Dancing Through the Snow (6 page)

Min could not think of anything to say about such a crazy notion.

Jess waited for a few seconds to tick by. Then she sighed. “Perhaps I should not tell you too much about him — it’s his story to tell, really — but you need to know that he was my last foster child. I used to foster babies who were at risk for one reason or another. Toby’s like you and me, Min. He began life as a premature baby and nobody wanted him. Well, that is not quite true. Patrick wanted him, but because Toby arrived almost three months ahead of time, Patrick was not even in Canada, let alone holding Laura’s hand. Toby almost died at birth. He spent weeks in an incubator and he was the ugliest, scrawniest scrap of a child you ever saw. Laura had not intended to have a baby so soon, and she was terribly shocked when she saw him. Have you ever seen a very small premature baby?”

Min shook her head. Of course she hadn’t. How would she?

Jess was about to go on when she saw Min’s stony expression. She stopped short, swung open the van door and snapped, “Forget it for now. We’d better get inside and order the pizza.”

Min was about to follow her when she realized, all at once, that she had been picturing Laird Bentham. Toby’s face pushed Laird’s out and Min saw again the wink he had sent her over Grace’s head.

“I’m sorry,” she began, scrambling out and trotting after Jess, who was striding away from her without a backward glance. “I didn’t mean —”

“Let’s leave it for now,” Jess’s voice came back out of the shadows. “We can talk it over later. Just see that you don’t hurt his feelings.”

“I promise,” Min said in a small voice, but she did not know if Jess heard.

6

T
HE DOORBELL RANG
just moments after they hung up their coats.

“Come on in, Tobe. I left it open,” Jessica Hart called.

And Grace and Maggot’s big brother walked in. He was about to say something when he caught sight of Min. He stared at her, his eyes wide, his mouth ajar.

“All right, Tobias. You needn’t gape at Min like that. She is not an alien. She’s my new foster daughter,” Jess said, her voice sounding too hearty.

“But I know her,” Toby said. “She’s the girl who kept Grace from running out into the traffic downtown — didn’t I tell you …? No, I guess there hasn’t been time.”

“Your mother told me a scrappy version last night. Let’s fetch the tree in and you can tell me more while we decorate it,” Jess said, smiling at the two of them. Her eyes did not meet Min’s but her voice was warm and almost easy now.

Feeling uncomfortable at knowing personal stuff about this boy, Min spun around to go back out for the tree.

Behind her, Jess and Toby began marching along, singing like idiots, “Oh, Christmas tree, oh, Christmas tree …”

At first Min longed to turn and punch them, but, breaking in for the first time, came the understanding that because of everything that had happened since she was at the Children’s Aid office, she was going to be spending Christmas not with the Bangses, not with strangers, but with Jess. In one glorious rush, all her jumbled feelings slid away like snow off a peaked roof. She stood transfixed, trying to take in the fragile wonder dawning within her. It was like a sunrise when you were expecting nothing but rain. Or a shimmering soap bubble, floating up, carrying you with it.

She had hated Christmas for years. Her dislike of it had strengthened as each new one came and went, promising so much and breaking the promise every time. It had begun with a feeling of not belonging. And then, bit by bit, it had grown, draining the celebration out of the whole holiday. She knew the exact moment it had started to go bad. All the kids in her second foster home had had bright homemade Christmas stockings with their names embroidered on them. Min had arrived there in late October, leaving plenty of time for the foster family to decide how to include her in their Christmas festivities. But when Christmas Eve arrived, the foster mother handing the stockings out to be hung had suddenly realized she had not got one for the new girl. She had quickly dug out a pair of red nylon tights from a bag that Min knew was meant for the Salvation Army, and given them to Min with a toothy smile.

“This will be just right for you, Minerva,” she had said. “See. It is the biggest.”

“I’m Min,” she had mumbled.

“Minnie,” one of the girls had whispered, and they had all giggled. In the morning, while the other stockings overflowed with gifts, Min’s red tights were less than half full. And the presents they contained were sensible, dull ones — a plain T-shirt, socks, a large orange and a bag of candy.

From then on, Christmas continued to be the day when she felt like an outsider, from the moment she woke until she fell asleep. Her gifts were mostly donations from the Children’s Aid, and were duller and smaller than the family’s own kids got.

