by Beth Lewis
We had rules a’ living but thinking on ’em now, they was mostly for me to follow. Don’t ask no questions. Don’t wander out a’ sight a’ the hut. Don’t talk to no people ’bout him. Last one weren’t no trouble; I hadn’t seen another face ’cept Trapper’s in three years. The rage I had in me when I was with my nana, what made me scream and shout and tantrum, weren’t there no more. Trapper saw the wild in me and didn’t try to tame it and cage it like my nana done. I didn’t have no bars to rage ’gainst no more. You trap a wolf and he’s going to snarl and rip you up till he can get free, but once he’s out there, treading his own path in the snow, you ain’t got much to fear ’less you provoke him. Trapper knew that and I saw that same fierce in him.
We was closing in to winter, just a few weeks we figured till the white blanket would come smothering. Winters were eight months a’ harsh. Snow up to your eyebrows, winds what’ll rip your skin right off your bones, trees hunkered over with the weight a’ the season, like crooked old men at a whisky parlor. Trapper said since the Damn Stupid, winters got colder, snow deeper, and ice thicker; summers got sweltering like them tropics far down south. Any animal or man what could survive the whiteout would come out the other side fiercer and that much harder to kill. Made living long a rare thing indeed. Folks now are wrinkled up and wizened where the same years would a’ looked fresh-faced afore the Damn Stupid. People round here get killed by hailstorms and drought, ’stead a’ invisible diseases and bombings. Nature ain’t friendly no more, but least nowadays it’s honest ’bout it.
Trapper had me chopping logs to kindling in the rain, stocking up for the freeze. Chopping wood weren’t no fun and our ax was blunter’n a river rock.
“Shit,” I said when the rain made my hands slip and the ax stuck hard in the wood. I threw the whole thing, log and ax, into the woodpile. “I might as well chop down an oak with a dead rabbit all the good that blade is.”
Trapper was cleaning his rifle ’neath the awning, prepping for a hunt.
“Why don’t you never let me come with you?” I shouted so he could hear me over the weather. “I could help dressin’ them deer, hauling meat.”
He didn’t even look up from the barrel. “You want to freeze up solid in the night?”
I wiped wet, stuck-down hair off my face, but the rain just started falling heavier. Ground was turning quick to mud ’neath my boots. Trapper got me them boots early that spring, said they came off a barrow, some boy in Dalston died that winter. When I asked ’bout the blood on ’em he said the boy had a sickness a’ the lungs what made him cough red. I washed them boots in the river till my hands was numb and raw. Trapper said the boy got too cold and the devil got in him ’tween the shivering.
“No,” I said, ’less I end up like that boy, “I don’t want to freeze up.”
He screwed the scope back on the rifle. “We all got our jobs, Elka. Even this rifle got a job.”
Always liked that gun, I did, she was black and sleek and the barrel was longer’n my arm. I could just ’bout hold it right, but Trapper never let me fire it. Said the kickback would knock my whole shoulder out a’ joint.
He put the rifle bolt back in the stock and tested it a few times. That bolt slid back and forth smooth as butter over a hot plate.
“Where’d you get that gun?” I said. I winced soon as them words left me. Don’t ask no questions was one a’ our rules.
But Trapper didn’t growl at me like he normal did. ’Stead he set down the rifle and started loading up one a’ the magazines with bullets. Homemade bullets a’ course.
“Took it off some Ruski fella in the Second Conflict,” he said, looking at the gun not me. “I gave him my rotten M16 as payment. Gun what I just shot him with. This here is a Dragunov. Got to take the best a’ what’s in front a’ you, girl.”
I picked up the ax, still stuck in that log, and tried to pull it free. It was the best ax we had and it was better’n splitting logs with a knife and hammer.
“You was in that fight?” I said. “My nana said my granddaddy was too.”
“Everyone was in that fight,” he said, “only, not all of us was wearing uniforms.”
He watched me struggle with that log but didn’t make no moves to help. He put the last bullet in the magazine and loaded the rifle. Then he picked up his hat and wax jacket from inside the hut.
