The Deep, Deep Snow

by Brian Freeman

  “You may not think I loved Colleen, but I did. I miss her. And yes, I know she was a better wife to me than I deserved.” Keith eyed the grave, as if Colleen were still listening to him. “You know, I’ve picked up the phone a hundred times to call you, Shelby.”

  “It’s better that you didn’t.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I figured. I never told anyone. Your secret is safe. I mean, I assume you wanted it to be a secret.”

  “I don’t want to have this conversation, Keith.”

  “Okay. That’s fine.” But I could sense his disappointment. “What about you? What are you doing here?”

  “Jeremiah Sloan is missing. Didn’t you hear about it?”

  “No. Town news doesn’t come my way like it used to.”

  “Well, we had a report of a kid here in the cemetery. We were hoping it was Jeremiah. Have you seen him?”

  Keith hesitated. “No, I haven’t. At least I don’t think so.”

  “You don’t sound sure.”

  “Well, someone was around here. I don’t know who, but somebody was watching me from the trees when I was talking to Colleen.”

  “Yellow hoodie?”

  “That’s right. I didn’t see a face.” Keith flipped his hair again. I made him uncomfortable. “What happened to Jeremiah?”

  I explained, and his face grew cloudy.

  “You think he was abducted? Around here?”

  “I’m trying not to think about it. I’m just trying to find him.”

  “Well, I know Jeremiah likes to go off by himself and explore. I’ve seen him on my property a few times this year. Mostly in the woods, but he would come up to the house and barn, too.”

  “Oh? Why?”

  “I don’t know. He didn’t say anything when I tried to talk to him. Ellen and Dennis only live a mile away. I just figured he was out hunting for the Ursulina.”

  I stared back at him with a frown on my face. I didn’t like the joke. Not from him. Not after what had happened.

  “I suppose I should check in with Dennis and see how he’s doing,” Keith went on, “but he and I don’t really talk much now.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Colleen worked for Ellen at the mini-mart, remember? Ellen’s not exactly a fan of mine anymore.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Right now, they need all the support they can get. If you want to call Dennis, you should.”

  “I will.”

  “I need to go, Keith.”

  “Sure. Good luck. I hope you find Jeremiah soon. I mean, I’m sure he’s okay and all, but it’s rough when a kid is missing.”

  I didn’t say anything more. There was a lot I could have said, but I didn’t. When I looked at Keith, I remembered coming out to the cemetery last winter with my guitar and singing that Sheryl Crow song, “My Favorite Mistake.” I turned away and hoped we were done, but I knew he couldn’t let it go. I hadn’t gone ten feet when he called after me.

  “Hey, how come you never asked me the question, Shelby? Tom asked me. Adam asked me. You never did.”

  I stopped and let him stare at my back.

  “Is it because you were afraid of what I’d say?”

  My shoulders heaved with a sigh. I turned around and faced him again. “I didn’t ask because I knew what you’d tell me, and I figured I’d know if you were lying. I didn’t want to have to live with that.”

  Keith closed the distance between us with a little sway in his hips from his artificial leg. He didn’t look surprised by my doubts. “Well, I’m sorry to put such a burden on you, Shelby, but I want you to hear it from my mouth. I’m telling the truth. I didn’t kill my wife.”

  Chapter Six

  I had to put the confrontation with Keith out of my mind, because I found the grave of Jeremiah’s grandfather in the same grove where Colleen Whalen was buried. There were footsteps in the newly turned dirt, but they looked crusty and dry, dating back to the interment two weeks earlier. No one had been here recently. I was disappointed, because I realized that Jeremiah probably hadn’t been the child lurking in the cemetery grounds.

  My little fairy in the forest hadn’t gone away, however. I was still being watched. When I started up the sloping trail that led back toward our house, I saw a dot of yellow come and go behind a fat old beech tree that the locals called Bartholomew. I walked quickly to get ahead of whoever it was. Where the trail crested the hill, I was invisible, so I darted off the path and took cover. Soon, quick footsteps rustled through the brush in pursuit.

  “Gotcha!” I exclaimed as I jumped back on the trail.

  A ten-year-old girl froze in front of me. She was dressed in a yellow hoodie, jean shorts, and sneakers. She was tall for her age and skinny as a pencil. When she pushed the hood from her face, her sunny blond hair came free, and she stared up at me with huge blue eyes.

  “Hi, Shelby.”

  “Anna Helvik! What are you doing here? It’s not safe to be skulking around the woods. You shouldn’t be in the cemetery by yourself.”

  Wow, did I sound like a mother, or what?

  I suppose I was as close to a surrogate mother to Anna as she was likely to have. I’d been there for her first steps. I’d babysat for her whenever her parents were away. When her mother, Trina, had gone to Chicago for cancer treatment five years earlier, I’d been the one to move into their house for a month to take care of Anna. It was the least I could do for Trina, because she’d always been much more than a coach to me.

  I saw Trina every day throughout high school. Like most teenagers, I’d gone through my share of angst and despair back then. I was finally old enough to understand what it meant to be abandoned as a baby, and I took out my anger about it on everyone around me. I was angry on the volleyball court. I was angry with my father. I was angry at my boyfriend for wanting sex and even angrier when I gave it to him. For two years, I was a really unhappy kid, and the only person who kept me from going off the rails was Trina. She never gave up on me.

