Work Text:
The first snow came on an afternoon that had begun without promising anything.
Morning opened grey and dry. The sky hung low enough to flatten the town but not low enough to threaten a storm. Frost silvered the fence rails before breakfast and disappeared from the sunny sides by ten. Along the shaded roads, the ground remained hard where cart wheels had pressed yesterday’s mud into shallow ridges.
Cindy watched the sky from the school bus and expected only cold.
The windows rattled in their frames. Breath clouded the glass near the children’s faces, and somebody had scratched a clear circle through the fog with one mittened finger. Houses passed behind it in brief sharp views: a porch, a coal shed, washing stiffening on a line, a woman shaking a rug before the weather worsened.
No flakes appeared.
Cindy’s schoolbooks felt heavier than usual because she carried them all home. The teacher had assigned no work requiring a library visit and nothing that needed another pupil’s notes. Arithmetic, geography and the composition reader went into the satchel, followed by a thin science book whose corners always caught against the lining.
The reinforced strap held.
It had darkened from years of use and softened where it crossed Cindy’s shoulder. Jennifer’s stitching along the lower edge remained firm beneath newer repairs. Cindy shifted the bag once as she left the bus, not because the strap threatened to break but because the books pulled against her coat.
The walk home took her past the railway crossing beneath the same colourless sky.
A train had gone through recently. Its smoke remained low over the tracks, spreading beneath the cloud cover rather than rising. The signalman lifted one hand from his hut. Cindy answered and crossed when he indicated.
At the Han house, Eun-jung had the kitchen warm.
Steam rose from a covered pot near the stove. A line of washed cloths hung indoors because the day offered no useful drying weather. Min-jae had already brought coal from the shed, leaving dark marks near the rear entry that Cindy would sweep after changing her shoes.
She came inside, removed her coat and put her books away before beginning anything else.
Eun-jung looked toward the satchel.
“All home?”
“Yes, Mama.”
“No assignment?”
“A short reading.”
“Before you go?”
“Yes.”
Cindy washed her hands.
The reading concerned weather measurements, though not the weather outside. It described a rain gauge, a barometer and the use of wind direction in forecasting. The classroom book gave each instrument a small diagram and a paragraph so confident that the sky seemed less complicated than Cindy knew it to be.
She read the required section at the kitchen table.
Eun-jung cut cabbage nearby.
“Anything coming?” her mother asked.
“The book says falling pressure can mean storms.”
“Is pressure falling?”
“We don’t have a barometer.”
“Then the book is not helping.”
Cindy looked toward the window.
The light had dimmed without changing colour.
“No.”
She finished the reading, copied two definitions and closed the book.
The sweeping came next.
Coal dust near the rear entry required a dampened edge of cloth after the broom. Cindy worked the dark line from the door toward the pan, then swept beneath the table, around the stove and beside the cabinet. She checked the chair legs before calling it finished.
Eun-jung looked once across the floor.
“Good.”
Cindy put away the broom.
The remaining chores were small. She folded two towels, carried vegetable trimmings to the covered pail and filled the kettle before the household needed it.
When she went for her coat, her mother looked toward the clock.
“You have time.”
“Yes.”
“The road will darken early.”
“I know.”
“You come straight back if the sky changes.”
Cindy glanced outside again.
“It already changed.”
Eun-jung looked at the white-grey air beyond the glass.
“Then you come back before it changes more.”
“Yes, Mama.”
She put on her coat, scarf and gloves.
At the gate, she lifted the latch rather than pulling against it. The metal had begun stiffening in cold weather, though no ice held it yet. She closed it carefully and walked toward the usual corner.
The road remained bare.
No snow had fallen during school, the bus ride or her chores. The air held the dry mineral smell that came before winter settled properly, mixed with coal smoke, leaves and the faint dampness of ditches not yet frozen.
Cindy reached the corner first.
Two years earlier she would have arranged an errand nearby or slowed enough to arrive without appearing to have planned it. Now she simply stood near the post.
She didn’t hide that she was waiting.
The corner had changed less than the girls.
The verge had narrowed where repeated wheels cut closer to the edge. One fence post leaned farther than it had in 1945. A maple across the road had lost a lower branch during summer, leaving a pale scar on the trunk. The patch where Bart often turned in circles had become packed earth beneath the grass.
