Читать книгу A FLOCK OF SPARROWS - Helen Foster Reed - Страница 6

A BEEPING IN the kitchen proved well-timed. Sybil lurched to her feet, muttering under her breath, “Thank You, Lord.”

From the expression on the younger women’s faces, I had a feeling they wished they had an excuse to run, too. Hoping that I could ease the level of tension, I said to Carly, “I regret not having some skill to make me feel more secure when I was your age. Farming and ranching is all I’ve ever known.”

“What are you talking about, Retta?” Dana asked, looking incredulous. “You’re a wonderful pianist. That’s why I hoped you would take back the position at church when I bowed out because of my condition.”

Thanks to Maggie’s deepening frown, it was difficult for me to take any pleasure from Dana’s compliment. What was going on with her now? I wondered.

“Oh, playing for church and school while the kids were growing up wasn’t exactly the accomplishments I once dreamed about.” I hoped I sounded more casual about it than I felt. “They hardly compare to the success you had in California before you met Jesse. At any rate, as competent as Patsy Oliver is, people continue to say how much they miss your playing at services.” The latter I added quickly, not to offend the quiet lady, who had jumped at the chance to take over the position and earn a little more money, after I had to decline the offer due to my obligations here. To be fair, Patsy’s situation wasn’t easy. While she’d had no formal training, she also had remained single to nurse an invalid mother, until the poor woman’s death this year. It was my hunch that Patsy was struggling to make ends meet these days, so I was doubly relieved that the opportunity came her way.

“That’s kind,” Dana replied, although she looked away. “The truth is I fibbed a bit when claiming my health made me resign. I simply got to the point where I couldn’t stand the staring from some who were gauging how fast my waistline was expanding. Their expressions were so transparent. I knew they were speculating how far along I was, and whether or not the baby was even Jesse’s.”

The bitter admission made me furious on her behalf. “I’m afraid we do have some people who should pay more attention as to why they’re in church instead of focusing on other people’s business. Though, please believe there aren’t as many of those as you think. As for me,” I added with a wry smile, “clearly God had other plans than letting me perform at Carnegie Hall. Don’t get me wrong, I have loved my life and have no regrets. Only when you’re alone at night—as you know well enough—the mind can play you for a fool. Mine can get too eager to wander into, ‘What if . . . ?’ territory.”

A sound from Maggie had me glancing her way. “Pardon?”

She got up with a huff. “I said, I think she burned the bread.”

What on earth . . . ? There wasn’t the least hint of smoke or the smell of something burning. This had to be her way to escape instead of doing the right thing and apologizing.

I leaned closer to Dana and Carly in order to speak quietly. “Please, forgive her. Maggie can be a handful, but she’s also been through a hard time losing Hollis.”

“I don’t know how you stand her, Retta,” Carly replied. “She’s mean.”

As Dana put a soothing hand on her friend’s knee, I said, “Maggie’s complicated and conflicted.”

“Aren’t we all?” Dana asked without rancor.

I had to nod, giving her that. “I promise to explain when there’s an opportunity, but right now I just want to thank you for being as tolerant as you are.”

With the slightest shake of her head, Carly focused on finishing up with Dana’s pedicure. “I’ll try, Retta. For you. But I’m human, too.”

Thanking her for her graciousness, I said, “I’ll go set the table. Finish up and let’s eat.”

Once back in the kitchen, I couldn’t help but sing-song to Maggie, “And how badly burned is the cornbread?”

Sybil did a double take as she topped off her glass of wine. “The devil, you say.”

“Oh, I must have misunderstood.” Setting down my glass, I started for the china cabinet to get the dishes. “Maggie, you want to stop drinking and help me set the table?”

“Only if I get to stick the forks where I want to.”

“It is what you do best.” I turned to Sybil, “My, what a mouth-watering aroma. Why is it that someone else’s cooking always smells better than your own?”

“For the same reason that we say everything tastes better when cooked over an open campfire,” she replied. “I guess it’s the change of pace or novelty of it.”

By the time the table was set—without any assistance from Maggie—Carly and Dana joined us. They stood back looking hesitant about where to sit.

“Please, choose a spot wherever you’d like,” I said.

“Can we open the shutters and watch the snow?” Dana asked.

“Well, I thought to keep them closed to contain the heat,” I told her, “but I guess it would be atmospheric. Rather like getting the window seats at a restaurant that has an atrium.”

