Secrets of the Snow

A warm breeze blew across the field, making a sea of green dance as though it were alive. The sky, a cool azure, was speckled with clouds that seemed to be chasing one another in the wind. Spring had nearly sprung - which was evident in the puddles formed in the quiet dirt road. The only sounds the muffled rhythmic pat pat pat of paws and shoes alike as they plodded down the road interrupted by the occasional whine. The whine belonged to the large shaggy dog marking its protest at the long walk. The dog belonged to the girl who walked next to it. 

“Come on now, River.” The girl said patiently. She stared down at her furry companion with eyes that nearly mirrored the dogs’ for which he was named after. He had been one of the few things that survived the fire, her brother had not been one of them. The old dog met her gaze and kept her pace as they continued along the unpaved road. 

Their home had gone up in flames on January 17th, the day she turned sixteen, sometime around midnight and collapsed not ten minutes later. River, herself, and her father escaped. Her mother’s body was found a few hours later, but they never found her brother. The fire marshall had told her father that faulty wiring had caused the fire, but it didn’t bring her mother back. 

The joint funeral was held on January 19th but only one casket actually held anything. By January 25th their reduced family had moved into the nearby town. Too far to be haunted by the constant reminder of what the fire had stolen from them, but close enough to remember what had been lost. Now it was March. Her brother would have been ten years old today. 

On she walked, River at her side. That’s what had sparked this journey, her brother and his collection of pins. On her driveway this morning in a shrinking snowbank, a fleck of red had been shining through, she retrieved it to find a tiny enamel maple leaf confined to a small metal post. He had collected them before his death, placing them on an old worn baseball cap their father had given him, displaying them like Boy Scout badges. She had kept one he had given her. She kept the pin in her pocket, a way of keeping her brother close. 

They had passed Mrs. Jenkins house ten minutes or so ago. She had been gardening as she always was, excited for the first thaw of the season. She had beckoned River and his human companion, Mrs. Jenkins was always grateful for company after her husband of fourty years had passed the winter prior. “Oh Anabelle, what are you doing out here?” she beckoned to the porch chairs and Anabelle sat. “I’ll be back with some lemonade.” Mrs. Jenkins took her gardening gloves off and placed them on the arm of her chair before disappearing into the old wooden house. River lay on the porch next to Anabelle and she let her hand fall to scratch one of his ears. 

“I know boy, I think you needed a rest.” River stared up at her with a tired gaze.

“Now who needs a rest?” Mrs. Jenkins asked as she came through the door carrying a glass of lemonade in each hand and a bone-shaped biscuit in the pocket of her apron. Anabelle offered a smile, “Certainly not you.” 

“Course not.” 

The glasses were placed on the small wooden table between the porch chairs. They sat in companionable silence before Mrs. Jenkins broke it. “He woulda been ten today, right?” Anabelle nodded silently, taking a sip of her lemonade. “That was a bad thing that happened, no girl should lose her mother and her brother that soon.” 

Mrs. Jenkins had attended the funeral and she had babysat Anabelle and her brother when they were young. She looked at Anabelle’s companion and smiled. “River, you old boy, still looks like his mamma though.” Her voice tinged with sadness. Mrs. Jenkins had given him as a pup to Anabelle’s parents when they moved to the area, she had owned his mother. River raised his head at mention of his name, and Mrs. Jenkins leaned forward and patted his brown head before offering him the biscuit she had in her apron pocket. He took it eagerly and wolfed it down. 

Mrs. Jenkins turned back to Anabelle. “Honey, I had something for Dillon…” She closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. “I think you should have it.” She reached into another pocket of her apron and produced a tiny dove. It was a gorgeous pin with intricate details painted on delicately. It looked as though it could fly away with a flap of its wings. Mrs. Jenkins spoke a single word as she placed the pin in Anabelle’s palm and squeezed it for a moment. “Hope.” 

The cemetery that served the town was further down the road, and was probably where Mrs. Jenkins had assumed Anabelle was travelling as she hugged her goodbye and wished her well, reminding her that she should share her company again soon. The destination of the girl and her dog was closer than that though. 

Anabelle stopped at the end of a laneway. Like the road, it was unpaved, and looked as though it hadn’t been used in months. The difference was that the laneway actually hadn’t been used in months and unlike most laneways, it didn’t seem to lead anywhere. No house, no barn, no building. She took a deep breath as River looked up at her. Are you ready? His gaze seemed to say. 

“Let’s go, boy.” She answered and as they stepped across the invisible barrier the birds fell silent and the warm breeze seemed to freeze. The walk took forever, yet it felt so familiar. Almost instinctively, Anabelle avoided the potholes full of water and the sharp stones jutting through the path like teeth. 

She stopped, River stayed at her heels. What lay in front of them were the bones of a house; the concrete foundation and the stone front steps. The latter is what caught the girl’s eye. On the stoop, a retreating snowbank surrendered a red glint. River, ears perked, padded up and sniffed at the gleaming object. Anabelle reached down and retrieved the object from the receding snow. In her palm lay another pin, the head of a lion with a bright red mane. 

A whine brought Anabelle back to the present. She looked up to find River, pawing at a spot in the rubble. Slowly, Anabelle stepped toward the spot. She looked down to find the entrance to the cellar, stocked with food, supplies, and water, and invisible to the unfamiliar eye. The ash around the door disturbed, as if it had been moved recently. Cautiously, she opened the door as the dog darted down the stone steps. Sound erupted from the cellar, barking, whining, and crying. Anabelle ran down the stairs after the dog but before her eyes adjusted she heard a familiar voice. 

“Ana?” 

Before she could reply, a shape came out of the darkness and hugged her. “Dillon?” The small head wearing an old baseball cap adorned with pins nodded. “I was so scared Ana...I ran to fetch water from the well...I really did...but I got scared Ana...I ran into the woods instead and I-I waited in the treehouse. When I came back all the firemen were gone and the sirens were gone...and the house...it was gone too. I wanted to come back, I wanted to tell someone, but I-I thought you all...” Dillon broke off into deep sobs.

After some explaining and more tears, the girl, the boy, and her dog began walking down the laneway, no longer to nowhere. The birds began to sing and the breeze blew warm. The boy with his baseball cap full of pins holding the hand of the girl with the shaggy dog. The steady rhythm of their footsteps on the dirt road.