Snowhook

by Jo Storm

  “Can you hear that?” asked Kelli as they trooped back. Her face was mostly hidden by her scarf and the snow that clung to it, but the sides of her dark-brown eyes were crinkled, so Hannah knew she was smiling.

  “What?” said Hannah.

  Her sister spread her arms and twirled, landing on her butt in the snow. “The nothing between the flakes. It’s snowing so hard, it’s even taking away sound!” Kelli was delighted with the whole spectacle.

  Her mom was not as happy. She spoke less and less as the day went on, and when Hannah’s dad called again just before dinner, she spoke to him in short, angry sentences. “George, we’re fine. Hannah is bored,” she said, flicking a quick glance at her daughter. “We went out on the sled. Rudy is getting fat.”

  Hannah heard a scratchy, tinny sound and realized it was her father laughing. Her mom turned her body so that she was facing away from them, hunching over a little, but when she looked back and saw Hannah watching, she turned around again, straightening up.

  “We’re fine. Everything’s fine. Good. You’d better get back to them, then. I’ll see you at home.”

  She hung up and walked back to the table.

  “Is he coming back?” asked Kelli.

  “No, they’re leaving.”

  “For Quebec?”

  “Yes.”

  “How long will he be gone?” asked Kelli.

  “Kelli,” said her mom. Her tone said stop bothering me.

  “Great,” said Hannah. “Are we stuck here until he gets back?” Their vacation was supposed to end that week. It was Monday, and they were meant to leave on Saturday to be back in time for school.

  “No. If he’s not back, we’ll close up and leave,” said Mina.

  “What about Nook and Rudy?” asked Hannah.

  “Pierre will get them, Hannah, like he always does.”

  “It’s not fair that he left us here.”

  “Hannah, be quiet.”

  Her mother shutting her up as though she were a child made Hannah even angrier. She went and sat on one of the backless stools that lined the counter, leaning an arm on it and staring out the window at the snow that continued to fall in fat, ugly blobs.

  “I’m not coming here anymore after this,” she said. “I can stay at home by myself or at Lindsay’s. I already asked and she said it would be okay. I hate it here.”

  “You will still be coming here, Hannah. You’re not staying in the city by yourself.”

  “Then I want to go to camp this summer,” said Hannah. “I can’t stand it here. I want to do what normal kids do.”

  “Normal kids wish they could do what you do, Hannah.”

  “No, they don’t! They stay in the city and go shopping or to the museum. They go on the subway.”

  “They’re cooped up indoors,” answered her mother. “They never see the sun. All they see are strangers.”

  She was using the same voice with Hannah that she used with Hannah’s dad, as though she were being exceptionally polite to spare her feelings, even though Hannah was obviously wrong.

  Hannah was never right.

  “They have fun!” shouted Hannah, sweeping her arm angrily off the counter. Her elbow hooked on the stretched-out phone cord and it shot off the counter; a loop of it was caught around the little brown case of ampoules her mother had taken out for her evening dose. Hannah watched as the case sped across the counter’s surface and then crashed to the floor, striking the corner of the indoor woodbox on its way.

  “Hannah!” yelled her mom, rushing over and picking up the box. When she lifted it, Hannah saw the corner darken, and then it began to drip as the contents of the ampoules leaked out. Her mom put the box carefully on the counter and sharply told Hannah and Kelli to stay away in case there was broken glass. The box made tinkling sounds as she righted it, like cold change.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  It stopped snowing just before they went to bed, but the wind rose, bending the laden trees and whipping branches against the cabin. Hannah had stoked the big stove in preparation for the cold night, but the wind brought with it warmer air, and the cabin began to feel uncomfortably damp — close and sticky.

  The humidity inside rose, and with it the smell of wet wool, a wet dog scent, and a cloying, heavy feeling. Kelli slept deeply through it all, but Hannah lay awake, listening to the scree scree scree of the branches scraping against the walls, watching the low clouds race across the windowpane. As she looked up, the clouds got lower and thicker, and the wind slowed down, but then the snow came again, almost like the wind and the snow were arguing over who was more important.