Cindy waited with empty hands.
Her books were home.
Her chores were finished.
The afternoon belonged to the walk.
Jennifer appeared at the far end of the lane.
The guitar case rose behind one shoulder, its uneven brown shape broader than Jennifer’s back. The homemade strap crossed her dark coat diagonally and pulled the case close enough that it didn’t strike her legs with every step. A folded blanket had been tied around the lower half to protect it from grit and sudden weather.
Both dog leads hung over Jennifer’s right wrist.
Bart travelled ahead on the longer length, nose down and tail high. Nicola moved nearer Jennifer’s left side, conserving herself before the walk had properly begun.
Jennifer’s hat sat low over her pale hair. She wore gloves, but the left one had been removed and tucked beneath the guitar strap so she could adjust the buckle against her shoulder.
Cindy watched them approach.
Bart saw her first.
His head lifted.
He pulled.
Jennifer allowed several quick steps before shortening him near the road’s edge. “Not into the wheel rut.”
Bart moved around it and came toward Cindy.
She reached for his lead before Jennifer stopped fully.
No offer was needed.
Jennifer passed the loop across while still working at the guitar strap.
Cindy closed her hand around the leather.
Bart circled behind her, caught the lead briefly around one boot and turned back the other way.
“You know how this works.”
His tail struck her coat.
Jennifer shifted the case higher. “The strap keeps slipping.”
“You put it over the wrong shoulder?”
“The other side presses the buckle into me.”
Cindy looked at the strap crossing Jennifer’s coat.
The guitar case had gained another repair since summer. Brandon had reinforced one seam near the neck with a strip of dark canvas. The work held, though the additional thickness made the strap sit unevenly.
“Turn the buckle outward,” Cindy said.
“It’ll rub the case.”
“Put the glove beneath it.”
Jennifer considered.
She removed the glove from under the strap, folded it twice and tucked it between the buckle and her shoulder. The leather settled.
“That’s better.”
Nicola came to Cindy while Jennifer adjusted.
She smelled Cindy’s boots, coat hem and gloves, then moved between the girls. Her back brushed first against Cindy’s leg and then Jennifer’s. She remained there as they began walking.
Bart tried to select the direction.
He pulled toward the road leading behind the grocer’s yard.
Cindy turned him toward the church road.
“No.”
He looked back at the rejected route.
Jennifer checked the guitar strap one last time. “He hasn’t been there today.”
“He doesn’t need to.”
“He believes he does.”
“He can believe while walking.”
Bart continued with them.
The sky gave no sign at first.
They passed houses with coal smoke hanging above their roofs and gardens reduced to dark stalks behind wire. Leaves gathered along fences, mostly brown now, their colours gone beneath repeated frost. A child dragged a small cart over the pavement. Its wooden wheels struck every crack, producing a rhythm Bart followed with his ears until the sound turned down another street.
Nicola stayed between the girls.
At narrower places, Cindy let her move ahead rather than crowding her against Jennifer’s coat and the guitar case. The grey dog chose the firmer edge of the pavement, avoiding damp leaves where they hid uneven ground.
The air grew still.
Cindy noticed because sounds carried farther.
A hammer struck wood somewhere beyond the houses. A woman called from a porch, her voice clear for several streets. The rumble of a cart on the main road reached them before the vehicle appeared.
Jennifer looked upward.
“What?”
“Nothing’s moving.”
Cindy followed her gaze.
The bare branches above them were still.
Even the smoke had flattened into broad pale layers rather than drifting.
“It may snow,” she said.
“Mama thought so.”
“Mine too.”
Neither suggested turning back.
The first flake landed on Bart.
It caught near the dark fur above one eye and remained there long enough for Cindy to see it before melting.
She looked at the sky.
Another flake crossed in front of her glasses.
Then one landed on Jennifer’s coat sleeve.
“Snow,” Jennifer said.
Cindy looked toward the road ahead.
The flakes were sparse enough to count. They descended slowly, not driven by wind, appearing from the white sky only when they passed darker houses, tree trunks or coats.
Bart saw one.
He lifted his nose.
The flake melted before reaching him.
Another came.
He snapped at it.
