In Winter's Grip. Brenda Chapman

      One night came Winter noiselessly, and leaned

      Against my window-pane.

      In the deep stillness of his heart convened

      The ghosts of all his slain.

      -Charles G.D. Roberts, 1895

      CONTENTS

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

       Eight

       Nine

       Ten

       Eleven

       Twelve

       Thirteen

       Fourteen

       Fifteen

       Sixteen

       Seventeen

       Eighteen

       Nineteen

       Twenty

       Twenty-One

       Twenty-Two

       Twenty-Three

       Twenty-four

       Twenty-five

       Twenty-six

       Twenty-seven

       Twenty-eight

       Epilogue

       Acknowledgements

ONE

      Tonight, I dreamed I was back in Duved Cove, dreamed I was sitting on the concrete steps in front of our house on Strathcona Road, the smell of pine and damp earth in my nostrils. The darkness thickened around me like a curtain falling. When I looked back at our house, the lights were out, and the emptiness I felt was mirrored in the drawn blinds and blackened windows. The air was still and silent like it gets when the day tucks itself in for the night. Loneliness rose in my throat and held me in its ache.

      In my dream, I reach down to strike a match on the stone walk at my feet and watch its flame flicker, orange over indigo, travelling down the stalk before I wave the match like I’m shaking out a rag. I snap another red match head across the same stone, holding it in front of my eyes and blowing out the wavering flame just as I feel its heat on my fingers. I peer through the darkness, past the place where I know the pines and birch trees stand at the edge of our property, and I wait for Billy Okwari to come. Wait for Billy like we’re sixteen again, knowing he’ll find me in the shadows where I sit every night after supper. Fearful my dad will find me first.

      I woke then, with tears on my lashes and a yearning for Billy Okwari that I could almost taste. Forty years old, and I still wanted him. I rolled onto my side toward the window and drew my knees up, curling into myself. I felt movement next to me. Sam reached over and settled his warm hand on my hip. He pulled me closer and mumbled, “You’re dreaming again, Maj.”

      I nodded into my pillow, biting my bottom lip, and listened to Sam’s breathing deepen into long, regular pulls. Already he’d slipped back into sleep. I envied him the simple ability to fall into it like a cat. I closed my eyes and thought again of my dream. It had been so real this time. Like the other times, I’d guiltily hold it to me for the rest of the day. I’d be careful to keep Sam from learning of the dream and the emotions rising in me like waves that he’d never been able to stir. I was thankful this dream had come tonight and not the nightmare that was its twin. A day of stirred feelings was preferable to one of trying to shake off fear.

      I moved away from the heat of Sam’s body and slipped from under the duvet. The morning’s coolness caused me to shiver in my thin cotton nightgown. A car’s engine grew louder as it passed by on the street and then silence. The ashy light through the window cast enough illumination for me to make my way on bare feet to the stairs and down their length to the kitchen. Without turning on the light, I padded over to the window seat that looked out over

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