“I’ll be back tomorrow,” he said, slinging that rain gear on and striding out into the mud. He’d been gone all last night and it weren’t all that much past noon. It weren’t normal for him to be gone so frequent and so early, but I figured he must a’ had his reasons and I’d already pushed my luck with the questioning.
He stopped at the edge a’ the trees.
“Hold the ax at the end a’ the handle, not the head,” he said, “and put your foot on the log.”
I did, and the ax popped out easy.
“Keep the fire lit, Elka girl,” he said, and stalked off into the trees.
I always kept the fire lit and he knew it, but he said it every time he left no matter what. Figured maybe it was his way a’ saying a kindness without having to. ’Stead a’ I love you, you keep the fire lit.
Not sure why I thought a’ them “I love you” words then, I don’t remember no one ever telling me that. Trapper never did, that’s for damn sure, and I couldn’t even imagine them sneaking out ’tween my nana’s gnarly lips. But them words was stuck up in my head.
Tell my little girl, I love you.
Momma’s letter. The paper they was on was lost or rotted or stolen by the thunderhead, but them words was still there. Quick realized I hadn’t thought a’ them the whole winter past, since the middle a’ the year afore.
Suddenly had me a longing to see Trapper. Didn’t want no girly cuddle off him or nothing soppy like that, but I wanted him close, not gone all night on a hunt. Never felt as safe in this world as when he was ’round.
I set my head firm and figured he couldn’t a’ got far. It weren’t often I went ’gainst Trapper’s words but some deep-down feelings got the better a’ me and I was decided afore my senses got a say in it. I set down the ax on the porch and went inside for my coat and hat as well as a hunk a’ bread and strip a’ jerk for dinner. Thought twice afore I left and grabbed two more pieces a’ meat. Trapper’s always got a fierce hunger on him when he’s been hunting.
When I came out the hut, the rain eased off to a weak drizzle, like it weren’t even trying no more, and I figured I was no more’n ten minutes behind Trapper. I went after him, right where he’d gone through the trees. I thought I’d paid attention when he taught me ’bout tracking, but I couldn’t see shit in all that mud and wet. His footprints had turned to sludge pools and the path quick turned to moss and mulch. I didn’t call out, that was another a’ them rules. When you in the forest, when you on a hunt, you don’t speak. Even if a grizzly takes a swing at you, keep that mouth sewn up tight.
I walked for god knows how long, till the rain clouds cleared and the sky turned deep blue, maybe five hours, but my legs was short and I was slow back then, so I don’t know how far I got in truth. Summer meant long evenings a’ sunlight what can play tricks on you. I sure broke Trapper’s rule though: Don’t go out a’ sight a’ the hut. But I figured I knew my way back so he couldn’t go raging at me too hard. ’Sides, I was grown-up to ten, weren’t no kid no more.
I came to a clearing with meadow grass near tall as me and I froze. Straight across the other side, brown eyes was staring back at me. Wide and terrified and belonging to a woman. A human woman. Wondered brief if it was the late light confusing my brain but she raised her hand, waved, and started limping toward me. Thought about running. My hands was shaking. My head was racing through all kinds a’ options. Hide. Help. Run. But it was a woman. Hell, I hadn’t seen no woman for years.
Don’t talk to no one, Trapper said. But my curious got the better a’ me and I figured I’d already broke one rule, might as well break two.
Strange as it was to see a perso
n out in the forest, I couldn’t stop staring at her. I had hair down to my chin and I thought that was longer’n was strictly practical, but she had black silk reaching her waist. I thought my eyes was pretty brown enough, but hers were damn near golden. I thought I was tall enough, but she was half my height again. Only woman I ever remember seeing was my nana and I can tell you now, she was a shriveled shrew compared to this one. Realized quick I was smiling. Grinning like a clown watching her walk at me.
“Hey,” she said, voice weak and raw. She had one hand held tight at her chest, holding the corners of her shirt together. When she got closer I saw it weren’t a shirt but a nightgown, lacy thing fit for nothing.
“What you doing out here dressed in that?” I said, ’cause that, not Who in the hell are you?, was the first question that came into my ten-year-old head.
