place.
“We’ll make sure nothing happens to the boy,” the oldest of the Snowmen said, but the foreman said no.
Landish told Deacon to shovel doorsteps and stay off the streets. Deacon did as Landish said. Most of the time someone came out when he was done and gave him a piece of candy. A man gave him a steaming damper dog, a bun of pan-fried dough smothered in molasses that he quickly ate before it could get cold. He looked up from eating to see Landish smiling at him from among the Snowmen. His hands were cold and sticky when he put his mitts back on.
He became tired and cold more quickly when he shovelled by himself. Landish told him not to wait until his feet and hands hurt to say that he was cold. When he thought that Landish wasn’t looking, he put his hands in his armpits and stamped his feet. But Landish always saw him and came running and hoisted him on his shoulders. “Time to call it a day,” Landish said.
He gave the foreman back his shovel and took his pay in coins or vouchers. There was always what Landish called a shovel deduction. Less two vouchers for the shovel. Deacon hated it when, because of him, they had to go home early and Landish made less pay. But he couldn’t help stamping his feet once they got cold and wet. Landish would put him straight in the tub when they got home and examine his fingers and toes.
“You lasted longer than some of the men,” Landish said.
“I can stay here in the attic next time,” Deacon said. “Then you can shovel as long as everyone else.”
“No, I’m not leaving you alone. Especially not at night.”
“I won’t do anything wrong,” Deacon said. “You used to leave me alone with Lucy and Irene.”
“I know, but I shouldn’t have. Something might happen downstairs. Or the nuns might come and find you by yourself.”
“What might happen?”
“You never know, that’s the thing, you never know. Something.”
“A fire?”
“Maybe, or something no one can prevent or name. I don’t know what. I just don’t want you alone in the attic out here on Dark Marsh Road. If there’s one thing we’ll never run out of, it’s snowstorms. So I can come in early when you get too cold.”
But the following month went by without a flake of snow.
“I never thought I’d miss it,” Landish said, who had taken to gazing out the porthole in search of any sign that the weather might be turning hard. It did nothing but rain for a month. And then it turned much too cold for snow.
Landish had no gun, but some men gave him seabirds until, because they had so little ammunition left, they told him they could spare no more.
They walked past stores in which rabbits, though they were out of season, hung upside down in doorways. They passed a window showing apples piled in rows a dozen deep. When Deacon wasn’t looking, Landish stole two sweet oranges and some sugar-dusted cherries. He made a dessert for the boy, surprising him with a dish of orange wedges sprinkled with chopped cherries.
Soon, because of ice, no supply ships could reach the island. No fishing boats could leave it. Every port was cut off from every other.
The wealth inspector still came by, giving out fewer vouchers because the stores were running low on some supplies.
They tried to fish in nearby ponds. Landish didn’t have an ice auger and the ice was too thick for his axe. It was the same with the pools on the smallest brooks. The axe struck mud at the bottom of one hole.
Over the more distant, larger streams there formed shells of ice through which you could barely hear the tantalizing sound of running water.
Landish fished in the streams as he had when he was a boy, with a bamboo pole, a length of twine and one single-barbed, barely baited hook, baited with almost anything depending on how cold it was. There were patches of open ground, but he couldn’t break them with his axe to look for worms, so he had to fish with the eyes of trout he had caught the day before.
One day, though
“We’ll make sure nothing happens to the boy,” the oldest of the Snowmen said, but the foreman said no.
Landish told Deacon to shovel doorsteps and stay off the streets. Deacon did as Landish said. Most of the time someone came out when he was done and gave him a piece of candy. A man gave him a steaming damper dog, a bun of pan-fried dough smothered in molasses that he quickly ate before it could get cold. He looked up from eating to see Landish smiling at him from among the Snowmen. His hands were cold and sticky when he put his mitts back on.
He became tired and cold more quickly when he shovelled by himself. Landish told him not to wait until his feet and hands hurt to say that he was cold. When he thought that Landish wasn’t looking, he put his hands in his armpits and stamped his feet. But Landish always saw him and came running and hoisted him on his shoulders. “Time to call it a day,” Landish said.
He gave the foreman back his shovel and took his pay in coins or vouchers. There was always what Landish called a shovel deduction. Less two vouchers for the shovel. Deacon hated it when, because of him, they had to go home early and Landish made less pay. But he couldn’t help stamping his feet once they got cold and wet. Landish would put him straight in the tub when they got home and examine his fingers and toes.
“You lasted longer than some of the men,” Landish said.
“I can stay here in the attic next time,” Deacon said. “Then you can shovel as long as everyone else.”
“No, I’m not leaving you alone. Especially not at night.”
“I won’t do anything wrong,” Deacon said. “You used to leave me alone with Lucy and Irene.”
“I know, but I shouldn’t have. Something might happen downstairs. Or the nuns might come and find you by yourself.”
“What might happen?”
“You never know, that’s the thing, you never know. Something.”
“A fire?”
“Maybe, or something no one can prevent or name. I don’t know what. I just don’t want you alone in the attic out here on Dark Marsh Road. If there’s one thing we’ll never run out of, it’s snowstorms. So I can come in early when you get too cold.”
But the following month went by without a flake of snow.
“I never thought I’d miss it,” Landish said, who had taken to gazing out the porthole in search of any sign that the weather might be turning hard. It did nothing but rain for a month. And then it turned much too cold for snow.
Landish had no gun, but some men gave him seabirds until, because they had so little ammunition left, they told him they could spare no more.
They walked past stores in which rabbits, though they were out of season, hung upside down in doorways. They passed a window showing apples piled in rows a dozen deep. When Deacon wasn’t looking, Landish stole two sweet oranges and some sugar-dusted cherries. He made a dessert for the boy, surprising him with a dish of orange wedges sprinkled with chopped cherries.
Soon, because of ice, no supply ships could reach the island. No fishing boats could leave it. Every port was cut off from every other.
The wealth inspector still came by, giving out fewer vouchers because the stores were running low on some supplies.
They tried to fish in nearby ponds. Landish didn’t have an ice auger and the ice was too thick for his axe. It was the same with the pools on the smallest brooks. The axe struck mud at the bottom of one hole.
Over the more distant, larger streams there formed shells of ice through which you could barely hear the tantalizing sound of running water.
Landish fished in the streams as he had when he was a boy, with a bamboo pole, a length of twine and one single-barbed, barely baited hook, baited with almost anything depending on how cold it was. There were patches of open ground, but he couldn’t break them with his axe to look for worms, so he had to fish with the eyes of trout he had caught the day before.
One day, though
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