East

Father

WHEN MAPMAKERS OF OLD were faced with charting an unknown area, one that had proved unreachable, the temptation was to fabricate, to look into the imagination. They would depict the area as being inhabited by fearsome, man-devouring monsters, especially in the vast reaches of the sea. Master Esbjorn found the practice antiquated and unacceptable. He believed that if the truth was not known, the paper should be left blank.

I was like a long-ago mapmaker. When faced with uncharted territory—a talking beast in my home—I saw evil. And when my wife spoke of giving in to the request of an evil creature, I saw evil in her, too. To willingly sacrifice one daughter for another was an abomination. For the first time in our married life, I began to doubt my Eugenia.

We borrowed a small cart from Torsk to transport Sara. We told him that I needed to make repairs on the chimney before the landlord came to take over his property. It would be a sooty, messy job, and it would be safest to have at least part of the family move to Torsk's farmhold sooner rather than later. He was willing and so we bundled Sara into the cart. Fortunately, it was a fair day, though cold, and she was no worse for the trip.

Rose, Neddy, and I made our way back to the farm in silence. Eugenia had left a pot of soup on the hearth for us, along with a small loaf of brown bread. Rose deliberately laid out a tablecloth, one she had made herself, and Neddy set the table.

We ate the modest meal in silence. The minutes ticked by.

After we had finished eating, and had washed and put away the dishes, Rose took up some sewing while Neddy read. I aimlessly poked the fire, then sat down to look over our accounts, though my mind was not on my task.

It grew late—later, I thought, than when the white bear had come before. Hope began to flicker in me that he would not come after all. Perhaps a hunter had felled him. Or perhaps he had changed his mind. I was about to break the silence in the room to give voice to these thoughts, when there came a noise from the door.

This time no one opened the door. It swung open on its own. And standing there, the moon shining bright behind her, was Eugenia.

I let out a deep breath, then crossed to her.

"What are you doing here, wife?" I said, my voice ragged. "Is it Sara?..."

She stared at me, then shook her head sharply in the negative. She sidestepped away and went to Rose. "Daughter," she said, "I do not want to lose you. I have always tried to keep you close. But you must go with the white bear."

"Eugenia!" I shouted.

"You will use all your wits and your east practicality. And you will not be lost to us, not forever. I know it." She took Rose's hand as she spoke.

Rose was pale. She stood. Then she deliberately removed her hand from Eugenia's and stepped away from her.

"'East'?" Rose whispered. "'East'..." she said again, louder, shaking her head. "No, not 'east,' Mother. North? And her last word filled the room.

Then the white bear was at the door. And before any of us could move, Rose had crossed to him. She reached behind a large wooden trunk that stood by the door and drew out a small knapsack. She must have hidden it there earlier.

"I will go with you," Rose said to the bear, and I watched, unbelieving, as the animal's great paws flashed and Rose was suddenly astride the bear's back as if he were some enormous horse.

The white bear turned and disappeared through the doorway.

Neddy let out a cry and ran after them, grabbing his coat as he went.

I started after them as well, but Eugenia blocked my way.

"She must go. It is her direction. Her choice."

I looked back at Eugenia. Then looked from her to the empty doorway. I had lost everything I held dear. And there would be no reclaiming it.