“Or at an ice skating rink like Rockefeller Center,” Dana said, helping Carly with the shutters.

“Oh, I always wanted to go do that,” Carly said. “Especially around Christmas to see all of the lights and the huge tree. When Walter asked me where I wanted to go for our honeymoon, it was my second choice—especially once he admitted it wouldn’t be healthy for him to take long plane flights due to his circulation. He wasn’t big on crowded places, either.”

“Now I learned something new,” I said. “I didn’t realize either one of those things. Yet it makes sense. He was a true gentleman, always so quietly spoken and considerate.”

Smiling her pleasure, Carly sat down in a corner seat beside Dana. They both gazed outside to observe the changes the weather was making to the landscape. It wasn’t much so far, and yet the hint of what was to come, if things continued at this pace, was formidable.

Sybil and I carried the beans and muffins to the table. Once we collected our glasses and made sure everyone had what they wanted, we joined them. It was no surprise to me that Maggie had already seated herself at the other end of the table. Belatedly, I noted Carly in her direct line of fire; however, it was too late to do anything about that without making things too obvious.

Sybil turned to Dana, “Darlin’, would you like to lead us in saying grace?”

Dana’s expression looked as horrified as though we’d just told her we wanted to baptize her in a vat of ice water. “Oh, I’d rather not. God and I aren’t exactly talking these days.”

The silence in the room was suddenly so stark, the wind sounded as forlorn as a lone wolf’s or coyote’s howl. But before I could reply, she continued.

“Too much information, huh?” With a weary sigh, Dana bowed her head. “You didn’t need to hear that.”

I felt my heart threaten to tear at her jarring honesty and couldn’t let her suffer a moment longer. “It’s all right,” I assured her. “Let’s just bow our heads. Lord, thank You for bringing us together and giving us this opportunity to be each other’s strength and support during a greater storm than we had imagined. Amen.”

Sybil offered a resounding echo, while Dana and Carly’s were barely audible. From Maggie, I heard nothing. So be it, I thought. I had said my own silent, brief prayer for her.

When our conversation resumed, it sounded a little too forced. At least it did until, gazing outside, Sybil observed, “Isn’t it incredible how everything looks as though the world is being cleansed? If only we could figure out a way to do the same thing with our real and imagined imperfections. We could call it spiritual respite.”

I loved her for her sensitive way of trying to send a message to each of us. This was a perfect example of why I’d long believed that she’d been born to be a teacher. “I don’t know if we can manage that, but thankfully, your cooking is as good as a mother’s embrace,” I assured her.

Dana brightened and said with real relish, “Oh, yes, that’s exactly the right description, Sybil. In fact, I don’t know if there’s going to be enough for all of us to have a second helping. How are your beans, Carly?”

“The peppers and spices Sybil added really give them a nice kick. Here, taste.”

Dana took a delicate nibble from the offered spoon and made an appreciative sound. “Wow! I can’t decide which I like better.”

“Do you really believe the pilgrims ate this well?” Carly asked Sybil, her expression doubtful. “Considering how pitiful the holidays were at my house, I can’t see that long table the size of half a football field that they showed us in schoolbooks when I was a kid. What fantasy are you selling to your students these days?”

Nodding her acceptance of the question posed as half-challenge, half-entreaty for truth, Sybil replied, “I believe my job is to simply make them think. It’s not my place to put a yes or no in their minds. Reasoning is often not seen as valuable these days. So I tell them about the conditions the colonists were under, and what documentation through diaries shows.

“From my own research, I know it wasn’t too bad at first. They had turkey, yes, but it was wild game, and those succulent breasts we relish were probably a bit thin and dry back then. Deer were plentiful, so they supplemented meals with venison and fowl like ducks and geese. White flour had to be rationed, meaning bread and pies wouldn’t have been in abundance. No one knew when the next ship would arrive. However, things like nuts—walnuts, chestnuts, beechnuts—made up for that, as did berries of the season.”

“The original party mix,” Carly mused. “What about potatoes?”

“Also rationed at first. And there were no calorie-riddled green bean casseroles, either.”

As everyone chuckled, Sybil pointed her spoon at Carly. “That’s an extremely thoughtful question, young lady, even if it was spawned by cynicism. You also seem to be reading my mind. The way it’s snowing, I’m wondering if we’ll still be here for Thanksgiving?”

