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The cold had sharpened while they were walking.
It had seemed manageable when Cindy left the Han house, no worse than the ordinary December air that tightened around the ears and made every breath briefly visible. By the time the girls reached the usual corner, the wind had begun moving snow from the older drifts and sending it in pale threads across the road. The sky lowered without darkening properly, the afternoon losing colour until the houses, trees and fences appeared cut from the same grey material.
Jennifer turned them back before Cindy suggested it.
Bart objected.
He had found a line of scent pressed into the frozen verge and followed it with such concentration that Jennifer had to take the lead in both hands. His nose remained close to the ground. His paws scraped through the thin crust above the snow, exposing dark grass beneath.
“Come on,” Jennifer said.
Bart pulled once more toward the ditch.
Cindy stepped beside him and placed one gloved hand lightly against his shoulder. “Home.”
He looked up at her.
Snow had gathered in small white marks along his muzzle. He licked one away, glanced toward the ditch and finally allowed Jennifer to turn him.
Nicola had already faced back toward town.
She stood close to Cindy’s skirt with her head lowered beneath the wind. Her thick grey coat protected most of her, but the loose fur around her ears moved with each gust. When the girls began walking, she chose the side nearest the hedge and kept there without needing the lead shortened.
The route back felt longer than the road they had just travelled.
Snow wasn’t falling heavily. Most of what crossed before them had been lifted from roofs, yards and field edges, but the wind made the air appear crowded. Cindy walked with her scarf pulled over the lower half of her face. Her glasses remained clear, though tears gathered at the outer corners of her eyes from the cold.
Jennifer had buttoned her coat fully before leaving home. Even so, the wind found its way through the gap near one cuff. Each time she changed Bart’s lead from one hand to the other, the sleeve pulled back enough to expose a narrow strip of wrist.
Cindy noticed the thread loosening there before Jennifer did.
A small section of the cuff seam had opened. The fabric lifted whenever Jennifer bent her hand, revealing the pale inner facing.
Cindy looked at it but said nothing on the road. There was no useful repair to be made with gloves on and snow moving beneath their feet.
They passed the church.
The front steps had been swept that morning, though a new line of white now gathered along the edge of each one. An older man came from the side door carrying a coal scuttle. He called a greeting, but the wind took half of it away. Jennifer and Cindy lifted their hands without stopping.
Bart attempted to cross toward him.
Jennifer kept him near.
“No visits.”
He looked after the man until they passed the churchyard.
The Han house was closer than the pale green house, as it had been during the first heavy snow earlier that year. Neither girl discussed where Jennifer would go first. The dogs turned naturally with Cindy at the familiar street, and Jennifer allowed them.
The gate had been cleared of snow, but the latch was cold enough to resist Cindy’s glove. She worked it once, removed the glove and tried again with bare fingers.
Jennifer reached past her.
“I have it.”
The metal gave beneath Jennifer’s thumb.
Cindy put her glove back on before touching the gate.
They entered one at a time, with Nicola first and Bart held close enough that he couldn’t rush the path. Snow had begun collecting over the swept ground, softening the broom lines without hiding them completely.
The front door opened.
Eun-jung stood beneath the porch light, though the afternoon hadn’t yet become evening. Warm air moved briefly around her and vanished into the cold.
“You’re late,” she said.
“We turned back at the field,” Cindy answered.
“The wind changed.”
“Yes, Mama.”
Eun-jung looked at Jennifer. Snow marked the shoulders of her dark coat and the upper part of her hat. Her cheeks had reddened from the walk. Bart pulled toward the steps, while Nicola had pressed close to Cindy’s legs.
“You go home now?” Eun-jung asked.
Jennifer glanced toward the road.
“I should.”
Eun-jung looked beyond the gate. Wind drove loose snow along the street in a low white stream.
“No.”
Jennifer’s attention returned to her.
“Come inside,” Eun-jung said. “You eat here.”
The invitation came so directly that Jennifer remained still for a moment.
Cindy looked at her mother, then at Jennifer.
“I don’t want April and Brandon wondering,” Jennifer said.
“You tell them.”
