The Snow Song

by Sally Gardner

  Lena didn’t attend the funeral as the doctor had insisted she rest and keep as still as possible. He prescribed medicine that made her sleep. As for the cabinet maker, he might have been a drunken old fool, but Edith was in no doubt it was he who was responsible for seeding the idea in the fertile minds of a frightened community that the avalanche was caused by a white wedding dress. A simple notion, but one that appealed to the village elders. The butcher paid a visit to Flora to tell her she could stop work on the wedding dress as Edith wouldn’t be wearing it.

  The full magnitude of the disaster had to come home to the villagers. The only road to the town was barricaded by boulders and fallen trees. The debris of the avalanche created an impenetrable ice wall and there was no hope of anyone leaving the village until spring. The small community knew they were utterly cut off from the outside world. Once again, they were reminded of how precarious their lives were. The mountain giant still rumbled and the wedding hadn’t been mentioned again.

  The thought that the marriage might not happen occupied the sober part of her father’s mind. Not out of concern for neighbours or for his daughter, but out of a terror that her worth as a bride might be lost to him and his debts would be left hanging around his neck. He had been twice to see the butcher and both times the butcher had refused to speak to him. The cabinet maker heard that Flora had been told the wedding dress was no longer needed. Even the butcher was talking of having been bewitched by Edith.

  ‘What does it mean – bewitched?’ asked the cabinet maker of anyone who would give him the time of day. ‘Bewitched,’ he said, over and over again.

  And he worried – oh, how he worried – that Edith wasn’t in the first flush of youth. She would soon be twenty-one and the butcher had been asking for her hand since she was sixteen. A cold dread came over him.

  ‘What shall I do if he doesn’t marry you?’ he shouted at Edith. She could see him mentally adding up all he owed and the figures fermenting in his mind. ‘We’ll starve. We’ll be ruined.’

  The word ‘ruined’ interested Edith. That’s what her future had been. That’s what her life with her father was. That’s what all her days would be if she was married to the butcher. And she thought that out of the ruin of her silence another language had been born. If there were no words to trip her up then her soul could travel faster. Perhaps it was the only way to find Demetrius.

  Fear began to take hold of the villagers as the bleakness of their situation became more and more apparent. They would have to survive on what they had put aside. They were permanently cold and prayed that illness wouldn’t strike. The elders asked the head of each household to be honest about what they had in the way of provisions. How much animal feed, how much fuel, how many candles – the list went on. The results would be announced that Sunday at church. All agreed that no one had bargained on such a hard winter or such a tragedy.

  There was a need to find something or someone to blame. The wedding dress, they said, had a lot to answer for. It was agreed it had brought bad luck.

  Superstition held the village together, that and fear of the unknown, be it the Lord or the devil, the traveller or the stranger. Or even a wedding dress. Fear was the invisible fence, sunk into the earth by tradition.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Pig’s Blood

  The butcher wouldn’t hear of his wedding being postponed. He had argued with the elders that the village needed something to celebrate – even if his grandson’s body hadn’t been found. It made little difference if Misha was buried or not for there could be no doubt that the lad was dead.

  ‘The wedding will bring the village together,’ said the butcher, ‘give people hope in these dark days. There’ll be a feast to look forward to.’

  Here the other elders felt themselves to be on safer ground. The butcher couldn’t possibly expect neighbours to dig deep into their stores now they were cut off from the rest of the world. Every morsel of food was vital to their survival. What would happen if the winter weather worsened and lasted longer than usual?

  The butcher made light of their complaints.

  ‘What?’ he said. ‘An egg, a spoonful of flour, a cup of cream? That won’t leave anyone starving. And tradition is tradition.’

  To which the elders had no argument. He had, after all, accepted their counsel and abandoned the foolish notion of his bride’s wedding dress.

  ‘You’re right to be cautious,’ said the butcher gravely. ‘And thinking of how we’ll all survive this winter, I might need my loans repaid.’

  He took out the small, leather-bound notebook in which the sums owed to him were written, and turned to the miller. ‘Shall I start with you?’