Maggie piped in with her usual irreverence. “Retta, do you have a bird in the freezer, or do we have to go out and chase down one of your laying hens?”

Although she knew good and well that the birds were penned and out of the rough weather in cozy laying houses filled with fresh hay, I was grateful for the opportunity to joke a bit. “You stay away from my girls. I do a head count every day.”

The teasing helped moods to relax and conversation flowed. The muffin supply diminished rapidly as each of us reached for seconds. By the time spoons scraped the bottoms of bowls, Dana and Carly agreed that it was getting chilly in the corner and, as Sybil and I rose to clean up, they closed the shutters.

As I turned on more lights, Rosie roused from her bed under the palm. After stretching, she got herself a drink of water then wandered toward the living room. I knew she wanted to claim her other favorite place in cold weather—the thick, braided rug in front of the fireplace.

While Carly had been eating, Wrigley had been asleep on her lap. Now he made a soft sound of protest, as she repositioned him in her arms. He complained again as she came to me by the sink. “Retta, let me do the washing up.”

“I’ll help her.” Dana brought the basket with the last of the muffins and set it on the island.

“Absolutely not,” I said to both of them. “Carly, it won’t take me five minutes to get this done. As for you,” I told Dana, “it would be best if you stay off your feet. Don’t undo Carly’s efforts. I’ll join you all in a minute. You can look through my DVD collection in the book shelves for a movie you’d like to watch, or we could play board games, cards, or dominoes.”

“Oh, a movie sounds good to me,” Sybil said.

She followed my pointing toward the pantry when I realized she had forgotten where I kept the plastic wrap. I had been in her house enough times to recall that she had a commercial size roller of the stuff hanging under a cabinet.

“I vote for anything other than The Help or The Color Purple,” she informed us.

Maggie quipped, “Don’t tell me, you’re coming out of the closet? You’re a racist?”

With a tolerant look, Sybil found the box of clear wrap and pointed it at her. “I just don’t care to watch any movie I should have starred in.” Over the younger girls’ sputtering laughs, she told me, “You had your fantasies about a concert pianist career? I told myself more than a few times that Oprah and Whoopi didn’t have any blessed thing that I didn’t have—including brass and sass.”

“Well, I’m game to watch anything but Midway,” I said. “I swear, Charlie watched that one so often I think I can still recite most of the dialogue even after all these years. He had an uncle who served on the ship and I think he secretly wished that he’d enlisted in the Navy, too.”

“Do you have Body Heat?” Maggie asked.

Sybil snorted. “Relive your youth on your own time.” She then caught the pot holder Maggie sent flying her way.

“It’s the holiday season,” Carly reminded us. “Do you have something like Holiday Inn or White Christmas?”

My own surprise was mirrored by Sybil’s shocked expression and Maggie’s look of disbelief. Carly of all people—what did she know of such classics?

Once she realized she had everyone’s attention, she shrugged. “Walter introduced them to me. They were wonderful. I had no idea some of my favorite carols come from movies.”

“Well, I just happen to have both films,” I told her. “Go dig them up, and decide which to play first. I’ll be with you shortly.”

While I worked, Maggie lingered to wipe down the table. Sybil put the minimal leftovers in smaller bowls, then she and Maggie followed the others to the living room.

When I came around the fireplace wall, my long-time friends were in the coat closet getting extra throws off of the top shelf. I was glad Maggie remembered where I stored them. Carly was already in bed under a blanket, remote in hand.

“Where’s Dana?” I asked, realizing she wasn’t there.

Pointing with the remote toward the bathroom, she smiled and said, “Again.”

“I remember when I was pregnant with Jamie,” I told her. “It was winter, and cold weather always makes me go more anyway. When I got closer to my due date, I was afraid to go too far out into the pasture for fear of having to find a bush to squat behind.”

Muttering her agreement, Sybil said, “After all that child rearing, you get a short break—until menopause. But from then on, you’ll be blessing your builder if he thought to locate a bathroom close to the kitchen. I sure hope I don’t take after my mother in that department.”

“There’s always the exception to the rule. Look at Maggie,” I said, nodding her way. “I swear I don’t think I’ve ever seen her go more than twice a day. Ever.”

For a moment, Maggie acted as though she’d let the comment pass, but she abruptly muttered, “Yeah, well, everything changes.”