She kept looking ’round and kept down low in the grass, like someone was chasing her or they was playing hide-and-go-seek and I was ’bout to give her away. Don’t think she heard my question, ’cause she didn’t answer it.
“What are you doing out here all on your own? Are you lost?” she said, and came up right beside me. She didn’t have no shoes on her feet and I wondered brief if she might be simple. She didn’t sound it though, didn’t look it neither. Her voice was new to me and all the more pretty for it. So many years a’ harsh Trapper tones had hardened up my ears, but her voice melted all that away.
“I ain’t lost,” I said.
She knelt down and put her hands on my shoulders like she was checking I was real. “Do you live nearby?”
I said yes and she smiled and when she did that all my doubts went skipping off. I’d found me a momma, gone off into the woods by myself and I caught me one, same as Trapper catches rabbits. He’d be right proud a’ me. I smiled wide, showing her all my teeth, what I always kept clean. Trapper always said clean teeth meant good health and his was always white and sparkling.
I took the bread out my pocket and offered it to her. She looked at me a minute, trembling, eyes darting every which way, then she snatched it out my hands and ripped off a chunk ’tween her teeth. She murmured thanks ’tween mouthfuls and I didn’t right know what to do.
“We have to get out of here,” she said, barely whispering. “Do you know the way to town?”
Cold air was floating down from the mountains, and she weren’t even close to dressed for it. Wouldn’t make it to no town, that’s for sure.
“Fire’s lit in my hut,” I said. “You can come but you can’t touch nothing.”
She nodded, finished off the bread, and started following me.
“How old are you?” she said once we got into the trees.
“Ten winters,” I said.
“What are you doing out here?”
I didn’t tell her ’bout Trapper. Figured I’d surprise her once we got back home and I’d had a chance to get her cleaned up and fed. By the look a’ this woman, Trapper’d be a fool to say no to having her as his wife and my momma.
“Could ask the same ’bout you. You got a name?” I said.
She kept looking ’round like she was expecting something to jump out the trees any minute. “Missy,” she said.
Didn’t think much a’ the name, but Trapper could always change it, like he’d done with mine. I said, “What you fearing? Ain’t nothing out here gonna hurt you.”
“What makes you so sure?”
I puffed out my chest and said, “I know these woods like I know my own skin. Lived out here all my life with my daddy.”
I never called Trapper Daddy to his face, but sometimes, when he weren’t around, I tried it out, enjoyed the sound of it on my tongue.
“I woke up,” she said, “out here in the woods this morning. I went to bed last night. Then a…a shadow, I saw a shadow in my window…” She shook her head and I saw a line a’ blood trickling down her forehead out that pretty black hair. “Then I was here. I’ve been out here all day.”
I didn’t pay no mind to what she was saying, people babble ’bout all kinds a’ stuff when they been out and cold all day. I told her we should stay quiet ’case a’ bears. She stayed close to me, bent over, arms wrapped around herself, and we didn’t talk much for the rest a’ the walk. Trapper liked people who could be hushed.
We got back to the hut when the sky was dark and stars was poking through the black. Missy was shivering, and soon as I opened the door she was in by that fire. I grabbed a pile a’ logs from outside and stoked up the fire. Maybe it was having company that turned me into a dunce, but as I was putting one a’ them logs in the burner, I caught the back a’ my hand on the iron door. Red-hot pain went through me and my skin blistered up in one fat line.
I hissed and swore and Missy jumped up quick with a soft gasp and grabbed my hand. I was ’bout to slap her away with my good one till I figured she was helping. She blew cool air over my skin while I squirmed and whined and I couldn’t help it. This weren’t pain I knew, ain’t never been burned to blisters afore.
“It’s OK,” she cooed, “it’s not that bad, we’ll get you fixed up.”
And she smiled so sweet that it close took the heat away. She led me outside to the water butt, where Trapper and me catch rain and melt water for drinking, with her arm ’round my waist. I don’t never remember my nana holding me like that and sure as shit Trapper never did. Felt a warming in me that didn’t hurt none.
Missy gentle dipped my hand into the cold water. Made me wince and grit my teeth but soon the cold did its job.
