Now that we’ve found you, how can we leave you here?
“Val, your vote?”
Sigrid tugged at my pant leg, nudging me away from my position over the boy. I got to my feet. I felt a hundred years old. “Okay.”
“Cut him out?”
I nodded.
Sigrid rubbed her hot palms on the ice, making it clear as glass. Her face somber as she looked at each of us in turn. With surprising strength, she seized the handle of the ice saw and began to drag it toward the cat. I ran after her, grabbed her by the shoulders, and turned her toward me.
She dropped the ice saw and I hugged her tight, kissed her cold cheeks, stroked her hair from her face, which shone with tears. “Tahtaksah,” she said. Sad. “Mother, father.”
“I know, my darling, I’m so sorry.”
“What’s the problem over there?” Wyatt called over.
“Looks like we’ve got a ‘no’ vote,” Raj said.
“Just give me a minute, will you?”
Wyatt shook his head, said something to Jeanne the wind blew away.
I pulled Sigrid close. “We’re going to leave your mother and father,” I whispered. She winced at the words mother, father. “We’re going to cut the baby free.” I pointed to the place where he lay.
“Stahndala,” she said.
By now, I knew this word.
It meant “fear.”
twenty-six
That night, Sigrid seemed to have just one goal, and that was to drag from under the sink the giant metal basin Jeanne used to make her vats of stew or to wash clothes. I bent down to meet her eye. “Really?” I made scrubbing motions on my body, on hers. “You want to take a bath?”
She nodded.
We had just finished a remarkably congenial dinner of Arctic char, reconstituted dried potatoes, and peas, an event made surreal by the proximity of a baby frozen in a trunk-sized slab of ice on the counter. Wyatt and Jeanne had cut ample space around him, over a foot on all sides, so it wasn’t clear how long the process would take. Nora, cheeks flaming with the heat of the room and her third glass of boxed red, not that I was counting, stood next to the block, occasionally sliding her fingers across the ice, as if she could already touch the boy. Raj gazed up at her from his seat, eyes blazing with love and worry.
“Jeanne, you up for this bath thing?” We’d been through this a few times.
“Sure. Gotta heat up some water to do the dishes anyway.”
“This could be the big night,” Wyatt said with a wink.
Raj smiled slightly and sipped his tea. “It’s a day of discoveries.”
Wyatt shrugged. “That’s what we’re here for. But I have to take a moment to thank the person who made it all possible.” He gestured at the block of ice with his cup of wine. “And that’s Jeanne. Without her crazy brilliant ice-polishing gizmo, we’d have come home with nothing today.” He gave her a brief round of applause; we all joined in with varying levels of enthusiasm. Up to her elbows in dishwater, Jeanne—blushing hard—nodded her acknowledgment, but by the time she gave Wyatt a shy smile, he’d turned away and was on to other things. “In fact, I’d like to declare tomorrow a day of celebration. We’ve all been working hard, and besides, tomorrow is a certain person’s birthday, or so I’ve been informed…” Wyatt smiled at Nora, who rolled her eyes and laughed.
“Yes, I’m turning twenty-one,” she said. “Or wait, maybe it’s more like… thirty-three.”
“Forecast for tomorrow is actually pretty balmy for late October,” Wyatt continued. “Three hours of sunshine, three hours of twilight on either side, highs in the teens. I’m thinking a tropical theme. Jimmy Buffett on the CD player. Hawaiian shirts. Fruity drinks. Anybody? Raj?”
Raj caught Nora’s eye; she nodded, smiling.
A thud, another thud. Two small boots landed halfway across the room.
Sigrid stood naked next to the tub, arms by her sides, clothes in a haphazard pile nearby. A mirage of a girl from another age. She was even slighter than she’d seemed, delicate ribs visible above her taut belly, little knobs for knees, impossibly tiny hips. She looked at us as if to say, When are you going to stop talking and pour my hot water?
* * *
IT TOOK AN hour of soaking and scrubbing to make any progress. She took it stoically. We replaced the water at least twice. Her nails had what seemed like tar underneath them, and she lost patience with me there. I worked her over with shampoo and soap until she’d had enough and made that clear by throwing the washcloth across the room and climbing out of the tub. I’d laid out some clean clothes and one of my sweaters, but she opted for her filthy leggings and Christmas sweater, now an abomination of its former self—unraveling, missing half a sleeve as well as Rudolph’s nose.