Sulking and soaking. For me, the two always go together. I know when I’m not fit to be around people, especially the people I’m mad at, so the bathtub is the best place to be. I run the water as hot as I can stand it and stay there until I feel like I can be civil again. That night, the night before Christmas, I thought I might be there till dawn.

Tim had dropped the bomb when he came home from work two days before we were to go home for the holidays. Somehow he’d managed to mess up making the flight reservations. How could he mess up something so important, so essential to my sanity? Bad enough he’d talked me into coming here, to the end of reason and any sign of civilization, just so he could have a "real northern experience." Bad enough he didn’t once compliment me on how I’d bravely been enduring the minus fifty degree temperatures. Bad enough we still had five more months to live in this town on the edge of the universe. Now we were stuck here for Christmas. And what was his excuse? He thought he’d told the travel agent to book it, but he had only asked her to give him the details. When she didn’t hear back from him, she assumed we’d changed our minds but didn’t bother to check. There are too many people in this town who definitely aren’t the brightest bulbs on the tree.

And speaking of trees. To try and pacify me, Tim dragged a tree home the day before Christmas. I caught him going out the door, downed from neck to ankle, a touque on his head and wool scarf wrapped about six times around his face. When I asked him where on earth he was going, he said something unintelligible and walked out the door. Three hours later I heard him stomping around on the porch. I poked my head out, the cold hitting me like a slap, and all I could see were his eyes. They were laughing. He tugged the scarf down long enough to tell me to wrap up and come out for a minute. Curious, I pulled on my parka and went outside.

He stood there like a little boy who’d just bagged his first bird. Only it was a Christmas tree he held on to. Or rather, it had been a Christmas tree. My mouth fell open and I sputtered through a mouth full of scarf.

Tim pulled his away from his mouth and grinned. "Just call me Charlie Brown," he said. The tree was almost bare. Tim described how the needles rained down with every blow of the axe. What else did he expect at fifty below?

Then we tried getting it inside. The few needles left on the branches showered the linoleum in the kitchen until it looked like a forest path. We stood it in a corner and stepped back. Tim glanced at me sideways just as I did the same and we both burst out laughing.

"I’ll go buy an artificial one," I said. Tim didn’t argue.

I trudged off to the only store in town, but of course they were sold out of Christmas trees, artificial or otherwise. Then I went to the grocery store to buy a turkey. No turkeys left either. No cranberry sauce, no fresh vegetables. They had some Caribou steaks on special. Whoopdeedoo. By the time I got home I wanted to scream, "Baah Humbug!" That’s when I locked myself in the bathroom and tried to soak away the frustration.

The next morning I managed to say Merry Christmas to Tim, then told him his present was waiting for him at my parent’s house. The house that would be decorated so beautifully, with a six foot tree. The house that would be filled with the smell of roast turkey and pumpkin pie. The house where all our family would gather to sing carols by the fireplace. My pity party was complete when he told me my present was waiting there too.

I was choking down tears when the phone rang. A cheery voice said, "Ho, ho, ho, Merry Christmas." I handed the phone to Tim. I heard his voice go up a few notches the longer he talked. He kept glancing at me, then finally said. "We’ll be there," and hung up. When he told me we’d been invited to his boss’s house for dinner, I just turned and walked into the bathroom.

He gave me an hour to soak, then tapped on the door. "They have eggnog," he said. "And it’s warmed up to minus forty."

I sniffled a bit, dried off and opened the door. "Okay. Why not?"

We dressed in our Christmas best and arrived at the house just in time to see a dog sled scrape to a stop. Tim’s boss, Jerry, waved us over. "The Yukon version of a sleigh ride," he said. "Hop in."

Tim and I crawled under the down blanket and I let him wrap his arms around me as the sled jerked forward. The dogs trotted easily and the sled slid with a sighing ssshhh over the snow-packed ground. Jerry gee-ed and haw-ed and within minutes we were on the river. It seemed like we were floating now, whooshing around ice sculptures heaved up by the force of water and carved by wind. I rested my head on Tim’s chest and watched the reflection of a full moon glint on nature’s statuary. By the time we got back to the house I was breathless with the thrill of it.

Inside, Jerry’s wife, Sonya, handed me a hot spiced apple cider and as we joined several others in the living room I realized I almost had what you could call the Christmas spirit. The smell of turkey helped. Sonya had decorated with impeccable taste, but my heart sank a little when I saw there was no Christmas tree. There was a rather odd shape draped in a sheet in one corner, but everyone seemed to ignore it, so I didn’t ask. I even sang along with the others as someone led the carols accompanied by some light finger-picking on guitar.

