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On this day, as on countless others, Franz Weiske is aching, is in fact feeling faint by late afternoon. He drops his axe and straightens his spine. It cracks rhythmically, and the sound in his body reminds him of how as a child he ran along the streets of Kassel, a stick held against fence boards. How safe he remembers feeling, knowing the fences would lead to his own, where he could enter, latch the gate behind him, and find comfort within the folds of his mother's apron. How he longs for her peaceful face, her tranquil, gentle voice. A cow bell chimes nearby through the crisp winter air, and Franz and the other workers cock their heads to the sound.

"This Canadian stock roam in this criss-cross wood like nothing." Hartman blows hard through his nose, spraying mucus onto the fresh snow next to the neatly stacked rounds of Jack Pine. "Huh, offer this kind of land to a German cow, and she would surely break her neck or bones."

Steam billows, merges, and floats skyward, straight from the half dozen workers' cracked and bleeding lips, as they laugh in unison. Franz's knees threaten to buckle. The moment of rest has weakened him further. He glances furtively about, fearing detection.

"Weiske, take a minute.You look white like the snow." "No. No, I'm fine." He feels he must go on. Almost two months in this new country, and no closer to building a home for his family.This will take 1,100 railroad ties, more work than one man can possibly complete before the snow begins to melt, and sleighing gets tough. A pounding which has become all too familiar of late proceeds to knock against Franz's skull from within. He can no longer feel his toes inside his boots.The other men snort loudly with bravado as they labour, and Franz feels ashamed, inadequate. He flaps his arms and claps his numb and idle hands together, embarrassed at his inability to grasp the shaft of the axe. "Weiske, listen man." Franz turns to George Euler, the man whose letters of freedom convinced his wife, then himself to come to Canada, to Waldhof. In Germany, there was much talk of war, and Franz did not want their son to be trained in the military. "Hartman tells me there are too many of you in his house to live in harmony much longer. He has been kind, but four families .... I have a place you can move to, now that the Kaufmans from across the lake have gone to Toronto. They are too soft for this life. I can say for myself, I have never been healthier.What do you say? Your youngster, Joseph can chop wood for me in return. Only until you are ready to build your own place."

Franz manages to lift his axe, curling both hands around the handle unnaturally. Yesterday, one of the few school days there have been since they arrived, his son Joseph returned home, his hands swollen and red. The punishment was for speaking German in the schoolyard. Perhaps he would be better off chopping wood.

"I will need a boat then, to move our belongings." "Done. The Kaufmans have left the one we built together." George holds his chapped and naked hand out, and as Franz shakes it with his own, gloved and throbbing, he maintains a stoic expression. The sun nestles down amongst the cedars, creating lacy grey patterns atop the snow, as Franz winds his way through the trees. He nears Euler's house, and although he wishes to, cannot avoid stopping. Three men stand outside, under icicles of great length which line the roof's edge, extending down towards their heads, threatening impalement. Excitedly, they wave him over. Franz has no choice but to approach. The beaming faces come into focus as Franz slowly picks through the snow, and his eyes fall upon the object of their pride. Lying in a heap before the men, it's head twisted unnaturally towards the sky, a large boot propping it by its neck, is a huge heap of blood bathed fur and flesh. The glazed eyes of the massive bear seem to plead with Franz, and he is barely able to stand. He wants to curl up beside the animal in the pink tinted snow, and rest. He can imagine the warmth it would provide him. Steam still rises from its wounds. He would lie close beside it and stroke its lush coat, whisper apologies for the sins of his fellow countrymen.Tears begin to form in his eyes, and he has trouble containing them.

