That afternoon, over their roasted beef dinner, her father said, ‘I wonder if it would ever be possible to preserve your loved ones when they pass away, exactly as they were when they were alive?’
‘What on earth do you mean, Clement?’ asked Beatrice’s mother, spooning out turnips on to his plate.
‘I mean, like that poor little girl that Bea and I came across this morning. She was only frozen, of course, so her remains won’t last for long. But supposing you could petrify people or turn them into wood? Then you could keep them with you always.’
‘Oh, Clement, what an idea! I couldn’t have a wooden statue of my mother sitting at the table with us! It would give me a fit!’
He smiled and shrugged and said, ‘Yes... yes, you’re probably right. But one could do it with a pet, perhaps. A cat, or a dog. Then your child could play with it ad infinitum.’
Beatrice put down her spoon.
‘What’s the matter, Bea?’ her mother asked her. ‘Aren’t you hungry?’
‘I can’t stop thinking about that girl,’ said Beatrice. ‘If only somebody had given her something to eat and a fire to keep her warm.’
‘Bea, you shouldn’t upset yourself. She’s in heaven now, and Jesus will be taking care of her.’
Beatrice said nothing. She didn’t want to contradict her mother. But although she was only twelve years old, and she had never been brought up to think any differently, she couldn’t help wondering if heaven were really real, or if it were just a story that was made up to make us feel better about people we had lost. Perhaps when you froze to death you felt cold for ever after.