  The morning was hard to discern. All that really changed was that the grey of the clouds and the sky was more noticeable. Hannah pushed the snow away from the end of the driveway. The plow had not been by yet, and there was a neat line where her shovelled path ran parallel to the road. They were usually the very last road to be plowed, because there were only two houses, and then an endless swath of Crown land — land that belonged to the government.

  Dimly, Hannah heard the crack of the screen door whacking shut, and a few seconds later two low shapes came hurtling at her: Sencha and Bogey. Trailing after them was her mother.

  “There’s no use shovelling the thing again, Hannah,” she said as she got near. The snow was already puffing over the toes of her thick boots. “I’ll call Jeb to come and clean us out once the storm has passed.”

  Sencha used Hannah and her mom as a bulwark, racing around them in a game of tag with Bogey struggling, mightily and happily, to catch her. In tight turns the Dal tucked her tail like a rabbit and changed directions very quickly, then leaped forward. For one moment she looked like a greyhound, racing low and fast. The next, she went head over tail as the big-boned Lab plowed into her side and they both tumbled through the snow.

  “The first time you walked was out here,” said Hannah’s mom. “In the winter. At home, you’d sit upright and grab the railing, but never walk on your own.”

  Hannah watched Sencha jump up in mock outrage and pounce on Bogey, who lay on his back, tongue extended and paws waving.

  “We were out here for Christmas, and I took you outside and put you in the middle of the driveway near the car, and you walked all the way to the cabin door because you thought we were leaving.”

  “Mom, do you even like it here?”

  Sencha came up, panting and wiggly, and pressed against her mom’s legs. Her mother paused, stroking Sencha’s ear, pulling the soft flap out over and over.

  “Who taught you to snowshoe?” she asked.

  “You did,” said Hannah.

  “Who bought you cross-country skis?”

  “That doesn’t mean you like it here.”

  “Who went tenting with you in blackfly season so we could catch fireflies while your father,” she motioned with her head to the cabin, “moaned about them like a little boy?”

  Hannah smiled. “You did.”

  “I love it here,” her mom said, pressing harder on Sencha’s skull. “The trees … so many trees, so much space. No one tells me I can’t do something. No one tells me what to do at all.”

  “Dad does.”

  “Dad tries.”

  They started back to the cabin. The snow was getting heavier, falling now thick and wet, not light and fluffy. Hannah thought of the ampoule box skittering across the table and felt her chest constrict. Her mom bent down and picked up two handfuls of snow, then threw them at Bogey, who tried to catch them in his mouth before going back to racing after Sencha.

  They got back inside just as the snow began to change to sleet. The sleet turned to a slick, hazy rain for a while, then back to sleet as the afternoon wore on. The trees began to bow under the weight of the accumulated snow and ice, bouncing whenever the wind rose.

  Hannah helped Kelli feed the dogs. After struggling out to Nook and Rudy, she came through the door and saw her mother standing by the end of the counter with a wooden spoon in one hand and a boot in the other, as though sh
e were torn between going to the kitchen and going outside. Her face was flattened of emotion. Beside her, the radio was on, an announcer talking.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Hannah. They had not spoken about Hannah breaking the ampoules since it happened.

  “Another storm. Nothing to worry about, Hannah. We have everything we need.”

  Hannah called her sister in and Kelli and their mom emptied out the wood stove’s accumulated ashes. The dogs slept. Kelli put the ashes in a big metal pail and Hannah helped her drag it out to the outer porch. Kelli stood and stared at the sky.

  “What kind of clouds?” she asked.

  Hannah frowned. “I don’t remember. There’s more than one, anyway.” She pointed at the sky where the clouds looked like iron filings, all piled up and splintery. “I’ve never seen that kind before.”

  Kelli pointed at another part of the sky. “Those are snow clouds though, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “It looks like they’re fighting in the sky.”

  “They’re not fighting,” said Hannah.

