The Winter Place (32 page)

“Where is my brother?”

“Cottage.” The Hiisi coughed the word out over her shoulder, and it bounced about between the dancing trees. “I have chased him off the path, but his threads are straining. If they break, they cannot be mended.”

“I don't know what that means.” Tess spun around to get a look at the Hiisi, but her skis had become tangled in a mess of succulent creepers, and she fell down hard. Frustration was making her fearless. “I swear to God,” Tess said, “if you hurt my brother, I will find a way to hurt you back.”

It seemed, for the briefest moment, like the demon was taken aback. “I will not,” the Hiisi said, every tree an amplifier for its awful, butchering voice. “You
could
not.” When it spoke again, the words came slowly. “Go. To. The. Cottage.” As
though Tess were a baby, or a pet. “And get your brother.”

Before Tess could ask why it would want to help her, the Hiisi seemed to draw itself up close. The wind of its breath passed over her neck, cold as the morning air in Finland. “I hate him on the path. But he will not be frightened off. You're the only way home he has left. Go, now, or you will lose him.”

Tess felt something clawing at the back of her jacket, and she twisted around, trying once more to get a look. But it was only her grandmother. It was only Talvijärvi. The trees around her were frozen spruces and nothing more.

“How deep did you go?” Jaana said, helping Tess back up onto her skis. “I lost sight of you for . . .” The blood drained from Jaana's face as soon as she got a good look at Tess's expression. It was as though the impression that the Hiisi had left on Tess, so distinctly strange and terrifying, were contagious.

“Give me your knapsack,” Tess said.

Jaana unslung it and handed it over. Tess turned the knapsack around so that it hung across her chest, and then she quickly placed Bigwig inside. As soon as she was in the pack, the hare curled up and went to sleep. Her job was done, apparently.

“We're going to the cottage,” Tess said.

Her tone told Jaana all that she needed to know. They weren't quite halfway around the lake, so the quickest route home was the way they'd come. The fact that their skis had already laid down a slick track made the going easier. Tess and Jaana shot across the shattered surface of the snow, catching air on little crests. Her grandmother retrieved her phone from her jacket, and she somehow managed to dial as they went, compensating by leaning into her opposite pole. She called Otso and asked if he could check on the volunteers who were supposed to be staking out the cottage. She called Kalle, who was out searching the western edge of the lake with Kari, and asked if he could do the same. She called Chief Aarne and told him a straight-up lie: “I think we saw Axel. I'm almost sure of it. Please, tell everybody that he might be nearby.” The news went out quickly. Shortly after Jaana hung up, they began to hear shouting in the distance, newly electrified with hope. Axel's name, coming from everywhere.

Tess knew that the police had never believed her. They'd released the Keeper's cartoonish likeness to the local TV station yesterday and handed out his picture to the baffled search parties only at Jaana's insistence. But despite that outward support, Tess had no idea what her grandmother actually thought about her story. Jaana had
been uncharacteristically evasive on that point, committing only to: “I know you're not lying.” Which could have meant: “Yes, you really saw your brother, and we should act accordingly.” But also: “Yes, you
think
you saw him. Poor little thing . . .” But in these last few minutes, everything had changed. Jaana may not have been able to see the Hiisi, but Bigwig was undeniable.

Jaana had held the hare in her own hands back in Baldwin.

She'd watched her disappear into the park.

And now Bigwig was here, snug in the hammock of Jaana's knapsack, sleeping beside a thermos of porridge.
'Twas the hare who took the tidings
—the verse sprang up suddenly in Tess's mind. It took her a moment to remember where it came from—
The Kalevala
, that big-ass compendium of Finnish song-poetry and for years her most dreaded study book. It was a random coincidence and also kind of a crappy one. Because the hare in the poem brought a mournful story. Your child is dead. Your child is drowned. Tess shook the poem from her thoughts, skiing faster.