The meal was wonderful, the laughter and constant chatter enough to bring the spirit of the season into full bloom. But I was not prepared for what happened when Jerry tapped his glass and told us all to follow him back into the living room.

Sonya was behind me as we went. She leaned forward and whispered. "This is always the best moment."

I followed the group and stood on tiptoe to see what the big secret was. I couldn’t see anything remarkable. In fact, all I could see, as everyone formed a semi-circle, was that we’d been led to the corner with the strange shape draped in a sheet. I held my breath. Maybe I’d get my tree after all.

Jerry turned and Sonya excused herself through the crowd to hand him a book.

"This has become a tradition for us ever since we moved north," Jerry explained. "We gather our friends, feed them, entertain them, and then we read a bit." He flipped the book open and adjusted his glasses. This is the book of Luke, chapter 2, verses 1 to 20.

In those days Caesar Augustus issued a decree ..."

As the story unfolded, I watched the faces around me. Some were intent, some looked bored, but there wasn’t a sound in the room - just the words of an ancient story told with simplicity and grace. Tim stepped to my side as it came to an end.

Jerry closed the Bible, looked around at everyone and smiled. "Now we unveil the tree."

Sonya slipped through the crowd again and the lights went out. I heard the soft sound of the sheet falling to the floor. Then the room burst into white light. Before us stood, not a decorated Christmas tree, but a spindly Birch. Thin branches reached up toward the ceiling. Each branch sprouted groups of bright green leaves. The leaves glowed with the twinkling of tiny white lights.

I stopped breathing and started crying at the same time. The sight filled my eyes with a colour they’d been hungering to see and filled my soul with a light that made me forget about myself. I reached for Tim’s hand.

"We don’t like to cut down an evergreen for the sake of tradition," Jerry said quietly. "So we grow one." He waved toward the Birch. "It seems to suit the spirit of Christmas, the Spirit that teaches that the birth of Christ was a point of new beginnings. Jesus was an ordinary man, nothing special to look at, the scriptures tell us, like this little Birch, but he was also the Son of God and he brought new life and light to a dark world." His eyes gleamed in the reflection from the tree. "Merry Christmas," he said.

The words echoed from all the lips in the room, including mine.

Alvin Ford stopped in the middle of the empty parking lot and leaned on his cane. He pushed his worn cowboy hat back, stared at the boarded up windows and sighed. First time in twenty years he wouldn’t have his breakfast at the Co-op diner.

He turned north and forced his crooked legs to carry him to the main street. Teetering, he rounded a corner and spotted a freshly painted sign that read, ‘Restaurant.’ It hung over the spot where Jack’s Men’s Wear used to be. When did that happen? Alvin wondered.

The smell of fresh paint assaulted him as he reached the yellow facade. "Liked it better, brown," he mumbled. The large plate glass window to the left of the entry was completely gone. Tables and benches replaced Jack’s display of cowboy boots and hats. Grunting, Alvin stepped through the door. Several small tables filled the room. It was dark, gloomy. He glanced back at the tables in the display area. Early morning sun streamed over them but there seemed no way to get to them from inside. He went back out the door, missing the jangle of cow bells Jack had hanging there. He heaved himself up onto the platform and lowered himself onto the first bench.

"Morning."

Alvin started, then peered down at an old man standing in the entry with a pad of paper in his hand. He was smiling.

"What you like? Eggs and bacon special today."

Shaggy black hair. Black eyes. Long nose. Alvin thought of the News, stories filled with men with black eyes and long noses. But he needed his coffee. He jerked the front of his hat down. "Coffee," he said. "Black."

The man nodded. "Come right up." He hobbled away, swinging one leg out and letting it flop down as his body lurched over it. His smile was still in place when he returned. "Best coffee this place." He slid the mug onto the table. "Good, strong coffee."

"Yeah, we’ll see," Alvin took a sip.

The old man hovered.

Alvin scowled. "Want something?"

The man gave a quick bow. "Sorry, I not mean offence." He hobbled back through the door.

Alvin took another gulp. Then another, and another. Then he banged the empty mug on the table. The man appeared, coffeepot in hand. Alvin downed the second cup. "That’s coffee," he mumbled.

"Yes." The man bobbed his whole body. "Best coffee this place."

Alvin frowned and decided he wouldn’t risk the bacon and eggs. He pushed himself up and stepped down to the sidewalk. "How much?"

The man straightened. "No charge. You first customer. Come back, please."