“The telephone’s at the shop.”
Min-jae appeared behind Eun-jung, fastening the top button of a cardigan. He looked over the girls, the dogs and the weather beyond them.
“I’ll send word,” he said.
Jennifer hesitated. “How?”
“Mr. Park’s boy is going past the lane.”
Cindy knew which boy he meant, a sixteen-year-old who delivered packages and sometimes messages between several Korean households and the businesses where relatives worked.
Min-jae looked toward the clock in the front room. “He hasn’t left yet.”
Jennifer kept Bart from climbing the first step. “Could he tell them I’m here and will come home when the wind settles?”
“Yes.”
“And that both dogs are inside?”
“In the entry,” Eun-jung corrected.
Jennifer lowered her head slightly. “Yes, ma’am.”
Only after the message had been written did she bring the dogs around the side of the house.
The rear entry held the cold but kept out the wind. A lamp had been lit near the inner door, leaving a small circle of yellow across the bench, the mat and the hooks above it. A bucket of water stood in one corner. Eun-jung had already placed an old blanket on the floor, folded twice to keep the dogs from lying directly against the boards.
Jennifer removed the snow from their coats before allowing either animal to settle.
Bart endured the towel for less than a minute.
He caught the edge in his teeth, backed toward the outer door and shook his head. Water and loose snow scattered across the wall.
Cindy caught the cloth. “Let go.”
Bart pulled.
Jennifer held his collar. “You’re inside. That’s enough.”
His jaw remained closed.
Cindy stopped pulling and waited.
Bart looked from her to Jennifer.
Then he released the towel as though the decision had been his.
Nicola submitted without trouble. She stood while Jennifer rubbed the snow from her back and pressed the cloth around her paws. When Cindy opened the inner door, Nicola looked into the kitchen but didn’t cross.
“The blanket is there,” Cindy said.
She guided the dog toward it.
Nicola lay near the outer edge, positioned so she could see through the narrow opening whenever the inner door moved.
Bart remained standing.
Jennifer poured water into the shallow dish Eun-jung had left. Nicola drank first. Bart pushed forward before she finished and received a quiet look from the grey dog that caused him to stop, though only for a second.
“Wait,” Cindy told him.
He waited until Nicola lifted her head.
Then he drank hard enough to strike water against the rim.
Cindy wiped the floor beneath him.
When she and Jennifer entered the kitchen, Bart began complaining.
The first sound was a low breathy whine from behind the door. It rose, stopped and returned with greater insistence. His collar tag touched the boards each time he shifted.
Jennifer turned.
“He’ll settle.”
Bart scratched once.
Eun-jung looked toward the sound while placing bowls on the table. “He sees no one.”
“Nicola’s there,” Cindy said.
“He doesn’t count her when food is in the next room.”
Jennifer opened the inner door a fraction.
Bart stood directly against it.
“No.”
His nose entered the gap.
She closed it carefully.
The whining returned.
Cindy went into the entry and dragged the folded blanket several feet nearer the kitchen door. She didn’t unfold it further. She moved it only enough that Bart could lie close to the warmth and see through the small space beneath the door when the light shifted.
“There.”
Bart stepped onto it.
He turned once, twice and then lowered himself with his body pressed against the inner wall. His head remained upright.
Nicola moved from the old position and lay nearer the edge of the blanket, placing herself where the opening door would reveal both girls.
The whining stopped.
Cindy returned to the kitchen.
Jennifer had remained near the doorway, waiting rather than choosing a place for her coat or shoes on her own.
Eun-jung pointed to the hooks in the rear entry. “Coat there. Shoes below.”
Jennifer removed her coat carefully. The loosened cuff opened farther as the sleeve slid over her hand. She folded her scarf and tucked it into one pocket before hanging the coat where Eun-jung had indicated.
Cindy placed her own beside it.
The household shoes stood in a neat row near the wall. Jennifer saw where Cindy put hers and followed, setting her own pair parallel rather than letting one turn outward.
She entered the kitchen in her stockings.