  She was still my closest friend, despite the fifteen-year age difference. I told her everything. She was literally the only other person in the world who knew the truth about me and Keith Whalen. Even my father didn’t know, because he probably would have had to fire me if he did.

  Trina was tall, blond, and gorgeous, and Anna was already growing up the same way. Trina’s husband, Karl, was a handsome man, but the girl standing in front of me was a miniature replica of her mother. She was also stubborn and fearless, and I like to think she got some of that from hanging out with me.

  “Talk to me, Anna. Does your mom know where you are?”

  “I have my phone. She can call me if she wants to know where I am.”

  “What about your dad?”

  “He’s on the road.”

  That was no surprise. Karl Helvik had a technology job and traveled a lot. Trina was still a coach and math teacher at the high school. The two of them didn’t always have as much time for Anna as they wanted, so I filled in whenever I could.

  “How did you get here?”

  “Bike.”

  “Well, what are you doing here anyway? Why were you hiding?”

  “I was just hanging out. First I was spying on Mr. Whalen. Then you came and I figured I’d spy on you, too.”

  “People don’t like it when you spy on them.”

  “It’s just a game. It’s no big deal.”

  There was a sullenness about her that was unusual for Anna. She’d always been a smart, sweet, mischievous kid, but she’d been standoffish with me for months. I was trying not to take it personally. Trina called it an early case of teenageritis, and maybe she was right. Anna had always been a few years ahead of other kids in most things.

  “Well, let’s call your mother and get you home.”

  “She’s not there.”

  “Where is she?”

&
nbsp; “She’s over at Jeremiah’s house.”

  I closed my eyes in sadness, because suddenly it made sense to me. Of course, Anna had heard what happened. Of course, she was upset and scared. Jeremiah was her best friend.

  “You know he’s missing?”

  “Yeah. Mom said.”

  “Well, we have people all over town looking for him, Anna. We’ll find him.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Anna was only ten, but she seemed to know I was spouting empty promises. My father had done the same thing with the Sloans. I guess we can’t help ourselves from telling people what they want to hear.

  The two of us walked together in silence, and I put my arm around her shoulder. She was so scrawny at that age, nothing but bones. I saw an ornate stone bench near the fringe of a cemetery grove, and I guided her there and we both sat down with the peaceful headstones arrayed in front of us. The trees hummed with birds and bugs. Sunshine streamed across the grass, but the bench where we sat was in the shadows, and I could feel the cold, damp stone through my pants. I hunted in my pocket, where I kept a few sour balls for when I wanted a quick candy fix. I handed one to Anna, and she unwrapped it and put it in her mouth. I kept my arm around her, and I was pleased that she didn’t pull away. At least for a little while, things felt normal between us.

  “Is that why you’re here? Were you looking for Jeremiah?”

  Anna shivered a little. The sour ball made a little bump in her cheek. “Yeah, he and I would hang out here sometimes.”

  “Did you find him?”

  “No.”

  “Can you think of other places that he might have gone? Do you and he have any secret hideouts?”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure? I remember Rose and I used to bike over to the drive-in before they tore it down, and we’d hang out behind the big screen. You guys don’t have a favorite spot like that?”

  The girl balanced her chin on her fist. “Nope.”

  “How are things at home? Does Jeremiah have any problems with his brother? Or his parents?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “What about problems with other people? Does he have any trouble with bullies? Are there kids who give him a hard time?”

  “No. Everybody knows Adrian is on the football team, so they don’t mess with Jeremiah.”

  I tried to sound casual with my next question. “What about adults?”

  Anna’s brow crinkled. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, has anyone been bothering him? Or making him uncomfortable? I know you and he are really close, Anna. Jeremiah probably tells you things he wouldn’t tell anybody else. Even his parents. Know what I mean? And if there’s something like that, I need to know about it, even if he told you to keep it a secret.”

  Anna sat silently for a long time, and I could see on her pretty face that she was struggling with what to say. Finally, she spoke softly while staring at her feet. “We’re not.”

  “Not what?”

  “We’re not close. We’re not friends anymore.”

  “You and Jeremiah? Since when?”

  “I don’t know. A while.”

  “Do your parents know?”

  “I didn’t tell them about it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Mom’s got her own problems. She and Dad have been crying a lot. They don’t think I know, but I know. I figured they didn’t need me bothering them with my stuff.”

  When I heard this, I had two more things worrying me.

  Something was wrong in Trina’s life, and she hadn’t told me about it. And Anna had ended her friendship with Jeremiah without telling her mother. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree in that family. I loved Trina, but people sometimes saw her as cold, because she shared so little of herself.

  “So what happened between you and Jeremiah? Why aren’t you friends anymore?”

  “Nothing happened.”

  “Come on, Anna. You two have been best buddies since kindergarten. Something must have happened.”

  “I just don’t want to be friends with him. Does he have to be my friend?”

  “No. He doesn’t. But he’s missing, and here you are looking for him. That makes me think you still like him.”

