Dead of Winter

by Brian Moreland

  That was how the dream went.

  When Willow realized Tom hadn’t touched her yet, her eyes snapped open. He was no longer in the mirror’s reflection. Her heart skipped. “Tom!”

  “Over here.” He was sitting on her bed, holding the Indian doll in his lap.

  “What are you doing way over there, love, when I’m right here?” Willow smiled and let her robe fall slightly, baring her shoulder.

  “Willow, I can’t go where it appears we are headed.”

  “Why not?”

  “I could give you a number of reasons, but mainly it’s just not right to sleep with another man’s wife.”

  “Well, it’s a bit too late for that, don’t you think?”

  “Willow, listen to me. If you were a single lady, the situation might be different. But you are spoken for.”

  “Avery doesn’t care about me. We don’t even sleep in the same bed anymore.” Willow sat on the bed next to him. “I want you, Tom. I have since the day you arrived.” She ran her fingers through his hair, tried to kiss him, but Tom turned his head.

  “No, don’t. If your husband finds out, he will fire me and send me packing.”

  “I would go with you. Montréal, London, anywhere you want to go.” Willow fastened her arms around his waist. “Please, Tom, you must feel the same about me. I could feel it in your kiss today. Tell me you desire me.”

  “I wish I could say it was you I had feelings for.”

  She pinched her eyebrows together. “What do you mean?”

  “This morning, when I kissed you… I wasn’t in the right frame of mind.” He took a deep breath. “I’ve thought about this all day and decided…the only reason I have feelings for you is because you remind me of my late wife.”

  Willow blinked, suddenly confused. She leaned away from him. “Your wife!”

  Tom nodded. “She passed away two years ago. I’m still not over her.”

  “But wait, you kissed me. You held me in your arms.”

  “I do feel attraction for you,” he said, gazing directly into her eyes now. “But it’s just lust, nothing deeper. And I’m not about to risk your marriage or my career to satisfy a physical craving. In the end we would both regret it.”

  “No, you’re bloody wrong, Tom, it was love. I could feel it.”

  “I’m sorry, Willow. For me, it wasn’t.”

  The room began spinning, the doll faces circling them as if they were on a merry-go-round that was whirling out of control. A rush of fiery anger torched her chest. “Blast you!” She released a deep growl. “How dare you lead me on?” She pounded her fists against Tom’s chest. He gripped her wrists, fending off her blows. “Willow, stop.”

  Tears rimmed her eyes. Her rage turned to sadness as her last chance at happiness was dissipated. He started to rise. She gripped his arm. “Please, Tom, don’t go.” She opened her robe, placing his hand on her breast. “I can pretend to be your wife if that’s what you want. I don’t care if it’s lust or love. Just take me.”

  “No.” He stood, releasing himself from her clutches. “I’m sorry, Willow. I’m going to pass on dinner.”

  “Then get out, you blasted fool!” She threw pillows at him. Then she hurled figurines and jewelry boxes from her curio cabinet. In her blind fury, she grabbed the nearest object. Her favorite doll smashed against the threshold, shattering porcelain fragments across the floor.

  As the man of her dreams left her boudoir, Willow cried into her pillow. Her chest ached, caving in on itself, crushing her heart. Tom was supposed to be the one to rescue her from this godforsaken prison.

  She picked up the Indian doll. “You promised me he would come!”

  Then she heard a chorus of whispering voices, just like in her dreams. All her dolls spun around Willow as if her bed were a merry-go-round. Through the Indian doll chanted Zoé’s voice, He’s coming, Willow, he’s coming, he’s coming, he’s coming…

  97

  Tom left Noble House before anyone could question his early departure. Halfway to his cabin, he stopped at the well house in the courtyard. He leaned against the cold stone wall. He was shaking. His heart beat high up in his throat.

  I never should have entered her private chambers.

  Tom feared the repercussions of his actions. This far out from civilization, the only laws were the ones made by Avery Pendleton. If Tom disappeared or was found dead out in the woods, who would question how it happened? Who would even notice that Tom was gone? He had no family.