They swung down along the southern shore and could soon see the Hannula house through the spruces up ahead. Just beyond, the Kivis' outside lights were all blazing, a flashlight beam raking the yard. By now Jaana was going at a
pace that even Tess couldn't match, the waxed undersides of her skis clattering loudly on the icy gravel of the Hannulas' plowed driveway. A figure in a neon vest appeared up ahead. He was skiing toward them, one gloved hand held high in a frantic wave. It was Kalle.

“Someone's been inside the cottage!” Kalle shouted. Though by the time he was done, he didn't have to shout anymore—Jaana was already at his side.

“Axel? Did they find Axel?”

Kalle shook his head, struggling for breath. “Otso is sure it was him, though. And the police think it hasn't been very long. They've called everybody in to search the woods behind our houses—” As quick as that, Kalle had to shout again, because Jaana was already gone. She sprinted the final distance to the cottage, hardly slowing as she kicked off her skis, flying boots-first through the open door. Tess lagged behind her by only a moment, rushing inside with such speed that she crashed right into Otso's empty wheelchair and sent it rolling back into one of the unadorned walls, knocking rinds of slush from its spokes and stirrups. Otso himself was sitting on the couch in the living room, his trousers soaked to the knees from his trip through the snow, his head in his hands. The entire living room floor was wet
with melt. Tess guessed that only moments ago the room had been filled with police and volunteers, but now the only ones left were Otso and Kari. The boy was plopped down on the damp carpet, panting in near agony, still spent from racing back to the cottage with his brother. Jaana ignored him and set upon her husband. She grabbed Otso's hands away from his face and held them. His eyes were pink with frustration.

“They were supposed to
stay
here,” he said. “The volunteers weren't supposed to move, in case he came back!”

“They didn't see Axel?”

Otso shook his head. “The searchers posted to Erikinlinna reported a stranger in the woods. Just some crazy old drunk, apparently.” Even as he said this, Tess was sure that the crazy old drunk in question could only be the Keeper. “They pulled everyone nearby over to help round him up, but he got away. And in the meantime, they left the cottage empty.” Otso was shaking—so mad that it looked like he was about to cry. “Axel was
right here
, and they missed him.”

“You're sure it was Axel? You're positive?”

For a moment Otso gave no answer, and Jaana looked as though she might actually shake him. Then he pulled one of his hands out of her grip and cast it in the direction of the coffee table at his
knees. There was a piece of unlined paper on it, the top edge jagged from where it had been torn from a pad. It was one of the sketches that Tess had rejected yesterday, the Keeper looking like some toothy moonshiner up for parole.

“The other side,” Otso said.

Jaana picked the paper up and turned it over. Tess watched her pupils ping from side to side. “This isn't a bad thing,” she said, her voice measured. “It isn't. It means he was close.” Otso made no answer. Jaana handed the paper to Tess. Then she returned to the front door to collect her skis. The woods out back were screaming with activity, Aarne and all the other searchers convinced that Axel was still somewhere nearby. But somehow, even before Tess read her brother's note, she knew that he wasn't. Axel was as far away from her as he'd ever been.

The letter on the back of the sketch was written in neat, cautious penmanship. It was maddeningly brief.

Dear Everybody
,

Dear Tess,

I`m really sorry, but I`m not coming back.

Your brother,

Axel

I
f it weren't for his mother, Axel might not have gotten away from the Hiisi that night back at Mud Lake. The thing chased him through the parking lot, still littered with human-shaped bodies in the moonlight, and out across the big meadows. Axel lost it briefly in the maples edging the road and snuck across to where he thought his old house should have been. But he must have gotten lost in the dark—the A-frame was nowhere to be seen, and the Hiisi was getting closer, gnashing its way through the trees. But for Saara, Axel would have kept right on running. She was hiding in a garbage bin set back from the road and granted him the lean courtesy of a single hoot as he approached. He jumped in beside her, and they held their breath as
they waited for the Hiisi to pass them by. The thing took its sweet time, crashing languidly through the forest, jabber-walking this way and that. But these sounds subsided over time. The moon sank, and his mom became a bear again, filling the garbage bin. Axel waited until he was sure she was asleep—ghosts slept, apparently—before leaning against her and closing his eyes.

