“A tree!” Wilson blurts out, his tongue working more quickly than his mind. “A tree. Remember, we were maybe going to cut ourselves a Christmas tree today. Since we’re all bundled up anyway, we might as well stay outside and go find a tree.” Isabelle nods, and Wilson is sure that he sees her eyes light up, even thinks he sees the trace of a smile. Usually, they buy their trees from a stand on the street in the city; Wilson has never cut a tree before, but he figures it will be easy enough. “Wait here,” he says. “I’m going to go get the ax from the garage. Be right back.” His heart is pounding as he hurries back to the house, whether with excitement or from the effort of walking through the snow he can’t be sure. Every few steps he looks over his shoulder to where Isabelle waits, as if while he’s not looking she might disappear. But every time, she’s there, a dark shape against the snow, small, sucking on her icicle.

The roads have gotten slippery, and Ruth drives slowly, for once, though she’s glad for some time alone. On either side of the road, snow has been shoveled into banks so tall they hide even the stone walls built by farmers centuries ago. This time last year, they hadn’t even had a frost yet. Ruth remembers this specifically because on her birthday, which falls just after the new year, Wilson had presented her with rosebuds cut from his own rose bushes, which had begun to bloom early in the season’s eerie warmth. She’d chastized him for clipping them before they’d actually unfurled, but he’d said it was better if he got to them before the winter, and he was right; it was only days later that the temperatures dropped and all the swollen tips of branches were cloaked in a layer of ice, the emerging crocus heads submerged again in snow.

But before that, before that week when it turned cold, they had taken a birthday picnic to what they called the Marsh Marigolds, though her birthday actually fell midweek. But midweek, Wilson had a business trip to visit clients in Louisiana, and Isabelle had a class trip to Washington, D.C., and Ruth herself had a court date on the day of her birthday. Yes, and Zeke Mueller had brought flowers for her to court, though how he knew it was her birthday she never understood.