In Winter's Grip by Brenda Chapman Page A

strokes felt natural enough that I could enjoy the swoosh swoosh of my skis in the ruts of the trail and the reach and push of each arm as I jabbed the ski poles into the snow.
    I entered the dark silence of the waiting forest. Snow weighed heavily on the overhead boughs and swooped in graceful arcs against the tree trunks. I raised my eyes at intervals to look up through the gaps in the trees. Since we’d left the van, the sky had changed from a silky blue to grey as snow clouds moved in from the north. I felt protected in the woods. Noises were muffled, and row upon row of giant pines encased the trail like a cocoon. I began to enjoy the solitariness of my path and the cold wind on my forehead and cheeks. The physical exertion felt good, even when I had to struggle up hills. I gained confidence on the downhill sections, invigorated by rushes of adrenalin. Time passed without me noticing. I rounded a long looping curve and climbed another hill. At its crest, I met Claire and Gunnar leaning on their poles and looking out over the cliff and the sharp rise of the mountain across the gully. They both turned their faces towards me as I glided alongside.
    Gunnar’s eyes flashed dark and angry. “I’m going back, Mom,” he said.
    â€œI’d like you to wait until we all head back together,” Claire said, her body angled towards him, her face looking down at his.
    Gunnar pretended not to hear. He adeptly rotated his skis and levered himself forward. One thrust with his ski poles, and he shot down the hill and out of sight.
    Claire straightened and shrugged. “He’s not very sociable these days. I think it’s a phase. We’ll rest a few minutes and then I’ll start after him. He’s mad that he can’t keep up with me.”
    I looked across the fence that was strung along the edge of the precipice towards the snowy peak on the other side of the valley. The clouds had thickened, and I felt stray wet snowflakes land on my face. “Looks like we’ll be getting another storm,” I said.
    â€œIt was an early winter and could be a late spring.” Claire hesitated. “Maja, has Jonas said anything to you about...about your father?”
    I shook my head. “Jonas has hardly said anything to me about Dad. Why, is there something I should know?”
    Claire began tracing a pattern in the snow with her ski pole. “Jonas was very angry with your father lately, but you know Jonas. He’s not good at expressing his feelings. He just withdraws.”
    â€œWhat caused him to get angry? Jonas doesn’t usually get worked up, or at least not so you’d know.”
    It was Claire’s turn to shake her head. “I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about. Maja, how come Jonas never talks about your mom or why you stopped speaking to your dad? He’s never said boo about anything, even after all our years together. It’s like there’s a wall of silence between us that keeps me shut out.”
    â€œThe things that happened were a long time ago and were hard to talk about back then. Jonas has his reasons for not wanting to bring them up again.” As did I. “Jonas never liked reliving those days or speaking badly of our father.” I didn’t know whether or not to be surprised that Jonas hadn’t talked about our parents to Claire. I guess it put his relationship with Claire in a new light. He hadn’t trusted her enough to share what probably still haunted him.
    â€œI know,” Claire said. “He avoids emotional upsets like the plague.”
    I smiled gently. “It’s a family trait.”
    The snow was picking up steam, and a gust of wind rolled across the hilltop. It was time to go back. I took in a deep breath. It was now or never. “Claire, whatever happened to Billy Okwari? I was just wondering, because we’ve talked about everybody else that I could think of except him.” I kept my eyes