Cindy kept his lead short enough that he couldn’t cross in front of Nicola.
“You’ve done this before.”
Bart watched the air.
Jennifer looked toward him. “He doesn’t remember waiting a year.”
“He remembers the grocer’s yard.”
“That smells stronger.”
The snow continued.
It didn’t yet whiten the road. Each flake vanished when it touched the damp ground. Those landing on dead grass remained a little longer. Fence rails collected a thin line along their upper surfaces.
The girls kept walking.
At the first turning, Nicola moved from between them to Cindy’s side.
She crossed without hesitation and took the quieter ground nearest the hedge. Cindy shifted Bart to her left and let Nicola remain on the right, arranging both dogs as she had during the first walk without Jennifer the previous spring.
Jennifer noticed but said nothing.
Her free hand rested against the lower part of the guitar case whenever the strap shifted.
They passed the hedge where Nicola had first allowed Cindy to brush her.
The house behind it had changed owners during summer. The new family had cut the upper growth level and repaired two loose boards along the fence, but the lower branches still extended over the verge. In late spring they caught loose fur from any dog passing close enough.
The first time Cindy had carried a brush there, Nicola had refused to stand still.
Bart had already surrendered handfuls of winter coat across the Fischer yard, turning the air pale around him while Jennifer worked. Nicola moved away from the brush every time it approached her shoulder. Cindy had sat near the hedge and waited, drawing the bristles through loose fur only when Nicola leaned close on her own.
Now Nicola paused at the same place.
Snow rested lightly over the hedge leaves that had not yet fallen.
Cindy stopped with her.
Bart tried to continue.
She held him.
Nicola smelled beneath the branches and looked briefly toward Cindy.
“You remember,” Cindy said.
Jennifer looked at the hedge. “She remembers smells.”
“That includes it.”
Nicola stepped forward.
Snow began remaining in the flattened grass where she had stood.
They continued toward the church.
The first thin white marks appeared along the road’s edges. Old footprints near a gate filled gradually, their dark centres becoming pale. A wagon passed and cut two fresh lines through the beginning snow. The horse’s hooves left prints that remained clear only until the next flakes softened them.
Bart tried to inspect every mark.
He lowered his nose to the horse track, moved to a boot print, crossed toward a dog’s paw mark and then turned because snow had begun collecting in a shallow cart rut.
Cindy kept him moving.
“You can’t follow all of them.”
Bart resisted at the largest hoofprint.
She gave him several seconds.
Then she touched his shoulder with her knee and redirected him.
Nicola walked steadily beside her.
Jennifer adjusted the guitar.
The road near the church had grown slick where damp leaves lay beneath the first snow. Her boot slipped half an inch on one patch. She caught herself by placing one hand against the case and the other toward the fence without touching it.
Cindy stopped.
“Is it too heavy?”
“No.”
“You moved.”
“The leaves moved.”
“That’s what I said at the lake.”
Jennifer looked at her.
Cindy’s face remained composed.
“You said the ground moved,” Jennifer answered.
“It did.”
“This was leaves.”
“Then leaves are worse.”
Jennifer stepped onto the clearer centre of the pavement.
Nicola had already chosen it.
The grey dog left the leaf-covered edge and moved toward a narrow strip where gravel showed through. Cindy followed. Jennifer came after, placing each foot where Nicola had.
Bart wanted the leaves.
Cindy kept him near.
They passed the church steps.
The man who often swept sand from them had cleared the upper part earlier that afternoon. Snow now lay over the broom marks in faint white lines. The dark patch beside the drain remained visible, though a narrow crust had begun forming around its edge.
Bart pulled toward it.
“No water,” Cindy said.
He looked at the partly frozen channel.
Snowflakes landed on the surface and disappeared.
Cindy brought him around the post.
The church road opened toward the field route and the old ditch.
Jennifer looked ahead.
“We can turn there.”
Cindy nodded.
The ditch had once seemed larger.
In October 1945, Bart’s clasp had opened and the dog had plunged into it with the absolute confidence of a creature expecting mud to receive him as a reward. He had returned black from chest to tail, leaving only his face recognisable, then smeared Nicola before either girl could stop him.
The repaired clasp had held ever since.
Now the ditch stood low and brown beneath early snow.