  I have to maintain discipline and pray Willow keeps everything secret.

  He thought of Anika. Even she had seduced Tom into bed. I’ve been such a fool. He tightened his fist until the shaking ceased. Remember why you came to Fort Pendleton. To uncover the truth behind all the deaths and disappearances. Don’t lose sight of that. No more whiskey or women. Inspector Hatcher marched toward his cabin with a newfound conviction.

  98

  Anika tossed the white mitten onto her workbench. She sat down at her table, staring forward. Her hands, covered in blood, twigs, and fur, wouldn’t stop shaking.

  She had nearly crossed a line that even her grandmother wouldn’t cross.

  As she was about to summon a trickster to torment Willow, Anika remembered Grandmother Spotted Owl’s warning about summoning spirits. “When you conjure a trickster for a favor, the day will come when the trickster demands a favor from you.”

  Those words stopped Anika from completing the ceremony.

  I am not a witch. Nor am I a whore. Just a foolish drunk. She gazed at the flask on the table. Made from a buffalo horn, it had been a gift from her uncle. And a curse for Anika. It carried the rum that made her drunk each night. It made her think evil thoughts and want to do bad things. Made her a slave to the white man, just like it did all her people.

  “Firewater is nothing but a trickster,” her grandmother had said. “It will eat you from the inside out if you let it.”

  Anika admired how Tom had stopped drinking. He had made a promise to Chris. That had made Tom stronger. Maybe I should make a promise to someone, thought Anika. She clutched the prayer bundle that hung around her neck.

  Always remember, spoke Grandmother Spotted Owl’s voice. There is no separation between us.

  Closing her eyes, Anika connected with the medicine woman’s spirit and asked for strength.

  99

  In the boudoir where the dolls snickered like a hundred little hellions, Willow took Doc’s sleeping elixir. She climbed into bed, curling up with the Indian doll that had once belonged to Zoé. The voices of the other dolls finally stopped. Then she heard a girl crying from the corner of the room. That was where Willow had tossed her favorite porcelain doll, Maggie, and shattered its face.

  Willow pulled the covers over her head and clamped her eyes shut. The medicine made every part of her feel heavy. As the bed seemed to float like a boat on water, Willow drifted off into a deep slumber. She dreamed of the Métis girl standing in the corner, wearing a blue velvet dress with a lacy collar. Zoé’s face was powdered with makeup, and she looked like a larger version of the porcelain doll she was holding.

  “Come play with us, Willow. We can be sisters at the grand ball.” Behind Zoé, the walls opened up into a ballroom with a black and white checkered floor. Shadow figures danced to music from a string quartet. Zoé waltzed with her doll.

  As Willow joined the party, the ballroom went dark and silent. A cone of light shone down on Zoé. Within the velvety blackness behind her formed a figure whose gloved hands gripped the girl by the shoulders. Zoé said, “See, I told you he’d come for you.”

  Without seeing his face, Willow felt the heat of the man’s gaze melting her resistance. A face covered in a red-and-white tribal mask entered the spotlight. A deep voice said, “It’s been a long time, Little Lamb.”

  Willow woke up, gasping.

  Part Ten

  Dark Welcome

  100

  Two Days Later

  As the two canoes paddle
d along the river, Father Xavier heard the flutter of wings and pulled down his hood. Ravens flew overhead and landed on a tree upstream. The canoes passed under the branches weighed down by black birds. Father Xavier raised his silver cross and lipped a prayer. The flock cawed in protest, flying up to higher branches.

  Father Xavier wondered if Mirabelle’s spirit might be one of the dark angels, watching her brother through beady black eyes. He chanted in Latin to ward off such thoughts.

  “Birds got you spooked, priest?” Dr. Coombs chuckled. “Ah, the Corvus corax. Ravens are the largest species of the genus Corvus. Brothers to the crows, jackdaws, and rooks. Their intelligence is similar to wolves.”

  “Don’t you find their behavior peculiar?”

