L’hiver
Another winter storm enveloped us. Shut our small town right down. There was talk of an old man gone out for some fresh air when the wind was howling and the snow falling in horizontal sheets, leaving no trace.
After it was over, I walked. And then I kept walking. My lips and mouth numbed. This I only knew when I went to try to use them, whistling and yelling off to old Mr. Horvath in the distance. They felt gummy. Out of my control. So, I waved, thinking he might catch the motion in peripheral vision. The setting so placid, how could he not. Nothing. I continued until I descended on the destination; a mansard roof over a gray house, down bottom of the hill, the chimney smoke piped high up into the huge sky.
Three taps.
No response.
Four taps.
A chair scraped a wooden floor. And then some shuffling. Some more footsteps. The latch unlocking, knob turned, a warm breeze met my face.
“Elizabeth!” she gushed.
I felt her arms pull me inside. Strip me of my gloves, my scarf, my hat.
“Off with the coat. Step out of those shoes. Put them on that rug, there.”
My nose was running. I pulled the handkerchief from my front pocket and blew. My face mine to feel again.
“Rub those hands together and get over by the fireplace. Let me warm the kettle!”
I did as I was bid, silently.
The flames in the fire captivated me. As I warmed, the dancing hues lulled me. I stood staring until my face burned from the heat. Turning around I watched Aunt Pearl deftly maneuver through the small pantry, pulling saucers, plates and spoons from the shelves. Cinnamon wafted through the air. The clattering dishes and the hum of her voice evinced from my gut an emotion. My tears splashed soundlessly, pooling together on the dark wooden floor.
“Dear. I need to stoke the furnace. Back up in ten minutes. Stay there, warming. The tea is steeping. We’ll sit when I come up. You can tell me why you walked the distance to see me.” She disappeared.
I did as I was bid. And by the time she came back up I had peeled off my sweater, exposing a sweat stained blouse beneath.
“Have you news, Auntie?”
“Of what variety, dear. My phone is out. I haven’t walked into town for a newspaper or a conversation in this unexpected and unwelcome storm.”
“They think my father has gone missing.”
Aunt Pearl’s face twisted for an instant misconstruing her terribly. It passed in a blink and she was smooth again.
“Please. Sit down, Elizabeth. Start from the beginning.”
Well, my Aunt Pearl, she had to work in a linear fashion. Her world was order. I struggled with my composure. In the long run it would keep my story easier to relate, so I took a breath. I sunk into the plush, green velvet chair. Her home seemed inappropriate as I sat; dainty in the middle of the prairie, just her and her books.
“Aunt Pearl. Things have gone terribly awry. Our phone, also out with the storm. My father. He went out for air. In the storm, for a walk, the middle of it. He hasn’t come home yet. Now there’s news that they found a man frozen. We had an officer at our house. My mother left with him. And I came here. It’s been two days, and he hasn’t come home. That was yesterday, truth be told, today makes three.”
Aunt Pearl sat motionless. Expressionless. This was her shock? My mother’s was different. It was hysterics and fainting, smelling salts, a revival, running and screaming while the officer waited for her to gather a coat and get into that big, black car of his. That upheaval blew a hole in the silence the storm had left us with. Here, the silence still encased everything. It lingered, keeping matters civilized.
“I’m going to stay here with you now. For a while.”
“You will. Of course. The red room is yours. We can, we can … wait until tomorrow morning, walk to town. Leave word that you’re here, find out what awful thing has happened to my brother.”
It was years ago now, that dreadful March storm and its aftermath. Aunt Pearl is no longer of this earth. I inhabit her home and its books. Last month I had the coal furnace converted to oil.