They’d waited for the snow for so long that it was exciting to finally see it. There was only a dusting the first day, just enough to poof up as you stepped and to make perfect little snowflakes on your clothing. But it didn’t take long for it to pile up ankle height, leaving big piles along the narrow paths the adults dug into the snow.
It was nice to be warm. The house was full of little blankets that they piled onto the couch, snuggling in with mugs of hot tea and the crackling of a good fire. Sam did her best to leave her nervous thoughts alone and focus on the little bits of learning Emily gave her. Letters and numbers, baby stories to read aloud, counting and adding and taking away — Sam’s knowledge was random and wobbly, sometimes in an embarrassing way. But alone in her room at night it was hard to keep everything at bay. The snow closed in and lengthened the shadows outside the window. The layers of blankets weighed heavy on her chest.
But even three feet of snow couldn’t stop River from coming over. Mostly it was after dinner, when she would bring warm leftovers from her place. Sam did appreciate her visits - her wrist was still tender and it was hard to do many of the activities she might use to pass time.
The afternoon was dim, bright white light reflecting from the snow into the windows. Today Iris had tagged along, though River did most of the talking. They sat among a pile of knit blankets on the floor in front of the stove. Iris was knitting, her fingers moving faster than Sam’s eyes could track. River was explaining the rules to a game involving a complicated web of string.
“It’s called cat’s cradle,” she said. “Camilla taught it to me.” She wrapped a piece of yarn over her fingers and pulled it taught. “So you just have to grab it on the sides.”
Iris pointed the spaces out. It was more like a puzzle than a game, Sam thought. She moved her fingers the way Iris told her to, thumb and forefinger holding open a star shape.
“So that’s Soldier’s Bed,” said River. “Now I’m gonna make Candles.” Picking up the points of the star, River pulled the string into straight lines. “Okay, now you reach under and pull it through.”
The string felt rough against Sam’s hands. As Iris pulled her guiding hands away, the string slipped around the backs of her hands. Sam pulled away like she’d burned herself, the yarn dropping in a tangle in her lap.
“Sorry,” she said.
“No, it’s okay.” Sam read confusion on River’s face. “We can try again.”
Sam looked down at the yarn. “No, um —“
“Oh, sure.” River picked up the yarn and wound it back into a ball. “We can do something else.”
“I’m sorry,” Sam repeated.
“It’s fine, Sam.” River’s tone had a question in it.
“River,” Iris said, “How about you go help Em in the kitchen.”
Em was puttering around baking something out of odds and ends from the pantry.
River and Iris exchanged a glance that seemed to mean something, then River rolled her eyes and got up.
Iris inched a bit closer to Sam. “Are you alright?” she asked, lowering her voice so only the two of them could hear.
Sam didn’t answer.
Iris leaned a bit away, staring across at the stove and away from Sam. “Want to talk about it?”
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