His wife, Elspeth is becoming impatient with his excuses for not hunting. He feels she is becoming suspicious of his lack of intent. Last week, she even borrowed for him a gun from one of the neighboring bachelors. There are many of these men here in this settlement and they live a lonely existence, as there are no single women. She has threatened to shame him by taking up hunting herself, and his face burns at the thought. These strong young men standing over their kill, appear to him so full of life and energy, so childishly delighted with this new possession. All the men's eyes are also on Franz, anticipating a congratulatory response. He tries to pull himself together, but cannot come closer, or gaze any longer upon the pitiful beast before him. It will be a variety of bear dishes Franz will be served the next few weeks, he imagines. He fears he will be weakened further by his inability to stomach the meat. His lungs feel lined with ice as he takes a deep breath, and confronts the men. The tall one, Alfred, upon whose boot rests the mangled neck, has been joining his family for dinner quite frequently, and he addresses this man in particular and his satisfied leer. He finds himself compelled to meet Alfred's demanding need for admiration and esteem. "Quite a trophy, men." He forms the lie about to be spoken quickly, naturally, tempting it to become true. "My boy and I are becoming successful trappers. Nine white weasels this week. Soon we will catch a silver fox, which is worth $1,000. Then we will go home to visit." He is unsure why he has made this claim, and he paces around the dead animal as though examining it, as though he approves, when in truth he is forcibly holding back vomit in his gut. Four heads turn to the bush, summoned by the whistling of a clear sweet tune, and Elspeth appears from the darkening wood, bundled tight against the cold, her ruddy cheeks a bright translucent red. She, of all the women living here in this new land, has transitioned most comfortably to this harsh outdoor life. She sleeps well at night, fulfilled by the day's work, spent but still eager to wake, and face the challenges of this bush country. In her haste, the slippery soles of her highly inadequate boots, the only footwear she owns, brought from Germany, cause her to slip. She lies on her back on the white blanketed ground, and laughs out loud, pushing the fluffy snow away from her body, arms and legs pumping quickly. Already the men have rushed forward to help, and Alfred is the first to reach her. He joins in her gaiety and pulls her to standing with one arm. "The children have taught me a new game. See what a lovely white angel I make?" As she continues to laugh, a broken china sound, Alfred joins her, his baritone resounding through the trees. Franz thinks the two voices complement each other somehow, his wife's a high pitched soprano, and a twinge of jealousy tugs at his heart. A smile has seldom graced his own face in quite some time, save for the moments spent with his baby girl they affectionately call Woods Annchen. One cannot help but smile in her presence, so genuinely radiant is her demeanor. Franz realizes with sorrow that little Annchen is happily growing up in this wild setting, will probably never know anything different.

"News travels fast here in Waldhof, Alfred. They say you have killed your first bear." Elspeth circles the dead animal, nodding, the corners of her lips upturned in approval. From inside her cloak, she pulls a long dagger, slightly curved at the tip. It has probably been the most useful possession she brought to this country. She thinks with disdain of the useless instrument, the zither Franz insisted on bringing across the ocean.This life affords no time for such frivolities, and the proof of this lies in the fact that the beautiful pearl inlaid zither still lies packed in its box, abandoned in a stagnant state of disregard. Brandishing the knife, Elspeth drops to her knees, plunges it to its hilt at the bears chest, and in a sawing motion cuts down the length of its body. She shifts back as the entrails spill before her and they sink down, down forming an icy bowl in the snow.

Twisting its mangled neck and lifting its head, the brown bear fixes his eyes intently, steadily on Franz, and speaks.

"Was fuer ein tolles Weib haben Sie, Franz." The soothing voice relaxes Franz somehow, softening the impact of its words.

"I can see that with my own eyes, but thank you." Oddly, Franz registers no surprise, but looks to the others to see if they have heard. Apparently not.

"She is happier here. Only you can help her. You know what to do." The brute's lips curl back at the completion of this statement, but Franz remains rooted as the cedars, mesmerized, as though in a trance.

"What are you muttering, Franz?" Alfred looks up from where he is seated on a stump cleaning his rifle, his bushy brows knit in concern. He is astounded at how such a pitiful creature as this man could deserve a prize like Elspeth. He has been impressed with her ever since her arrival amongst them here in Waldhof. She has quickly become a source of strength for the other women, and he can only dream that if one of the women in Germany with whom he corresponds is persuaded to come to this life, that she would prove to be half the woman. His eyes never tire of her playful, eager ways, and more than once has he reluctantly had to ban her image from his thoughts, had to keep himself in check.

Elspeth continues to work and does not glance up as she addresses her husband.

"Go on home, Franz. The women will need a break from Annchen. She is becoming quite a handful now that she's learning to walk. I won't be long here." Dismissing Franz this way eases Elspeth's constant embarrassment at his useless and increasingly disturbing presence. Her shoulders relax as she hears his departing footsteps on the hardening snow, his affected farewells to the men she so admires. She does not turn her head, but instead stares down at her bloodied hands, then plunges them between the lips of the incision, warming them.

***

A cold wind whistles between the logs of the wall behind Franz, picks up the hairs on the back of his neck. The words he has just written leap from the letter before him, demanding consideration, like accusations. His eyes falter, leave the page, and drift to his little girl, so beatific in her slumber. They rest there, and fill with warm tears, which fall upon his writhing hands, which are too numb to carry on.