  “Well, I don’t.” I watched tears begin to slip down her cheeks. Her lips pushed together, and her eyes were red. “I just want to go home now. Can you take me home, Shelby?”

  “Sure. Of course. I’ll take you home.” I got up from the bench, but then I knelt in the grass in front of her and brushed the tears away from her cheeks. “Hey, Anna, you know you can tell me anything, right?”

  “Yeah. I know.”

  “Well, this is really important. Do you have any idea at all what might have happened to Jeremiah?”

  I saw a look of terror spread across this little girl’s face. Honestly, I’d never seen anyone look so scared. She cried harder and threw her arms around my neck and hugged me as if I were the only one who could save her from whatever evil thing was out there.

  Then she whispered in my ear, barely getting the words out.

  “I think the Ursulina got him.”

  Chapter Seven

  The Ursulina.

  It’s a story as old as the town. I’m sure you know about Bigfoot and the Yeti and Sasquatch, those shaggy eight-foot monsters that walk upright through the forest. Our creature is like that, but with a twist. The legend of the Ursulina says that it can also take human form. A pioneer family in the old, old days found that out when they rescued a starving fur trader and let him spend the night in their cabin. They awoke to the horror of a giant brown beast with nine-inch claws and curved fangs who proceeded to feast on every one of them.

  So you can understand why we’re still a little nervous about strangers around here.

  Dad told me about the Ursulina when I was only five years old. I loved stories like that, the scarier the better. Tourists love it, too. In the fall, we hold an annual festival called Ursulina Days. The town sells Ursulina T-shirts and mugs and magnets. People dress up in Ursulina costumes, and true believers come from around the world to search our woods for the monster. We even offer a cash prize of one hundred thousand dollars to the first person who brings in an Ursulina, alive or dead. So far, no one has collected the money.

  Nine months before Jeremiah disappeared, Ursulina Days fell over my twenty-fifth birthday weekend on Halloween. Monica recruited me to be part of the events. In addition to her job as the sheriff’s department secretary, Monica was volunteer board chair for the Friends of the Library. She was planning a Halloween event for kids on that Saturday, and Monica always gets what she wants. She may be quirky and grandmotherly, but if you get in her way, she’ll give you a little giggle and then mow you down.

  I’ve mentioned that I sing, right? I play guitar, and I write songs, too. I don’t claim to be very good, but I’ve done it since I was a little girl. Every now and then I’ll let my arm get twisted to perform at story time for the local kids. So Monica asked me to write an Ursulina song for the Halloween event. She already had an artist doing scary decorations and a writer who’d written a children’s story about the Ursulina that he was going to read aloud to the kids. She wanted me to do the music, and of course, I couldn’t say no to her. I didn’t find out until after I’d agreed that the writer who would be working with me was Keith Whalen.

  It didn’t bother me at the time. Yes, I’d had a major crush on Keith when he was a teacher and I was a student, but that was years ago. Of course, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t still find him attractive.

  Keith owned a rambler on fifty-or-so acres of hunting land at the end of a dead-end road off the main highway. Most of the land was undeveloped, but there were a few trails that had been there for decades and a creepy little jewel of a lake hidden away in a wooded valley. Trees grew right out of the water,
and their branches drooped like Spanish moss. With not much sunlight breaking through the treetops, it looked like a pond out of a Grimm fairy tale where scary things might lurk below the surface. We called it Black Lake. The Striker girls used to swim there now and then during the summers, because it wasn’t far from Trina’s house.

  I went to Keith’s place around Labor Day to talk about the Halloween show. His wife, Colleen, was there when I arrived. I knew her pretty well, because she worked at Ellen’s mini-mart. She was always meek and quiet, with a cute face and mousy brown hair cut into bangs, the kind of woman who looked as if she would melt in a spring shower. I could tell immediately that things weren’t good between her and Keith. It was nothing they said, but I recognized the faces of two people who were going through the motions of marriage and life. I’m sorry to say that my instinct was to blame her for making him unhappy. I still saw Keith as this complicated, interesting, romantic figure from my school days. He was my Heathcliff, and being with him gave me the same goosebumps I’d felt as a teenager.

  He took me to a writer’s cottage on their property that he’d converted from the family barn. It was on the other side of a hill a quarter mile from the main house and painted apple red. You could see Keith’s personality in the place, with its hardwood floors, 1920s-era posters of Paris and London, jazz playing from hidden speakers, and a loft where (I could tell) he often slept, rather than in bed with his wife. He had bookshelves filled with dozens of classic novels, everything from Cannery Row to The Moonstone. He kept a little shrine, too, of his military days, just mementos hung on a bulletin board near his desk. Photographs of friends he’d lost. His dog tags. A silver-and-blue St. Benedict medal on a chain. His Purple Heart. I wanted to ask him about those days, but I could tell that some subjects were off-limits.

  While I sat in an old leather recliner in the barn, he acted out his story of the Ursulina. It was full of horrible deaths and blood dripping from people’s faces, and I knew it would scare the snot out of the kids, which is the whole point of Halloween. I told him he should get it published, and he flipped his brown hair and looked at me as if I were crazy. But I knew he was secretly pleased.