The Snow Child: A Novel Read Online Free PDF

turkeys if you’re going to eat ptarmigan?”
    She looked at Mabel, as if expecting an answer.
    “I… I haven’t the faintest idea. I can’t say I’ve ever eaten ptarmigan before.”
    “Well, it’s good enough. But Thanksgiving, it’s turkey as far as I’m concerned.”
    “I brought pies. For dessert. I set them on that chair. I wasn’t sure where else to put them.”
    “Perfect! I hadn’t had a chance to even think about sweets. George tells me Betty’s a fool to give up your pies. He raves about your baking. Not that he needs any of it. Have you seen the gut on that man?”
    Again she looked to Mabel expectantly.
    “Oh, I wouldn’t—”
    Esther’s laugh was a loud, startling guffaw.
    “I keep telling him he’s single-handedly supporting that hotel restaurant, and it’s starting to show,” she said.

     
    It was as if Mabel had fallen through a hole into another world. It was nothing like her quiet, well-ordered world of darkness and light and sadness. This was an untidy place, but welcoming and full of laughter. George teased that the two women were “talking a blue streak” rather than cooking the meal, and it was well into the evening before dinner was served, but no one seemed to mind. The turkey was dry on the outside and half raw on the inside. They all had to pick and choose their cuts. The mashed potatoes were creamy and perfect. The gravy was lumpy. Esther made no apologies. They ate with plates balanced on their laps. No one said a blessing, but George held up his glass and said, “To neighbors. And to getting through another winter.” They all raised their glasses.
    “And here’s to eating ptarmigan next year,” Esther said, and everyone laughed.
    After dinner and pie, the Bensons began to tell stories of their time on the homestead, of how the snow once piled so deep the horses could walk over the fence whenever they pleased, of weather so cold the dishwater turned to ice in the air when you tossed it out.
    “I wouldn’t live anywhere else in the world, though,” Esther said. “What about you? You both come from farms down south?”
    “No. Well, Jack’s family owns a farm along the Allegheny River, in Pennsylvania.”
    “What do they raise back there?” George asked.
    “Apples and hay, mostly,” Jack said.
    “What about you?” Esther turned to Mabel.
    “I suppose I’m the black sheep. No one else in my familywould think of living on a farm, or moving to Alaska. My father was a literature professor at the University of Pennsylvania.”
    “And you left all that to come here? What in God’s name were you thinking?” Esther shoved Mabel’s arm playfully. “He talked you into it, didn’t he? That’s how it often is. These men drag their poor women along, taking them to the Far North for adventure, when all they want is a hot bath and a housekeeper.”
    “No. No. It’s not like that.” All eyes were on her, even Jack’s. She hesitated, but then went on. “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.”
    Esther grinned. “You didn’t fare too badly with this one, did you, Jack? Don’t let word get out. There aren’t many like her.”
    Though she didn’t look up, Mabel knew Jack was watching her and that her cheeks were flushed. She so rarely spoke like this in mixed company. Maybe she had said too much.
    Then, as the conversation began to turn around her, she wondered if she had told the truth. 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