The same kid came to talk to Sam every time she sat outside. This had been going on a week now, ever since Quinn had told her she was well enough to go out. Emily had it in her head Sam needed fresh air, and Sam didn’t mind watching the other people and trying to assess who was who and which people she should keep an eye on. That is, until River noticed her.
River was much younger — Sam figured nine or so. She rarely stopped talking. Mostly she explained the enclave and the people in it, which was helpful. It was just that she was so persistent. She didn’t seem to mind that Sam hadn’t said a single word to her, ever.
There were seven houses on the cul-de-sac, which the residents had renamed Maple Summers. River had told her that her arrival made their population exactly 30 people, which made it the smallest enclave Sam had lived in. River told her a lot of things, most of which Sam didn’t pay much attention to.
It was nice to just sit outside. Emily insisted she layer up in warm clothes beforehand, but Sam liked the sting of cold in her cheeks. The outside air smelled clean, with the faintest edge of pine drifting out of the trees.
River was perfectly capable of filling the time on her own.
“Last summer, Iris and I caught a trout this big out of the lake!”
“Did you know that when the wind blows in the Marches’ attic, it sounds like an old man yelling?”
“My dad says next year I’ll be old enough to climb the hayloft.”
“This morning, my papa put his hand in the tomato box, and he got one stuck on his fingers. He got tomato juice all over!”
Despite herself, Sam smiled a little at that one.
River’s eyes went wide, and her smile grew big. “You smiled!”
Sam looked away.
River was small, and pale-skinned, with bright blue eyes that caught the light. Her black hair was always done up in two braids and hidden under a knit cap. Her mittens and scarf usually ended up stuffed in the pockets of her quilted green jacket. Today she was playing a game of walking along the very edge of the porch as she talked.
“I knew you were listening,” she said, pleased with herself.
Sam pulled her hat down over her ears and ignored her.
Undeterred, River came back the next day, and the day after that. It was hard not to smile a little, and eventually Sam let herself laugh at a joke or two. Partly because of how happy it made River.
One day River pulled Sam up from the porch and insisted they go for a walk. “I want to show you something,” she said.
River led her through the frosted grass into the woods, where they followed an old animal’s trail through the tangled mess of thorns and bushes and overgrown vines. The woods muffled the sound around them, leaving only the cries of surprised birds and the faint rustle of mice in the piles of rotting leaves.
River stopped at a large tree, the area beneath it a bit clearer than elsewhere. She grabbed a piece of wood nailed to the trunk and began to climb.
Sam looked up and realized someone had built a treehouse up above them. It wasn’t much to look at anymore - the roof was gone, probably scavenged for scrap metal, and one wall sagged as the beams rotted in hard weather. But the rungs of the ladder still seemed solid against the trunk, and while the planks creaked under River’s feet the floor did hold her weight.
“Come on up!” River called down.
Sam’s own weakness annoyed her - she used to be stronger than this. Even so she managed the ladder and made her way up.
River had furnished the place as much as she was able. She’d fastened half a tarp over one corner, and hauled up two plastic garden chairs. A cracked plastic bin formed a table. Everything had the greenish tinge of something left outside in the elements for a good while.
“I found this two summers ago,” River said. “Isn’t it great!”
Sam sat with her on the edge of the platform.
“I want to make a rope swing underneath,” River told her. “I think I can do it with just the rope and a good stick.”
They were quiet for a little while as the sunlight angled lower through the pines.
“Where do you think the people who built this went?” River asked.
Sam shrugged.
“I hope they just went somewhere, you know? That they didn’t just, you know, die.” River hugged one leg to her chest.
“People die all the time,” Sam said. She regretted immediately how cruel it sounded.
River didn’t seem to mind. “Sometimes I think about the people who used to live in our house and wonder about them. Or I wonder if anybody’s living in our old house.”
There was a little blue house in the furthest reaches of Sam’s memory. A mother with warm hands and wide shoulders. The ocean crashing loudly in the night. No one would be living there now, it was much too close to the water. With the fierce storms since she’d lived there, it was possible the little blue house was sitting at the bottom of the sea now.
“Where were you before you came here?” River asked.
Sam turned away. Sometimes, tucked into soft blankets in front of a fire, she could forget anything ever came before. Better to pretend her history started in Paul March’s wagon.
River swung her legs back and forth, red rubber boots wobbling on her feet. “It’s gonna snow soon,” she said.
Sam nodded. The crisp snap of the cold heralded a storm on the way.
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