“The water is wide
I can’t cross over
And neither have
I wings to fly
Build me a boat
That can carry two
And both shall row
My love and I”
His voice caught and the crowd waited patiently while he took a deep breath and then another. He’d always thought of my love as the physical person, sitting there in the boat rowing with you, but now he saw how in the end maybe it wasn’t the actual person that helped you across whatever you needed to cross over. Maybe it was simply your love for that person.
“And both shall row
My love and I”
When Snag—Eleanor, she was officially going by Eleanor now—heard Kache’s voice break out into her mom’s favorite song, she started to cry, and Gilly took her hand. Eleanor squeezed Gilly’s fingers, held on. Then she rested her head on Gilly’s lovely shoulder and kept it there for the whole town of Caboose to see.
Sixteen hundred miles away, Nadia walked across the Golden Gate Bridge for the first time. With her camera in hand, she filmed up the big reddish steel trusses, then back down to the cobalt wide water reflecting the sun, the ivory city—her city!—risen against clear blue sky. People passing her in cars, buses, taxis, trucks; on bikes; walking hand in hand; running in packs. Noise and movement and mayhem. She let the camera come down from her face, taking it all in. The rumbling traffic came up through her feet, in what seemed like a gesture of connection.
A couple walking toward her stopped, and the smiling young woman offered to film Nadia for a moment. Nadia stood against the railing and waved at the couple. A wind gust picked up the silk scarf she’d worn around her neck, but she caught it and held on.
The woman handed the camera back to her, still smiling. She said, “For a second there, it looked like you had grown wings.”
Later that evening, in her own tiny rented room, Nadia ate her carton of Chinese take-out and wrote in her journal while lonely violin music arched its way up through the window. When she finished writing she closed the journal. She sat, listening to the aching notes and the single long screech of a bus coming to its stop.
She remembered the film clip and downloaded it onto her computer. There she was: Laughing, waving, with her city in the background. And when the scarf Kache had given her—Elizabeth’s scarf—rose behind her in the wind and ballooned out for an instant on each side, Nadia saw that what the woman had said was true.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
About twenty years ago, I was visiting Homer, Alaska—a town that I fell in love with, and that inspired Caboose—when at the local bookstore I came upon a book of autobiographical accounts from the area’s homesteaders. On that same trip, I saw some Old Believers shopping at the Safeway. Intrigued by the place, the homesteaders, and the Old Believers, I soon had an idea for a novel. I wrote several chapters. And then I put that novel away. For about, oh, twenty years.
I guess you could say I now have about twenty years of accumulated gratitude spilling over. Much of it goes to my godsend-of-an-agent, Elisabeth Weed, who believed in this story and who took the time to read and re-read as the novel found its shape. She and her assistant, Dana Murphy, offered feedback that made all the difference along the way. I’m so fortunate that I get to work with Jenny Meyers, foreign agent extraordinaire, who has made it possible for me to reach readers in many countries. Special thanks to her and Shane King, her hardworking assistant.
A deep bow to the amazing team at Harper UK, especially to my editor, Kimberley Young, whose wise insights opened me up to new possibilities, to Thalia Suzuma and Martha Ashby for their expert editorial guidance, and to Kati Nicholl for her sharp copyeditor’s eye.
I’m forever indebted to my gifted critique partners, Laurie Richards and Chelo Ludden, for marking up and talking through numerous drafts; and to those generous souls who read the manuscript in one or more of its various forms and whose comments helped immensely: Nancy Campana, Daniel Prince, Colleen Morton Busch, Amy Franklin-Willis, Suzanne Haley, Nicole Haley, Jan Aston, Shannon Barrow, and Melanie Thorne. I’m also grateful to the talented group of writer friends at Book Pregnant for support and advice on the ins-and-outs of writing and publishing. And Diana Lowry and Angelica Allen share the award for attending more of my book readings than anyone should ever have to endure.
Thanks to Mark Madgett and Spencer Nilsen, old friends who told me a funny story about a moose head that inspired Kache and Denny’s escapade with Anthony. And I’m beholden to Catkin Kilcher Burton, who, in one of those wonderfully synchronistic encounters, hosted my husband, Stan, and me at her lovely cabin in Homer (which is available on VRBO, for anyone who’s interested) and took us through the old family homestead, sharing tales of growing up there—decades after I’d first read about her grandparents and many other Homer homesteaders in the book that started it all: In Those Days: Alaska Pioneers of the Lower Kenai Peninsula.
While that book planted the first seed, I also was lucky enough to discover the following, which all helped the story take root and grow: Lost in the Tiaga by Vasily Peskov; In the Shadow of the Antichrist: The Old Believers of Alberta by David Scheffel; The booklets of Old Believers’ food, clothing, history and traditions written by the school children of Nikolaevsk School, Anchor Point, Alaska; Kachemak Bay Communities: Their Histories, Their Mysteries by Janet R. Klein; Kachemak Bay, Alaska by The Homer Foundation. A long meandering afternoon at The Pratt Museum in Homer helped fill in even more details.
I’ve been blessed beyond measure by a circle of loving family and friends, old and new, who’ve turned out in droves to support my work in a myriad of ways. A big hug of gratitude for each and every one of you.
And finally, this full heart of mine has my kids to thank: Daniel, Michael, Karli, and Taylor, who make it all worthwhile; and my husband, Stan, who makes it all possible. I met him in eighth grade but it took until our twenty-year high school reunion to realize we were meant to be in this together. When it comes to getting the important things in life right, it seems I’m on the twenty-year plan.
About the Author
Seré Prince Halverson is the author of the novel, The Underside of Joy, which was translated into eighteen languages. She and her husband have four grown children and live in northern California in a house in the woods.
http://www.sereprincehalverson.com/
Also by Author
The Underside of Joy
About the Publisher
Australia
HarperCollins Publishers (Australia) Pty. Ltd.
Level 13, 201 Elizabeth Street
Sydney, NSW 2000, Australia
http://www.harpercollins.com.au
Canada
HarperCollins Canada
2 Bloor Street East - 20th Floor
Toronto, ON, M4W, 1A8, Canada
http://www.harpercollins.ca
New Zealand
HarperCollins Publishers (New Zealand) Limited
P.O. Box 1
Auckland, New Zealand
http://www.harpercollins.co.nz
United Kingdom
HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.
1 London Bridge Street
London, SE1 9GF
http://www.harpercollins.co.uk
United States
HarperCollins Publishers Inc.
195 Broadway
New York, NY 10007
http://www.harpercollins.com
The House of Frozen Dreams Page 31