The room had changed since the snowy afternoon in February, though only in the ordinary way of a house moving through months. A different calendar hung near the cabinet. The photographs remained, some shifted to make space for a small clock. The exercise books that had once occupied one end of the table were now stacked on a shelf beneath the window. Dried plants hung from a beam near the stove, their leaves dark and curled.
Jennifer didn’t examine them.
She went only where she was directed.
The table had been set for three before the girls arrived. Eun-jung added a fourth place without rearranging the whole room around the guest. Min-jae brought another chair from the front room and placed it beside Cindy’s.
“You sit there,” Eun-jung said.
Jennifer did.
Cindy sat at her usual place. Min-jae took the end of the table. Eun-jung moved between stove and table, placing food down in several dishes rather than dividing everything beforehand.
Jennifer kept her hands in her lap.
Steam rose from a pot of rice. A clear soup held pieces of radish, green onion and thin strips of beef. There were small dishes of cabbage, seasoned greens and something pale cut into cubes. A plate of fish sat near Min-jae, the skin browned at the edges. Another dish contained folded pieces of egg cooked thin and sliced.
Nothing had been made for Jennifer’s benefit.
The meal had already existed before the wind changed.
That made the invitation easier to accept.
Eun-jung sat.
Min-jae reached for the rice.
Only then did Jennifer move her hands to the table.
Cindy noticed without looking directly at her.
Eun-jung placed rice into Jennifer’s bowl. “Enough?”
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”
“You eat more if you need.”
Jennifer nodded.
She waited while the others began.
Chopsticks rested beside the spoons. Jennifer had used them only once before, during the earlier snow visit, and then only for pieces easy enough to hold. She picked them up in the manner she remembered from watching Cindy. The lower stick shifted. She adjusted it before reaching toward anything.
She took soup first with the spoon.
The warmth reached her face. She drank carefully, then ate rice in small portions while observing how the dishes moved around the table.
No one offered an account of each item.
Jennifer didn’t ask.
When a dish came near her, she took a modest amount. She ate the cabbage without pausing over its strong sour heat. The seasoned greens were softer than she expected. The pale cubes proved firmer and milder. She accepted each taste as part of supper rather than evidence of a different household.
Min-jae placed part of the fish on his plate and removed several bones with practiced movements.
Cindy did the same.
Jennifer watched without appearing to stare.
She took a small portion.
The chopsticks slipped.
The fish broke apart, leaving one piece between the dish and her bowl.
Jennifer stopped.
Cindy reached over with her own chopsticks and moved the fallen piece onto Jennifer’s plate before any sauce could mark the table.
“Hold the lower one still,” she said quietly.
Jennifer looked at her hand.
Cindy demonstrated against the edge of her bowl without lifting food. “Only the top moves.”
Jennifer altered her fingers.
The lower chopstick rested more securely against the base of her thumb. She tried again with a small piece of egg rather than the fish.
The chopsticks closed.
The piece remained held.
Jennifer transferred it to her bowl.
Cindy resumed eating.
No one praised the correction.
Jennifer attempted another piece, lost it once inside her bowl and tried again without embarrassment. By the third, the movement had become possible if not easy.
Bart gave a low sound from the entry.
Cindy paused.
Eun-jung continued eating. “He has water.”
“He smells the fish,” Jennifer said.
“He smells everything,” Cindy replied.
Min-jae looked toward the door. “Does he bark when you play?”
“Sometimes.”
His attention returned to Jennifer. “The guitar is going well?”
Jennifer set down her chopsticks before answering.
“I can change between more chords now.”
“You write songs?”
“A few.”
“How many?”
“Three finished. Parts of others.”
Min-jae nodded once. “Finished means you do not change them?”
Jennifer considered the question.
“No, sir. I changed one after Cindy heard it.”
Cindy looked at her bowl.
“What changed?” Min-jae asked.
“It had too much in the middle.”
“The music?”
“The story.”
Jennifer didn’t reach for performance language or describe the songs as though the table had become an audience. She answered only what had been asked.
Min-jae broke another piece from the fish. “You learn from a teacher?”
“Books. Mr. Miller showed me how to hold it and tune it. Some people in town know a little.”
“No lessons?”
“No, sir.”