  ‘No need,’ said the elders as one. ‘The wedding will take place as planned.’

  The butcher put away his notebook.

  That Sunday when the congregation was told of the wedding arrangements, a murmur of disbelief went round the church until the priest called them to prayer. Only Edith didn’t kneel. She remained standing, watching the priest, knowing the words he spoke were corrupted by the butcher’s orders. He peddled guilt in order to soften his flock to relinquish their food supplies. If she had a voice, she would have screamed: save your food – don’t waste it on this wedding.

  Making no effort to be quiet she walked out of the church, allowing the large wooden door to slam behind her. Her act of rebellion was noted by everyone.

  Una was kneeling next to her father. His elbow jabbed her ribs.

  ‘Bring her back,’ he hissed.

  Once outside, she called after Edith. ‘Come back this minute. Where do you think you’re going?’

  Edith ignored her. She heard Una run up behind her and felt her shawl being pulled from her shoulders. Only then did she turn to face her.

  Una stamped her foot. ‘How dare you walk out of church like that? Do you think you’re above us all? I know this holy silence of yours is a sham. I see through you, you little bitch.’

  Edith remained expressionless and started to walk away. Una caught her skirt.

  ‘Don’t you dare turn your back on me!’

  Losing her temper to righteous indignation Una attacked Edith, her small hands aiming to slap Edith’s face and missing. Edith didn’t flinch nor take her eyes off hers until Una ran out of steam and became conscious that she looked an ass. Defeated, she returned breathless to the church.

  Since the avalanche, Edith hadn’t heard Demetrius in her head or seen him in her dreams. Don’t give up now, she told herself, you will find him again.

  Vanda hadn’t been in church and the news that her father had no intention of postponing the wedding was almost enough to send her mad. Later that morning she went to see him. Heart pounding, her legs shaking, even the sight of him filled her with revulsion. She found him slitting open pigs, pulling out their insides into a bucket.

  ‘This wedding must wait until the spring,’ she said. ‘It isn’t right to hold it now, not with Misha gone.’

  ‘Isn’t it what you wanted?’ her father said without looking up at her.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘To be free of that idiot.’

  In a blind fury, she ran at him, knocking over the bucket. He put his hand on her face and shoved her away. Vanda fell backwards and he stood over her, his knife in his hand.

  ‘Why didn’t you come to clean my house?’ he said, kicking her sharply. ‘Why send Sorina?’

  Vanda scrambled to stand. ‘I didn’t send Sorina – that was Una’s doing.’

  ‘The girl’s no good at cleaning. But still…’ He stopped then said, ‘It will be for Edith to do after the wedding. Go and wash yourself. There’s pig blood on your ugly face.’

  Vanda stared at the butcher and wished she was a man for she would have killed him. If she had a gun, she would have shot him.

  ‘Go home, bitch.’ He pushed her until she was flattened against the tall yard gate. His eyes closed, a smile on his lips, he put his hands round her neck and tightened his gr
ip. The gate shuddered and he sprang back as Vanda slumped to the ground.

  ‘Who’s there?’ said the butcher.

  ‘The mayor – I want a word about the wedding.’

  With one hand the butcher lifted Vanda to her feet.

  ‘Get out,’ he whispered, opening the gate.

  Gasping for breath, she pushed past the mayor and set off in the snow. Finding herself too weak to reach her home, she went reluctantly to the cabinet maker’s house and opened the door. The cabinet maker was pulling on his boots and stood up so abruptly at the sight of Vanda that his chair fell over.

  ‘How could you, you stinking drunk, agree to this marriage?’ she said.

  The cabinet maker, seeing the blood on her face and thinking her injured, did the only sensible thing: he retrieved his hat and scurried away.

  ‘You rat,’ she shouted after him.

  Edith came out of her room, took one look at Vanda and fetched a bowl of water and a cloth.

  ‘I’m not hurt. Leave me be, don’t fuss,’ said Vanda, sitting at the table. ‘I just need to get my breath back, that’s all.’

  Edith put a firm hand on Vanda’s forehead and wiped the blood from her face. Vanda didn’t resist. Then she silently began to sob.

