Much Better than Boston

            Emma scowled at the phone. "I did. Cold. Wet. No cable."

            "The house has satellite and wireless. Oh, come on, Ems. My brother and his Army buddy will be up. They just got back stateside. And what else were you going to do for New Year's? Watch your screen saver again and wonder if the passing ship picks up the stranded guy?"

            Reluctantly, Emma giggled at the memory of her roommate at college catching her as she sat entranced by the digital drama. "Well, no."

            "Re-runs then. Look, I promise I won't haul you out to go skiing or whatever. You can just pod and watch re-runs on our TV. Say yes, Ems. It's the holiday. Come up to Vermont with me. You'll like it, I promise. It will be much better than Boston."

            Emma folded up the cellphone and sighed, then looked at her watch. Three hours. Three hours to pack, three hours to ask the neighbor across the hall to keep an eye on the apartment for the weekend, three hours to panic. She sighed again and walked into her bedroom and pulled open the closet door. Who am I kidding, Emma asked herself. Plus-sized women like me in a ski-bunny suit? I don't think so. She pulled out a few bulky sweaters and smiled at them as she tossed them on the bed. At least with bulky knits, people think it's the sweater, not the sweatee, she thought, adding some long sleeved tee-shirts and two pairs of elastic waist pants to the pile. Knee socks, a flannel nightgown, undies, her traveling kit with hairbrush and such, all went on the bed. Then Emma stood still and stared at herself in the dresser mirror. A plump, red-haired, freckle-faced twenty-something woman stared back. I can do this, she told her reflection. Lots of people are overweight nowadays. You've dealt with this for 20 years now, why have cold feet about a house party? Cassie's thin and athletic, her reflection seemed to answer. She's beautiful. We aren't. We're fat. Emma scowled and, seeing her face in the mirror, found herself smiling at her incipient self-pity. Oh, get over yourself, Emma told her reflection. It's only four days. Even if it's awful I can get through four days.

Feeling defiant, she went back to her closet. She pulled out her rarely worn, all purpose social occasion long trapeze-cut dress in deep green velveteen and held it close to her body. Who knows, there might be a New Year's Eve party or something, she thought. With black tights or even those black ponte knit pants if it gets real cold, this could be pretty.

*

            "So, where are we going?" Emma asked Cassie, as they had navigated the intricacies of Boston and headed north on the interstate. Cassie's little car hummed on the highway.

            "A village called Allen's Hollow. It's about an hour outside of St. Johnsbury. Isn't that where you grew up?" Cassie slid neatly between two trailer trucks and sped up ahead of the traffic snarl.

            "No, Johnson. My folks had a farm there. Johnson's oh, about 2 hours from St. Jay as the crow flies. Not the same town. You never told me you were a Vermonter too."

            "I'm not. I'm a Boston girl. But my mom remarried, and my step-dad inherited the place, so she moved up there. They're renovating it. She got a job at the county hospital there. Mom has to work this weekend, so she'll be staying at the hospital. They have a few rooms for the nurses who work weekends."

            "What about your step-dad?" Emma asked.

            "He's away too. He's a Fish and Wildlife guy, and there's some conference or something in Washington DC."

            Emma looked out of the car window at the sky. It was quickly losing its hard blue winter color and becoming pearly with high clouds.

            "Did you check the weather report?" she asked.

            "No. Why?" Cassie answered, darting around a logging truck heading for Manchester.

            "Now I know you're a city girl. Because we're heading into the hills, and I think there's another winter storm coming. I don't like the looks of the sky."

            "Try a station." Cassie said. "We should be there in about 4 hours."

            Emma pushed the select station on the car's console. Static, a talk show, an all-music station--"this should work. It's New Hampshire public radio. They have a good weather report every half hour," she said finally.

            Outside the car, the winter scenery rolled past at 70 miles an hour. Finally the weather forecast crackled on the little car's radio. "And it's looking like a nor'easter, folks, so get out the snow shovels. There'll be 12-24 inches by tomorrow afternoon. It's a wet snow, so expect tree limbs down on power lines, and ice. A travel advisory is posted for after 4 PM today until tomorrow noon."

            "Great," Cassie said. "The first weekend we get off, and we run into a blizzard. But we'll be in before the snow gets here, I think."

