She had on rubber boots and very baggy trousers of undyed canvas tied with nylon cord. She wore a flannel logger’s shirt on which the red and black plaid was just visible. Her white hair hung long and loose. She was badly stooped, and she used a length of rusted reinforcing bar to help her as she hobbled toward the boys. One of her eyes was clouded. The other was as blue as the winter sky.
She said “Want a cookie?”
Will waited, then turned to Shaughnessy and said “Want a cookie?”
Shaughnessy shrugged and looked away.
Will said to the old woman “What is it? What’s a cookie?”
The woman cackled shrilly. There was not a tooth in her mouth. “What’s a cookie!” She thumped her rebar on the deck. Then she was suddenly serious. She put a hand on Will’s shoulder and leaned close. Her breath smelled muddy, like the river. She whispered “I saw a fish.”
Shaughnessy said “There ain’t no fish.” He seemed angry.
The old woman turned and motioned with her head for them to follow. They stood between rose plants and stared down at the river. The grey-green current was running fast. She pointed with her rebar. “Right there.” They watched the spot for a minute, but the fish did not appear.
Will cleared his throat. “Would you like to trade for a rabbit snare?” He held up one of the copper loops.
The woman said “And look at them bastards.” She was glaring up toward Fundy’s Bridge. She shook her rebar at the small figures of the men standing there.
Will said “There’s a lot of rabbits. They’re easy to catch. The meat is real good.”
The woman yelled up at the bridge “Filthy rotten bastards!”
Will said “Well, I guess we’ll be goin’, then.”
She turned to him. “What do you want for a snare?”
“I don’t know. What have you got?”
“Let’s see. I don’t have much to spare. I’ll give you a kiss.” She cackled.
Will tried to smile but could not reply.
“A kiss not good enough? How about I let both of you see me in the altogether? That ought to be worth a snare.”
“Well… What is that? What’s the altogether?” said Will. Shaughnessy nudged him and signaled for an escape. The woman cackled again. Will said “Here. Just take one. I’d like you to have it.”
She took the snare. “If you wanted to give it to me, why didn’t you just give it to me?”
“Bye, Amber.”
“What I need is a fish net. Make me a fish net and I’ll make your dreams come true.”
As the boys backed away she waved her bar at Fundy’s Bridge again and screeched up at the distant men “Bastards! You’re a bunch of filthy rotten bastards!”
13
He saw Noor sitting at the end of the railroad bridge, more than halfway across the river. He walked out along the bridge through light cold rain. He had a wool poncho and no hat. It was a swing bridge and ran level over the water. The old car bridge, his bridge, loomed massive and dark above him on his right. Soon he could see that she sat with her feet dangling over the end where the railroad bridge stood forever open. And he could see that she was staring down into the river. He called softly “Noor.”
She did not react, but when he was very close she held up her right hand without turning, just to the shoulder, and he saw that there was something, a folded page, pinched between the thumb and index finger. He stopped briefly and slipped a hand under his poncho and probed the pocket of his shirt, which he found to be empty. He came close and wrapped his hand around hers and then slid the page from her fingers. She let her hand fall and said, very quietly “I’m sorry. I took it.”
Now Frost too looked down, past his granddaughter, over the end of the bridge. He heard the rush of the water and saw the confused swirl of mud-green eddies. He said “I should not have brought it home.” He touched her head. There was rain beaded in her hair.
She said “Just leave me.”
Frost went back along the railroad bridge. Before he got to the point where the tracks ran onto his farm he tore the folded page in half and then tore those pieces in half and flung the handful of paper toward the edge of the bridge. But a random gust of air rising off the water caught the bits of paper, and a fragment snagged in a curl of his hair. He walked on, head down, and soon another chance breeze snatched away the torn image of forest and snow.
The River Trail ran east and west along the water’s edge. Here it crossed under the south end of Frost’s Bridge and passed onto Frost’s Farm. Where the rusted and grown-over tracks crossed the Trail Frost looked up and stopped. An old man was standing there waiting. He had neither poncho nor hat in the cold drizzle. He had a sleeveless pullover shirt and canvas trousers and sandals. His hair was thin and white and hung in wet strings over his shoulders. He had a wispy white beard. His eyes showed nothing but defeat and exhaustion.
“Damn” said Frost.
Without another word they started toward the domicile, with Wing leaning on Frost’s shoulder. Not far ahead Wing’s men and a child or two and Wing’s dogs were moving in a straggly group in the same direction. Farther on, people were flooding out of the domicile. Frost’s dogs raced to meet Wing’s.
The door of the clinic opened. Grace stepped out and stood there with a hand over her mouth. Then she untied the dog that was guarding the clinic, and it came racing too. She stood beside the open door, leaning back against the wall, with her hands hanging loose at her sides, looking down at the ground as Wing’s people trudged past.
Noor was beside Wing now, on the other side from Frost. She said nothing, but laid a hand on Wing’s shoulder for a minute and then ran ahead. She passed Will, who was coming from the domicile. Frost held out his hand and Will took it and held it tight.
“What happened, Grampa?”
“Run back and make sure the fire is going. Build it up if it’s not.”
“Why? What happened? Are they comin’ to our place?”
“Just go back and see to the fire. Quickly now.”
Frost’s people jammed the hallway outside his open door as Frost and Noor and Will and Daniel Charlie and his woman Jessica did what they could for Wing and his men and the children. Will took down his grandfather’s hammock so that everyone could come close to the fire. They sat on the floor. Will had not managed to build the fire up much, but the apartment was warm. Noor called out into the hallway for hot soup, and she set her own pot on the fire. Wing sat on the floor, closest to the fire, with his men huddled close around him. A baby girl and a young boy soon fell asleep on their fathers’ laps.
Frost stood looking out the window. From time to time he shook his head and sighed. Grace came into the apartment, stepping among the men, and stood beside Frost..
It was quiet for a few minutes. Then Wing started crying. He sat with his knees up and his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands, and he sobbed loudly. Frost did not look away from the window, but his own shoulders also shook. After a while Wing was quiet, and Frost turned from the rain-filled window and said “Who can tell it?”
For a minute no one said anything. Then a young man called Nordel spoke up. “I can tell it.” He was sitting on the opposite side of the group from Frost, leaning back against the wall. He had a wool poncho and a long wool kilt, which were still wet. He had been one of Wing’s guards at the market the day Frost had got his new glasses and came home with the skag addict. He had a plain, handsome Chinese face and was bald, with the remaining fringe of black hair cut short. He had a strong voice but marked his story with frequent hesitations, as if he were reluctant to recall any more of what had happened.