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schoolgirls.” She poked me in the ribs and laughed heartily at her own joke.
    I wrapped my shawl more snugly around my face, as if that piece of wool could protect me from wolves and whatever other dangers lay ahead. All that peeked out were my eyes, watering from the cold. I’d figured out the trick of breathing in through the woolen scarf to warm the sharp air before it stabbed my lungs. My feet felt like clumps of ice at my ankles; two pairs of woolen socks provided a meager shield against this Montana cold. Shifting on the wooden seat sent a tiny surge of warmth through my veins and gave me a better angle to study the landscape through the narrow slit between scarf and hat.
    How would I describe this scene to Charlie? So far, there had not been one tree to enliven the view. To say the land was flat was not quite true, though that would be the quick and easy assessment. No, it more resembled a giant’s quilt—white, of course, because of the several feet of snow—spread out over an enormous bed. Here and there were the bumps made by the giant’s toes or knees. In the distance, his covered head raised up a larger bump in the bedding. As I studied longer, I could see the creases where the quilt fell away from between his arms and sides. No, not flat in the tabletop sense of the word.
Remember that sheet cake I baked for your birthday last year?
I would write Charlie.
Montana is a bit smoother of surface, but not much.
I turned to find Perilee studying me.
    â€œChester’s eyes were that same hazel color,” she said. “Course, he didn’t have no hair, but I suspect it was chestnut, like yours, when he was younger.” She seemed lost in herself for a moment.
    â€œWhat was he like?” I asked.
    Perilee pursed her lips. “Quiet. But if he ever said something, folks would listen. And Lord, did he read—that man was a regular library.” She smiled at some memory. “But there was a sadness in him. Never knew what the trouble was, but no matter how big his smile or loud his laugh, you could hear the hurt underneath.”
    â€œWas he alone?” I tried to envision this uncle I never knew, with my eyes and no hair. “When he died, I mean.”
    A tender smile flickered on Perilee’s face. “A man like Chester? No, he was not alone. Me and Karl were there. Leafie Purvis and Rooster Jim, too.” She patted my arm. “He talked about you, Lord almighty, right up till the very end. He’d be so pleased to know you had come.”
    We rode in snow-tipped silence for several minutes. “I wish I’d known him,” I said aloud.
    â€œYou would’ve been fast friends,” Perilee pronounced. That thought comforted me. At least it comforted my soul.
    Comforting my body, however, was a completely different cup of tea. The glamour of my mode of transportation had dimmed considerably since leaving Wolf Point. This icy, jostling wagon ride had shaken the last bit of humor right out of my bones. The same bones through which, at least according to Uncle Chester, coursed some of my mother’s starch. But that starch was frozen solid by the time we reached my new home.
    â€œThere it is!” Chase called, excitement and cold shrilling his voice. “Mr. Wright’s house.”
    I looked in disbelief.
House
was a Charlie term—kind and generous. Aunt Ivy’s chickens had better accommodations. The structure wasn’t much bigger than Uncle Holt’s tool shed and was put together with about as much care. Gaps in the siding revealed black tar paper, like decay between haphazard teeth. Two wood-block steps led up to a rough-hewn door. A small window—the only window, I was to find out—left of the door stared dully at me. My own gaze in return was no doubt equally as dull.
    Karl slowed the wagon.
    â€œHome sweet home!” Perilee chirped. “We’ll help you get your things inside, sugar. But we can’t