            A few hours later Cassie's little car turned off the highway and took a bumpy, paved road through a small settlement that stretched along one side of a fast running river. The river came down between two high hills, forming a narrow valley.

            "Allen's Hollow," Cassie said. "Now, we just go over the bridge and up Sawyer's Lane. The river is called Sawyer's Run."

            "Sawyer because of a lumber mill, or was it a local family?" Emma asked as the car bumped over the bridge.

            "Both," Cassie answered, turning onto a dirt road that paralleled the river on the other side of the town. "My step-dad's family was the Sawyers, and they were lumber barons back in the day. The town was where the workers lived."

            "And the Sawyer family? Where did they live?"

            Cassie grinned. She turned the car into a long lane, went between two tall granite posts that marked the lane's entrance, around a curve, and stopped. "They lived there."

            Emma stared, astonished. "It's a small castle," she said finally.

            "Well, not exactly," Cassie said, putting the car in gear again. "But close. The original lumber baron had it modeled on some great estate over in England, only it's a bit smaller. The local history guidebook calls it a charming example of Victorian excess, made possible only by the lack of income tax and cheap labor. It needs fixing up, though. All that cheap labor got jobs elsewhere."

            She pulled under a porte-cochere and stopped. A snowball splatted on the car hood. "I guess my brother's home," Cassie said.

            Two men came around the corner of the house. "Cassie!" the tall, thin, rather gangly one shouted. He grabbed Cassie and swung her around.

                        "Put me down, Pete," she said. "This is my college roommate, Emma Austen."

            "I am Peter, Cassie's brother, and this is Richard Newry," the tall man said.

            "Call me Rick," the other man said, holding out his mittened hand. "Sorry about the snowball."

            Emma shook the mitten, and looked at Rick. He was like a large, friendly bear, she decided, with gray eyes.

            "Let's take the luggage, Rick," Peter said, nudging his friend after a moment, who seemed to be turned to stone and staring at Emma. "Come on, you've seen redheads before."

            Soon they were all inside the big double-winged house. Cassie led the way to the second floor, up the bare but still grand central staircase that swept down from the upper landing before splitting into two sides. "We're on the left side of the house. The parents have the right wing." She said, leading the way down a hallway. "Each hall has 4 bedrooms and each pair of bedrooms shares a bathroom between. Then there's a third floor, where I think the children, or maybe the servants lived. There's 10 bedrooms in all. I know,  it's huge. Now, you're here, and I am next door. The guys are across the hall."

            “We laid in a supply of pizza,” Rick said. “You do eat pizza?”

            “Of course,” Emma said, smiling.

            The wind woke Emma up. For a moment she was disoriented, looking around the unfamiliar room in the gray half-light of not-quite-daylight. Then she remembered where she was. After sorting out the rooms, the four of them had eaten the pizza and watched videos until far too late in the night. Emma pulled the comforter around her shoulders. It was cold in the room. She listened for the clank or the rumble of a furnace somewhere. Nothing. Emma grinned to herself. It's quiet, too quiet, she thought. I bet the power's out. She looked at the dark, dead face of her bedside clock. Yup. Ah, the joys of winter. She glanced out at the swirling snow. Oh great, a blizzard, she thought. And here I could have stayed in Boston. Yeah, watching screen savers, she told that thought, and shook her head, laughing at herself. Then Emma shrugged and rooted out her warmest pants, dressing hurriedly as the wind increased its noise. After dressing, she opened her door and stood, momentarily indecisive, in the uncarpeted hall, before knocking on Cassie's door.

            "Hey Cassie, get up. I think the power's off."

            An indeterminate sound came from the other side of the door, and then the door across the hall opened. Emma turned. It was Rick, looking like a rumpled bear emerging from hibernation. He stared at her. "The power's out?"

            "Yeah. Downstairs there are woodstoves in the kitchen and living room, though. When you and Peter were building your snow fort did you see where the wood is stored?"

            Rick nodded. "Out back, there's a woodshed." He pounded on Peter's door. "Hey Pete, buddy, roll out. We're on wood patrol."  Then he looked, rather awkwardly, at Emma. "Do you know how to build a wood fire in these kinds of stoves?" he asked. "I've never had to do it."