“Your fingers?”
“They hurt at first.”
“Not now?”
“Sometimes.”
Min-jae looked at her left hand. The fingertips were harder than they had been in spring, though the difference remained slight from across the table.
“You practise every day?”
“Most.”
Eun-jung added soup to Cindy’s bowl. “Not while Cindy studies.”
“Quiet parts,” Cindy said.
Min-jae looked between them.
Jennifer said, “I don’t play new things when she has to write.”
“You work at the same table.”
“Sometimes the steps.”
“In winter?”
“The kitchen.”
Eun-jung lifted one eyebrow. “Not all winter.”
Jennifer accepted the correction. “No, ma’am.”
The talk moved away from the guitar.
Min-jae asked Cindy about a history assignment she had mentioned the previous evening. She gave the mark and repeated the teacher’s comment. Eun-jung asked whether the corrected page had been placed in the proper book. Cindy said it had.
Jennifer ate.
She didn’t fill quiet places merely because she was a guest. The Han family didn’t ask questions to keep her occupied. The meal continued around her in its own rhythm, and she followed it.
At one point Eun-jung used Seung-hui when asking Cindy to pass the greens.
Jennifer turned toward Cindy naturally.
The name no longer produced even the brief internal pause it had the first winter. It belonged to the girl lifting the dish and passing it across the table. Cindy set it near her mother and returned to her rice.
Jennifer took a second portion of soup only after Eun-jung asked.
The chopsticks became easier with the larger pieces and remained difficult with the fish. Cindy showed her once how to steady a piece against the bowl rather than attempting to lift it from the plate in one movement. Jennifer tried, failed, adjusted and succeeded.
“You don’t have to use them for everything,” Cindy said under her breath.
Jennifer looked toward the spoon.
Cindy nodded.
Jennifer used the spoon for rice and soup, the chopsticks for what she could manage, and stopped treating the choice as a test.
Outside, the wind pressed snow against the rear window.
For several minutes the flakes travelled sideways beneath the yard lamp. Then they began falling more steadily, losing their force against the glass.
Min-jae looked toward the weather. “It may clear after supper.”
“If it doesn’t, she stays longer,” Eun-jung said.
Jennifer glanced toward the clock.
“April and Brandon know.”
“Yes,” Eun-jung answered.
The message had already been sent and confirmed. The Park boy returned before the meal with word that April had said Jennifer was to stay until the road was safe, and Brandon would come if needed. Min-jae had sent back that he would walk Jennifer home if the wind remained.
Nothing further needed deciding while the food was warm.
When the meal ended, Jennifer didn’t rise before the household did.
Eun-jung gathered the dishes. Cindy stood and took the bowls nearest her. Jennifer lifted her own and looked toward the sink.
“You put those there,” Eun-jung said.
Jennifer did.
She didn’t insist upon washing as payment for supper. When Eun-jung gave Cindy the cloth and kept the washing for herself, Jennifer accepted the division. She dried the bowls Cindy handed her, placing each only where Cindy indicated.
The loose cuff caught against the corner of the cloth.
Eun-jung noticed.
“Stop.”
Jennifer looked down.
The seam had opened nearly two inches now, enough that the folded inner fabric showed whenever her wrist turned. A short length of thread hung from the edge.
“It came loose on the walk,” Cindy said.
Jennifer touched it. “Mama can fix it.”
Eun-jung dried her hands.
“Sit.”
Jennifer obeyed.
Eun-jung left the kitchen.
Cindy finished drying the last bowl and put away the cloth. Min-jae carried the fish bones and scraps to a covered pail beyond the rear entry, opening the inner door only far enough to pass through.
Bart rose immediately.
His body filled the doorway.
“No,” Min-jae said.
Bart looked beyond him toward the kitchen.
Min-jae stepped around the dog and shut the door again.
A moment later Bart lay against it, his shoulder pressed to the lower panel. His nose rested near the crack where warm air entered.
Nicola remained on the blanket. From her position she could see Cindy at the table and Jennifer seated beside it whenever the door opened.
Eun-jung returned with a small tin.
She placed it on the table and opened the lid.