Something about those words and her manner—the way she avoided eye contact by taking her seat, and fussing too much as she adjusted her afghan—triggered a little quake inside me. It reminded me of what my mother used to say when we suddenly shivered for no reason: “Someone just walked over your grave.”

Dana emerged from the bathroom and hurried to get under the blanket with Carly, which stopped me from asking Maggie about her cryptic comment. I made a mental note to bring up the subject later.

“It’s a shock at how nice it is in this room, compared to how chilly it’s already getting anywhere away from the fire,” Dana said. “I don’t want to think about how bad it will get if we do lose power. Then again, maybe it’s just me. I’ve always been cold-natured.”

“I did lower the thermostat,” I told her, “to do our part in taking some of the pressure off the central grid. I’ll lower it more when we go to bed. I thought a slow adjustment would be easier than going cold turkey. Be sure to grab more blankets or wear more layers if you need to.”

“It’s still sheer luxury,” Sybil said. “You young ones should be glad you were born after the invention of indoor plumbing. Having your bare backside meet with a cold wooden board like I did when I was a kid? Woo-hoo! I don’t miss that at all.”

“You’re not old enough to remember those days,” Dana protested.

“I’m old enough to have had a grandma, who still had an outhouse. When she was scrubbing her floors, it didn’t matter if there was snow on the ground or if it was a hundred-and-ten in the shade, we kids were exiled from the house, until those floors were dry. She lived on pure prairie land, so there was only the option of the outhouse or flashing the entire countryside.”

Shuddering in rejection of such an idea, Dana told Carly, “Movie time.”

That ended all conversation for a good while, as Carly pressed the play button and we all fell under the spell of Irving Berlin’s White Christmas. It was a favorite of mine, as well, and our family had watched it every season as the kids grew up. Sadly, we had avoided it the last few Christmases because Charlie had possessed quite a nice crooning voice, and we missed hearing him accompany Bing. Crosby had just started serenading Rosemary Clooney, who couldn’t sleep. We were all anticipating the delightful song when, suddenly, everything went black. It was as if God had just yanked the big power breaker for the entire world—at least until we grew accustomed to the subtle amber glow from the fire.

Dana and Carly cried in unison, “No! That’s not fair!”

Sitting beside me, I felt Maggie’s warm breath hit my cheek, even before she spoke. “That’s sooner than expected.”

“Yeah, it is.” Since I was the one who knew my house best, I relied on the firelight to get the cute LED flashlight I kept on the kitchen counter for emergencies. “Don’t panic!” I called, although I wasn’t feeling confident, either. Maggie was dead on: things were going to get more challenging than any of us had anticipated.

Opening the utility drawer, I collected the handful of mini-flashlights that matched mine, which I’d purchased from one of the TV shopping networks. Returning to the others, I handed them out. “These are great. They’ll help you navigate through the house. Keep them close. Maggie, you know where I store the lighters and matches. Would you light the candles in the kitchen and breakfast nook? Sybil, upstairs in your room, the bathroom, and the master suite, there are battery-operated candles like these.” I picked up the nearest one and flipped the switch on the bottom. “Would you take care of those? I’ll feed this fire and then go upstairs to check on the other. We’ll really need the fireplace heat now.”

“You don’t think the power will come back on?” Carly asked.

I didn’t, but opted for a hedge. “I’m not sure.”

“Do you suppose they’ve lost power in town, too?”

If they hadn’t, perhaps the electric co-operative that provided our county’s service might not yet be inundated with calls and would be able to make it out to this area and get us back online. However, the way the snow was coming down, the roads had to already be treacherous, which all but obliterated any glimmer of hope.

My delay in answering had Dana asking bravely, “I’ll bet it went out there an hour ago, if not sooner. What can we do to help, Retta?”

I saw Carly was already hugging Wrigley, who was shivering in her arms, and said, “You two are perfect right where you are. This is central command for all of us.” I could see that Rosie was glancing around with a wary look, too. “The dogs need reassurance and so do we. If you hear any popping outside, or smell something like smoke, holler. This blackout could be from a nearby blown transformer or downed line, as easily as a problem at one of the substations.”

“I didn’t know that,” Carly said. “Could the house catch fire?”

“Hopefully, the problem isn’t that close, but we’re going to stay observant,” I replied. “I’ll look out the side and back windows to make certain. Maggie, you check the front.”

It wasn’t my intention to sound melodramatic, but they needed to appreciate worst-case scenarios. With a parting wave, I moved on to do what sixty-one years of living on a ranch had taught me, while mentally doing a quick recap to recall what else I needed to check.