Reeds leaned over the water. Frozen mud showed in ridges along the bank. The road beside it had been widened slightly after summer repairs, leaving less verge between wheel track and drop.
Bart remembered something.
He pulled toward the ditch with immediate interest.
Cindy shortened him near the collar.
“No.”
He leaned.
The wet smell remained beneath the cold: old water, roots, decaying grass and the traces of animals moving through the channel.
Jennifer came beside him.
“He may remember falling in.”
“He didn’t fall.”
“He chose.”
“He’d choose again.”
Bart tried.
Cindy moved between him and the ditch.
Snow gathered along his back, dark fur showing beneath each flake until enough remained to form a thin uneven dusting.
“Walk.”
He looked toward her.
She turned his shoulders away and began moving.
Bart followed reluctantly.
Nicola remained on the road’s higher side. She chose a strip of firm gravel where snow had not yet hidden the ground completely.
The girls followed her.
No discussion was needed.
Nicola’s paws found what their boots needed: the places without leaves, ice or soft mud. She moved several yards ahead, then slowed until Cindy and Jennifer came level. When the road narrowed again, she remained near Cindy’s side.
Snow filled the ditch behind them.
It settled over the dark bank, covering the old shapes where water had cut through soil. No trace of Bart’s plunge remained after two years, though Cindy looked once toward the place where she remembered him emerging.
Jennifer saw.
“He was dirtier than the ditch.”
“He was the same colour.”
“His face wasn’t.”
“That made it worse.”
Jennifer’s mouth softened.
Bart heard his name nowhere in the exchange but looked back anyway.
The snow thickened without becoming a storm.
Flakes fell closer together now. The distant houses softened at their edges. Fields beyond the road turned pale in patches, with dark soil still showing between rows. Trees stood black against the white sky, each branch beginning to hold a thin upper line.
The guitar case collected snow.
Jennifer brushed it away with one gloved hand.
The outer cloth protected the case, but she checked the tied blanket at the lower edge to ensure no dampness had reached beneath it. The knot remained tight.
Cindy watched. “You could leave it at our house.”
“I’m taking it there.”
“You were?”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t say.”
“Mama said I could practise while your mother finishes sewing.”
Cindy looked toward the case. “What are you practising?”
“The third song.”
“The crossing?”
“Yes.”
“Still rushing?”
“Less.”
Bart caught a flake.
He sneezed.
Cindy kept him moving.
They turned from the ditch road toward a quieter lane lined with hedges and low houses. Snow had begun covering the old prints before they reached it. Their own tracks remained distinct behind them, two lines of boots accompanied by Bart’s restless pattern and Nicola’s steadier marks.
The lane included the corner where Cindy used to wait without admitting she waited.
It wasn’t the usual corner known by routine. This smaller turning lay nearer the Han route, beside a hedge and a narrow drainage strip. During the early autumn of 1945, Cindy had sometimes arrived there with an errand finished too quickly or a parcel carried farther than necessary. She would stand as if inspecting the road, the weather or the clasp on a bag until Jennifer and the dogs appeared.
The hedge had grown wider.
One section bowed toward the pavement. A householder had tied it back with twine, but the knot loosened whenever the branches became wet.
Snow rested along the upper leaves.
Cindy stopped.
Jennifer came beside her.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Jennifer looked at the corner.
She recognised it.
“You waited here.”
“I walked through here.”
“You stood near that post.”
“Sometimes.”
Jennifer looked toward Cindy.
Cindy adjusted Bart’s lead.
“I didn’t know when you’d come.”
“You still waited.”
Cindy’s glasses had gathered several melting flakes. She removed them and wiped the lenses with the inside of one glove.
“It was on my road.”
“So was home.”
Cindy put the glasses back on.
The snow blurred one lens again immediately.
“You came eventually,” she said.
Jennifer rested one hand against the guitar case. “Usually.”
Cindy began walking.
Bart followed.
No more was said.
Snow covered their pause within minutes.
The road curved toward town again.
They passed the vacant lot marked on the paper map with tall grass, broken boards and a diagonal footpath. Snow made it appear emptier than it was. The grass bent under white. The broken machinery near the rear vanished except for one rusted edge. A path remained where repeated feet had prevented growth, but flakes were filling it from both sides.