Mrs. Willis had always given her a book, carefully chosen, with her name written in it. She had tried to keep each of them and had managed to hold onto three. The others had vanished from her room at the Snyders’. She had wanted to complain, but she had learned, by then, to keep quiet. Her silence made the others fear her. She had liked that.

But it will be different with Jess, she thought. Nothing scares her.

And she heard again, deep within herself, the magic words,
my foster daughter, Min.

“Hey, kid, move along,” Toby growled behind her. “I want to get through with this job before midnight.”

Min scowled but speeded up a little.

“As soon as we get it inside, I’ll go and get us some pizza,” Jess announced. “Do you realize, Min, that you’ve had nothing to eat since those blueberry pancakes?”

It was true. And the very mention of the word
pizza
made Min’s mouth water and her slow pace quicken.

“It’s a deal!” Toby shouted, hoisting the tree up onto his back. “Clear the way!”

In no time flat the tree was standing in the bay window in the living room, as steady as though it still had its roots deep under the snow. Min smiled at it. It seemed to be basking in their approval, stretching out its branches in the warmth, bestowing upon them its spicy fragrance, displaying its soft needles for Maude to admire. She reached a slim paw to bat a springing bough.

“Hearken to me, Miss Motley,” Jess said sternly. “This is not a cat’s climbing frame. Or a trampoline.”

Maude glanced at her, twitched her tail and stalked away with her nose in the air as though she were deeply affronted by the very suggestion that she would revert to kitten tricks. Jess covered her face with both hands and they all laughed.

“I’ll fetch a few more decorations to keep you busy before I go,” Jess said. She disappeared down the basement stairs.

Min and Toby did not speak to each other as he went to work. The tree had been steadied even more in case of a possible pouncing cat when Jess came back with a stack of boxes holding lights and icicles and some homemade things — fat little angels shaped out of dough and painted in pastel colours. There were also origami birds and frogs and tiny coloured boxes.

Min had never seen anything like them. She leaned over the array, her eyes shining. For a few blessed moments she completely forgot the small injured stray at the veterinary clinic. She almost forgot the boy.

“This blown glass ball hung on my adopted grandmother’s tree years ago. She gave it to me on my first Christmas with them when I was seven,” Jess said. “It’s all greenish blue with no sparkly bits, but it seems far more magical to me than those others. Oh, and here’s the star for the top. Toby, you climb up on the stepstool and I’ll hand it up to you.”

While Toby climbed the stepstool, Min took the blown glass ball and cradled it in her palm, trying to imagine it rounding out from the end of a glassblower’s pipe. She had seen a program on different arts at school and had been entranced by the vases and flagons that took shape so beautifully.
Magical
was the right word.

Toby got the star fixed to the pointed twig at the very top and, as he began to come down, Jess said casually, “I was talking to your mother, by the way. You can spend the night if you like. The front bedroom is Min’s, but the attic is still all yours.”

Toby shot his godmother a look. Min knew it held some special meaning, but she could not tell what.

“Cool,” he said, pulling out a box of glass icicles. “We’ll have this job all done by the time you get back. No school tomorrow, of course, so I’m free. I said I’d ride herd on the Dittos tomorrow, though, while Mum shops, and on Christmas Eve too while she packs their stuff. You can imagine what it’s like trying to do those things with Grace and Maggot pestering her.”

“Just because her sister calls her Maggot doesn’t mean you should,” Jess told him, trying not to grin.

“But it suits her,” Toby said.

“Do you know what a maggot is?” Jess asked.

“Okay, okay,” Toby said. “The airport shuttle is picking us all up after supper on Christmas Eve. Mum has promised to take their Christmas stockings along so they can open them on the plane. Grace almost asked how Santa would get up there, but thought better of it. Sometimes the kid actually thinks.”

Jess was shrugging into her coat while she listened. She smiled at the mental picture of the little girls with their stockings. “The airport shuttle will drop you here afterwards then?”

“That’s the plan. Would you like me to try coming down the chimney?”

“Why not?” Jess said. “I think I have it clear now — maybe. You’re staying here tonight, am I correct? I did ask Laura.”

“Yup,” Toby said, hanging another origami ornament on a pine branch.

Jess headed for the door. “Since I wasn’t planning to go out to the veterinary clinic on the way home this afternoon, I have to get some milk and bread and stuff before we eat. I’ll drop by and pick up the pizza on my way back. But I promise to return with maximum speed.”

“Just remember poor Min is starving,” Toby called after her. “Don’t dawdle.”