The refrigerator!

If we didn’t get power restored in a few hours, I would have to periodically turn on the generator. Yesterday, I had filled a few gas containers, but I hadn’t purchased enough to run the thing around the clock for more than two days or so. Eventually, we might have to bring out the ice chests from storage. There wasn’t a huge supply of ice cubes, but I suspected that by then we would have plenty of snow to keep perishables safe.

For the next few minutes we were a strange combination of musicians and mechanics, eclectic in our dialogue with each other, which interestingly, created a reassuring melody of its own. Acoustics were provided by doors slamming, cabinets thumping, while footsteps kept an excited beat on the hardwood floors. Outside, the wind continued to howl as the Arctic Vortex kept blasting its way through Texas. It was quite intimidating, and a far cry from how we’d expected to spend the evening enjoying Bing Crosby and company’s gentle finale of White Christmas. From the continued wail of the wind, I could almost imagine that tomorrow, we would wake to radio reports about the concern for glaciers in the Gulf of Mexico.

When we reunited in the living room, I was a bit breathless from the adrenaline rush, as much as the racing about. Carly and Dana remained saucer-eyed, hunkering under their blankets with Wrigley all but hidden between them. In front of the fireplace, Rosie had tucked herself into a tighter ball, her nose buried under the denser fur of her tail.

“What happens now?” Carly asked.

I couldn’t allow this setback, serious as it was, to depress us. “We do what the pioneers did,” I told her. “Although we’re still much better off.”

“What do you mean?” Dana was looking increasingly uncertain. “Is this a bad time to tell you that I was never much for camping? Please tell me the toilets won’t stop flushing?”

I chuckled. “They’ll work fine. I’ll have to periodically turn on the generator to trigger the pump for the reservoir to refill but, otherwise, we’re good. You’ll also continue to have hot water for a shower or bath, provided no one overindulges.”

Seeing their unhappy expressions, I spread my arms, summoning an enthusiasm I hoped was contagious. “Come on, we’re having an adventure! Carly, you voiced curiosity about the early colonists. Now we’ll get a little taste of what it was like for our forefathers who first came to this land.”

“Not quite,” Maggie said, pulling her cell phone out of her pocket. She must have accidentally touched the screen enough that it lit, ready to perform.

“Put that away,” I told her. “We don’t know how long we’re going to be under these conditions. Save the battery.” Turning back to the younger two, I continued, “We’re missing out on the best songs in the movie, so let’s sing them ourselves.”

Instead, Maggie began an off-key rendition to the melody of The Twelve Days of Christmas, “On the first day of the storm, the power went out . . .”

“A little more ‘glass half full,’ if you please.” Sybil’s dour tone made her sound as though she was reprimanding one of her students.

Catching on, Dana laughingly offered with perfect pitch, “I’m dreaming of a white Thanksgiving.”

As much as I appreciated the return of their humor, I had to warn, “If you keep thinking about cold conditions, even a bonfire won’t keep you warm. How about something livelier? Sybil, I’ve heard you sing Tina Turner at an Arts Alliance fundraiser. That would get anyone’s blood flowing.”

Dana thrust aside her blanket and wriggled off the couch. “I want to hear some of that.”

As she waddled in her sock-clad feet to the piano, Sybil covered her face with her hands in what looked like a gesture of mortification, only to squeal like a teenager. In the next moment, she leaned over to roll up her pants legs. “I always said, God didn’t give me and Tina these for nothing.”

Carly hooted in pleasure and clapped her hands.

From her laid back seat at the far end of the couch, Maggie raised her wine glass in salute. “That’s the spirit!”

Gingerly situating herself on the bench, Dana ran her fingers over the keyboard. Then she glanced over her shoulder at Sybil, and started playing the first notes of Proud Mary. “Do you know that one?”

“Indeed, I do,” Sybil said, and began to croon.

I have witnessed Sybil bringing a church congregation to tears with her spiritual rendition of Amazing Grace, but within a few bars, she had us all on our feet, swaying and clapping with her sexy version of Tina’s lusty song. We were all breathless at the end of that performance and Dana gave us an opportunity to recover by again getting whimsical at the keyboard. That’s when I got another idea.

“Dana, do you know Rod Stewart’s Maggie May? For years Maggie had my kids convinced he wrote those lyrics for her.”