Alvin grunted and shuffled past him without saying thank you.

But the next morning his mouth watered for that coffee. The old man brought the mug and coffeepot with him, setting it on the platform before hauling himself up.

Alvin squinted at him. "How come you took thet window out?"

The man blinked. "Someone throw rock," he said. "But we need open. Need make money." He looked out onto the street. "In my country, many sit outside for coffee time."

Alvin pushed his hat back. "You got bacon and eggs on special today?"

The man nodded. "Three dollars ninety nine."

"You know what over-easy means?"

"Daughter know. She cook good."

Alvin snorted. "Over easy. Not hard, ya hear? And bacon, crisp."

The man scribbled on his pad. "Not hard," he said, making his way to the edge of the platform.

"And more coffee," Alvin added.

The man turned. "Best coffee, yes?"

"Not bad."

Alvin watched the people on the street just like he’d watched people in the Co-op every morning for twenty years. Twenty years. He couldn’t believe it had been that long since he’d moved into town. That meant it’d been twenty-five since Effie passed on. Effie. He lifted the rim of his hat just a bit, then tugged it back into place. No use lingering on that.

He drained his mug just as the man reappeared and placed Alvin’s breakfast on the table. He poked at the eggs. The man poured more coffee. Alvin gave a quick nod of his head.

"Over easy, okay?" The man asked, eyes hopeful.

"Yeah. Okay," Alvin said. "Let me eat."

The man bobbed and disappeared.

Alvin ate. Then he sat for a long time, staring at the passers by. The man kept his mug full.

When Alvin got up to pay he tipped his hat back. "You one o’ them Arabs?" he asked.

The man hesitated. Then a grin stretched his face and he stuck out his hand. "Osam…" He hesitated, his eyes darting back and forth. "Sammy," he said, followed by a string of words Alvin didn’t understand. He didn’t shake hands.

The grin faded. He blinked and stammered. "Sam … Sammy," he said. "My name Sammy."

Alvin shifted his cane from one hand to the other, tugged the brim of his hat and stepped out into the street.

The next morning Sammy bobbed and grinned. Alvin scowled and sat in the same booth, where the boots used to be. Sammy brought him coffee and bacon and eggs over easy. He refilled his coffee cup, hovering.

"You live here long time?" he asked after the third cup.

Alvin grunted. "All my life."

Sammy nodded. "Good to live one place. Children grow well. Wife happy. Yes?"

Alvin’s eyes narrowed. "Wife’s dead," he said.

Sammy’s face folded into grief. "So sorry. So sorry."

Alvin waved his hand. "Long time ago. Fifteen years now."

"You have daughter? She cook good?"

"No daughter," Alvin said. "One boy. Lives in Calgary. Never see him."

Sammy’s gaze rested on his feet. "Sammy has three boy. Boy dead. Four years now."

Alvin frowned. "You mean you had four? One boy died?"

Sammy shook his head. Alvin saw the thin line of moisture about to spill out of his eyes. "No son. Son all dead."

Alvin looked away from the raw grief.

"Bombs." Sammy said.

Alvin’s head jerked up and his eyes widened but he still said nothing.

Sammy poured him another cup of coffee and sighed. "But daughter is good girl, good girl. God is good."

Alvin tugged on the rim of his hat. Good? What God would take all of a man’s sons and still seem good to him? Alvin thought of all the times he’d cursed God. God was good for nothing as far as Alvin Ford was concerned. He left his money on the table and lowered himself down out of the window.

The next morning Sammy asked about Alvin’s legs. Mind yer own business, he thought, but when Sammy poured his coffee and just stood there, Alvin answered.

"Horse fell on ‘em." He squinted at the old man. "What happen t’ yours?"

"House fell," Sammy said.

"A house fell on you?"

Sammy nodded. "Bombs come, house fall down."

Alvin grunted. "Yeah, I guess it would."

Sammy’s face brightened. "Over-easy?"

"Over-easy." He finished the eggs without tasting them, left a tip on the table and headed home.

He stared at his house for a long time before going in. It wasn’t much, a small bungalow his son found when they had to leave the farm. Johnny got us a good price on this little house, he thought. It’s got a good foundation, solid roof. He grunted. Long as no bomb gets dropped on it.

He hobbled inside, the floor creaking as his cane tapped down the hallway, along the wall full of pictures. Effie’s doing. She took pictures of Johnny every year. Framed each one their daughter-in-law sent of the grandkids. A new one still arrived every Christmas. Alvin couldn’t remember where he’d put them.

