, cabin to woodpile. It was also the memory of Jack flinging himself back into the snow like a little boy, and giggling Faina at his side. And then the childas arms around her, hugging her as a daughter hugs her mother. Joyfully. Spontaneously. The most beautiful of all. The most beautiful of all.

Mabel left the kitchen window and returned to the woodstove. Wait until Esther sees that display, she thought. If she considered us half mad before, once she sees weave spent our days making snow angels in the yard, she will surely have us both committed. She stirred the bubbling cranberries. The musky, sour smell permeated the cabin and, Mabel realized, smelled much like the Bensonsa cluttered home had that first day she visited.

She glanced out the window again. Lovely, crazy snow angels! And then it struck hera"among all those snow angels were Fainaas. Her delicate imprints with their feathery wings. Surely their existence could not be denied.

When Esther sees them, she will know itas true, the child is real. How could she and Jack make a dozen angels the shape and size of a little girl?

Though the child had at first been a source of gentle teasing, as winter progressed Esther had become kind and cautious in her doubt. She asked if Mabel was getting enough fresh air, if she was sleeping too much during the day. She encouraged her to come visit, and when Mabel said she wasnat comfortable driving the horse alone, Esther began to show up regularly.

There was no guarantee Esther would come anytime soon, but she did visit every few weeks, weather depending, and often on a Sunday afternoon. It had been more than two weeks since her last visit and Sunday was just a few days away. As long as it didnat snow, she would see proof of the little girl from the forest, and Mabel would be vindicated.

Estheras disbelief was all too familiar. It brought to mind the many years Mabel had spent as a child, looking for fairies and witches and being teased by her older siblings. Her head is stuffed full of nonsense, one teacher had warned her father. You let her read too many books.

Once Mabel was certain she had caught a fairy. When she was eight years old, she built a trap box out of twigs and hung it in the oak tree in their backyard. In the middle of the night she spied it out her bedroom window rocking back and forth in the moonlight, and when she opened the window she could hear a high-pitched twittering, just how she imagined a trapped fairy would sound.

Ada! Ada! she had called to her sister. Iave caught a fairy. Come and look. Now youall see theyare real.

And Ada came, sleepy-eyed and grumbling, and they walked in their bare feet and nightgowns out to the oak tree. But when Mabel lowered the box from the branch and peeked inside, what she saw wasnat a fairy but a trapped songbird, quivering in fear. She opened the little door, but the bird would not fly out. Ada shook the stick box, and when the bird fell to the gra.s.s, Mabel could see that it was failing. Before she could make it a nesting box in the house, it had died.

The memory made her ill. Wrapped tightly in its hold were shame and humiliation, and the terrible guilt of having caused the birdas death. But at the core was the truest emotiona"an angry disappointment. If she couldnat convince anyone else, how could she go on believing?

The next days were bright and calm. Mabel guarded the snow angels, and they didnat fade. They glittered and shone beneath the blue sky as the days lengthened. When the sun glared down, she feared they would melt, but the air stayed cool and the snow fluffy and dry.

It wasnat until Sunday morning that the wind began to blow down from the glacier. Mabel could hear it gust along the riverbed, and she watched it stir the treetops, knocking snow to the ground. Please, Mabel thought. Come quickly. Come see, and youall know she is real.

Mabel did not hear the horse trot into the yard that afternoona"the wind was blowing too violently. She didnat know Esther had arrived until the door burst open and she came tripping into the cabin.

aLook what the wind blew in!a Esther said. She laughed boisterously and slammed the door closed.

aOh, Esther! You came. And in this weather!a aIt wasnat this bad until I was halfway here, and then I figured I was d.a.m.ned either way, so here I am.a aIam so glad. Wait! Donat take off your coat. I want to show you something.a She wrapped a scarf around her face and pulled a hat low on her head.

True to her adventurous nature, Esther didnat ask why, only turned on her heels and followed Mabel back out into the bl.u.s.tery afternoon. Although the sun was still shining and the sky was clear, the wind swept the powdery snow off the ground, swirled it through the air. Half blind, they stumbled across the yard.

aOver here,a Mabel called to Esther.

aWhat?a They couldnat hear each other over the wind, so Mabel waved for her to follow, and they went toward the barn. Maybe on the lee side the snow angels would be protected.

