“Someone's trying to stop me and take me away from here.”
“But why would anyone want to take you away?” He raised his voice and sent the question echoing in the night air. All of her illusions—the stars that appeared in her mouth, rings of smoke, the things she moved with her breath—stood stark against the sinister aspect of the late hour. For the first time, he thought she might be something other than a girl. She did not answer, but bowed to the ground to continue at her prayers in a foreign tongue, filled with a savageness he could not comprehend. Beside her he stood for as long as he could bear; then, after insisting she go inside, he left for home in the small hours, vigilant for strangers, and edged under the covers to wait for the light of morning.
16
A squall blew in from Canada, bringing moisture from the Great Lakes and over the western hills, the first flurries tumbling around noon, intermittent as scouts, and by one o'clock, snow showers fell in sheets. In the driveway next door, Mr. Delarosa showed up early and unexpectedly, having closed the flower shop due to the threatening weatherman on the radio. A shroud of silence hemmed in the town, and on his way home, he saw the ice-encrusted figure near the bridge, mistaking it for a statue, until the snowman shrugged to clear his shoulders, and surprised by the sudden movement, Delarosa nearly drove the delivery van into the river. Just as she started to worry over the roads, Margaret was surprised by the sudden appearance of Norah and Sean at the front door, stomping their boots and shaking off their caps, dusting the snow from their coats.
“They let us out early,” Norah announced. “And we want to go back out and play in it.”
“Let me fix you something warm first, and you'll have to bundle up. Sean, do you want to call your mother and let her know?”
The children were gone for hours. At the window, Margaret kept watch through the crepuscular light, but saw only the blankets of snow rippling, falling so thickly and rapidly that the children's footprints had filled to shallow dents in the swale. She knew that something bad had happened as soon as she saw the two figures crest the horizon in the gloom, one limping stiff-legged, the other slowing to keep pace. As they neared, they looked like two snowmen indistinguishable from the white mantle, and Margaret felt the seeping wet cold, a panic quickening her breath, a sense that they would never make it home, too far to go. She threw on her overcoat and slipped into her boots to step outside, the porchlight halo swarming with snowflakes. The children drew closer and the details emerged; the struggling one was Norah.
“What on earth happened?” Margaret called out from the porch.
“She fell in the pond, Mrs. Quinn,” Sean shouted from the yard. “Right through the ice up to her legs and she's near frozen.”
In two bounds, she reached the child, bent to see her chapped blue grimace. “Get in, get in, and get out of those wet clothes. Are you hurt, girl? We'll get you warm inside. Norah, how could you be so careless?”
Her legs looked afire when they finally worked off her boots and pants, caked with silt and rock-stiff She sat splayed on the edge of the commode, wincing with discomfort, as the steam from the bath made a cloud of the room. On command, she could wiggle her toes, but she balked at Mrs. Quinn's orders to take off her underthings. Her insistence on privacy went unspoken and was acknowledged with a sigh. As she left the bathroom, Margaret admonished Norah to stay put in the bathtub until she felt normal again. The girl sneezed and laughed to herself, waved goodbye with a red hand.
Downstairs, Sean melted and dripped on the mat in the foyer. He had removed his hat and mittens but otherwise remained a sentinel at his post, waving sheepishly at Mrs. Quinn. “Oh for heaven's sake, Sean, take off your coat and get warm—”
“Will she be all right?”
“You're sopping wet, and it's a blizzard out there. I think I have something of my husband's you could wear at least while I throw those wet jeans in the dryer.”