The photo of Johnny at his college graduation stared back at him. He took it down and went into the kitchen where the light was better. The boy looked a lot like his mother. It’s the eyes, Alvin thought. He propped the photo up against the bottle of ketchup, got to his feet and went into the living room, the cane muffled by carpeting. He settled in his recliner, stared at the phone, then picked up the directory. Johnny’s number was on the inside of the front cover. Alvin dialed.

Elizabeth answered. Alvin cleared his throat and asked for Johnny.

She sounded surprised. "Johnny’s not home, Dad," she said. "But I’m glad you called."

"Where is he?" Alvin asked.

"At work." He heard the smile in her voice. "It’s only eleven a.m."

"Oh, yeah. Forgot."

There was silence for a minute. He opened his mouth to say good-bye when she asked, "So, what’s new up there?"

"Co-op closed."

"I heard that."

He was surprised she knew. "Found a place with good coffee, though. Guy named Sammy runs it."

"Oh? That’s good. That’s good."

"Yeah, well, I gotta go."

"Dad? There’s nothing wrong, is there?"

"No, course not." He gripped his cane and shifted in the chair.

"Okay. Well, I … we’ve been ... "

"What?"

She sighed. "We’ve been thinking about you ... praying for you ... I’ve been praying ...well ... I’ve been praying God would send you … someone …" Alvin heard her take a deep breath. "Now don’t get mad, Dad, okay?" Her words came in a rush now. "I’ve been praying for a friend, someone who’d tell you how good God is."

In the silence, Alvin heard Sammy’s voice.

"Yeah, well, I guess that’s okay," he said. "Gotta go now."

"Okay, Dad. John will call when he gets home, okay?"

"Yeah. But not in the morning. I go to Sammy’s in the morning."

"Tonight, then."

Alvin hesitated. "Tell him … tell him I’ll wait up."

Bryan watched his feet push tunnels through the snow. Ice fog hovered about him, its density as oppressive as the solidity of the dread settling in his gut. He was a fool to be out here. He tightened the wool scarf around his nose and mouth, careful not to draw the intense cold too deeply into his lungs. Tugging on the hood of his parka until the fur shielded his eyes, he hunched his body and peered ahead. Another few feet and he’d be on the river. On the river, he’d be engulfed by the white shroud of ice. An image came to him of a man wrapped in white cloths. Grave cloths. Lazarus. Jesus. Bryan’s lips curled into a smirk. The religious imagery would not leave him, no matter how long, how far he ran.

Bryan had read about ice fog, knew the chemistry that caused it, had once imagined the thrill of someday seeing it. Now he would give anything to see it fade away. He had to cross the river, get to town and find a doctor, or at least a nurse, someone who knew something about delivering babies.

"Come on, God," he mumbled. "I could use a miracle about now." The edge in his voice was as sharp, as cold, as the crystals hanging in the air. They did not disappear.

He took another step, the squeaking of his boots a small comfort. It was the only thing that did not seem muffled, bound. "God. Why did we ever come here?" Bryan clenched his jaw. "God." He felt his knees stiffen. "Just…" Another step… "keep me going"…

step… "in a straight" …step… "line." With nothing to guide him, no outline of a path, no indent of footprints, Bryan knew he could end up going in circles, or worse, heading downstream with nothing between him and Alaska. "God." The word was like a moan.

A sudden rushing of wind stopped him. His heart skipped a beat, but he grinned when he recognized it. Ravens – the only creatures that moved in these temperatures. The pulsing sound of their wings was close, but he couldn’t see them, couldn’t see anything but the fog, his cerecloth. He resisted the urge to scream, tried to wipe the ice from his eyelashes and moved forward, increasing his pace. Marie’s face, contorted in pain, seared his mind. It was too early for the baby to come, but the pains were real. They had joked about having a son for Christmas, but the look in her eyes, as he left her in the cabin, told him she was terrified.

Almost trotting on the wind-hardened surface of the river, he was halted again by sharp, incongruous sounds. The ravens chortled, mocking him. His breathing came hard, erratic puffs of mist escaping his scarf. He turned to resume his pace, took one step and lurched back. The surface in front of him was black, shimmering. Overflow. Death lying in wait. Bryan closed his eyes, tried to slow the thumping of his heart. "God." This time the word hung in the fog like a cry. He opened his eyes and looked for the crack where water seeped to the surface. Following it in an arch, he eventually stopped, his sense of direction entirely gone. He visualized the pool of overflow in his mind, tried to place it in relation to the bank. Okay, he thought. Town has to be this way. He turned at a ninety degree angle and started off again. His mind wandered, settling around stories he’d heard, stories about ravens. God sent ravens, to feed …who was it? His memory sang with the syrupy voice of an almost forgotten Sunday school teacher, but the name of the one the birds fed would not come to him. The sigh of wings drew him forward.