  The doctor shrugged. “Overly curious, perhaps. Probably hungry. Here you go, Corvids.” He threw one of this morning’s fried biscuits onto the icy bank. The birds swarmed down, pecking at it. “Hungry little devils, aren’t they?”

  Father Xavier said, “For God’s sake, don’t encourage them.”

  “Ey, it’s nothing to get all bent about.”

  “There’s something sinister about these birds. They’ve been following us since Ottawa, perhaps even since Montréal.”

  Another husky laugh. “I highly doubt that.”

  “Then I’d say, for an educated man, Doctor Coombs, you’re not very astute. Every time we’ve camped, these ravens have slept in nearby trees. And every time we’ve portaged or canoed up the river, the birds have also flown the same direction. As God as my witness, they are following us.”

  “Sounds like typical Catholic paranoia to me.”

  Father Xavier turned in his seat to face the bear-sized man. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  The bearded doctor paddled the trickling water. “It means, priest, you give way too much meaning to things you cannot see and phenomena that science cannot prove.”

  “There are occurrences that science cannot prove.”

  “Like what?”

  “Miracles. Stigmata. Spiritual possessions. Visions of angels. Science cannot prove them, because they are acts of a spiritual world we may never comprehend. That is why we teach people to have faith in the unknown.”

  Dr. Coombs snorted. “You’re no different than the savage Indians who believe every time the wind blows, a spirit is sending them some kind of message.”

  “How dare you compare Catholicism to the heathens! The Indians had no religion until our missionaries introduced them to the path of God.”

  “Ha! Ask any Indian what he thinks of your missionaries, and he will tell you the black robes are a plague that has blighted their way of life. Disease and alcoholism…those were introduced by your missionaries. I’ve treated too many tribes who died out because of smallpox or the measles. And I’ve patched up squaws who were battered by their drunk husbands. The Indians may be savages, but at least their beliefs have some basis in the laws of nature.”

  Father Xavier faced forward, yanking his hood over his head. There was no use arguing with the bull-headed doctor. Father Xavier had debated with men of science before and decided they were a lost cause.

  The ravens took flight and disappeared around a bend in the river.

  From some unseen part of the forest erupted a macabre opera of birdsong. Much louder than the twenty or so ravens could make. What resounded ahead was a chorus of castrato voices singing an aria for lost souls. The singing was so high-pitched, Father Xavier’s ears started ringing. He drew a cross over his heart.

  The two canoes rounded the bend.

  A tempest of black birds spiraled across the sky, making the gray afternoon look as if nightfall were approaching. A cacophonous caw-caw-cawing drowned out the sounds of the paddles chopping into the river. The cloud of flapping black wings swooped down into the trees. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of dark angels clotted the branches on either side of the river, watching over the voyagers as their canoes completed the last few meters and bumped against a dock that stretched along the riverbank. Up a short hill, nestled in the trees, stood a fort with several watchtowers.

  Father Xavier stood, looking down at Dr. Coombs. The large man was mesmerized by the spectacle. “Are you noticing anything peculiar now, Doctor?”

  Not waiting for answer, the priest climbed onto the dock. As the voyagers quickly unloaded the cargo, he grabbed his bags and joined Andre and Master Pendleton.

  Andre yelled over the noise, “What’s happening, Father?”

  “An evil spirit has followed us. We have to exorcise it quickly.” Father Xavier pulled out his ritual book and handed it to Andre. “Begin chanting.” The novice read the verses aloud in Latin. Father Xavier splashed Andre and himself with holy water then flicked it along the dock. The exorcist gazed up at the dark-winged minions and yelled, “I cast out this evil from these—”

  A deafening boom startled Father Xavier. The ravens scattered from the trees. The priest turned around. Avery Pendleton was holding a shotgun to his shoulder. He aimed at another bird-infested tree and fired. A black swarm burst into the sky and passed over their heads. For a brief second, Father Xavier swore the birds formed into a demon’s face. Then the ravens dispersed with a shriek of fury and flew up upriver.

