Butterick asked Mr. Hartley if he had ever stayed at the Pemaquoddy before. “When I got the reservation,” she said, “the name rang a bell.”
“Mrs. Hartley and I were here eight years ago February,” Mr. Hartley said. “We came on the twenty-third and were here for ten days. I remember the date clearly because we had such a wonderful time.” Then they went upstairs. They came down again long enough to make a supper of some leftovers that had been kept warm on the back of the stove. The child was so tired she nearly fell asleep at the table. After supper, they went upstairs again.
In the winter, the life of the Pemaquoddy centered entirely on cold sports. Drinkers and malingerers were not encouraged, and most of the people there were earnest about their skiing. In the morning, they would take a bus across the valley to the mountains, and if the weather was good, they would carry a pack lunch and remain on the slopes until late afternoon. They’d vary this occasionally by skating on a rink near the inn, which had been made by flooding a clothes-yard. There was a hill behind the inn that could sometimes be used for skiing when conditions on the mountain were poor. This hill was serviced by a primitive ski tow that had been built by Mrs. Butterick’s son. “He bought that motor that pulls the tow when he was a senior at Harvard,” Mrs. Butterick always said when she spoke of the tow. “It was in an old Mercer auto, and he drove it up here from Cambridge one night without any license plates!” When she said this, she would put her hand over her heart, as if the dangers of the trip were still vivid.
The Hartleys picked up the Pemaquoddy routine of fresh air and exercise the morning following their arrival.
Mrs. Hartley was an absent-minded woman. She boarded the bus for the mountain that morning, sat down, and was talking to another passenger when she realized that she had forgotten her skis. Her husband went after them while everyone waited. She wore a bright, fur-trimmed parka that had been cut for someone with a younger face, and it made her look tired. Her husband wore some Navy equipment, which was stenciled with his name and rank. Their daughter, Anne, was pretty. Her hair was braided in tight, neat plaits, there was a saddle of freckles across her small nose, and she looked around her with the bleak, rational scrutiny of her age.
Mr. Hartley was a good skier. He was up and down the slope, his skis parallel, his knees bent, his shoulders swinging gracefully in a half circle. His wife was not as clever but she knew what she was doing, and she enjoyed the cold air and the snow. She fell now and then, and when someone offered to help her to her feet, when the cold snow that had been pressed against her face had heightened its color, she looked like a much younger woman.
Anne didn’t know how to ski. She stood at the foot of the slope watching her parents. They called to her, but she didn’t move, and after a while she began to shiver. Her mother went to her and tried to encourage her, but the child turned away crossly. “I don’t want you to show me,” she said. “I want Daddy to show me.” Mrs. Hartley called her husband.
As soon as Mr. Hartley turned his attention to Anne, she lost all of her hesitation. She followed him up and down the hill, and as long as he was with her, she seemed confident and happy. Mr. Hartley stayed with Anne until after lunch, when he turned her over to a professional instructor who was taking a class of beginners out to the slope. Mr. and Mrs. Hartley went with the group to the foot of the slope, where Mr. Hartley took his daughter aside. “Your mother and I are going to ski some trails now,” he said, “and I want you to join Mr. Ritter’s class and to learn as much from him as you can. If you’re ever going to learn to ski, Anne, you’ll have to learn without me. We’ll be back at around four, and I want you to show me what you’ve learned when we come back.”
“Yes, Daddy,” she said.
“Now you go and join the class.”
“Yes, Daddy.”
Mr. and Mrs. Hartley waited until Anne had climbed the slope and joined the class. Then they went away. Anne watched the instructor for a few minutes, but as soon as she noticed that her parents had gone, she broke from the group and coasted down the hill toward the hut. “Miss,” the instructor called after her. “Miss…” She didn’t answer. She went into the hut, took off her parka and her mittens, spread them neatly on a table to dry, and sat beside the fire, holding her head down so that her face could not be seen. She sat there all afternoon. A little before dark, when her parents returned to the hut, stamping the snow off their boots, she ran to her father. Her face was swollen from crying. “Oh, Daddy, I thought you weren’t coming back,” she cried. “I thought you weren’t ever coming back!” She threw her arms around him and buried her face in his clothes.
“Now, now, now, Anne,” he said, and he patted her back and smiled at the people who happened to notice the scene. Anne sat beside him on the bus ride back, holding his arm.
At the inn that evening, the Hartleys came into the bar before dinner and sat at a wall table. Mrs. Hartley and her daughter drank tomato juice, and Mr. Hartley had three Old-Fashioneds. He gave Anne the orange slices and the sweet cherries from his drinks. Everything her father did interested her. She lighted his cigarettes and blew out the matches. She examined his watch and laughed at all his jokes. She had a sharp, pleasant laugh.
The family talked quietly. Mr. and Mrs. Hartley spoke oftener to Anne than to each other, as if they had come to a point in their marriage where there was nothing to say. They discussed haltingly, between themselves, the snow and the mountain, and in the course of this attempt to make conversation Mr. Hartley, for some reason, spoke sharply to his wife. Mrs. Hartley got up from the table quickly. She might have been crying. She hurried through the lobby and went up the stairs.
Mr. Hartley and Anne stayed in the bar. When the dinner bell rang, he asked the desk clerk to send Mrs. Hartley a tray. He ate dinner with his daughter in the dining room. After dinner, he sat in the parlor reading an old copy of Fortune while Anne played with some other children who were staying at the inn. They were all a little younger than she, and she handled them easily and affectionately, imitating an adult. She taught them a simple card game and then read them a story. After the younger children were sent to bed, she read a book. Her father took her upstairs at about nine.