Jennifer looked at the lot.
“We should add winter to the map.”
“How?”
“White chalk.”
“It’ll cover everything.”
“Only small places.”
“Snow is everywhere.”
“Not under porches.”
Cindy considered. “We can mark safe winter paths.”
“Nicola’s road.”
Cindy looked down at the dog.
Nicola had chosen another firm strip beside the gutter.
“Yes.”
Jennifer stepped where Nicola stepped.
The guitar shifted.
Her heel slid on a smooth stone hidden beneath the snow.
This time Cindy caught her sleeve.
Jennifer steadied the case with both hands.
The strap tightened across her shoulder but held.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
Cindy kept hold until Jennifer stood squarely.
Bart turned toward the movement.
Nicola stopped.
Jennifer tested her foot.
“It’s fine.”
“The case?”
Jennifer touched the lower corner.
“No strike.”
Cindy released her sleeve.
“You should carry it lower.”
“It’ll hit my leg.”
“Then closer.”
Jennifer tightened the strap one hole.
The case settled firmly against her back.
“Better?”
“Yes.”
They resumed behind Nicola.
The grey dog’s path led nearer the houses, where warmth from cellars and steps kept some pavement clear. She avoided a gutter coated by thin ice and crossed toward a gravel verge before the girls saw the danger fully.
Cindy followed.
Bart tried the gutter.
She stopped him with the lead.
“You follow Nicola.”
He looked toward the grey dog.
Nicola continued.
Cindy guided Bart onto the gravel.
After several yards he accepted the route.
The girls’ boots made a soft crunch now.
Snow had accumulated enough to change the sound beneath them. Each step pressed through the loose upper layer to damp road below. Bart’s paws left deeper marks where he pulled. Nicola’s remained neat and nearly aligned.
The town appeared changed without becoming strange.
The grocer’s awning held a white upper edge. The library steps were being swept by an assistant who worked from top to bottom while snow returned behind her. Bicycle tracks crossed the square in dark loops. Shop windows glowed earlier than usual because the sky had dimmed the afternoon.
People moved more quickly.
A woman carried two loaves beneath her coat. A boy ran with his cap held over one ear. An elderly man stopped beneath the dry-goods awning to shake snow from his shoulders.
Jennifer and Cindy remained on the quieter side streets.
Bart attempted to follow a fresh boot mark leading toward the butcher.
Cindy corrected him before he committed.
“He knows that road without a print,” Jennifer said.
“He thinks the print gives permission.”
“You don’t know that.”
“He’s going toward the butcher.”
“That part we know.”
Nicola walked beside Cindy.
Her coat had begun gathering snow along the back, but her body heat melted the lower flakes into darker fur. Cindy brushed the white away gently without stopping.
The dog looked up once.
They reached the edge of the square and turned toward the Han street.
Darkness had not yet come, but afternoon light had thinned enough that windows began showing lamps. Snow continued falling steadily, too soft to obscure the nearest houses and too persistent to ignore.
The guitar case remained dry beneath its covering.
Jennifer checked it whenever the road allowed.
Cindy looked toward her. “You care more about the guitar than your shoulder.”
“My shoulder heals.”
“The case can dry.”
“The cardboard can bend.”
“Your shoulder can bruise.”
“That won’t change the sound.”
Cindy regarded her.
Jennifer added, “I’m not hurting it.”
“You nearly fell twice.”
“Once.”
“The first was leaves.”
“That wasn’t nearly.”
Cindy decided not to continue.
Bart found another track.
A small dog had crossed the road minutes earlier, leaving quick clustered prints from one gate to another. Bart followed the first three before Cindy redirected him.
“No visiting.”
He pulled toward the opposite gate.
A dog barked behind it.
Bart’s ears rose.
Cindy kept him moving.
Nicola stayed close against her leg until the barking faded.
Snow softened every mark they left.
Behind them, Bart’s deviation remained visible for only a short distance before fresh flakes blurred it into the road. The girls’ two-year history with the streets existed nowhere in the snow itself. The ditch held no black dog. The hedge held no first brushing. The corner showed no waiting girl.
The places remained.
The girls knew them.
That was enough.
The Han gate came into view before the street lamps had fully taken over from daylight.
Its top rail was white.