Inside lay needles, several spools of thread, folded cards of buttons and a thimble. She drew Jennifer’s sleeve toward the lamp without touching the girl until Jennifer lifted her arm willingly.
“This thread is weak,” Eun-jung said.
“It was mended before.”
“By you?”
“Once.”
“Too close to the old holes.”
Jennifer looked at the seam. “I followed them.”
“The cloth is worn there.”
Eun-jung selected a darker thread than the original, close enough not to show unless examined. She threaded the needle and held out her hand.
“Take off the cardigan.”
Jennifer unbuttoned it carefully.
The guitar calluses on her fingertips caught once against the wool. She freed them and slipped the garment from her shoulders.
Eun-jung turned the cuff inside out.
The old stitches had pulled through weakened cloth rather than breaking. She trimmed the loose ends, folded the edge slightly deeper and placed the first new stitch beyond the damaged line.
Cindy sat opposite.
Jennifer watched Eun-jung’s hands.
The repair was different from April’s. April often secured worn cloth through small reinforced crossings, working outward from the tear. Eun-jung made a narrow folded seam first, then stitched it with tiny backstitches set close enough to distribute the strain.
“You sew often?” Jennifer asked.
Eun-jung didn’t look up. “Clothes need it.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You work for your mother.”
“Yes.”
“Paid work too?”
“Sometimes.”
Eun-jung drew the thread through. “Then you should know not to use old holes when they have widened.”
Jennifer looked at the cuff more closely. “I thought the line would show if I moved it.”
“It shows more when it opens.”
Cindy’s mouth shifted slightly.
Jennifer accepted the lesson. “Yes, ma’am.”
Eun-jung finished one side of the opening and turned the cloth.
The weather lightened gradually outside.
Snow still fell, but the wind no longer drove it against the windows. The yard lamp showed flakes descending almost straight. The street beyond the front room had begun to clear where a wagon passed, leaving two deep dark lines.
Min-jae went to the window twice.
“The road is better,” he said after the second.
Eun-jung continued sewing. “The cuff is not.”
Jennifer looked toward the clock.
There was no impatience in her. April and Brandon knew where she was. The dogs had water. Supper was finished. The repair would take the time it required.
Cindy brought her schoolbook from the shelf but didn’t open it.
She sat near Jennifer and looked at the needle passing through the dark wool.
“April folds the edge less,” she said.
“April may have stronger cloth,” Eun-jung answered.
“This cuff is thin.”
“Yes.”
Jennifer held the sleeve steady.
Eun-jung completed the seam, tied the thread inside and rubbed the repair once between finger and thumb.
“Put it on.”
Jennifer did.
The cuff sat slightly narrower than the other, but the difference was small. She bent her wrist.
The seam held.
“It won’t pull?” she asked.
“Not if you stop forcing your hand through without unbuttoning.”
Jennifer looked at the cuff button.
She had done exactly that before the walk.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Cindy watched her fasten it properly.
From the entry came no whining.
Bart had fallen asleep against the inner door.
His breathing sounded faintly through the panel. When Eun-jung opened it to check the weather from the rear step, the door moved only an inch before meeting his body.
She stopped.
Bart didn’t wake.
Eun-jung looked down through the gap.
His back was pressed along the threshold, his head resting on one end of the blanket Cindy had moved nearer. One paw extended across the mat. Nicola lay several feet away, eyes open, watching Eun-jung through the narrow opening.
Eun-jung closed the door again rather than pushing Bart aside.
She went around through the front room to inspect the yard.
Cindy looked at Jennifer. “He’ll have to move when you leave.”
“Yes.”
“He thinks he lives here now.”
“He thinks he lives anywhere there’s a door and food.”
Cindy placed her hand near the lower panel.
Bart’s tail struck once on the other side.
“He’s awake.”
“He may not be.”
The tail struck again.
Jennifer bent and spoke near the door. “We’re going soon.”
Bart made no effort to rise.
Eun-jung returned from the front.
“The wind has stopped.”
Min-jae looked toward the road. “I’ll walk.”
Jennifer stood. “It isn’t far.”
