North Child by Edith Pattou Read Free Book Online Page A

was a massive, strange voice. And though it seemed impossible, I knew at once the voice was coming from the white bear.
    My sister Sonja swayed and looked like she might faint. I moved to her quickly, putting an arm around her shoulders. She was trembling.
    Rose went to the door and shut it.
    It was like a dream, gazing at the immense animal that had entered our home. Standing erect on all four feet, he was as tall as me, and water dripped off him onto the wooden floor. And I remembered water dripping off white fur from long ago.
    I guessed from the moment he brushed by me that this was the white bear I had seen as a child, the one that had saved my sister Rose. If I had had any doubts, they were dispelled when I looked into those black eyes. It was the same bear. And I was filled with a terrible foreboding.
    He gazed around the room, from one to the other of us. His eyes stayed longest on Rose. Then he turned to Father.
    â€œIf you will give me your youngest daughter…” The eerie huge voice echoed in the room. He spoke slowly, pausing between each word, as if the act of speaking was difficult, almost painful for him. “Then the one who lies near death will be made well again. And you will be no longer poor but wealthy, and will live in comfort and ease.”
    The silence in the room was punctuated only by the sounds of the storm outside and an occasional crackle from the hearth fire.
    The white bear spoke again. “If you will give me your youngest daughter, then the one who lies near death will be…” And he repeated the words he had said before, again with the same painful slowness.
    Mother had risen from her place beside Sara’s bed. “You would make our Sara well?” she said in a near whisper. Her eyes burned with a look of desperate hope.
    â€œYes.” It was a growl.
    â€œHow?”
    â€œIf you will give me your youngest daughter, then the one who lies near death…” And he seemed on the verge of saying it all over again.
    But Father stepped forwards. He looked like someone who had just gathered his wits after a blow. “Enough,” he said loudly. “You shall not have Rose. Or any one of us.”
    The white bear turned to look at Father, and then swung his head in Rose’s direction. “Do not decide now,” he said, and this time he was speaking directly to her. “I will return in seven days. I will hear your answer then.”
    He turned and made his way to the door. And though I had seen Rose shut it securely, the door seemed to open of its own volition and the bear went through, disappearing into the night.
    Father quickly crossed to the door and shut it with a slam.
    We were all stunned and quiet. Had it not been for the large puddle of water in the middle of the room where the bear had been standing, I think that, except for Rose and Mother, none of us would have believed the thing had happened at all.
    â€œArne,” said Mother.
    â€œFather,” came Rose’s voice.
    They spoke at the same time, but Father shook his head.
    â€œWe will not talk further of this,” he said, his voice deep, with a dangerous, implacable tone. “It is madness and sorcery and we will not be part of it. Not for any wild promises or guarantees of riches.”
    â€œBut Arne,” my mother said. “Think of our Sara…”
    â€œNo!” he thundered. I couldn’t recall ever hearing Father raise his voice to Mother before. It was almost as shocking as the talking white bear.
    Mother, her face white and strained, said, “But we must honour his request. If we do not ’twould only bring the greatest ill fortune and calamity upon us all.”
    â€œEugenia,” Father said, and his face was taut with rage, “we will talk no further of this. Go to Sara. The cold air can have done her little good.”
    And Mother complied, but despite the frightening anger in Father, there was still that burning hopeful light in