Six

ROSIE HAD TO GET AWAY from the road. Pulling herself along by her one good hand, she managed to crawl and drag herself over the low concrete barrier and rest against the steep embankment. The snow and wind whipped around her, and at first she hadn’t felt much. But now, the pain somewhere in her hip and right leg snatched her breath from her. She desperately tried to get air into her lungs, but the pain was so excruciating she could only gulp small, shallow breaths. As she dragged herself up the embankment, she felt the wind tear at her body again. She had to move a bit more—if she could get out of the wind she might survive the night until she could get help. When she turned on her stomach to crawl, her head exploded in pain. She lay on her back. No. Her side. No, her back. She had to keep breathing. Stay awake. Stay awake. Stay awake. She tried to pull her legs up in the fetal position to keep the heat in, but the pain was so intense and shocking she felt herself losing consciousness. She tried to open her eyes, but she couldn’t seem to. She tried to move her legs, but now she couldn’t feel them at all. She clutched at her stomach. Was he still there? She couldn’t feel him. Nothing at all. And then, a warm and beautiful image came to her. The sea smell of the bay. Her grandmother’s hands plucking eider ducks. A few feathers lifting away in the gentle summer breeze that kept the bugs away but wasn’t too cold. Perfect. Just perfect. Her grandmother’s hands. Brown. Wrinkled. Skilled. So fast. Her mother lighting the fire. Delicious smell of dripping duck fat. The summer sun strong. Her sister, Maggie, playing the piano. No, that’s something else. Another day. Piano Day. The eighty-eighth day of the year, for the instrument’s eighty-eight keys. She and Maggie playing “Heart and Soul.” Rosie and Maggie. Maggie and Rosie. Maggie played the one-hand part, she played the two-hand. They did it real serious for the show, then after they were laughing and laughing, so pleased with themselves. People clapping. Maggie never played anymore, but she did. She could play a hundred songs. Make them up, too. Now she couldn’t breathe at all. Breathe. She didn’t want to die like this. Like a…like a dog. Her grandfather had to shoot them all—all his dogs. He couldn’t take them in the relocation because they couldn’t go in the canoe. Didn’t want the whites—the RCMP to do it, like they did all the others. Had to shoot them all. Grandmother still cried and cried when she told it. Everything changed after that. She didn’t want to die. Breathe. Maggie. They would get a piano, they promised each other. Play “Heart and Soul” every day.

“What happened to you?” A voice. Ecstasy of relief. A voice. A face. Not a face. Eyes and a mask. A scarf. A man. Was speaking to her, asking her if she was okay. She tried to move, but the pain was so knife-intense she retreated from it and tried to breathe again.

The voice was drowning now. Far away.

“Help me. I. Can’t.” Her voice now. She felt something under her head, holding her head. Something heavy over her. It was warm. Warmer. She tried to open her mouth to breathe, but there was no air. No air.

“I will help you. Don’t be scared. Help is coming. Help is on the way.”

And then. There was nothing.