  ‘If Misha is lost,’ she said, ‘there’s so much I’ve never told him. I’ve never said I loved him and now it’s too late.’ She hung her head. ‘All these years I’ve been so angry and it wasn’t his fault. It was my father I should have… but I couldn’t…’

  Edith sat next to her and poured a glass of wine.

  ‘I don’t drink,’ said Vanda as she lifted the glass to her mouth. She took out a handkerchief and blew her nose then looked at Edith. ‘My father is a monster,’ she said. ‘There now. I’ve told you. That’s what you’re marrying.’ She laughed to herself. ‘It’s not funny.’ She glared at Edith who wasn’t laughing. ‘A monster. Do you want to know more?’

  Edith stayed still, her eyes never leaving Vanda’s face. She had a feeling that any sudden movement would scare away Vanda’s words and once lost she doubted they would ever be heard.

  ‘My mother died when I was sixteen. She was a weak woman. After years of abuse, I think she just gave up the ghost.’ Vanda stared at the stove. ‘I’m older than my sister by two years. After Mother’s death I was expected to run the house, take over her role. My father rewarded me with my own bedroom. So it began. Every night he came to me. I couldn’t stop him. I lived in dread of his step on the stairs, I knew what it meant. He told me I’d asked for it, that it was what I’d wanted. It lasted for two years. Two years of hell. I’ve never told a soul, not even my sister. I did all in my power to protect Una. I prayed that he never touched her. And then I realised I was pregnant. He found me a husband, the cobbler, and I married him on the understanding that my sister would marry the baker, and so it was.

  ‘My husband never said a word when I gave birth four months later. I was spilt open so that the baby could be pulled from me feet first. I remember I looked at him and wished he was dead. But for a reason I don’t understand, Misha chose to live. I felt nothing for him. I wouldn’t let my husband touch me after that. But he’s been a good father to Misha, a good husband to me.’

  She paused. ‘I did everything to keep my sister from him, only for her to be careless with her own daughter. And do you remember what she said when I told her about the hunting party? “Men will be men.” That’s all. But it wasn’t all.’ She stopped again. ‘Could I have a little more?’ Edith refilled her glass. ‘You must have heard the gossip about your shepherd.’

  Edith felt her stomach turn over. She was afraid of what she was about to hear but still she didn’t look away.

  ‘The men in the inn joke that my father killed him. I wouldn’t put it past him.’

  Edith’s eyes filled with tears and Vanda reached across the table and took her hand. ‘Surely what I’ve said has made you find your tongue? You honestly can’t speak?’

  Edith shook her head.

  ‘Your stitchwork is some of the finest in the village. It always has been. And as for your painting, you are an artist.’ Vanda still held Edith’s hand. ‘I’ve never told anyone what I’ve told you. Not a doctor, not a priest. Now, nearly too late, perhaps far too late, I realise that I married a good man, a kind man who has put up with me for eighteen years. My son is a good boy. I think hell has a special place for women like me. Thank you,’ she said. ‘Thank you for listening.’

  Edith glanced up at a knock on the door. She opened it and found the cobbler there holding a pair of boots.

  ‘I think these are your size, Edith,’ he said. ‘And no, I don’t want any money. They’re a wedding gift.’

  He looked past Edith and was surprised to see his wife sitting calmly at the table.

  ‘Vanda?’ he said.

  She stood and turned to him. ‘Take me home,’ she said.

  Chapter Twenty

  The Eve of the Wedding

  The cabinet maker had already taken the pig to be slaughtered for the wedding feast. Edith had wept to see it go as she had enjoyed the animal’s company far more than her father’s.

  As was the custom the Sunday afternoon before a wedding, six young men of the village went from house to house striking pots and pans and knocking on every door with the cry of ‘Bring cream’. This summons meant that each household was honour-bound to contribute to the wedding feast and every gift was rewarded by a glass of wine. In normal times this would be an occasion for celebration but there was nothing ordinary about this winter or this wedding. A glass of wine did little to lessen the anxiety felt by everyone.