“You can’t prove that he didn’t.” Maggie countered, sounding more like her old self.

Dana played several bars and asked Maggie, “Do you remember the words?”

“Only for a private audience, darling.”

Dana gave Maggie an intrigued look. “So where was he in your line of conquests?”

“Oh . . . before von Horn to be sure. Andre, the Grand Prix racer,” she said, clearly aware of Dana’s open-mouthed stare. “Also the Pollack impersonator.”

I choked at the inclusion of someone I didn’t recall hearing of before. “You had an affair with a known fraud?”

“He was very good—and refreshingly honest,” she replied with a shrug. “At that point, two of my three husbands had vowed to love and honor me, but neither did. It was as though Fate had offered an opportunity. There was a nor’easter blowing through during one of my return trips to the States, and part of the coast was shut down for two days.”

Conversation for another day, I thought. I wasn’t entirely convinced that she wasn’t pulling all of our legs.

Blinking, Dana shook her head. “I have lived a sheltered life, and I’m from California—birthplace of hippies, Hollywood, and a great deal of other things hallucinogenic.”

As she returned to experimenting with different melodies, I mused, “Think of how I feel. Maggie always says she lives vicariously through my kids, and I guess she does, but more than a little of my sexual education has come through anecdotes about her love life.”

Groaning softly, Carly muttered, “As far as I’m concerned thinking about sex these days is a double-edged sword.”

Although she looked repulsed at first, Maggie quickly pointed out, “I can guarantee you there will be gossip if you get back into the game too soon.”

Dana paused, only to study Carly’s profile. “Mercy, I get you. The one thing I’m grateful for is Jesse isn’t here to experience what’s going on in my mind because if there’s one thing I know—he wouldn’t be attracted to a wife turned land-whale.”

Sybil made a throaty sound and purred, “It’s all about the man, little girls. My Elvin was small built and I always outweighed him by a couple of slabs of bacon, but he called me his Brown Sugar from the day we met until the day he died. There wasn’t a male rabbit born more ready for a romp than Elvin.”

Lowering her head over the piano keys, Dana swayed from side to side as she began to play something bluesy. With as close to a baritone as her feminine vocal chords would allow, she offered a throaty, “I feel a Barry White song coming on.”

Sybil purred her approval. “Bring it on, baby.”

Dana laughed softly. “And here I used to think of you as Miss Church Lady.”

I never expected to enjoy myself so much. My concerns that everyone would panic under these conditions were eased and we continued to chat and sing for almost two more hours, until it struck me that it was time for the dogs to go out again. Thinking that it would also be a good idea to bring in another armload or two of wood, I said as much to Carly, who reached for more sensible boots and a jacket, while I got into mine in the back room. I whistled for Rosie, intending to go out from that side of the house.

Then, up front, I heard Maggie declare with a little too much enthusiasm, “I want to check how deep the snow has gotten.”

I suppose with her not being able to join in on the singing without embarrassing herself, she’d been feeling a little left out. That’s the only excuse I could think of when I heard her swinging the front door wide open. By the time I made it back to the living room, Rosie and Wrigley were halfway across the porch, flying like bottle rockets shot into the night.

Carly screamed in fear for her dog’s safety which only had Maggie laughing. “Where’s it going to go?” she chided. “The snow is already deeper than the squirt is tall.”

“You . . . bitch.” Seething, Carly could barely get the words out. “You did that on purpose.”

“Oh calm down,” Maggie replied. “I’ll help you get it back. Here, Snow Bunny!” she called into the darkness.

I yanked the door shut behind me to protect Sybil and Dana, as well as to keep from losing any more heat. Then I followed Carly and Maggie to the edge of the porch, shining my flashlight out into the yard. It was easy to spot Rosie, dark against the snow, but of Wrigley we saw nothing.

Carly sobbed in despair, “The coyotes are going to get him.”

“He couldn’t have gone that far,” I assured her, scanning the area again with my light.

“Not even that far,” Maggie said, pointing not three feet off the end of the stairs to an indentation in the snow.

I found the target with the beam of my flashlight. Carly launched herself off the steps. In the midst of a small drift, Wrigley stood ear-deep and shaking in horror. As Carly lifted him up, we could see him relieving himself, the stream as powerful as if he’d ingested a gallon of apple cider.

Maggie burst into laughter. “See? He just needed to go. No damage done.”

