Free Grandpère by Janet Romain Page B

for our home and car, and his shop is still full of tools and toys. Sometimes I think we should have a garage sale, but the idea of selling his stuff somehow seems wrong to me yet. I don’t use much of it, but it’s comforting to know that the things he treasured are still right where he left them. The boys use his shop when they are here and keep it tidy.
    Rose says she has to go and gives us big hugs. I tell her to come again soon. She has a quiet word with me at the door to say that Grandpère looks great, and if I ever need her to just call. She is such a lovely person. I thank her again and tell her to drop by whenever she feels the notion.
    What a great afternoon on this cold New Year’s Day. We let the dogs into the porch for the night. It’s cold enough in the porch but a lot warmer than outside.

    Over the next week the weather stays cold, and we stay indoors except for brief jaunts out to tend the chickens and bring in more firewood. The weather finally breaks with a Chinook wind that brings rain and warmth. The snow slides off the tin roof with a noise like an avalanche, and the rain pours down, turning our snow into a blue sea. The driveway and the yard are covered with a thick layer of ice when it cools off the next week.
    We have used more firewood than usual, and I decide to fire up the snowmobile to bring in another load from the landing. I hook up the car hood and strap my snowshoes behind the seat, just in case the snowmobile breaks down and I end up walking.
    The electric start works well, and I’m soon on my way with the dogs running behind me. There is a good crust on the snow, and the machine doesn’t break through. It is only a short jaunt to the landing, but when I try to turn around, the machine sinks through the crust and gets stuck on something. A big pile of wood. I put on the snowshoes and pack the snow down in front of the snowmobile. Then I see the problem. The ski has hooked under a big slab sticking out from the pile. It is frozen in place and will not budge, even with all my strength and a pry pole. I snowshoe back to the house and get a hand saw.
    The sun is out in a blue sky, and even though it is cold, I am sweating like a hog by the time I get back with the saw. It doesn’t take very long to cut off the log, and then I have no trouble getting the wood piled high on the car hood. With the weight behind the snowmobile, it plows through the crust the whole way back, sending frozen spray over the hood that stings like needles on my face.
    When I get back to the house, Grandpère is out in the yard. He was getting worried about how long I was gone and was coming to look for me. I tease him for worrying about me, and he laughs back, but I can see he is relieved that I am safe and sound. He helps me unload the wood into the shed, and we are just going back into the house when a taxi pulls up.
    It is unusual for a taxi to come out here, so we both just stop and stare. A young girl gets out of the back. She looks vaguely familiar, but I can’t quite place who she is. She comes up and asks me if my name is Anzel O’Flaherty. I tell her yes.
    “My mom told me you were my grandmother,” she says. “Can I stay here for a while?”
    The girl looks like she’s on her last legs, and even though I’m pretty sure I don’t have any grandchildren I don’t know, I tell her, “Yes, you can.”
    She pulls a ratty suitcase out of the taxi and pays the driver. He waves and drives off, and we are left staring at each other. I tell her to come in and get warm. Many questions are burning in my mind, but first I tell her that I’m going to make lunch and she should put her stuff in the bedroom. She comes back and sits at the table, silent. Her hair is long and dark, and her eyes are as blue as the sky outside the window, but she has dark circles under them and her face is covered with pimples. Her clothes are not clean, but her jeans are patched neatly and her blouse is buttoned right up to the