  Tradition dictated that the bride’s future mother-in-law would oversee the cooking of the wedding feast. In place of the mother-in-law, Una arrived early with Sorina. Edith let them in then took up her seat by the window and resolutely watched the snow falling, refusing all requests to help.

  Lena arrived shortly afterwards to hear Una shouting at Edith.

  ‘If this is the way you are going to run my father’s house you will have short shrift from him.’

  ‘What are you shouting about?’ asked Lena.

  ‘Look at her,’ said Una pointing at Edith. Then seeing Lena was alone asked, ‘Where’s your mother?’

  ‘At home,’ said Lena.

  Flora arrived next. She went to Edith and laid a hand on her shoulder.

  Vanda was the last.

  ‘You’re late,’ said Una. ‘It sets a bad example, if I may say so.’

  ‘Example,’ repeated Vanda, weighing up the word. ‘Example of what? We are in the middle of a disaster. This wedding isn’t right. Two people have died, my son is still missing, and there isn’t enough food or fuel to last the winter. What happens if illness strikes us? We’ll all be dead for there’s no way out of this place. So what example are we talking about?’

  ‘Calm yourself,’ said Una.

  ‘No, Una,’ said Flora. ‘Vanda is right. We shouldn’t be calm – we should all be angry.’

  ‘We can’t spare the food, but we have no choice,’ said Flora. ‘Edith has no voice and no say in the matter, and still we must cook. Because that’s what’s done, it’s tradition.’

  ‘Tradition forced on us by cruel husbands and bullies, unwise men – and unwise women,’ said Lena. ‘My mother couldn’t see that the marks on me weren’t a sign of my husband’s love – but a sign of his resentment.’

  The women looked at one another, shocked that they had all spoken so unguardedly.

  Sorina too spoke up. ‘It was the cuckoo that said “Yes” at the betrothal supper, not Edith. I don’t ever want to get married, men are revolting. They make you dirty and you can’t get clean again.’

  ‘Where did you get that nonsense from?’ asked her mother.

  Vanda’s face had lost its colour. She stared at Sorina.

  ‘Well?’ said Una sharply.

  ‘My grandfather,’ said Sorina.

  Vanda sat down slowly.

  Una g
ave her daughter a slap. ‘You will show respect for your elders and betters. Do you hear me? Or do you want another one?’

  Edith got up and stood between Una and her daughter.

  ‘Out of my way, Edith,’ said Una, raising her hand. Edith caught her arm and moved her towards the door. ‘I’m not leaving – let go of my arm.’ Edith opened the door onto the verandah, and a chill filled the room. Una pulled her arm free. ‘There,’ she said and started to busy herself.

  ‘You’ve been asked to leave, Una,’ said Vanda.

  ‘Are you taking her side?’ said her sister.

  Vanda’s voice was weary. ‘Just go home – you’re not wanted.’

  Una picked up her basket. ‘Come, Sorina, we’re leaving.’

  Sorina moved to her aunt’s side. Una, realising she had no support, went red. ‘I’ll tell our father about this. And what you all said.’ She turned to Edith. ‘I hate to think how he’ll punish you, but he will punish you.’ She opened the door and stepped out onto the verandah.

  It was too much for Vanda. ‘That’s what women like you do,’ she called after her. ‘You help men like our father. You say men will be men – what does that mean for women? Will women be women? No, because when we are, we’re too loud. We’re told to be silent.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ said Una. ‘I’m sorry about Misha but…’

  ‘Don’t you dare say another word,’ said Vanda.

  ‘All I’m saying is that since the avalanche, sister, you haven’t been yourself. Perhaps you, like our father, have been bewitched by this silent…’

  ‘No,’ said Vanda. ‘That’s not what tragedy does to you. I haven’t been bewitched. I’ve been heard.’

  Edith closed the door on Una.

  ‘I will tell him, I will,’ shouted Una.

  Edith took up her seat by the window and Sorina sat beside her. In silence they watched Una plodding through the snow to her father’s house. Edith could almost see her emitting lightning flashes of indignant rage. The butcher obviously had not wanted to hear what she had to say as a few minutes later she was trudging in the opposite direction.