Noor looked away. The woman had gone. The child was lying on the mound of potatoes in her wagon, beside the shoes. Noor carefully picked her up. There was hardly any weight to her. She held the child close. She put her face against her.
“Let’s go home” she said. Her voice was quiet and broken and she had to repeat the order.
Behind her, on the riverbank, Langley stood facing the market in his new black leather jacket, his arms spread wide in victory.
2
The sun sat half a hand’s breadth above the horizon. It appeared to have paused in its descent. An old man sat on a workhorse, plodding southwest along the River Trail. In front of him sat a boy.
The man had a mass of curly white hair and a white beard. He wore canvas trousers and a patched and sleeveless pullover shirt. On his feet were a pair of shiny black leather shoes with square toes. He wore wire-rim glasses, the lenses of which were crazed with scratches. Behind the lenses blue eyes caught a little of the weak light of the sun. The boy had on a poncho and patched blue sweatpants with a green stripe but was shoeless. He held the reins of yellow twine loosely in his right hand and leaned back against the old man.
Frost gazed at the sun. It was going down after all. “Will it come up again?” he said.
The boy had been almost sleeping. “’Course it will” he answered.
“Good” said Frost. “I’m glad.”
“There’s King” said the boy, pointing. A dog came out of a patch of thistles. There was a rabbit in its mouth. The rabbit’s legs hung limp. Puppy burst out of the thistles and made a move to grab King’s catch, but King growled and pranced on ahead with the rabbit. The workhorse stopped and looked toward the dog, and King let the horse have a sniff. The horse snorted and tossed its head. The boy clucked and said “C’mon, Beauty” and the horse tramped forward again, swinging its great feet. King stopped to try to eat his rabbit. Puppy lay watching a few feet away.
“Lot of rabbits this year” said Frost. “Aren’t the squatters eating them?”
“Maybe they don’t have snares.”
“Could you make some snares?”
“’Course I could.”
“Trade them, don’t give them away. That way they won’t be offended.”
The boy lay forward with his face against the horse’s collar. A purple Christmas ornament was tied into the mane. Frost studied the thing. The sun was reflected in it. “God” he said. ‘That is pretty. Isn’t that pretty?” But he looked as if there was something terribly sad in its beauty.
The boy was asleep.
They crossed a side channel of the river over Little Bridge. A few hundred yards to the north a bridge as big as Frost’s crossed the main channel at a slant, running southwest to northeast. The knocking of Beauty’s hoofs on the surface of Little Bridge woke the boy. He sat up and looked back. “They’re comin’” he said, and then the dogs were beside them, King toting what remained of the rabbit carcass.
They veered right, off the road. Beauty picked her way down an overgrown slope, and they skirted the angled slabs of a collapsed overpass. Beauty stepped carefully across a holed and buckled boulevard. Soon Frost motioned, and the boy directed the horse toward an alder stump near the trail. The boy swung his leg over the horse’s head and jumped off. Frost slid carefully down to the stump. Then he bent and stepped off it. He handed the boy two lengths of twine, and the boy called the dogs and leashed them. The dogs sat, and leaned against his legs.
Frost said “Now, what’s the man’s name?”
“Bundy. Mr. Bundy.”
“Not what?”
“Not Fundy. Why does everyone call him Fundy if that’s not his name?”
“He’s a fundamentalist Christian. A fundy. He believes everything that’s written in the bible. He’s not a very civilized man in that respect. But we are, aren’t we?”
“Yes, Grampa.”
A bank of cloud on the horizon was preparing to erase what was left of the sun. The boy said “Looks like it’s going to rain. Maybe it will put out the fire on Grouse Mountain.”
“Yes” said the old man. “It could. But it’s too late. The mountain’s all burnt off.”
“It’ll grow back.”
The old man said nothing.
The boy said “Will there be snow this year?”
“Hard to say, Will. What do you think?”
“It’s gettin’ colder. I think it could snow. So I guess everythin’ is all covered in white?”
“It is.”
“And if you go out in the middle of the night you can still see, because the snow reflects the light?”
“That’s right.”
“And it’s so quiet.”
“Yes. Quiet and peaceful.”
“Hushed” said the boy. “It’s hushed.”
King gave a whine. The boy took a wrap of the twine with each hand. Across the field there was a shout. Two men were coming. One of them waved. The other man, younger, held two dogs, who were pulling him forward. Frost walked toward them a few paces. Then he waited, studying his new shoes. When he looked up he saw that the two men were hurrying. The older man, who was tall and bald, called “Frost! Frost!”
Frost sighed and put together a smile and said “Abraham, what’s got you worked up this time? Don’t tell me you’re….”
But the younger man cut him off. “Where’s Noor? Is Noor comin’?” He had a real shirt, blue and clean. He had dark hair, tied back. It had been wetted. He took long ungainly strides behind the dogs. There was an expression of panic on his face. “But where’s Noor? Noor never comes. It’s not fair.” He stopped and jerked the dogs back roughly. He clenched his teeth and moaned with rage.
Fundy caught up and, as he passed the younger man, gave him a hard backhand slap on the ear. “Shut up, Solomon.”
The younger man started to weep. His head flopped forward. He let go of the dogs. His arms hung limp. The dogs bounded away. Frost turned and nodded to Will, who released King and Puppy. The four dogs raced off to frolic. With head hanging, Solomon trudged back across the field.
Frost extended his hand, but Fundy just threw up his arms and yelled “They took my bridge! They that sow wickedness reap the same. By the blast of God they perish, and by the breath of his nostrils are they consumed.”
“Hold, on, Abraham. What do you mean they took your bridge?”
“They took it! They took it, Frost. They just took it. Behold, the Lord will come with fire, and with his chariots like a whirlwind.” Fundy shook both fists.
Frost nodded and folded his arms and waited.
“He will render his rebuke with flames of fire.” Fundy glared at Frost.
“I’m not arguing with you, Abraham.”
“They took my bridge.”
“Your big bridge?”
“And the Lord…”
“The one commonly referred to as Fundy’s Bridge?”
“Yes, yes, yes. What’s the matter with you, man — haven’t you heard a word I’ve said?”
“Someone took over your bridge — is that what you’re saying?”
“For the slain of the Lord shall be many. Woe unto those who….”
“Abraham, shut up. Just shut up.”
Fundy took a deep shuddering breath and folded his arms and looked at the ground. After a few seconds he said “Skaggers. The skaggers took it over. A bunch of them come with weapons and drove my people back to this end. They want toll. Big toll.”
“Noor says you weren’t at the market this morning.”
“I ain’t payin’ toll on my own bridge. And the Lord… And the Lord…”
“You can use my bridge to get to market, Abraham. No toll. It’s best to stay away from the skaggers.”
“I already got a bridge, Frost. No bunch of scabby drug dealers is going to take what the Lord God put in my hands.”