Locked in the cold like a shrink-wrapped slab of meat, Bryan was aware only that he breathed in and out, his legs shuffled, his feet plowed parallel furrows in the snow. He fell twice. Each time he heard the ravens and forced himself back up. The third time, he let his head sink deep into the cushion of white, let his breathing slow, his mind stop.

He was almost asleep when he felt a sharp jab, something hard digging at him. Then a tug on his hood, another jab to his leg. He forced his eyes open, blinking at a flurry of black wings, then jerked back from an unblinking black eye. The rush of adrenaline roused him. He groaned, stood, moved on. "God." The word had become a prayer.

Another sound penetrated his numbed brain. He stopped, straightened. Was it water? More overflow? He stood still as long as he dared, moved forward again. The sound grew louder. He pulled his parka hood back and turned toward it. The team of dogs charged out of the fog so quietly Bryan thought he was hallucinating. The driver’s harsh call and the scraping of the brake as its claw raked the ice, proved they were real. The sled turned in a slow arch and came to a stop within a few feet of where he stood, staring. The driver was tall, bearded and surprised to see him.

"You goin’ to town?"

Bryan nodded, unable to force words from his mouth.

The man frowned, jerked his head toward the sled. "Climb on, then."

The driver steered his dogs expertly over mounds of hardened drifts, around slabs of ice thrust up and sculpted by wind. It seemed like only minutes before Bryan felt the sled heave itself up over the bank. Rooftops and edges of buildings loomed out at them as they sped down silent streets. Bryan felt the laughter of relief boiling inside him, but shoved it away, afraid that once he started he would not be able to stop. He felt the drag of the break as the driver hollered at his dogs. They pulled up in front of a small trailer, its windows yellowed with light.

Bryan rolled himself out of the sled and shouted above the barking. "I have to find the doctor, or a nurse."

The driver nodded. "Go bang on Andrew’s door, there. You can warm up and call the nursing station." The man moved toward his team. "I gotta stake my dogs."

Bryan’s knees almost gave out as he moved toward the trailer. His knock was answered immediately by a short stocky man who glanced past him to the sled, but invited him in and extended his hand.

"I’m Andrew Peters. We were just …"

"I need to use the phone." Bryan interrupted, aware of his rudeness. "I have to call the doctor."

Before Andrew could respond, a petite woman stepped into the hallway. She put a small book on the hall table and peered up at Bryan. "You won’t get an answer there now, and anyway, the doctor’s in Whitehorse. Christmas shopping. I’m a nurse. Are you sick?"

Bryan shook his head as the words spilled out. "My wife’s in labour. On the other side of the river. I’ve been gone for hours … you have to come with me." He reached out and clutched her arm.

Andrew put a hand on his shoulder. "I’ll tell Bill to keep his dogs in their traces and see if I can get my machine going." He grabbed a parka from a hook and said over his shoulder, "The Lord brought you to the right place. Angie’s a midwife. What cabin you folks living in?"

"Jimmy Cartier’s place."

The man nodded. "I know it."

As he left, Bryan sank into a chair by the door. The small woman disappeared and returned in a moment with a steaming cup. "We were just having coffee before starting the prayer time."

Bryan wrapped his hands around the warmth. "Prayer time?"

She smiled. "Andrew’s the pastor at the mission church. We were about to start Bible study." She moved to a window, parted the curtain. "I’m surprised Bill made the trip." She turned back to him. "How far along is your wife? Is this a first pregnancy?"

"Yeah. She’s just going into her eighth month. She started having mild pains and they seemed to be getting worse."

"How far apart?"

"About every 30 minutes, or so."

They heard the roar of a snowmobile out front. Angie taped a scribbled note to the door, wrapped herself in a down coat and slipped her small book into the pocket. "When the others arrive, they’ll pray," she assured him. As they stepped outside, the cold hit Bryan like a fist.

Angie straddled the seat and hunched behind the pastor as he waved Bryan toward the dog-sled. "We’ll run by the clinic first. Meet you at the landing." They roared away and Bryan hurried to settle himself in the sled again.

Bill flicked a long whip above his head. The dogs surged forward as it cracked like a starting gun. Within minutes they skidded to a halt at the ferry landing. Bryan twisted around, extending his gloved hand toward Bill.

