The deadfall was triggered, but there was no critter. The sticks was broken and scattered, and the rocks should of been one on top of the other with the ermine dead in between. But they was apart, and no ermine in sight. Could’ve been a marten or a wolf, I had lost plenty of catches to bigger critters hungrier than me. The snow round the trap laid thinner on the ground here where the tamaracks grew close together. I waited for the moon to duck behind a cloud, my eyes grew sharper in the dark, and I studied the places where the snow was trampled. Not by four paws, but two boots.
I stood real still and listened to the night. Watching from the sides of my vision, concentrating on the spaces between trees, the deep pockets of shadow that might hide someone. But he wasn’t there. If he was nearby, I would of known. I would of felt him.
I kicked the snow clear of the blurry footprints and scattered what was left of my deadfall, my mind gnawing away at the evidence. So he had come south. Helped himself to whatever he could use in Jim Lerner’s unlocked house then laid down, exhausted, in front of Jim’s woodstove before getting chased off. Farther south, he didn’t bother knocking on our door but headed straight for the kennel, left footprints going in that we would find the next morning. Dad hadn’t bothered to look for a set of footprints leading away from the kennel, but he wasn’t the one concerned about strangers trespassing, and I hadn’t thought of it till later, when a new snow had already fallen and erased any tracks that might of been. Why hadn’t we checked to see if anything was missing, one of Dad’s tools or the wood axe, or the last hunk of meat in the freezer? A man hungry enough will eat just about anything, including a critter caught by someone else’s trap.
But if Tom Hatch come to the woods without stopping by the house first, odds was, all he wanted was his pack. Not to confront me about what I done or turn me in to the village safety officer. Tom Hatch didn’t want trouble, he just wanted what was his.
Except he wouldn’t find it. If he was this far out, he surely didn’t remember where he’d dropped his pack. But the man who’d taught himself enough to survive days, maybe weeks, in the Alaskan wild from just a book was smart enough to figure out someone had stumbled across it and took a look inside. That the most obvious someone was the last face he seen before his fortune changed.
I got back on my sled, aware that I had already been gone longer than I’d planned. I run the dogs hard back the way we come, and when we spilled off the trail into the yard, I was certain down to my bones Dad would be there, hands on his hips, waiting to give me a talking-to. Even when I seen he wasn’t, every sound in the yard as I took the dogs off the line—every bark, every tree limb creaking, even the crunch of my own boots—made me jump. Till I realized it wasn’t the house I kept glancing at. It was the trees. The kennel. The empty space of our yard, where I swore I did see him, a man taller and broader than I remembered, but him just the same, his hand still plastered over his gut, my knife still stuck in him, the hilt of it glimmering in the moonlight. I blinked, and he was gone.
I rubbed Flash’s feet, then Zip’s, then Su’s, scratched their bellies and give them each a treat. Then reversed everything I’d done to start the night, drug the sled back into the kennel and covered it, hid the rigging and harnesses so I’d know which ones to use for my next run. My ears twice their normal size, the scurry of mice in the kennel amplified and transformed into the heavy, careful footsteps of someone who didn’t belong, a figure waiting for me to be gone, or to come close enough to touch. When I was done putting gear away, I run outside and slammed the door behind me, forgetting all about my worry that Dad would wake, only wanting to be back inside the house for once, behind locked doors.
We was almost at the house when Old Su suddenly peeled away, reenergized as she galloped toward the road with her ears perked, like she was expecting someone to pull up to the house.
Come back, girl, I called to her.
She turned and trotted to me, brushing past a shadow. A dark shape, facing the road. I jumped when I seen it, my mind still on Hatch. But the longer I stared, I realized it was Mom. My memory of her, anyway. Standing at the head of the driveway, looking toward the road.
Turn around, I thought but couldn’t make myself say out loud. She stayed where she was, shivering under her heavy coat, till the moon come out again and shone down on the empty place where she’d stood.
Come back, I said again.
Upstairs, I shucked off my clothes and crawled into bed. But even though my arms and legs was worn out in that pleasant way that comes after you have been outside and active for a spell, my brain kept me awake with its chattering. I turned on the light and reached under my bed, pulled out the pack. I had smoothed out the money and separated the bills, bundled it all. Surprising how small a stack that much money made, even when a decent portion of it was ones and fives. Surprising how something so small could feel so heavy.
My stomach growled, and I thought about the deadfall, the catch that ought to of been mine but had fed Tom Hatch instead. Wondered how long he would haunt our woods before he showed up on our doorstep.
5
When Scott got old enough, he would ask could he come along when I ventured into the woods with my knife and my rules and no warning from Mom other than Be back by dinner or Don’t go any farther than the lake today. Sometimes Mom would distract him with her camera, the two of them would go on their own adventure round the yard, snapping pictures, or they would stay inside and bake cookies or play their own secret games. But other times she would tell me, Let him tag along today, Trace. You can wander around on your own tomorrow.
So I would try and show Scott how to set a simple trap or explain to him that even the tiniest movement would spook most animals. But he fidgeted and whined that he was bored. So we would go walking up the trail till his legs was tired, then turn back round and head home with no catch.
Usually I tried to talk him out of coming with me, instead I would promise to show him something cool if he would agree to stay back. I taught him how to spark a fire with flint and steel, same way Dad had showed me, and how to blow across a sharp blade of grass to make a whistle. I showed him tricks with my knife.
What’s blood brothers? he asked.
It’s just a little cut, I told him. Then we shake hands, and we’re blood brothers.
But you’re a girl, he said.
My stomach growled. It’s just a name, I said and grabbed his hand.
But Dad heard the little yelp Scott give when I cut into the meat of his palm, he chased us both inside asking, What the hell were you thinking?
What’s going on? Mom asked. She was setting the table, it was nearly dinnertime.
So Dad tattled on me and Scott showed her the shallow cut bleeding on his hand. Mom give me a look. I braced myself for hollering. But she said, That doesn’t look too bad, Scotty. Go wash up and put a bandage on it. You’ll be all right. Can you give him a hand, Bill?
Dad nodded. Told me, And you get yourself upstairs till dinner, young lady.
Wait, Trace, Mom said. Why don’t you go check your traps? Just the ones nearest the yard.
Dad threw his hands in the air. Didn’t you hear me just now, Hannah? I told her to get upstairs.
I heard you just fine.
Then maybe you could back me up instead of telling her the opposite of what I just said.
Tracy, Mom said. Go on outside.
I let the door fall shut behind me and sprinted for the trailhead, left behind the sound of the two of them bickering through the open kitchen window. They was still at it, though, that night when I got home after the house was dark. I walked past their bedroom and heard their voices muffled behind the closed door.