“A lot of fuss for nothing,” Missy said, smiling and letting my hand go. She ripped off a strip a’ her nightdress, showed off her knees all goose-skinned from the chill, and soaked it in the water. Then she wrapped it all gentle-like around my hand.
“Keep this cold and wrapped up until the pain stops. Don’t pop the blister, OK?” She said it like she was talking to a kid she’d known since birthing. She was the momma I was meant to have, all kind and beautiful and sweet as honey.
“Thank you,” I said, and in truth, my hand didn’t hurt all that much no more.
“My mother used to do the same for me when I was careless around the kitchen,” Missy said. “Come on, let’s get back inside before you catch your death of cold.”
We did, and Missy dropped a few more logs on the burner and lit the lamps, told me just to sit quiet, draped a blanket ’round my shoulders. I let her. Weren’t every day I was the one tended to. With the light high in the room I spotted a smear a’ blood ’cross the front a’ her nightgown but figured she must a’ just scratched herself in the forest. Her hair was full a’ twigs and strands a’ moss and it looked like she’d been dragged backward right ’cross the Mussa Valley.
“You got to clean yourself up,” I said, and got up to fetch a bowl a’ water and a comb what Trapper brought me back from a trip to Ridgeway. Tame that rat’s nest head a’ yours, he’d said.
Missy looked at me strange and slowly picked up the comb. With my help, pulling out the twigs and worst a’ the moss, we got all that hair smooth in no time.
Then Trapper came through the door.
It shocked me worse’n seeing Missy in the first place. He weren’t due back; he was hunting, he’d be gone all night. But there he was, standing in the doorway, hat covering his face, rifle in his hand. Missy tensed up and shuffled closer to the fire, her hand closed ’round a log.
“Who you brought home, Elka girl?” he said in a voice I couldn’t right read.
“This is Missy,” I said. “She’s gonna be my new momma.”
“What?” Missy said, and I heard more’n horror in her tone. She looked from me to Trapper and back. “Please,” she said over and over, shaking her head. “Please.”
Trapper took off his hat and hung it on the peg and he rested his rifle by the door frame. Then his face changed. Where normal times it’d be hard as stone, it turned soft and smiling.
“Oh, honey,” he said to me, and my eyebrows raised up so high they was in danger a’ c
oming right off my head. Then he turned to Missy. “I’m so sorry about all this; she gets carried away since her mother passed.”
My mouth fell open and I just watched him. I didn’t have no sense a’ who this man was. He had Trapper’s face, but it was like it was some stranger in his skin. Missy’s grip on the log relaxed a little.
“Are you hungry?” he said, and darted ’bout the place looking for that hunk a’ bread she’d already ate. “Where do you live? I can take you home.”
“But—” I started, but he quick cut me off.
“Hush, Elka, you done enough.”
“D-Dalston,” Missy said.
Trapper nodded and held out his hand to help her to her feet. She took it and gave me a look like I was the one to be fearing.
“It’s not far,” Trapper said. “I’ll take you back, make sure you get home safe. But it’s late, you’re welcome to stay the night.”
She said she just wanted to go home, please thanks.
He took off his coat and wrapped it ’round her shoulders, and if my eyes could a’ bugged out my head they would.
“Elka, you stay here while I take Missy back,” he said, then he opened the door for her. What in the good goddamn? Trapper don’t open doors for people. Trapper don’t never speak to people.
“Sorry, Elka,” Missy said, “but thank you for the bread.”
I was ’bout to say, No, don’t you take my new momma away, when Trapper turned ’round to go out the door.
Trapper was gone all that night and all the next day. I never saw Missy again a’ course.
When he came back, we didn’t speak ’bout her nor ’bout me getting a momma. He didn’t whip me, didn’t shout at me, acted like it never happened. He was Trapper again, none a’ that honey in his voice, none a’ that sweetness no more and not never again.
Week after Missy, when my hand was healing up nice, I came to the woodpile and found the ax sharp enough to shave a leg off a cricket afore it’d even notice.
“People—women—are dangerous, Elka girl. Some are fierce as wolves, some are meek as deer, but you don’t figure out which till they’re in too close.”
