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CHAPTER 13

Snow

      THAT NIGHT Lucy dreamed of her mother.

      They were sitting side by side, and Lucy was saying, "What am I gong to do about Uncle Bob? I just don't know what to do about anything any more." That was probably because she had gone to sleep thinking that same thing.

      In the dream, Mama was in her low rocker with the petit point seat, and she was doing needlework, just as she used to on Sundays when Lucy was little.

      "What you have to do first," Mama was saying, "Is to get a proper education. Without it, you can't ever amount to anything. You know I always wished I'd been a school teacher. That seemed such a useful thing to do." That was comforting. It was the sort of thing Mama used to say before those last months when she was so sick.

      Then Lucy dreamed she was in a boat, rowing as hard as she could across a black ocean with icebergs floating on it. And the beer man was in another boat behind her, calling, "Never mind the money you owe, tell me about when you were in the British Secret Service." Then the boat began to fill up with freezing water and Lucy woke up crying, "Mama!"

      And she really was freezing, because she had no covers on. She'd rolled the quilt into a bolster, and she was hugging it for dear life. And outside it was daylight, and it was snowing.

      Once Lucy got her wits about her, she undid the quilt and wrapped herself up in it and went to the window to look at the smooth expanse of white that covered everything.

      Freezing temperatures were not unusual in winter, when the blue northers came icing down from Colorado, but snow was rare. Sometimes there would be a dusting like powdered sugar on the ground, but this was much more than that — a real snowfall, just like a Christmas card. It must have been deep, because along the top of the fence there was a tall, narrow ridge of white that stood perhaps two inches high. Lucy couldn't imagine why it didn't fall over.

      For a time she enjoyed watching the big fluffy puffs come down. They looked as fat as cotton-balls, and as light, drifting down so slowly you could see each one.

      But you can only look at snow for so long, and after that, your stomach begins thinking about breakfast. So she huddled into jeans and a t-shirt, put on a shirt over that, and her sweater over that.

      But she was still cold, so she pulled her quilt around her again like an Indian blanket and went in and lit the pan-L-ray heater in the living room, although it didn't help much. Then, trailing the quilt, she headed to the kitchen to start breakfast.

      The electric clock on the wall stood at a quarter to three. Lucy stared at it. Then she tried to turn on the lights, but there was no electricity. The clock had stopped, because somewhere, the power lines were down.

      "Well thank goodness for a gas stove," she thought. She lit the burner and put on the coffee. Then she got out the makings for biscuits and started the oven. Immediately the kitchen began to warm up. Warmth and food. Good!

      At the coffee perked and the biscuits browned in the oven, Lucy began wondering whether Tagg had lost his electricity too. "I bet he and Bobby don't even know it's snowing," she said to herself. "I bet those rascals are still snoring, away."

      Then her mind took the next step — if there was no electricity in town, they couldn't open the bar without lights. Would Tagg open the feed store? She had to talk to Bobby.

      Tagg's telephone rang and rang until she thought maybe it wasn't working. But at last he answered, fuzzy with sleep.

      "Tagg — you up?"

      "Mmmm . . ." Then, "Everything all right out there?"

      Lucy laughed. "Go look out the window, you lazy dog."

      She could hear him put down the phone, and there was a long pause. When he came back, he was saying, "Well that's something. Isn't that something!"

      "Listen, Tagg, we've got no power out here. Try turning on your lights."

      Another pause. "Power's down here too. And it's colder n' a bitch. You folks okay there?"

      "The gas is still on. Turn on your oven, and that'll help. Listen, can I speak to Bobby?"

      There was another pause — so long that she thought he must have put down the phone to go wake him. When he came back at last, he said, a little hoarsely, "Uh, listen — can I have him call you back? He's . . . pretty sound asleep."

      "Well, wake him up. Who does he think he is?"

      "I'll — I'll get him to call you in a little bit. No use you hanging on. He'll call you right away — okay? I'll make sure he does. 'Bye." And before Lucy could say another word, Tagg was gone.

      Well. That was rude. Not like Tagg at all.

      Then, being practical, she thought, "Well, of course it's cold. And he was probably standing around in his underwear."

      A few minutes later, the phone rang.

      "Bobby?"

      It was not Bobby but Rosana Sanchez, who was still at Gene's house, looking after things and feeding his dogs while he was on his honeymoon. She'd called to see if they were all right.

      Lucy said they were, and as Rosana was there by herself, and it was so cold, why didn't she come over and have breakfast with them, and Rosana said she would.

      "How nice — company for breakfast." Lucy thought. Everything seemed exciting today: no power, no work, maybe. It was like New Years Day, when everything starts up from scratch. You never knew what could happen on a day like this.