  “Everyone else is,” said Kelli, still looking up.

  “We have to get back to Toronto, Kelli. Mom needs her insulin.”

  “We’ll go on Saturday. She said she has enough. That’s what she said.”

  “She doesn’t have enough.”

  The cabin was prepared, the wood and water secured, candles and lanterns ready. They dug out the car and then Hannah drove it to the end of the driveway to make it easier to get out. Usually being able to drive the car was one of the most fun things she got to do, but today it was just another chore. Already the freezing rain had pushed down the last bit of snow, making the driveway a thin skating rink, and she had to drive very carefully. Above them, the whole sky turned grey, and the sun was a sickly yellow halo through it. Kelli and Hannah stood and watched the sky roil; the downward pressure of the incoming weather and the ugly clouds made Hannah uneasy. They went back inside. Their mother was washing her face at the sink, patting under her eyes to dry them.

  “Mom, are you okay?” asked Kelli, hanging up her mittens and grabbing two graham crackers from the big cracked cookie jar by the stove. Cookies were allowed after each chore was completed. The radio announcer continued to talk in the background.

  “I’m fine. The phone is down.”

  “Well, we still have lights,” said Hannah.

  “They’re sending the Reservists back,” her mom said. “I just heard.”

  “Why? They don’t need them?”

  Mina ran her index and middle fingers under her eyes. “No. The storm has moved.”

  “To where?”

  “To here, Hannah. It’s here.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “We should go into town,” said Hannah. “That’s what we should do, Mom. We can get more insulin …”

  “We don’t need to go anywhere,” her mom replied. “They haven’t plowed the road. We’re safer here.”

  “How about Jeb’s place? We could go there. They have a satellite phone.”

  “Listen to the wind!” said Kelli.

  Hannah heard the wind and then the fierce, driving sound of rain on the roof, so loud that sometimes she couldn’t hear the rattle of the dice on the table. The broken pieces of the insulin ampoules rested in a chipped coffee mug behind the sink, up against the wall — not a single one had survived Hannah’s mistake. Every now and then Hannah heard a faint clinking sound from it when the wind whipped up especially high and the walls groaned inward under its force.

  “We’re not going anywhere. We’ll leave on Saturday,” their mom said. “Kelli, it’s your turn.”

  They slept in the next morning. Hannah got up first and went into the tiny bathroom and clicked on the light. Nothing happened. She clicked the switch again. Tipping her head out and looking at the ancient VCR under the equally ancient TV, she saw that the digital clock on the front of it was dark. Great, she thought.

  “Mom,” she called. “Power’s out.”

  Her mom came out of her bedroom, tying a thick housecoat around herself. She joined Hannah at the living room window and they stood and looked out in silence.

  It really was an ice forest. The trees were smothered by a thick coat of ice, their limbs bent down under the incredible weight. The driveway was littered with smaller branches sticking up, and Hannah could see all the paths they had dug out so carefully yesterday were covered in a thick sheet of ice.

  “It’s gross out there,” said Hannah.

  The sentence was barely out her mouth when she saw the first snowflakes begin to fall.

  “We’ll start with breakfast,” said Mina. “You get a trail to the outhouse.”

  Hannah grabbed the metal pail of wood ashes that was sitting in the covered porch and wrestled the outer door open. It had frozen shut at the bottom, so she banged and kicked at it until it cracked open, laying down ashes right away so she didn’t slip on the icy surface of the path. The air still felt heavy and thick. It felt … wrong to Hannah, somehow. Usually winter air was dry and harsh on the lungs; this morning it was lumpy, almost, coating her throat with moisture as though it were still raining.

  She came back into the cabin and stamped her boots by reflex, even though there was no snow on them. Kelli came out, sleepy and grumpy, and headed for the bathroom.

  “You have to use the outhouse,” said her mom, pointing at Kelli’s oversize rubber boots.

  Kelli circled the wood stove, looking first at her mom, then at Hannah. Hannah shook her head very slightly.