When they arrived, however, only the faintest suggestion remained, just a few shapeless dents in the drifting snow.

aDo you see?a Mabel yelled into the wind.

Esther shook her head, then raised her eyebrows and held up her hands questioningly. The wind slacked for a moment, though they could still hear it in the distance.

aDo you see anything?a Mabel pointed to where the snow angels had been.

aNo, Mabel. All I see is snow. What am I supposed to be seeing?a aItas justa They were here.a aWhat was here?a Esther spoke quietly, concerned.

Mabel forced a smile.

aNothing. It was nothing.a She hooked her arm into Estheras. aCome on. Letas get back inside, before the wind begins to blow again. I want you to try my cranberry relish.a

CHAPTER 19.

Jack had shoveled a path through the snowdrifts and was splitting kindling when Garrett rode into the yard with a dead fox slung across the front of his saddle. Jack stood beside the chopping block and watched the boy ride in. He sat the horse with ease, his head low, his shoulders moving with the shift and give of the animal and land beneath him. It wasnat until he looked up and saw Jack that his youth shone. He sat up straight with a grin, swept his hand overhead in greeting, and then pointed to the dead fox.

aWhat did you bring in today?a aIsnat it a beaut?a Garrett said as he jumped down from the horse. He reached up and took the fox by the scruff and lifted its limp head.

aA silver fox,a the boy said with some pride.

Jack set down his hatchet and walked to the horse. The foxas ears and muzzle were as pure as black silk, but along its back and sides, the fur was a frosted silver.

aIs it iced up?a aNo sir,a Garrett said. aThatas the way they comea"silver tipped.a aItas splendid, all right,a Jack said. aYou catch many?a aThis is my first ever. Theyare not real common,a Garrett said. aMostly bring in reds and cross foxes. You ever see one of those crosses? Theyare a mix of red and black, and theyave got a black cross along their back.a Jack went back to his pile of kindling and sat on the chopping block. aGet yourself any of those recently? Any reds?a aAbout a month ago, pulled a cross fox out of a snare. I missed another one when it stepped over my trap. aCourse I donat know what color that one was,a Garrett said and laughed at his own joke.

aNo, I guess you wouldnat. Whatall you do with this one?a aI was thinking of a ruff for momas parka. Donat mention it, though. Iad like it to be a surprise.a aThatad be a fine gift.a aI got her a pair of lynx mittens made last year. Betty down at the hotela"sheall sew you something if you give her a few pelts for the work. Hats, mittens. Sheas pretty good, too. Iad like a wolverine ruff, if I ever catch one.a Jack was ready to go back to chopping kindling, but the boy wanted to talk, so he let him. While he set another spruce log on the block, the boy stacked kindling and told him about the tracks head seen that daya"a pile of rabbits, a porcupine, a few lynx, and a lone wolf heading upriver.

aIs that unusual, a wolf by itself?a aProbably a young aun, kicked out of the pack and looking for his own way. I set some snares around an old moose kill. Hope I get him.a Jack whittled down the spruce log with the hatchet, and slivers of kindling fell neatly to the ground.

aYou like that life, do you?a he said and picked up another log. aTrapping wild animals?a The boy shrugged.

aBeats dirt farming,a Garrett said. His look was quick. aNo offense.a aAh well. Iam none too keen on it myself sometimes. But itas a living. Trapping, thougha"thatas got to be tough work. Kind of lonely, too.a aI like it. Traveling the river. Just me, the wind and the snow. I like to watch the tracks, seeing the animals come and go. When I get older, Iam going to build myself a cabin up the river. Buy myself some dogs. Iad get a team now if Mom would let me, but she canat stand the barking and howling, and she says theyall eat us out of house and home. But once I leave the homestead, then Iall get a team and push my line all the way up to the glacier.a aYou wonat stay on and farm?a aNah. My brothersa"they can have it.a Jack felt for the boy. It wasnat easy to make your own way with brothers already busting ahead of you. Head watched the older boys ha.s.sle Garrett, the way they bossed and teased him. It was no wonder head taken to the woods.

aYou seem to know your way around. Your dad brags about you.a The boy shrugged and kicked the toe of his boot into the snow, but Jack could tell he was pleased.

aGuess Iad better be going before it gets too late,a Garrett said. aDo you think your wife might like to see the fox before I go?a aMaybe another time,a he said.