"Name’s Bryan Nolan. I sure am glad you came along."

The man grabbed his hand and nodded. "Bill Petrowski. I wasn’t gonna come in tonight, but God gave me a real urge to get here. Now I know why."

Bryan frowned. "You think God sent you?"

"Only the call o’ the Lord would get me to travel the river in fog like this."

Both men looked up as two huge black ravens swooped low. When Bryan looked back at his new friend, the man’s eyes were smiling. No, Bryan realized, they were laughing.

"God is good," he shouted, flicking his whip high as the pastor’s snowmobile roared onto the river ahead of them. Within moments the noise faded as the machine outdistanced them. Wrapped in the silent shroud again, Bryan lowered himself deeper under the blanket.

They burst into the cabin and stared. Bryan’s wife was stoking the stove. The pastor and Angie sat comfortably at the kitchen table. "Close the door, man," Andrew shouted,. "It’s fifty below out there!"

Bill shoved the door closed as Marie hugged her husband. "I’m so relieved you made it, Bry. The pains stopped completely, just after you left."

"Braxton Hicks," Angie commented. "They happen all the time with first babies."

Bryan enveloped his wife in his arms and blinked hard. "Thank God," he whispered.

"That sounds like a good idea," Pastor Andrew grinned. "Would it be okay if we had our prayer meeting now? Seems like the Lord has something else in mind tonight, instead of delivering a baby."

Bryan pulled off his parka and shrugged, glancing at Marie. "I guess."

Marie frowned but nodded. "Sure."

Angie pulled her small Bible from her coat pocket. "I was just about to read a passage of scripture when you burst in on us. It’s one of my favourites – Psalm 139, verses 5 to 10 – "You hem me in - behind and before; you have laid your hand upon me. Such knowledge is too wonderful for me, too lofty for me to attain. Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence? If I go up to the heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths, you are there. If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast."

Silence filled the small cabin. Then a loud squawk made them all jump. Marie laughed. "Those birds must be making a nest up there."

Bryan turned to her. "What?"

The ravens. They’ve been up there for hours, chortling away. Kind of kept me company while you were gone."

"Really?"

"Yeah, really." Marie peered at him. "You okay?"

Bryan turned to the pastor. "I have a few questions," he said.

For as long as she could remember, Cassie had fallen asleep listening to the river sighing and whispering beneath her bedroom window. She had discovered if she laid her ear on one of the logs that made up the wall separating her room from the swirling current, the sound was clear, as though it were magnified. She would wrap her quilt around her and lay her small body along the logs, and dream that she was part of the water, always moving in slim silver streaks, catching the light.

Her father had added her bedroom on to the back of the cabin when she was a baby, newly weaned. He had added another room on to the side when her brother Andrew was born, and had started a room for Joshua, but Cassie had begged to have the baby in with her for a while. After all, she was ten and very reliable, and Josh had been so tiny, so very tiny. The crib was put under the other window in her room by the river, and the work on the last addition had gone slowly. Now, of course, it had been abandoned altogether.

Cassie sat up suddenly, staring for a moment into the blackness, into the corner where she had seen the spider's web earlier that day. Then she remembered she had swept it away and cleaned the logs from floor to ceiling before getting into bed. Slowly she lay back, covering her ears with her hands and rolling over to the edge, away from the wall, as far as she could without falling out. She fell back to sleep curled tightly into a ball, her hands still clamped over her ears.

As morning light spread across the floor of the bedroom, Cassie became aware of her tingling arm and the stiffness of her back and legs. Then she heard the river and slipped quickly from her bed, dressed and went into the kitchen. She began laying kindling in the stove's firebox, aware of her parents, moving about in their bedroom. Her mother was first to appear, in a heavy housecoat and moccasin slippers trimmed with white rabbit fur. Cassie stared down at the slippers, remembering how she used to stroke Josh's cheek with the fur and how he squealed, tucking his chin down.

"Cass, we need water. Go fill a pail for me, will you?"

"But I'm lighting the stove."

"I'll do that. Your Dad will want his coffee."

Her mother pushed her gently toward the door as she spoke. Cassie slowly pulled on a pair of heavy rubber boots, took a white plastic pail from the porch and pushed through the screen door. The sound of the river seemed to flow over her as she walked toward it, staring at the bottom of the pail gripped tightly in both hands. She followed the path automatically, stopping at the edge of the large smooth rock where she had so often dipped the pail into the river. In the heat of the summer she would sometimes lie on this rock, her cheek pressed to the cold stone, her hands trailing in the ice cold water. Now she stood trembling, staring down at the rush, the toes of her boots carefully placed at the edge. She must have stood there for some time, unaware of anything but the swirling eddies and whirlpools a few inches beneath her feet, unaware of her father, standing behind her, watching.

