He took a step away and I took a step upward, and then another, turning my attention back to the climb, managing it carefully, slowly, mindful of the possibility of a fall.

When I reached easier ground, I found that the dog had retreated farther but was still near.

“Why don’t you lead the way?” I said. “I’ll follow. Go on.”

Which he did, heading along what was surely his own trail, fewer trees up here, patches of green moss, gray moss, humps of rock everywhere, lichen and mushrooms, stray feathers, and, suddenly, an antler like a hard white flower blooming in a nest of ivy.

My father and I liked such things. The long, curved set of beaver teeth we’d found near the river. A snake skin, clear enough to see through; a matter of tiny diamonds and white lace that I wore in my hair until Esther plucked it out and threw it in the fire.

It had smelled like lightning as it burned.

A little farther along, the dog and I came through the stunted trees into a clearing, nearly flat, tucked against the topmost ledges of the mountain.

There was a fire ring in the clearing, but no fire. An iron spit stretched over it, with a cauldron hanging cold and empty above where there had once been a flame. Plenty of dead wood piled nearby. Nothing cut and split. Just old branches and sticks, fallen and gathered. Nearby, between two hemlocks, an old, tattered shawl hung from a line, dead leaves and a lone hawk feather caught in its weave.

There was a garden bed, too. A long, thin one with nothing in it. Just some weeds no one had bothered to pull.

At the far edge of the clearing, a little cabin nestled in a grove of red cedars. I could see that the door was open. There was no smoke coming from the chimney. No sound. No sign of life.

The dog trotted to the door and turned to wait for me.

Oddly, as I approached the door, he finally decided to growl.

“Which is it? Do you want me here or not?”

In answer, he disappeared into the cabin.

When I didn’t follow, he stuck his head back out the door and looked at me curiously.

“All right,” I said. “I’m coming.”

Chapter Twenty-One

I peered cautiously through the door.

The cedars around the cabin greened the light coming through the windows, so it was dim inside. Like being in the woods.

But I could see enough.

I could see that there were clothes hanging from pegs on the wall. Some boots in the corner. A desk and a trunk with a humped lid.

Shelves on one wall sagged with jars and bottles.

There was an open-faced cupboard in one corner with more jars and some sacks, too. Grain and dried apples, from the looks of it.