  “Okay,” said Kelli. “Are we having pancakes?”

  “Yes, dear, we need lots of energy today,” said her mom.

  “I can warm the syrup,” offered Kelli.

  “All right.”

  They kept the radio on during breakfast. Their mom stopped chewing at the beginning of each new sentence the announcer started, as though she were concentrating very hard.

  “This is a CBC Radio One weather update: The massive storm in western Quebec that moved over into northeastern Ontario overnight is still present and active, as a cold front has stalled the storm over the region, dumping an extreme amount of freezing rain, hail, and snow, knocking out power and closing roads. Emergency responders are being pulled from Quebec to follow in the storm’s devastating wake. Sudbury, Algoma, North Bay, and Nipissing have all declared a state of emergency.”

  “You’re on dishes,” said Hannah to her sister. “I did the path.”

  Hannah watched as her mom poured another cup of coffee and added a little sugar, stirring quickly. “I’ll do the dishes,” she said, “and you two go make sure everything’s okay.”

  They got dressed and went out into the icy morning, Hannah balancing a heavy, thick porcelain carafe full of hot water. Kelli spread ashes as they went, first to the outhouse again, then to the well, where Hannah carefully poured some of the hot water over the pump handle to unfreeze it. They turned to see their mom coming out of the cabin with two empty water pails.

  “I can get that,” said Hannah, but her mom waved her off with a short chop of her arm and muscled past them.

  “Dogs,” she said shortly, heading for the pond. Whenever the power was out, they took water from the pond for washing.

  Kelli and Hannah went to the doghouses, and Hannah poured hot water on top of the frozen water bowls, watching as the ice broke up and became drinkable. “Moss Garden next!” said Kelli as Hannah poured hot water into Rudy’s bowl.

  “Kelli, shut up, okay? There are more important things to do than go see your stupid fort.”

  “Mom!” yelled Kelli, “Hannah’s being mean to me!”

  “Hannah, for heaven’s sake, stop acting like a child.”

  “You’re such a wuss,” said Hannah to her sister. She took her glove off to break up the chunks of ice in the bowl and poured more hot water in.

  “No, you have to be respectful.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Mom, we can go to the Moss Garden, rig
ht?” called Kelli.

  “Hannah —” said their mom.

  “Mom, I’m not saying anything!”

  “Help … once you’re done the doghouses,” her mother finished.

  Her mom’s voice sounded weird. When Hannah looked up, she saw that her mother was down on one knee, and one of the pails she was carrying had spilled across the unbroken snow, the water mingling with the thick coat of ice, making an ugly blue channel in the snow. Hannah had never seen so much ice in her life before. It was everywhere, glittering and angry: it hampered all movement and made it three times as hard to lift her foot out of the snow and place it down again. She finally ended up half crawling, half wading through the snow, using her gloved hands to break through the ice and pull herself forward toward her mother. The ice bit into the backs of her hands where the gloves came away from her cuffs.

  “Mom! Mom!”

  “I’m okay, Hannah.”

  Just breathe, just breathe, Hannah repeated to herself. She reached the pond path and scrambled over to kneel in front of her mother.

  “Mom!”

  Her mother looked up.

  “I’m fine, I just … the path is slippery.” Her mom struggled to her feet again. “I have to go refill this now. I want Kelli and you to bathe tonight. It’s not good to be dirty out here.”

  “I’ll get it,” offered Hannah.

  “Have you done the doghouses?”

  “No, but I can do —”

  “Your job is yours; my job is mine, Hannah. See to the dogs.” Her mother stood up, grasped the pails again, and started back toward the cabin.

  “But —”

  “I’m not asking. Go.”

  Hannah watched her mother walk away and a picture of the broken ampoules arose unbidden in her brain. She thought again of how she had hooked the cord to the stupid, stupid rotary phone that wasn’t even working since the telephone line had gone down, too — and there was no cell service in this stupid, stupid place, either — and she thought about her mother, who was now out of insulin, because they were trapped with no way to get to town.