He said her name softly and placed a large hand on her small shoulder, feeling it tremble, then jerk back from his touch. "It's all right. I'll get the water, Cass."

She dropped the pail and ran to the house, the heavy rubber boots thudding on hard-packed earth. When she reached the front door she stood for a while leaning heavily against it, her chest heaving. She stayed there until her father came with the pail, reached around her and opened the door without saying a word. Her mother looked up and seemed about to speak, but a glance at her husband made her turn back to the stove, her question unspoken.

Andrew charged in, breaking the silence. "What's for breakfast, Mom? I'm starved." He peered around his mother at the stove as he shoved his shirt-tail into his pants.

Jim Chambers chuckled. "Are you ever anything else?"

Cassie watched the laughter in her father's eyes fade as he saw her watching him. She quickly looked away. Her mother placed a plate of toast on the table and sat down as they all bowed their heads and waited for the usual blessing to be said. It was the custom at the morning meal to ask the blessing not only on the food but on the family, naming each one and asking for God's hand upon them. As Cassie listened, her father named each of them, speaking as though God were sitting there at the table, then he paused. Cassie clutched at her dress, waiting. "And Lord, be with little Josh too, and give us peace. Amen."

Cassie's hand trembled as she took a piece of toast from the plate. She did not look up nor speak as the others discussed the day ahead. She stared at the toast in front of her, remembering how they had laughed the first time they gave Josh peanut butter. He had made a face and licked the roof of his mouth several times, then grabbed a handful of the brown butter and smeared it over the tray of his high chair. Cassie turned suddenly from the table. The baby's high chair was gone from its place in the corner.

"What did you do with it?"

The tone of her voice caused everyone to jump. She continued to stare at the empty corner.

Her father sighed. "We gave it away, Cassie, with the crib."

She turned back to the table, lifted the piece of toast from her plate, then put it back and stood up. "I'd better get ready for school."

Cassie's mother waited for her to leave the room before speaking. "I'm worried about her, Jim."

The tall man wrapped his arms around his wife before answering . "Give her time, Lynn. We all need time."

Lynn held tightly to her husband and sighed. "I know. I just wish we could leave, go away for awhile."

She felt the strength of her husband's rough hands as they pushed her gently away. He looked down at her. "Leaving wouldn't solve anything. We'd just take it all with us and bring it all back again."

Cassie found them still in each other's arms when she returned to the kitchen. Her father stepped away and turned to her. "I have to take the truck into town this morning, Cass. Why don't you ride with me?"

"No. I want to take the bus."

"I'll go with you, Dad!" Andrew bounded into the kitchen, his books in disarray under his arm.

"Okay, son, let's go then." Jim did not take his eyes from his daughter's averted face as he spoke. As he turned to leave his shoulders sagged making him look small and older than he was.

Cassie waited until she heard the truck rumble from the yard, then gathered her books and left the house. The morning was fresh with the first crisp touch of fall. Cassie thought impatiently of the winter. Winter would stop the river, seal it into a thick, silent slab of gray. Following the lane toward the road where the school bus would pick her up, she walked slowly, glancing now and then between the straight green trunks of the aspen trees. Now and then she caught the gleam of the water.

She stopped and listened, then put her books down carefully on the side of the road and plunged through the bush. She did not feel the wild rose bushes scratching at her legs, or the thick high-bush cranberry that slapped at her face, but she could hear the river getting louder, laughing louder, as she ran toward it.

Panting and disheveled, she reached the river bank, stooped and grabbed up a handful of stones, heaving them into the water. "I know you have him! Momma says he's with Jesus, but I know you have him!" She was whispering the words between clenched teeth as she threw stone after stone. "Daddy said it was my fault, but it was you - you called him and he went to you. You took Josh away."

As she stooped to pick up another rock, a large black spider crawled out from under it. Cassie froze. Then she began to scream. She did not know she was screaming. She was staring at the spider, studying it the way she and her brother had studied that other spider on that other morning last spring.

It was a morning like this one, cool and bright with early spring sunshine. Andrew had noticed the spider first as it worked delicately, spinning a fine web between two small branches on the bush near their front door.

"Hey, Cass, come look at this!"