Snow had collected along the latch, though not enough to freeze it shut. Cindy approached carefully, holding Bart close so he wouldn’t rush through and drag snow across the swept path.
Jennifer stood with Nicola and the guitar behind her.
Cindy lifted the latch.
The door opened before the gate did.
Eun-jung stood in the warm rectangle of the rear entry.
She wore a dark cardigan over her house dress. Light from the kitchen passed around her and fell across the steps, revealing two folded cloths already placed on the bench.
An additional cup stood on the kitchen table beyond.
Eun-jung looked over the girls.
“You came before dark.”
“Yes, Mama.”
“The snow?”
“Started near the church.”
Jennifer lowered her head. “Good evening, ma’am.”
“Come in before it becomes worse.”
Bart pushed toward the gate.
Cindy blocked him.
“Wait.”
She opened it wide enough for Nicola first.
The grey dog entered and stopped inside the yard, looking back toward Jennifer.
Bart strained.
Cindy held him until Nicola had cleared the path.
Then she brought him through.
Jennifer closed the gate behind them.
Snow had already begun filling the tracks outside.
Eun-jung stepped aside from the rear entry.
“Dogs there.”
“Yes, Mama.”
Cindy guided them to the sheltered space.
The old blanket lay near the inner door, placed closer to the kitchen as it had been during the winter meal the previous year. A water dish waited beside it.
Bart went directly toward the kitchen opening.
Cindy caught his collar.
“Paws.”
He looked at the light beyond the door.
Jennifer removed her guitar case before helping with the dogs. She set it upright against the sheltered wall, away from wet shoes and snow shaken from coats. The outer blanket showed a few damp spots but no soaking.
She checked the tabs.
Eun-jung watched from the doorway. “It is dry?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You check the inside later.”
“Yes.”
Cindy took one cloth.
Jennifer took the other.
Nicola stood first.
Her paws carried only a little wet grit. Cindy cleaned each one, pressing the cloth between the pads and wiping snow from the fur around her legs. Nicola waited without moving.
Bart resisted.
He tried to turn toward the kitchen after the first paw.
Jennifer held his collar. “Stay.”
Cindy caught the front foot and wiped it.
The dog’s paws held more road dirt from his continual investigations. Dark marks came away onto the cloth. One small piece of leaf had lodged between two pads.
Cindy removed it.
“You chose every dirty place.”
Bart looked toward the inner door.
Eun-jung had left it open enough for food smells to enter.
Cindy cleaned the second paw.
Bart shifted.
Jennifer steadied him.
When all four were done, Cindy released his collar.
Bart crossed to the blanket, turned once and lay with his head pointed toward the kitchen.
Nicola remained near Cindy.
Jennifer removed her snow-marked coat and hung it where Eun-jung indicated. The guitar strap had left a darker pressure line across the shoulder of her cardigan.
Cindy saw it.
“You said it didn’t hurt.”
“It doesn’t.”
“That’s a mark.”
“It’s cloth.”
Jennifer flexed her shoulder.
No pain changed her face.
Eun-jung looked at the guitar case. “Bring it inside after the snow is wiped away.”
Jennifer took the dry edge of the dog cloth and brushed the outer covering carefully. She removed each melting flake before carrying the case into the kitchen.
The additional cup stood beside Cindy’s usual place.
Tea steam rose from it.
Eun-jung had set out no elaborate meal. A small plate held sliced pear, and another contained two plain rice cakes. The arrangement belonged to an ordinary cold afternoon made slightly longer by snow.
Jennifer waited until Cindy sat.
Then she took the extra chair.
Min-jae entered from the front room carrying the newspaper. He looked toward the window, the wet coats and the guitar case.
“First snow.”
“Yes, Papa,” Cindy said.
“Road bad?”
“Not yet.”
“Soon.”
He looked at Jennifer. “You brought the guitar through it.”
“The covering stayed dry.”
“You opened it?”
“Not yet.”
Min-jae set the newspaper aside. “Wait until the case is warm. Moisture hides in cold cloth.”
“Yes, sir.”
Jennifer left it closed.
Eun-jung placed tea before both girls.
Cindy wrapped her hands around the cup.
Heat entered her gloves’ red marks and the stiffness left by Bart’s lead. Jennifer held hers near her face before drinking.
