“We joined hands, children, and if there were times when we wondered what it was all for, or if there was ary such a thing as love at all, it was only because we had heard the wind and the waters on long winter nights, and we were afraid.
“No, I’ve never felt I needed to leave the island. My life was here. The Reach was wider in those days.”
Stella reached the cove. She looked right and left, the wind blowing her dress out behind-her like a flag. If anyone had been there she would have walked further down and taken her chance on the tumbled rocks, although they were glazed with ice. But no one was there and she walked out along the pier, past the old Symes boathouse. She reached the end and stood there for a moment, head held up, the wind blowing past the padded flaps of Alden’s hat in a muffled flood.
Bill was out there, beckoning. Beyond him, beyond the Reach, she could see the Congo
Church over there on the Head, its spire almost invisible against the white sky.
Grunting, she sat down on the end of the pier and then stepped onto the snow crust
below. Her boots sank a little; not much. She set Alden’s cap again — how the wind wanted to tear it off! — and began to walk toward Bill. She thought once that she would look back, but she did not. She didn’t believe her heart could stand that.
She walked, her boots crunching into the crust, and listened to the faint thud and give of the ice. There was Bill, further back now but still beckoning. She coughed, spat blood onto the white snow that covered the ice. Now the Reach spread wide on either side and she could, for the
first time in her life, read the “Stanton’s Bait and Boat” sign over there without Alden’s binoculars. She could see the cars passing to and fro on the Head’s main street and thought with real wonder: They can go as far as they want… Portland… Boston… New York City. Imagine!
And she could almost do it, could almost imagine a road that simply rolled on and on, the boundaries of the world knocked wide.
A snowflake skirled past her eyes. Another. A third. Soon it was snowing lightly and she walked through a pleasant world of shifting bright white; she saw Raccoon Head through a gauzy curtain that sometimes almost cleared. She reached up to set Alden’s cap again and snow puffed off the bill into her eyes. The wind twisted fresh snow up in filmy shapes, and in one of them she saw Carl Abersham, who had gone down with Hattie Stoddard’s husband on the
Dancer.
Soon, however, the brightness began to dull as the snow came harder. The Head’s main
street dimmed, dimmed, and at last was gone. For a time longer she could make out the cross atop the church, and then that faded out too, like a false dream. Last to go was that bright yellow-and-black sign reading “Stanton’s Bait and Boat,” where you could also get engine oil, flypaper, Italian sandwiches, and Budweiser to go.
Then Stella walked in a world that was totally without color, a gray-white dream of
snow. Just like Jesus-out-of-the-boat, she thought, and at last she looked back but now the island was gone, too. She could see her tracks going back, losing definition until only the faint half-circles of her heels could be seen… and then nothing. Nothing at all.
She thought: It’s a whiteout. You got to be careful, Stella, or you’ll never get to the mainland. You’ll just walk around in a big circle until you’re worn out and then you’ll freeze to death out here.
She remembered Bill telling her once that when you were lost in the woods, you had to
pretend that the leg which was on the same side of your body as your smart hand was lame.
Otherwise that smart leg would begin to lead you and you’d walk in a circle and not even realize it until you came around to your backtrail again. Stella didn’t believe she could afford to harve that happen to her. Snow today, tonight, and tomorrow, the radio had said, and in a whiteout such as this, she would not even know if she came around to her backtrail, for the wind and the fresh snow would erase it long before she could return to it.