Cassie had Josh in her arms as she stepped into the yard. She quickly became entranced with the spider, watching as the insect skittered along the fine threads of the web that held the morning dew. Josh had begun to squirm and she put him down beside her, his small hand in hers. She became fascinated with the colors on the spider's body, the way it moved its spindly legs with such precision. She did not notice when Joshua's small hand slipped from hers, nor hear his tiny bare feet as he padded along the path to the river.

They were still watching the spider when their mother called them for breakfast. Cassie had not noticed Josh was gone until she stepped back into the kitchen. They all dashed back into the yard, calling his name, looking up and down the lane, thrashing through the bushes. Cassie was staring down the path to the river when her father had caught her by the shoulders and begun to shake her. "You were supposed to be watching him! Where did he go? Where did he go?" Her mother had come, finally, and pulled him away, leaving the girl silent and trembling.

Someone was shaking her now. Slowly she became aware of her mother's voice. "Cassie, stop, please, stop it!" The voice sounded like someone yelling beside the blaring whistle of a fast moving train. Slowly the whistle began to change into the wail of a human scream and finally she knew that it was her own. She stopped and stared for a moment into her mother's face.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, "I'm sorry." She let the stone slip from her hand and let her mother lead her along the river bank to the house.

They were still sitting on the couch, Cassie wrapped in a large quilt, crying quietly, when her father came home. Lynn met him at the door and Cassie could hear the murmur of their voices. Her father came and sat down beside her, slowly putting his arm around her. She stiffened beside him. They sat silently for some time. When Cassie finally looked into his face and saw that he too was crying, she sagged into him. "I'm sorry," she said again.

"I know, Cass, I know. I should never have blamed you. I was in a panic and I just didn't know what to do. I know it wasn't your fault."

"But I should have been watching him!"

"So should I, and your mother, and Andrew. All of us, Cass, not just you, all of us."

Cassie crawled into her father's lap and lay there for a long time before asking one more question. "Will God forgive us, Daddy?"

She felt his strong arms tighten about her as he answered. "Oh, yes, my girl. He already has."

We’d been leap-frogging across the country, Shorty driving a patched pickup and me in my V.W. Beetle, named "Bee." We met, face to face, west of Regina. I was pitching my tent when his short bowed legs stopped in front of me. When I looked up, I knew Shorty had seen better days, but when his grin widened as he pulled off his cowboy hat, I relaxed.

He scanned my gear. "Goin’ far?"

"To the Yukon. Me and Klondike."

Klondike growled. Shorty took a step back. "Lookin’ fer gold, eh?"

"Yeah, sort of."

He slipped a crooked finger across the rim of his hat and gave a quick jerk of his head. "Journey mercies to ye, then."

That night, a storm boomed out of low black cloud, shaking the ground. Klondike howled. My tent flapped like an old leaf on a barren tree. When the hail hit, it collapsed around us. I stuffed it and my dog into old Bee and, as the hail turned to rain, drove to the laundry in the middle of the camp-ground. By the time we got inside, we were drenched. Klondike shook himself and fell over. Shorty cackled. He sat on top of a drier, and when I stared, turned a deep red under his burnished skin. "Sorry. Ain’t seen many tripods like that." I glance at his short legs, two perfect curves to the tip of his worn boots dangling about a foot off the floor.

I smoothed the fur on Klondike’s head. "He got caught in a trap. They had to amputate."

Shorty nodded. "Know what that’s all about. Been there."

I pushed my sleeping bag into the drier. "You’ve been caught in a trap?"

"Yup. One of my own makin’."

I waited, knowing he’d go on.

"Left home at your age. Hooked up with a raw bunch, almost followed them to hell. Then I met Myrtle. She was the only teller in the bank we tried to rob. One o’ my partners pretended he had a gun in his pocket. Shoulda’ seen the look on their faces when Myrtle pulled his hand out. They ran like chickens from a fox, left me standin’ there."

"Were you arrested?"

Shorty grinned. "Nope. But you might say I got a life sentence. Myrtle said what I needed was a meal and the Lord Jesus. Married her six months later." He stretched himself down from the drier. "Looks to me like you could use a dose of Myrtle’s medicine. There’s a diner down the road. How ‘bout some breakfast?"

My stomach growled, so I grinned back and agreed. The breakfast was huge and Shorty talked his way through it. His eyes were the kind that saw what they were looking at, and he kept them trained on me.

Yes, I remember Shorty, and I remember the joy. The joy when I prayed with him after that breakfast, the joy that stayed with me when I headed home. There was no need to go on. Thanks to Shorty, I’d already struck gold.

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