"Warum luegen, Vater?" Although the impossibility of his eleven month old daughter speaking these words is clear to Franz, he nonetheless listens carefully to the faint and small lilting voice. His shoulders begin to shake as he rereads his own words, words that are meant to mislead, words that are filled with the aim of deceit. Waldhof March 24, 1911

At last I can write and drop you a few lines. First we congratulate you on your birthday, dear brother, wish you all the best of everything, and hope you think of us often, deep in the forest. The snow is still knee-deep now at the end of March. We are living with three families in a log shack, but will soon move to our own.These are built for lots of fresh air. I can see the sun, moon, and stars through the walls, but we feel very healthy.

Waldhof is a railway station. It lies along the Wabigoon River, and the Canadian Pacific Railway goes right through. The black swamp ground is shaped like waves and is heavily wooded. Everyone looks at how high the trees are and they leave farming and agriculture alone. At present, I am cutting wood for Mr. Euler and making my living, although there is not much money cutting wood. But still I sing every evening - the trees shake from it. Most certainly I am going to work on the Railway and earn very good money.

There are two kinds of bears here, black and brown. They look kind of innocent but you can't trust them too close. I have shot one, and am going to send you the fur. Of course, it depends on how much it will cost. When we catch a silver fox, which is worth $1,000, we will visit you. Of course that will be quite a while.

Now brother Oswald, no doubt I can understand that you would like to get out of the factory as I did. I am not rich here but the life is altogether different than in that factory. Think of us sometime, way out in the sticks where we sit in the deep woods.

***

Tiny sweet puffs of mist rise from Annchen's nostrils, and warm Franz's cheek the way her sleeping body nestled on his lap warms his heart. Elspeth and his son Joseph are outside loading the wooden boat with their possessions, and though he knows he should join them, he is reluctant to put his child down, wishes to remain this way just a while longer. He looks through the hole he has created by melting a circle in the ice coated window pane with the stove handle. George and Alfred have come to assist, and are practically tripping over each other in their haste to help Elspeth.

"What a ridiculous sight." he snorts to himself, glancing down at Annchen for fear of wakening her. The other wives are off picking up the children from the school, the men still cutting wood. Franz lowers his head, and lays his cheek against Annchen's forehead, gently nuzzles the softness of her face. The sky is darkening, and fear and impatience stalk Franz's thoughts. If his weak back had allowed him to help, the loading would be complete and he'd be off and away by now. He is not eager to live on their own, so far removed from the others and their help, despite the crowded living conditions here. Responsibility weighs heavily upon him as he considers their future.

Outside, an assembly line of sorts is formed, with Alfred last, at the shore, passing off the cargo to Elspeth, and she arranges it on the boat. Pin pricks of numbness in Elspeth's soaking wet feet vie for her attention, but she pays them no heed. The water is black, mirroring the gloomy sky, and is beginning to churn. Broken chunks of ice crash against each other, serenading the workers with a rhythmical beat, not unlike the hollow echoing haunt of wooden chimes. A feeling of calm, of reverence overcomes Elspeth and she works as though entranced, starting when Alfred speaks as he passes another item.

"Euler has gone home. He says perhaps Franz should take two trips. The load may be too heavy in these conditions." Moments pass slowly, as though frozen, and the two stand so still, the warmth of Alfred's fingers pressed over hers beneath the zither case. And through the searching of each others eyes, looking deeper, far beyond the mutual respect they have for each other, unspoken words pass. Elspeth inhales his musky odour, surprised when the smell of the varnish from the instrument intrudes and mingles with, then overpowers his scent, and she reluctantly turns and carries on. They don't stop until everything is aboard. The boat sits low, bucking against the waves.

***

Freezing lake water washes repeatedly over and into the boat. Franz clenches his jaw tight, but cannot quell the clacking of his chattering teeth. Never has he felt so cold. Frigid waves lap at his boots. The boat convulses wildly beneath him, and he steers for the nearer shore, abandoning his destination. Removing his fingers from their union with the oars, he desperately pries at the lid of one of the wooden boxes. It is no longer a choice. He must find something with which to bail. His hands are gouged and scratched before the nails finally release the cover, and Franz awkwardly topples back. He lies there for a moment, despite the fact his clothes are becoming drenched, and stares up at the chalkboard sky. Crystalline chips begin to swirl in frantic disarray, sticking to his eyelashes, blurring his vision. Struggling back up, he plunges his now raw, burning hands into the box, groping, searching. In spite of the slivers, the near frost bite, and the open cuts, the skin of his hands feel a softness. Smooth and silky, a fiery cool sensation caresses his soul. An errant gust of wind spiked with whitecap spray lifts the fabric from Franz's hands, and he holds tightly to a corner of his wife's wedding veil. Scarlet beads of his own blood are stitched along it in a garish pattern. He cannot release his grasp and with a strength summoned by desperation, he opens another box with one hand, and grabs a porcelain bowl. Frantically, he bails water, seemingly forever. But then, no longer able to endure the stabbing pains of cold, he thrusts his hands into his armpits.The wind claims Elspeth's veil, and it floats amongst snowflakes, skimming the surface. It alights upon the shore, wrapping itself in a smile against a huge boulder.

