McKeown turned from the kitchen window to his bread, bending to sniff the breath of the sourdough sponge. This time of morning he could feel where his body ended. He tried to grip the cold kitchen floor through his slippers. The coffee dripped. He fed the fish their dry flakes that spread like snow across the surface until the tiny waterfall of the filter dragged them under.

He tapped the side of the aquarium. Harriet flipped, darting away in response. Romeo only fluttered, dorsal fin flat. These were the original two. There had been Jose, Jacques, and one whose name he had forgotten.

"Jacques died," his daughter had chanted for days after.

"You should not have let her see you throw the fish into the garbage," said Anne. "Now she thinks all dead things are thrown in the garbage. Really, sometimes I wonder if you think about these things."

He had this hour to himself before his wave and theirs would merge. He closed the dining room door. With a wooden spoon he whipped down the bubbly mass, releasing pungent gases that tickled his nose. He added a cup and a bit of warm water, a tablespoon of salt, stirred again, then poured in three cups of whole wheat, and then unbleached white flour, half a cup at a time, forming skin and flesh. Then he kneaded, working in an additional two cups of flour until it was smooth and elastic and not sticky. He saw with his palms and fingers, pushing from the shoulders, moving down along biceps, forearms, wrists, fingers. Only the very tips pulled to fold over the muscle of dough, coaxing it back.

All was still. He put the dough in a greased bowl, covered it with a cloth, and set it above the stove to rise. Then a draft rustled the curtains and cooled the thermostat, which kicked the furnace into a wakeful cough that blew stale, oily air into his face by the grate. The sound rattled up the vent into the chambers above. They were up, he knew even before hearing.

"Good morning," he said. "Sleep well?"

"Yes," said Anne. "Cosy in bed, though. Hard to get up. Furnace is on a bit high, don't you think?"

"Mom, Jennie's got my book and she won't let me have it.

"Don't fight you two or I'll bonk you both. Coffee left?"

"I'll put more on. Take this."

"No, it's yours. Jennie, do you have to go?"

"No."

"Then why are you clutching yourself?"

"Daddy will take me."

"Daddy's putting the bacon on now."

"No, I want Daddy to help me!"

"Do you mind?"

Her tiny bundle was warm from fetal sleep. She clutched with monkey arms around his neck, legs encircling his waist as they jostled up the stairs. She laughed heartily into his eyes. Hers were bedroom eyes, coy, peeking through straw. He would mourn the loss of this intimacy when the years wedged them apart. Sarah, the eldest, might bring herself now and then to hang awkwardly onto his arm.

While they ate, Jennie and Sarah chattered. The radio alternated blather and music. He eyed the morning paper sitting in the mail slot. Anne held her coffee cup in two hands and did not let it rest on the table. She began to tell him about her dream. The wall of sound thickened. It became difficult to follow her story. Outside, snow was muffling the earth.

"I'm not going in today," he announced.

"Well...good. I mean, you're not ill or anything."

"I'm fine. I just need the day. I'll phone something in for the sub. I'll catch up on those essays I've been lugging around."

"Good. Good. You deserve it."

At eight, he saw them out the door. He sat and stared out at winter while his bread rose. When he took a first sip from his full coffee cup, the liquid was shockingly cold and he had to check the clock to convince himself that two hours, and not ten minutes, had passed. He punched down the risen dough, divided it into three equal parts, formed loaves and placed them together on a shallow, oiled, cornmeal-covered pan where they rose another hour. Then he preheated the oven and waited.

He ran his hands along the top of the stove, feeling where the heat seeped out and where it was still cold. A full morning sun began to warm the kitchen. The oven light flicked off. He sprayed the growing loaves, which lay fleshy and pungent on the stove top, with a fine mist of water, then slashed each with three cuts of the sharp knife on the diagonal. The skin of the loaves opened, three mouths smiling in each one.

He put his bread to bake, set the timer, and turned on the light that would allow him to view the browning. As he drew up a chair to watch through the stained oven window, he heard feet on the porch. A shadow shape stood beyond the filmy curtain. He opened the door.

"Hello Sir," said a young woman looking up at him. She had a broad face and pale blue eyes set wide apart, and wore a camouflage patterned hunting cap with the flaps down over her ears. A snowsuited child sat on a sled on the frozen driveway at the foot of the stairs. "Don't remember me, do you?"

---

"Just yesterday in bible study and after," she said, "when we were outside saying goodbye in the parking lot and Reverend Matthews spotted you in the window, he said `There's a man who could do to feel the word of God.' "

---

"Give me a minute."

"That's all right. Martha Bonner. English class, let's see, it would have been about eight years ago. I left early to have a kid."

"Well," he said, still not remembering, "would you like to come in?"

"Oh, no, we were just passing by and I said, That's where Sir lives all this time and I never just dropped by to say hi or nothing. So hi."

"Are you sure you won't come in? Your little boy looks cold."

"Suzie? She's not cold. Are you Suz? She's used to being hauled around town by her mom. Bet you never thought I'd be somebody's mother did you?"

"Oh, I don't know about that." He wished she would come inside or leave.

"Had a heck of a time getting over that pile at the end of your driveway. You need somebody to shovel it out for you?"

"No. As a matter of fact I was just going to get at that." He saw the disappointment change her face. "What do you charge?"

"For a driveway this size? Fifteen."

"Fifteen dollars?"