It was only after sunup the next morning that Axel realized that he hadn't gotten lost at all—the A-frame simply didn't
exist
anymore. The garbage bin that he and Saara had slept in was the same one he'd seen on his first trip back to Baldwin. Axel remembered how Sam's homemade bivouac had been dismantled and how the house itself had been surrounded with orange safety cones and tasseled with caution tape. But that had apparently been just the beginning of Mrs. Ridgeland's plans. In the intervening week, she had weeded every last trace of the Fortunes out of her land. His mother's birch trees were all cut down, the yard leveled, the A-frame stripped to its foundations and then the foundations themselves pried out of the earth like rotten teeth. In the sharp, late-autumn daylight, Axel could see that the garbage bin was filled with the last remains of his life in New York. The curdled chicken wire of Bigwig's hutch and jagged swatches of his father's Birds of the Northeast wallpaper.

Axel climbed out of the garbage bin, walked out across the overturned mud, and sat down roughly in the spot where his living room used to be. Saara leaped out of the bin as well, landing on her wide paws with a snort. She began sniffing about the edges of the property, maybe searching out some lingering whiff of the Hiisi. “What's wrong with you?” she said, glancing back at him. “Why are you crying?”

“It's all gone,” was all Axel could say.

Saara took a heavy step toward him, stopping at the edge of the A-frame's fading footprint. “I don't understand,” she said. “It was made out of wood, yes? There are other houses, yes? Tons of them, all over the place.” It was hard to tell if she was trying to make a point, or if she really didn't understand. Her little bear eyes squinted, making her look simple and mean.

“Lady speaks the truth.” This was the Keeper's voice. Axel looked up and saw him standing in what had once been Saara's vegetable garden, sucking forlornly on his recovered pipe. The Keeper looked like he'd had a rough night. Quills and bent feathers jutted from his duster, and a translucent gravel of safety glass had collected along the brim of his hat. When he shifted his weight, a fine shower of ash drifted down from his gaping joints.

“Looks like you made it,” Saara said, turning back
to the trees. She didn't seem particularly pleased by this—she was only remarking upon the facts.

“Don't I always, though?” the Keeper said, sounding just as ambivalent about his survival as she did. He took a few creaking steps across the mud, leaning heavily on his gnarly walking stick as he did so. When he reached Axel, he stopped and stared down at him. The old man was either wearing a patronizing sneer, or that was just the new shape of his ruined features. “No thanks to you, I'm afraid,” the Keeper said. “Judging by the beastly way the Hiisi treated our French friends, I think it's safe to say that it still thinks that you can be frightened off the path. The Hiisi must reckon you a
coward
. And who knows . . .” The Keeper let out a mean little snort but then had to hug himself about the ribs for a moment, shrinking into a full-body wince. “Maybe it's right,” he finally managed.

This stung, but not in the way that the Keeper had meant it to. Axel knew that he wasn't a coward. But he felt sick about what had happened to those soldiers. As far as Axel knew, the dead were indestructible, but still, thoughts of those Frenchmen disappearing into the Hiisi's impossible mouth had kept him up almost all night.

“They're going to come back, right?” he said.

“I don't follow,” the Keeper said.

“The soldiers. The next time the moon comes out, they'll be back.” Axel didn't want this to sound like a question. He didn't want there to be any question about it.

“Oh, my dear child,” the Keeper said, aping sympathy. “No, they most certainly will not be back.” Then, when he saw the color drain from Axel's face, the old man's expression softened. The next time he spoke, he actually did sound sympathetic. “If it makes you feel any better, they're no more dead today than they were yesterday.”

That did not make Axel feel better. He felt, rather, like he was sinking into the mud hole left behind by the A-frame. Mrs. Ridgeland had warned Axel last night that he was putting everybody in danger by luring the Hiisi out, but he'd hardly taken her seriously. Because up until that point, the dangers on this little quest had been vivid and exciting, but also mostly toothless. Ghostly soldiers died as men only to spring back to life as birds. Parents died in unacceptable accidents only to be whisked into the woods as ghosts. Here on the path, all losses were supposed to be temporary, all loneliness fleeting.