“It is dark.”
“Yes, sir.”
She didn’t argue.
Eun-jung went to the kitchen shelf and brought down a square of brown paper. She placed several pieces of rice cake in the centre, added two small pieces of the thin egg and folded the paper around them. The parcel was tied with kitchen string.
“This is for April and Brandon,” she said.
Jennifer accepted it in both hands. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“You don’t open it for the dogs.”
“No, ma’am.”
Cindy looked toward the entry. “Bart will try.”
“He always tries.”
Jennifer placed the parcel temporarily on the table while putting on her cardigan and coat. The repaired cuff passed over her hand without catching. She unbuttoned it first, drew the sleeve on and fastened it again afterward.
Eun-jung noticed.
Nothing was said.
Min-jae put on his coat and hat. He carried no umbrella. The snow had become light enough that one wasn’t needed.
Cindy entered the back space first.
She opened the door slowly until it touched Bart’s side.
“Move.”
Bart remained asleep.
Cindy crouched and placed one hand beneath his jaw. “Jennifer’s going.”
His eyes opened.
He lifted his head, saw Jennifer beyond the doorway and rose in a single untidy movement. The blanket came with him for several inches before falling back.
Nicola stood.
She went directly to Jennifer.
Bart stretched, front legs extended and hindquarters high, then shook himself. His tail struck the bench and the outer door.
Cindy filled the water dish once more before the walk. Both dogs drank, Bart first this time because Nicola waited behind him. Jennifer checked their paws for damp grit and fastened both leads.
When she reached for the parcel, Eun-jung gave it to her directly.
“The string is sound.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You carry it away from him.”
Jennifer tucked it into the inner fold of her coat, high enough that Bart’s nose couldn’t reach.
Cindy helped straighten her scarf.
The gesture was quick and practical. One end had turned beneath the collar. Cindy pulled it free and tucked it flat.
Jennifer looked at her. “Thank you.”
Cindy nodded.
At the rear door, Nicola moved close against Jennifer’s leg.
Bart went ahead into the snow.
The yard had changed from the hard grey afternoon. Fresh snow covered the path in a thin clean layer, reflecting light from the windows. The sky remained clouded, though a pale break had opened above the western roofs.
Eun-jung came as far as the steps.
She stepped around Bart’s abandoned sleeping place rather than moving the blanket immediately. One edge remained bunched near the inner door, marked by the shape of his body.
Min-jae opened the gate.
Jennifer lowered her head toward Eun-jung. “Thank you for supper.”
“You were here at supper.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The answer seemed to satisfy her more than a larger expression of gratitude would have done.
“And thank you for the cuff.”
“Unbutton it next time.”
“I will.”
Cindy stood beside her mother.
“I’ll see you Saturday,” she said.
“If the road’s clear,” Eun-jung added.
Jennifer nodded. “If it’s clear.”
Bart pulled toward the street.
Min-jae held the gate while Jennifer brought him through. Nicola followed close enough that her shoulder brushed Jennifer’s coat. The quiet dog didn’t move to her usual far side. She remained between Jennifer and the open road as they began walking.
Min-jae took the side nearest the centre.
Bart investigated the fresh snow along the verge, pressing his muzzle into one drift and coming up with white packed across his nose. He sneezed, shook and continued.
Jennifer kept the parcel inside her coat.
The repaired cuff sat firm around her wrist.
Behind them, the Han door remained open long enough for warm light to fall over the steps and the patch of blanket where Bart had slept. Cindy stood within that light beside her mother.
Then Eun-jung drew her inside and closed the door against the cold.
The road home was quiet.
Snow softened the sound of their shoes and the dogs’ paws. Min-jae kept his pace slow without making Jennifer feel delayed. Bart travelled ahead whenever a buried smell caught him, but fatigue from the walk, the warm entry and the long evening had taken the force from his pulling.
Nicola stayed close.
Her side touched Jennifer’s leg at the first corner and again near the church. Each time the grey dog moved away only far enough to avoid Jennifer’s step before returning.
Jennifer rested one gloved hand briefly against Nicola’s head.
The dog continued through the snow beside her.