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“Calm down, dork,” said Hannah. “It’s just a glove.”
“Unacceptable use of outdoor clothing!” Kelli ran in, snatched the glove off the counter, clambered up a folding stepladder, and placed it neatly on the glove dryer that hung above the big pot-belly wood stove in the centre of the cabin.
“Kelli,” said their mother, “calm down. George,” she continued, “put some wood in the stove, please.”
Hannah’s dad took two pieces of maple from the woodbox, opened the belly of the wood stove, and put them in. Kelli’s exuberance had woken Sencha and Bogey from their napping spot by the couch, and the two house dogs ran over to greet Hannah and her father as though they had been gone for years. They kept a respectful distance from the hot cast-iron stove.
The two dogs were as opposite as could be. Sencha was a Dalmatian, but she had brown spots instead of black ones, and she shed on everything — pretty little white hairs that somehow corkscrewed into anything that wasn’t Teflon-coated. Her ears sat high on her head and she watched everything with bright hazel eyes, investigating every sound or movement, no matter how small, with her gaze or with her nose, depending on how comfortable she was. Hannah’s mom called her “Little Jane Austen.”
Bogey, on the other hand, was square and big and had two coats of thick fur: an oily outer layer of beautiful dark brown, and a dry underlay of rust-coloured kinks that kept him warm even when he jumped into the cold pond to chase tennis balls or ducks, or just because he was a Labrador retriever and needed to remind everyone of that fact.
“Bogey, get down!” said Hannah, pushing him away. The big dog dropped back to the floor, his tail still wagging. Hannah’s dad gave him some rough pats on his flanks, and the Lab nearly toppled him over, pressing into his legs like a cat. Sencha went back to her warm bed near the stove, lying down with an assortment of grumbles.
Kelli, still near the gloves, looked suspiciously at the bottoms of her sister’s legs. “Are your pants wet? You should go change.”
“You should shut up,” retorted Hannah. “The floor’s already wet from Lab slobber.”
“Ha-neul,” said her mother from the kitchen, “respect your sister.”
Kelli, safely behind the wood stove and out of sight of her mother, stuck her tongue out at Hannah.
“Let’s eat!” said her father, pulling out a chair from the kitchen table.
The table was so old and so ugly: the top was faded pink plastic with a terrible pattern of gold-speckled stars and rough metal edging. The chairs were a horrible flaky silver with plastic seats and no padding. Hannah hated the chairs, the table, and the ruined edges of all her sweaters from sitting at it.
“Set the table, girls,” said her mother.
“I’ve been outside helping with chores!” complained Hannah.
Her mother did not say anything, just kept stirring the large aluminum pot on the ancient propane stove in the kitchen. Kelli slipped from her chair. Sighing, so did Hannah.
Kelli smiled widely, wobbling under the weight of the heavy crockery. She loved it when everyone pitched in and did things together. She put down the stack of dishes and divvied them up, racing around the table to the far side and back again with a single plate each time.
“You’re gonna slip and fall,” said Hannah.
“Kelli, stop running,” scolded their mother. “Hannah, stop needling. George, we need salt and pepper.”
Hannah’s dad laughed and sprang up. “Probably not pepper, but I’ll get them both anyway.”
He got them and also grabbed the bread that sat under a tea towel — a sort of cornbread with eggs and bacon baked right into it. He broke the bread into big pieces with one egg in each, and put a piece on each plate. “I’m going to Jeb’s tomorrow,” he said as he added butter to the top of the egg. “The weather’s supposed to turn later this week, so I want to get over there before we’re stuck under another four feet of snow — that always makes us want to hibernate, eh, Mina?” He grinned at his wife.
“Maybe you should call first and make sure she’s ready for visitors,” she said.
Hannah’s dad grunted. “Scott’s there right now, and it looks like she’s getting better, so it should be fine.”
Scott and his sister Jeb and Hannah’s father had all grown up together in Timmins. When Jeb had decided to sell part of her land and build a new house much farther down the road, Hannah’s father had bought it — which was why they were now the proud owners of a shack in the middle of nowhere instead of a real cottage by a lake in Huntsville or Lake of Bays, like everyone else.
“But … we were gonna go to the hardware store! Can’t we just go to town instead?” Hannah asked.
“We’re not up here to shop,” answered her father. “We haven’t seen them yet and it’s been almost a week. It’s time to be neighbourly now that we’re settled in.”
“This is true,” said her mother. She pushed back her long, dark hair with one hand while ladling the stew into the small bowls Kelli had placed on the table.
Hannah wrinkled her nose at the smell. “Is there kimchi in this? Yuck. I’ll just have the bread.”
“It’s homemade kimchi stew,” replied her mom.
“Kimchi is good for you,” said her father.
