The Snow Child

by Eowyn Ivey

“I wanted to come here. Jack did, too, but when we did, it was at my urging. I don’t know why, precisely. I believe we were in need of a change. We needed to do things for ourselves. Does that make any sense? To break your own ground and know it’s yours, free and clear. Nothing taken for granted. Alaska seemed like the place for a fresh start.”

Was that why they had come north—to build a life? Or did fear drive her? Fear of the gray, not just in the strands of her hair and her wilting cheeks, but the gray that ran deeper, to the bone, so that she thought she might turn into a fine dust and simply sift away in the wind.

“Let’s go to bed,” Jack said. After all these years, still a spot within her fluttered at his touch, and his voice, throaty and hushed in her ear, tickled along her spine. Naked, they walked to the bedroom. Beneath the covers, they fumbled with each other’s bodies, arms and legs, backbones and hip bones, until they found the familiar, tender lines like the creases in an old map that has been folded and refolded over the years.

Beautiful

She seemed to him both powerful and delicate, like a wild thing that thrives in its place but withers when stolen away.

There, there. All right. It’s going to be all right. It’s done now.

All dialog with the girl very clearly leaves out any punctuation that would otherwise show someone is speaking. Are these conversations happening in Jack's head?

We are allowed to do that, are we not Mabel? To invent our own endings and choose joy over sorrow?

Sometimes he wanted to tell Mabel the truth. It was a burden, and he wasn’t sure he carried it right.

The awful truth of what the child had witnessed would wrench Mabel’s heart, and the last thing on earth he wanted to do was cause her any more sadness. Her capacity for grief frightened him. He’d wondered more than once if she had ventured onto the river ice in November knowing full well the danger.

He knew in his heart her grief was life altering but didn't speak up. That's so depressing...

As she began to peel potatoes, he stood behind her and touched the tendrils of hair that had fallen from their clips and curled at the nape of her neck. Then he reached around her waist and leaned into her. All these years and still he was drawn to the smell of her skin, of sweet soap and fresh air. He whispered against her ear, “Dance with me.”

I love these glimpses of long-lasting love. Deep love and companionship that comes with years of marriage.

And then they were beside the woodstove and Mabel kissed him with her mouth open and soft. Jack pulled her closer, pressed their bodies together and kissed the side of her face and down her bare neck and, as she let her head gently lean away, down to her collarbone. Then he scooped an arm beneath her knees and picked her up. “What in heaven’s—you’ll break your back,” Mabel sputtered between a fit of laughter. “We’re too old for this.” “Are we?” he asked. He rubbed his beard against her cheek. She shrieked and laughed, and he carried her into the bedroom, though they had not yet eaten dinner.

Love their love.

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?

She didn’t hear Jack come to the door. When she looked up he was watching her silently, and then he turned away, uncomfortable, embarrassed by her unharnessed grief. He didn’t put his hand on her shoulder. Didn’t hold her. Didn’t say a word. Even these many years later, she was unable to forgive him that.

That grief runs deep.

You did not have to understand miracles to believe in them, and in fact Mabel had come to suspect the opposite. To believe, perhaps you had to cease looking for explanations and instead hold the little thing in your hands as long as you were able before it slipped like water between your fingers.

So that was it. Beneath her irritation and desire to control was love and hurt.

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

Ok, now Garrett and Esther have each seen Faina, yet all written conversation involving Faina lacks any actual punctuation to show people are truly speaking. Is this all a dream? What is happening?

It’s entirely our fault. She was more innocent than a child has ever been, and we were the only ones who could protect her. We let this happen.” “Oh, Jack. Why does it always have to be somebody’s fault?” “Because it always is.” “No. Sometimes these things happen. Life doesn’t go the way we plan or hope, but we don’t have to be so angry, do we?”

She wept until there was nothing left in her, and she wiped her face with the tips of her fingers and sat in the chair, expecting Jack to go out the door and leave her alone. But he knelt at her feet, put his head in her lap, and they held each other and shared the sorrow of an old man and an old woman who have lost their only child.

It happened like this, the grief. Years wore away the cutting edges, but sometimes it still took him by surprise.

Black spruce and dark winters spoke of lonely isolation, and the fresh, sparkling snow brought hope and magic.