Garrett nodded, pulled himself up into the saddle, and rode toward home.

aWhat did Garrett bring to show you today?a Mabel asked when Jack went in for the night. She was setting dinner on the table.

aA fox.a She stopped what she was doing.

aA fox?a aI know what youare thinking, but it wasnat Fainaas. This was a silver fox. Nothing like that red one she runs with.a It should have been the end of it, but it wasnat. All through dinner, she came back to it.

aDoes he have to trap fox? Does he try to catch the red ones, too?a aItas what he does, Mabel. And he canat pick and choose the colors.a A bit of quiet, and then, aBut he could catch Fainaas, couldnat he? He could kill her fox?a aI wouldnat worry yourself about it. Her fox seems a wary sort. It wonat find its way into one of Garrettas traps.a aBut what if it did? Canat we tell him to stop?a aStop trapping? Donat see we have that kind of authority. And Garrettas not the only one out there. Up and down this river, men are trapping.a But Mabel seemed rattled by his a.s.sertion. She hardly touched her meal, and she paced in front of the bookshelf several times before taking a letter from one of the books. He was relieved when she at last sat in the chair by the fire to read.

CHAPTER 20.

It was a tangled, sickening kind of vigil. Mabel watched for the boy, but it was the fox and the little girl that occupied her thoughts. Any sound that could be horse hooves in the snow brought Mabel to the window, pulled her eyes into the trees. Sometimes she even walked to the river to look up and down the ice.

If Garrett were to ride onto their homestead with a red fox dead in his arms, Faina would be lost to them. That was how the story went. Mabel had reread her sisteras letter until the creases were worn, and it was there, in Adaas lovely, educated handwritinga"the fox is killed, the one that brought the child safely out of the wilderness and to their cabin door. Love doubted. Boots and mittens abandoned. Snow melted in clumps. Another child gone from their lives.

It was a possibility she could not bear. She wound herself tightly, as if within her girdled ribs she could contain all possibilities, all futures and all deaths. Perhaps if she held herself just right. Maybe if she knew what would be or could be. Or if she wished with enough heart. If only she could believe.

She hadnat before, when a life kicked inside her very womb. In a closed-up place in her heart, she knew it was her fault. During the pregnancy she had wondered, Am I meant to be a mother? Am I capable of so much love? And so it had died inside her. If only she hadnat doubted, she could have born the baby wailing to life, ready to nurse at her breast.

This time she would not let her love slacken, even for a moment. She would be vigilant and wish and wish. Please, child. Please, child. Please donat leave us.

But then she would think of Faina running through the trees with the wild fox at her heels, and of Garrett with his steel traps and snares, and she would wonder if one can truly stop the inevitable. Was it as Ada had suggested, that we can choose our own endings, joy over sorrow? Or does the cruel world just give and take, give and take, while we flounder through the wilderness?

Either way, Mabel could not stop herself. She paced and watched and held herself tightly. She pestered Jack with questions. How much longer would the boy trap? Where did he go? What had he caught this time? When Garrett led his horse past the cabin window and waved cheerfully, a dead wolf strapped to the back of the saddle, Mabel held her breath. And when Faina appeared at their door the next day, she let out that breath to ask, How is your fox? And the child said, Heas fine.

At last, when March came and Jack said the boy would soon pull his traps, Mabel began to breathe more freely. The first signs of spring arrived in fits and starts, snow that melted, and then rain and snow again. The drifts in the yard dwindled to small patches, but in the woods the snow was still deep. Each morning ice formed on the puddles, and water dripped from the eaves and froze into long, gla.s.sy icicles.

When Garrett pa.s.sed through on his way home, Mabel asked him into the cabin for a hot drink and a piece of bread.

aSo, how many more fox have you caught?a she asked, as if idle curiosity, not desperation, drove her. She set a few slices of fresh bread on the table in front of him.

aNone,a he said. aNot since that silver. I did pick up a wolf, though. And a couple more lynx and coyotes.a The boy was awkward, keeping his hands first at his side, then resting his forearms on the table. He shifted his legs nervously and picked up a piece of bread.