            "Oh, yeah," Emma answered. "This sort of thing happened far too often when I was a kid. I just hope the stoves and chimneys are cleaned. The last thing we need is a chimney fire."

            Emma and Rick went downstairs, leaving Peter and Cassie to get dressed. Emma went to the kitchen. Just as she remembered, the pot-bellied wood stove stood in a corner, with a small scuttle of kindling wood nearby. Rick stomped on his boots and grabbed a coat, then opened the kitchen door. There was a swirl of snow and he was gone.

            Emma opened the stove door and inspected it. It seemed clean and swept out. She shivered in the cool kitchen, and decided to take a chance on the flue being clean. As she finished laying the kindling on some crumpled newspaper, Rick came back in with an armload of split wood.

            "Good, thanks," Emma said. "Now, see if you can find matches." She laid the wood in the fire box.

            "Here," Rick said, handing her the matches. Their fingers touched. For a moment, Emma froze, looking at Rick, who looked equally stunned. Then he blushed, and Emma had to bite her cheek to keep from giggling.

            "Umm, thanks," Emma stuttered and turned to the task of lighting the kitchen fire. The flames caught eagerly. The wetter top logs hissed and sputtered as she closed the fire door. "That's should be good for at least an hour," she said.

            "I'm impressed," Rick said, helping her up from her knees. "I couldn't have done that, well, not so neatly at least." He stood there, holding her hands, as if he couldn't let them go.

            Gently, Emma pulled her fingers loose from his. "And for my next magic trick, how about camp coffee, seeing as the coffeemaker's on vacation?"

            "Wow. Coffee. Yes." Rick stared with unabashed admiration as Emma found a saucepan, filled it with cold water, and set it on the stove top.

            "When that boils, you add the coffee grounds. After 5 minutes, you add a cup of cold water. That will make the grounds settle. Then, just be careful pouring. I'm going to lay the fire in the living room stove."

            "What about the fridge? With the power out, won't the food spoil?" Rick asked.

            "Not for a few hours. Just keep the door closed as much as possible. If we need to, we can use outdoors as cold storage." Emma waved vaguely at the raging storm and said, "Behold the great outdoor ice-box."

            When she came back to the kitchen, Cassie and Peter had joined Rick, and there was more wood neatly stacked by the stove.

            "There's at least 10" of snow out there already," Cassie said, "and it's coming down pretty fast. The phone landline is down, but I reached Mom on the cell. She's ok, but stuck at the hospital. She says the power is out all across the county, and maybe it won't get back up for a day or so."

            "Oh, okay, not to worry. There’s plenty of canned goods and dry stores in the kitchen, and we can melt snow for water. We can manage," Emma said, realizing her friend and the men were completely unfamiliar with power failures in the countryside. "How is the house fixed for lanterns, or flashlights? And how much wood is there?"

            "The shed's full of wood," Rick said. "I don't know about lanterns."

            "Is there a pantry or a storeroom? When we were kids my parents kept our kerosene lamps in the pantry, just in case."

            Cassie opened a small door at the end of the kitchen. "Oh, good, I think there's some here?" she said, half-asking. Emma went to look.

            "Yes, four kerosene lamps, a Coleman lantern, a camp stove, fuel cans, and lamp oil. We're good."

            "You know how to use these?" Cassie asked. "Wow, that's so great."

            Emma grinned at her. "We won't need the lamps until dark, and I can cook on the kitchen stove cook top," she said. "There's no sense in using up the lamp oil until we need to. We’ve got milk in the fridge, and eggs, and biscuit mix. Anyone for pancakes?"

            "Pancakes and coffee. But you must let me help," Rick said. His eyes met Emma's. She read nothing but sincerity and interest in their gray depths. He smiled, and it was as if they were the only two people in the whole world for that one, timeless moment.

            "I'm so sorry, Emma. I dragged you all the way up here for a nice weekend, and then this happens," Cassie said. "It's awful."

            "No, Cassie, I wouldn't have missed this for the world. And you were right. This is much better than Boston." Emma answered, still looking at Rick, and realized she meant every word. Smiling, Emma reached out her hand and took Rick's in hers.