From the entry came Bart’s low complaint.
Cindy looked toward the door.
“He has water,” Eun-jung said.
“He smells the pear,” Cindy answered.
“He smells the table.”
Jennifer drank.
Nicola’s grey head appeared in the opening.
She had moved from the blanket and positioned herself where she could see both girls.
Bart remained behind her, unable to occupy the same narrow space without pushing.
Eun-jung looked toward the dogs.
“Leave them.”
Cindy did.
They ate the pear first.
Jennifer used the small fork provided. Cindy took one slice at a time and placed the peel ends on the side of her plate. The rice cakes remained until the tea had warmed them enough to soften slightly near their edges.
Outside, snow settled over the Han path.
Their fresh tracks grew shallow.
Eun-jung looked toward Cindy. “Where did you walk?”
“The church road, the ditch road and back through town.”
“The ditch?”
“We stayed on the high side.”
“Bart?”
“Pulled.”
“He always does,” Jennifer said.
Eun-jung looked at her. “The clasp?”
“Sound.”
Cindy glanced toward Jennifer.
The answer had come without Jennifer needing to touch the metal again.
Min-jae opened the newspaper but continued listening.
“The guitar made you slip?” he asked.
“Leaves did once.”
“Snow once,” Cindy added.
Jennifer looked at her.
“You nearly slipped.”
“I steadied it.”
“You steadied yourself with it.”
“I didn’t strike it.”
Min-jae regarded Jennifer over the top of the paper. “A guitar is not a walking stick.”
“No, sir.”
Cindy drank her tea.
The correction required no defence.
Eun-jung looked toward the road. “You will not go home alone.”
“Papa said he could come for me if the snow worsened,” Jennifer said.
“It worsened.”
“It isn’t deep.”
“It will be dark.”
Jennifer accepted this.
Min-jae folded the newspaper. “I’ll walk.”
“Yes, sir.”
The guitar case remained closed until its outer cloth warmed.
Jennifer touched the side after several minutes. The cold had begun leaving it. She waited longer.
Cindy watched without reminding her.
When the case no longer felt chilled, Jennifer opened one tab.
Then the other.
She lifted the lid only enough to smell inside.
No dampness.
The flannel lining remained dry.
The guitar’s wood held the cool air of the walk but no moisture.
She closed the case again.
“You’re not playing?” Cindy asked.
“After it warms.”
“You carried it all that way.”
“That doesn’t make it ready.”
Cindy accepted this.
The girls remained at the table while the instrument adjusted to the room. Cindy described the school weather reading and Eun-jung’s opinion of its usefulness. Jennifer said April trusted the ache in one knuckle more than any printed forecast.
Min-jae looked toward the window. “Her knuckle predicted this?”
“She said cold.”
“That was already outside.”
“She said snow before dinner.”
“Then the knuckle is ahead of the book.”
Cindy’s mouth shifted faintly.
Eun-jung poured more tea.
The dogs settled fully.
Bart’s complaint ended when warmth from the kitchen reached the blanket. He lay against the inner door, one side pressed to the threshold. Nicola remained where she could see the girls, her chin resting on the edge of the blanket.
Snow continued without wind.
It covered the Han gate, the road and every mark leading there.
When Jennifer eventually opened the guitar case again, the wood had warmed enough to touch without chill. She lifted it onto her lap but didn’t begin with one of the three songs.
She tested the strings quietly.
The first note sounded low from the cold.
Jennifer tuned.
Cindy listened from across the table.
Eun-jung returned to sewing. Min-jae read. No one rearranged the room into an audience.
Jennifer played the crossing from the faster song once.
Her hands held.
She played it again.
The second chord change came slightly late but didn’t buzz.
Cindy looked at her. “Better.”
Jennifer nodded.
She played it a third time.
Bart’s head rose behind the door.
Cindy heard his collar move.
“Not faster,” she said.
“I’m not.”
“You will if he comes in.”
Jennifer muted the strings.
Bart remained where he was.
The room settled.
Jennifer played the passage once more at the correct speed.
Outside, the first snow continued covering every old route.
Inside, the guitar stayed dry, the dogs slept near the door and the extra cup remained on the table until Jennifer finished her tea.