"Aren't you working today or do you teachers have one of them P.D. days?"

"I'm...working at home today. There's a shovel in the shed. The door should be open."

"Thanks. I didn't bring mine. To tell you the truth, I wasn't sure you'd go for the idea, especially it being me and the way I used to act up in class and all. You mind watching Suz? She's a real good kid, won't give you a stitch of trouble."

"No, that's fine."

Suzie refused his gesture of help, removing her toque, boots and snowsuit jacket by herself. She stood pale and patient in sock feet and knee-worn snowpants. He heard the sound of Martha beginning to scrape outside.

"Would you like something to drink?" he asked. Suzie shook her head no. "Hungry? Can you smell that bread baking?" Her face softened. "It'll be ready in a few minutes." Suzie climbed onto a kitchen chair.

"You don't have to talk to me like I'm a baby, you know."

"I'm sorry."

"You were my mom's teacher?"

"That's right, I was." He added teasingly, "Say, shouldn't you be in school today?"

"Shouldn't you?"

The buzzer on the stove sounded. Grateful for the interruption, he took up the oven mitts and bent to remove his bread to the wire cooling rack on a side table. Through the kitchen window he could see Martha marching back and forth like a rink rat across his driveway, the shovel canted expertly. She was saving the ridge at the end of the drive for last.

"Are you in grade two, Suzie?"

"Is that all you ever think about? School?"

He took a breath. "No, as a matter of fact it isn't. You want to know a secret?" Suzie shrugged. "Some days I don't even like school."

"So?"

"So, don't you find that surprising?"

"No. Why should I?"

The smooth scraping outside changed to an irregular hack and chop as Martha swung the shovel against the frozen embankment left by the plow. He watched her throw the implement down after a moment and return to the kitchen door.

"That's solid ice. You got a smaller shovel or an axe or something?"

"No, I'm sorry. I usually get at it right after the plow goes by."

"Even at night?" Suzie asked. "Three in the morning you're out there shovelling."

"No, of course not in the middle of the night."

"You were always doing that I remember," said Martha, closing the door behind her as she came inside. The snow from her boots made a brown puddle.

"Doing what?"

"Oh, telling little lies in class. Not big ones that could land you in trouble or anything, but little stretchy ones. Like saying boys with dirty mouths were good and piss-drunk ministers were like angels or something."

"In those novels they were."

"That's not what our pastor says. One thing's for sure, Suzie here's not gonna have to read that shit you made me read, excuse- my-french."

"Well that's just fine and dandy," he said, reaching for his wallet on the kitchen counter. "Fifteen dollars was it?" She took the bills he offered.

"She's going to the new Christian school they're building up the next concession line. Know the one? They won't have no books that take the name of Our Lord in vain. No teachers playing around with the truth."

"Now that's just about enough, young lady."

"Hear that Suz? That's just the way he used to talk to me in class. Well I'm not one of your mind prisoners now, Sir."

"I don't remember teaching you. You were never in my class."

"See how he twists the truth? Just the way Reverend Matthews said. Just yesterday in bible study and after, when we were outside saying goodbye in the parking lot where we could see across to your house, he said to me when he spotted you in the window, he said, `There's a man who could do to feel the word of God.' You should come listen to what he has to say. He's a very smart man and not that much older than me. Can you believe it? Somebody that young and so smart. You don't go to church do you Sir? You should come across next Sunday. Bring the family. Come and hear Reverend Matthews preach. He's sure to raise the spirit in you."

"All right, fine. I will. Next Sunday."

"Oh, I know you're only saying that to get rid of me, but you should really consider it. Lord knows you're in dire need. I mean, look at you, playing hooky from school, hiding away from your obligations. Sure, you should come across. We all bring something for Snack and Chat after the service. You could bring a loaf of your nice bread. Suzie, get into your coat and boots now, honey. Don't step in the wet there. That's a good girl. Well," she said as she stood again after crouching to help the girl into her coat, "it was good to see you again, Sir. I'm real sorry -- embarrassed, I'm real embarrassed I've forgotten your name. Here I've been calling you what I used to call you in school, like in that old movie, the one about the black dude who gets shown a thing or two by his students.

"McKeown."

"That's right. Mr. McKeown. Well...thanks for the work, Sir."

He closed the door behind them. Martha pulled Suzie on the sled to the end of the driveway where they stopped. The girl slid off and scrambled up the embankment to the igloo he had made with Sarah and Jennie. She disappeared inside. Martha followed on hands and knees, getting as far in as her head and shoulders. He came outside in his slippers onto the porch. Martha was just backing out.

"Hey, Sir, this is a great fort. Did you build this?"

"Yes, I did. Listen, I wanted to say something."

"What's that?"

"She should be careful in there. I don't know how safe it is."

"Oh, it looks pretty solid. That's not what you came out here to say, was it?"

"About what you said inside. You were right."

"What part was that?"

"About me hiding. You were right."

She sat back on her heels and looked thoughtfully at him. Then she smiled. "Well what do you know? I guess we all play hide and seek, even grown-ups. You thought you were home free, but I got you, didn't I, Sir? I got you."

"You sure did."

She ducked her head in and out of the shelter's entrance. Suzie squirmed out an instant later. Then she climbed back on the sled.

"See you Sunday," said Martha as she pulled her daughter down the sidewalk. Before they were out of sight, he knew he would be there for the service.