      As she was pouring herself a cup of coffee, it occurred to Lucy wonder how Shark and Gallatin had fared last night. Because they were still sleeping in the barn. In all that cold.

      She hadn't even seen Gallatin since — that night. Why not invite them to breakfast, too, she thought. She'd warm them up and feed them, that's what she'd do.

      So she took a quick look at the biscuits (not quite done yet), wrapped the quilt around her and took off running across the back stretch to the barn.

      She banged on the barn door and called, "You boys all right in there?"

      There was no answer, only the silence of the softfalling snow, and the barn creaking from the cold. A desolate sound.

      "Hello?" Lucy knocked on the door again, not wanting to barge in without warning. She had a sudden memory of Gallatin, naked in the dark and beautiful as a statue. "You folks awake yet? You all right?"

      Then came a sudden and terrible thought — were they all right? How cold had it been last night?

      She shoved open the door.

      But the barn was empty. Their old pickup with the broken seat was gone. And the snowy day suddenly lost its magic.

      After she looked around, she realized that there was no snow on the barn floor except what had drifted in at one corner where the boards didn't meet. There were no tire tracks in the snow. They'd been gone since last night.

      It was just as she'd thought when she saw Shark for the first time; they'd never meant to stay.

      Probably she should have expected it. And yet it made her feel sad that they were gone. Lonesome.

      Slowly Lucy made her way back to the house. She stamped the snow off her shoes, and slung the snowy quilt over the clothesline that hung on the back porch. Then she went in and mechanically opened the oven and took out the biscuits. She set an extra place at table for Rosana, who was still coming over, and she started frying up bacon. But it no longer felt like New Years Day.

      A few minutes later, Bobby called, full of apologies for having been so sound asleep that he hadn't called sooner. (That surprised Lucy somewhat, because it was unlike him ever to say he was sorry for anything — so that probably meant he wasn't sorry at all.) He agreed that they couldn't open the bar if there was no power, and added that anyway, the roads were too bad for anyone to be out driving today. How would he know; he just got up.

      Rosana Sanchez was arriving. She was wearing the most beautiful long wool coat Lucy had ever seen. It had a silk lining and a velvet collar. Rosana said it had been terrible driving the short distance from Gene's little house. She advised Lucy not to try to open the bar today. And she told Lucy it was now about eight o'clock.

      Uncle Bob woke up complaining of a chill, almost as soon as he opened his eyes. The cold affected his arthritis so much that he had trouble getting out of bed. It took Lucy and Rosana working together to get him up and into the kitchen — wrapped up in a quilt just as Lucy had been when she first got up.

      When he was settled, the cooking really started. Rosana set the table, which enabled Uncle Bob to give her directions as to just where to put the butter and the milk and the jam, and exactly how to pour the coffee. Rosana accepted all his instructions, not seeming to mind being ordered around.

      While Lucy was frying up eggs and chili peppers, and hashing up potatoes, Normalade came down, carrying the baby. He looked sweet as a rose, cuddled in a pink blanket, with his little pink face and his little hands curled up like petals. As soon as she saw him, Lucy longed to take him away from Normalade, and hold him herself.

      Normalade didn't look well this morning. She had dark circles under her eyes, as if she hadn't slept much, and she hadn't even combed her hair. When she came in, she gave a quick glance around the kitchen, and Lucy thought she might have been looking for Bobby. But not seeing him, she never asked where he was.

      Seeing her in a wrapper, Uncle Bob said sharply, "Go put some clothes on, girl. We got company."

      "Oh, I'm not company," Rosana answered, "She needn't dress for me."

      Uncle Bob shook his head. "Yes she should — "

      Normalade closed her eyes. "Maybe I won't eat, now. I don't think I can, anyway."

      She turned around and started back upstairs. But Rosana put a hand on Normalade's arm and said, "Now Mr. Vance, this is a snow day, so special rules must apply." Then she took the baby and set him in Uncle Bob's lap.

      The old man leaned back, away from the pink bundle and frowned. "Don't give this to me. Baby-tending's no work for a man!"

      "Of course it is. Look how happy he is to be there; he's smiling at you." They all looked, and the corners of the baby's mouth did indeed seem to be curling upward. "That might even be his first smile. And it was for you."

      Looking down at the baby, the old man began smiling himself. "How about that. He is, isn't he? Maybe he likes me." And the three women glanced at each other in pleasant complicity, seeing Uncle Bob so pleased with the baby now, and with himself for holding him.

      When the eggs were ready, they all sat down to breakfast in the warm kitchen.

     


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