“There!” She pointed at it, and Gunner grunted.
“Didn’t see that this morning,” he replied, as she drew the horse up beside it.
They were on the far side of the ravine; the log bridge, wide enough for a wagon or a sleigh, was just to the left; its surface had been tamped down a little by the runners of the sleigh when Gunner had left earlier. There was another set of hoofprints churning up the snow here, too. And boot prints. They both got out of the sleigh and approached the pail; the snow on the other side of the ravine, on the bank, was broken up; someone had been here, someone had scrambled down the steep incline.
Raina felt her feet taking her toward the edge, her heart seizing up with fear and hope, both, with every step. She forced herself to look down.
The small body, grey, almost blue, like his father. Curled up on his side with his eyes closed, like the child he was. His clothes in a pile next to him, he was only wearing his long johns, and they were ragged, as if he’d torn at them. She sank to her knees in the snow, and misery washed over her; the poor boy, funny little Fredrik—to have died like this, far from home.
But where was Anette? She’d expected to find them together. She started to scan the landscape, which was when she saw Anna Pedersen flying over the bridge, waving her arms wildly.
“I have her. I got her—Anette—I dragged her up, carried her inside, do you know where the doctor is? He was just here, Doc Eriksen, and I said we didn’t need any help but that was before I found them!”
Anna’s hair streamed down her back, her skirt was wet, her hands red and raw; her eyes were strange, frantic.
“It was my fault, do you see the pail? I told her to bring it home, she had the slate, too, but it broke and, oh! Oh, the boy! He covered her with his clothes, do you see? He took his own clothes off and covered Anette, that’s how I found her, and she lives. For now—she isn’t conscious, I don’t know what to do with her hand, do you know?” Anna grabbed Raina by the shoulders, desperate. “Frostbite? Do you know what to do?”
Raina nodded. Gunner stood staring down at poor Fredrik as Anna grabbed Raina by the hand and dragged her across the bridge. Raina glanced back.
“Bring him in, for pity’s sake!” she cried, because Gunner looked as if he’d forgotten how to move his own arms and legs; he just stood there, dumbstruck.
Finally he raised his head, nodded, and slid down into the ravine as Anna and Raina reached the house. Anette lived! She was alive! Raina felt something loosen inside her; she was close to weeping, but she couldn’t let herself. She had to concentrate on Anette now.
And strangely, she knew that she had an ally in the woman whose presence had been such torture. For Anna Pedersen was behaving in a manner Raina had never before seen; she was clucking about, dashing in her usual way, but this time it was in service to another. To poor Anette, the burden, the unwanted, overworked, unloved little girl.
Anna had wrapped her up in blankets as close to the stove as she could get her without lighting her on fire; Anette’s face was the only thing visible, poking out of a quilt of stars. She had a blackish spot on her nose, and another on one cheek—frostbite, of course.
“It’s her hand,” Anna whispered as if she was afraid to awaken Anette, even as Raina wondered if they should.
“Has she been sleeping all this time?” Raina asked, and Anna nodded.
“Mostly. She was crying when I found her, but she was half asleep, and she moaned when I carried her out—she weighs nothing!” Anna’s eyes were wide with astonishment, as if she was finally understanding that her beast of burden was just a little girl, after all. “But she’s been asleep since, although she is in pain, she cries some.”
“All right,” Raina said, running out to get a pail of snow. Gingerly, she and Anna unwrapped Anette; when Raina saw the purple hand, she gasped, but packed it in snow.