Atop the great rock, the fur of an animal shimmers aureole-like against the dark, its image doubled in the black-glassed lake. Hypnotized into a stillness by the sight of the silver fox, Franz wonders how he has drifted so close to the jagged lakeshore.

"Franz, Sie sind in einer ernsthaften situation." The fox's voice is courteous, suave, and like a cure it is taking away the ache, the hopelessness, that for the first time since arriving in Canada, Franz feels he can relinquish. He surrenders his burden, and he replies.

"I would be honoured to play for you. Feel how the wind has calmed. But what can I expect in return?"

"You must trust me. You know I mean to help.You feel good now, so warm .... "

Reaching between two boxes which are now submerged, Franz lifts his zither from its velvet-lined case. His hands are astonishingly nimble, devoid of pain, and he begins to play. He does not play the pieces he learned as a child in Germany, but instead improvises, plays from his heart, serenading the silver fox. He plays to the now gentle lapping of the lake upon the shore. And he plays to the breeze, and to the snow with which it dances. And he feels as one with this wild land, is overjoyed that he can so please this majestic creature.

And Franz does feel warm, as though the fur of the fox has been wrapped around him in a heated embrace. The light penetrating his eyes, emanating from the animal's body, enfolds him, and a calmness fills his body. Responding as though in anger, the howling wind hurls the melody into the water, distorting every note. The boat begins again to toss.

***

As she is accustomed, Elspeth rises before the others. Annchen lies in a deep sleep, and it takes her breath away to see her this way, so serene, so content. The house is peaceful at this hour, the purr of the two wood stoves and the slight, wheezing snores uniting the many sleepers, the only sounds. Elspeth stifles a giggle, thinking what a funny spectacle she makes prancing about, while as she dresses she tries to keep warm. Wrapping a scarf around her head, her waist-length auburn hair a swaying stripe down her back, she shoves a few logs into the wood stove, taking care to be silent. Tiptoeing to the door, amused at the open-mouthed slumber surrounding her, she finds it frozen shut, and it takes all her strength to open it. Quietly closing it behind her, and briskly walking to the edge of the clearing, she is rewarded by the sight of the rising sun.

Though the cold ground is penetrating the thin soles of her boots, she shuns the woodpile for once, just stands and stares, so overtaken is she by the sight of this beautiful rugged land. The thinnest slice of brilliant fiery red, a smear of leaping fire, grows along the horizon, breathes a spectrum of colour, and slowly extinguishes the few wan stars. The aubergine sky is flooded with light. Spring does come to this country, Elspeth finally believes, as her ears are inundated with birdsong, ringing throughout the woods. She is sure she has never heard such a wondrous sound.

A figure appears centered perfectly in the sun's rays, making it difficult for Elspeth to recognize. It is her son's voice she hears, rising above the frantic din of the birds.

"Mother, look at what I've caught. Won't Father be proud?" Elspeth hadn't even noticed her son was up before her this morning, as he often was to check his traps. The young boy is running as well as he is able through the deep crusty snow, an ear to ear smile shining on his face. When he reaches Elspeth, he lays his prize before her, its smooth silvery coat reflecting the morning sun, its tongue lolling, its body limp, malleable, as he arranges it for display. Joseph dances a few steps, unable to contain his excitement, then slows, wondering that his mother is not rewarding his triumph with the praise he feels he deserves. Instead, she is crouched, stroking the fox's head tenderly.

"We're going to get lots of money for him Mother. Father said so. We can go back to Kassel now and visit Oma. Father will be so pleased." Joseph tugs at his Mother's sleeve as he speaks. "Let's take him down to the shore. Papa will return soon."

Elspeth's eyes are full in her up-turned face, and with the sun piercing them, the vision of her son is distorted. Within his eager puzzled expression, she sees his father when he was young, and stole her heart. She gently lifts the silver fox and together they walk to the lake shore.

***

Waldhof
March 28, 1911

The Weiske family from Kassel stayed with us for 6 weeks. Then they were to move to the lake south of us. He wanted to take the heavy boxes over and I think he drowned. He loaded the boat too heavy and no one was with him. He didn't know how to handle the paddles. George told him to be careful, but he dared the rough lake. Now the wife and two small children are sitting here. I will have them here for a while. Now I must close.

Best Regards from your sister, Maria
Many Greetings from George, Arthur, Martha, and Karl