“I won’t,” she called back.

Once she was gone, Min stood stock still, staring into space.

Toby studied her. “What’s eating you?” he asked roughly. “You look like you just lost your best friend. I’d say myself that you lucked out, landing here in time for Christmas.”

“I don’t have any best friend to lose,” Min shot back. “I was just thinking about the dog Jess and I found today, that’s all.”

Toby swung around. “Dog? I wondered why she’d gone to the vet. I was afraid to ask in case something was wrong with Maude. What dog?”

When Min did not answer at once, he went on excitedly. “I love dogs, but my parents won’t let me have one. My stepfather says he’s allergic. I think it’s a load of bull.”

Min ignored the bad language and, after another moment’s hesitation, plunged into the story of the little dog she and Jess had found in the ruined shed. Words poured out of her. She needed to talk about it. She wanted Toby to promise her the dog would live, would get all better. She told him everything, how it had cowered in the corner, how she had been afraid it was a rabid rat or squirrel.

“What kind of dog do you think it is?” he asked.

“The vet thought she might be a Peke,” Min said, “but I’ve read books about them and this one didn’t look like the pictures I’ve seen.”

“Wait a sec. Jess has a really good dog book,” Toby said, rushing to one corner of the room where there was a bookcase containing a couple of dozen reference books. “It’ll be here. She has more than one about birds, one on trees, one about wildflowers, even one on bugs — all kinds of them. Here it is.” He pulled a fat volume off the shelf and then added another thinner one.

Min forgot how nervous boys made her and leaned close, peering over his shoulder at the photos. He flipped through the pages, taking time to smile at certain pictures. She could tell he had been through the book lots of times. She would have herself if she’d been anyplace where such a book sat waiting.

“I love this book,” he said. “It tells you what’s good about every breed and warns you about which ones might bite kids or have back problems. The Net is good for researching any one breed, but this gives you the whole picture. Oh, here they are. Pekingese. Was she anything like this?”

Min felt her eyes sting as she stared at the fluffy, beautifully groomed dogs in the photographs. There were several colours and they were gorgeous. Their tails curled up proudly. Their coats shone with combing and brushing. Their ears hung down and yet seemed perky, and their black faces and button noses were adorable.

Not one of them looked like the throwaway dog in the shed, the quivering, ragged, filthy creature who had lain so still on the examining table.

Min could not speak. She pulled back and turned her head away.

Toby glanced at her to see why she was not answering. Then he closed the book. “She was in a bad way, you said. Don’t compare her coat to these. Would she be about this size if she was healthy?” he asked, his voice quiet. “Was her nose black and did her eyes pop out a bit? Was she fluffy at all? I mean, will she be when she’s clean or does she have short hair like a pug?”

Min turned back for another look. He had kept his finger in the place and he opened to it at once. Reluctantly, Min conjured up the picture of the wounded dog. “Her nose was jet black and her eyes did sort of pop a bit like those,” she got out, in a shaking voice. “She was so dirty and so hurt, I couldn’t tell much. She was creamy-beige maybe. And her bones stuck out. But she had hair …”

He pointed to another picture. “Maybe she’s a Tibetan Spaniel? They look kind of the same. Champagne, they call this colour.”

“That’s crazy,” Min said, recovering her composure. “Champagne is like gingerale, clear and bubbly.”

“Maybe when she’s clean she’ll look totally different,” he suggested. “I’ll come to the vet’s office with you tomorrow. I want to see her for myself.”

Min jerked upright. Who did he think he was anyway? How dare he just push in like that!

“You can’t!” she cried. Then, turning her back on him, she rushed out of the room. She fetched up in the kitchen and leaned on the counter, collecting herself. Then she got a glass of water. She stood still and drank half of it before she started back. He must have heard it running. She carried it back with her as an excuse for taking off so abruptly, although one look at his face told her he was not fooled for a minute.

“Jess’ll let me come,” he flung at her. “You wait and see. She isn’t your mother, you know. Where is your mother, anyway? I think you have your nerve moving in on Jess right at Christmas.”

Furious and frightened both, she gulped down the rest of the water while she scrabbled around, searching for a reply that would flatten him. “Well, I didn’t ask you and, anyway, it’s none of your business,” she got out finally. “It was Jess’s idea to bring me here, not mine. I haven’t got a mother, if you must know, or a father or sisters either. So shut up.”