  “There, problem solved.” Master Pendleton rested his shotgun on his shoulder.

  Dr. Coombs released a husky laugh. “Brilliant thinking, Master Pendleton.”

  Father Xavier stood speechless, still rattled by the gun’s blast.

  With a devilish grin, Avery gestured to the fort perched on the hillside. “Gentlemen, welcome to Fort Pendleton.”

  101

  Tom was rocking in a chair, whittling an owl onto his flute, when the quiet afternoon erupted with the cawing of birds followed by gunshots. Gripping his pistol, he stepped out onto his porch. There was a commotion happening outside the fort, as several flocks of ravens flew away.

  At the watchtower above the front gate, a soldier yelled, “The brigade has returned!” Soldiers opened the gate’s double doors, allowing a parade of voyagers to enter the fort. They dragged sleds full of food crates, supplies, and barrels of gunpowder and rum. The village seemed to come to life as men, women, and children came out to greet the travelers.

  Tom joined the gathering at the entrance. Brother Andre was walking with an older man wearing a black Russian fur hat and a heavy coat over his long black robe. The priest stood a head taller than Andre and walked with a powerful gait.

  “Andre!” Tom called out as he approached. “Welcome home.”

  “It’s a relief to be back!” the missionary said with a grin. “Inspector, I’d like you to meet my mentor, Father Xavier.”

  “Welcome, Father.” Tom shook the tall priest’s hand and felt a firm grip. His vibrant blue eyes were intense and full of conviction. Tom said, “I heard that you’ve come to investigate the bizarre disease that’s infected several people.”

  The priest nodded. “Yes, we’ve seen this plague before.”

  “Well, we could certainly use your insight.”

  “I’d be happy to meet with you later, Inspector. Right now, I’m exhausted from our journey. Andre, if you’ll lead me to my quarters, I would like to put on some tea and get warm.” Father Xavier tipped his mink hat. “Pleasure meeting you, Inspector.”

  The two Jesuits crossed the courtyard toward the chapel.

  Tom felt better having a priest in the village. He missed going to Mass each week, feeling like he was part of the colony. Now the chapel could once again become a house of worship.

  A hand slapped Tom’s shoulder from behind. He turned to see Avery Pendleton standing there in his top hat and a smug weasel grin. “Inspector, how have you been?”

  “Good. Back on my feet.”

  “Glad to hear it,” Pendleton said. “You missed the journey of a lifetime. Montréal is spectacular during the holiday season. So, anything happen in my absence that I should know about?”

  Tom felt knots in his stomach. Images of adulter
ous acts with Willow and Anika flashed through his mind. He kept a watchful eye on the crowd, expecting Willow to approach them. But the chief factor’s wife was nowhere in sight. “We’ve stayed inside the fort since the day you left. The guards have kept a watchful eye on the forest, but have not seen any of the predators. It’s quite possible the pack has moved on.”

  “This pack you speak of,” came a husky voice. “It sounds like something out of a werewolf tale.” A bear-sized man approached. “Perhaps I should have brought my silver bullets.” He laughed.

  Pendleton chuckled with him, and Tom could see the two men were quite chums. “Inspector, meet our new physician and disease specialist, Dr. Coombs. He will be taking over Doc Riley’s role.”

  The six-foot-four man was broad in both shoulders and girth. He had an enormous head with a round, flabby jaw and thick, brown beard. “Any more outbreaks among the colony?”

  “None thus far,” Tom said. “It seems we stopped the virus from spreading.”

  “You can never be too sure.” The physician’s arrogant eyes peered over his wire-framed spectacles. “Viruses can go dormant and then sprout up again when you least expect it.”

  Pendleton nodded. “Inspector, you will be assisting Dr. Coombs in solving this case about the plague.”

  “I’m ready to get back to work. Anything I can do right away?”

  Pendleton looked back at the doctor. “Sure, help Dr. Coombs get moved in. Since we’ve condemned Hospital House, I’m putting him in Farlan McDuff’s old place.”