Anyone could have figured out that the tiny dog’s reaction was a reflex of sheer terror. Wholly incensed, Carly didn’t even bother to look at Maggie as she strode past her with her precious bundle to return back into the house.

As the door slammed, I said to Maggie, “Just for that, you can help me bring in more firewood. From out there.” I pointed toward the edge of the porch and beyond into the storm.

Maggie began to sputter. “Are you nuts?” She pointed to her own genuine suede-leather boots. They weren’t the high-heels she’d arrived in, but considering all of the buckles and chains, it was clear they were no less expensive. “Unlike some people’s apparel, these aren’t made from old tires or discarded snap-and-seal containers.”

I knew that, just as I knew full well that Maggie had three more pair in other colors, and could afford dozens more. However, considering what she’d pulled on Carly and Wrigley, I wasn’t in the mood to cut her any slack.

“The electricity is out, Maggie. Things are getting serious now. You can start bringing some of that dry firewood on the porch inside and pile it onto the hearth, or help me add to our supply from the stack out there. Both will have to be done because, between you and me, I don’t think the electric company is going to get us back online anytime soon.”

With a sigh Maggie said, “At least let me borrow a pair of your rubber boots. Besides, I left my flashlight inside. Who knows what all is out there.”

If I’d really been concerned about wildlife in these conditions, I would have told her something more than a flashlight was needed. However, I was too angry to explain, and I wasn’t about to put any ideas in her head, let alone tell her where she could find a gun.

“You know where the boots are,” I said tersely.

Minutes later, we trudged silently through the storm toward the side of the barn where I had two more cords of wood stacked. Neither Maggie nor I had said a word since leaving the house. The storm made conversation a foolish endeavor anyway.

Just as we reached the wood piles, she suddenly exhaled in frustration. “Get it out of your system,” she declared above the wind.

While I was glad she wasn’t going to play me for a fool, I was exasperated that from her perspective I was the irrational one. “Just stop!” I exploded. “You’ve been acting like a shrew. Carly is here for the duration. Dana cares for her. They’ve become close. Where’s the problem?”

“She’s a fake.” Maggie spat out the words like an angry cat. “So soft. So cuddly. She’s as annoying as her idiotic dog. And just like him, she’s nothing but hair and piss.”

Unable to forget the image of the leaking dog I could barely stifle a laugh. In hindsight, it had been funny. “Mercy, Maggie. How you’ve stayed such an influence in this town, I don’t know.” Actually, I did. It was all about money. The more you had, the more you could abuse everything—people, laws, whatever was in your way, or irked. “When you dislike someone, you’re about as subtle as a prostate exam.”

That was a low blow considering what poor Hollis had endured, and Maggie drew herself up, resplendent in her indignation—at least as much as Charlie’s old felt western hat allowed. “Hell, I should be an influence! The town’s named after my ancestors. If I don’t care about who and what goes on here, who will?”

I tried to soothe her with a gently reproving look. “Mags, I love you, but you’re full of it. Carly is a burr in your butt. Now why is that?”

“More important, why are you siding with her over your oldest and dearest friend?”

“I’m not. But she’s my guest, too. Try to remember that before your next impulse to cut another slice off her, or turn that little pooch into an ice sculpture.”

“Poor Carly,” Maggie sneered. “Missing old Walter so much, she’s texting and grinning every time she thinks no one is looking. Haven’t you seen that?”

I guess I hadn’t. The only time I’d noticed a phone in her hand was when the rest of us had carried our things upstairs.

“I’ll bet she’s having thumb sex texting some boy toy she’s keeping on the side,” Maggie seethed.

My gaping mouth was too much invitation to the driving snow, and the combination of cold and tickling sent me into a spurt of choking, then laughter. “That’s so blatantly jealous, you sound like a seventh grader!”

For a moment, I didn’t know whether Maggie was going to push me down into the snow or what. It was obvious that she was fighting a battle within herself, and it didn’t look good for me.

“Stuff it, Brown!”

If she thought I owed her allegiance regardless of her actions, I had news for her. She already knew we disagreed on the concept of unconditional love. As far as I was concerned, that extended only as far as newborn babies. Okay, maybe up to the age of five. Thereafter, conduct had repercussions. Whatever. I’d had enough of her theatrics for one day.

As she snatched up an armful of wood and marched awkwardly back toward the house in boots too large for her size-seven feet, I let her have it.

“You think living your life like a damned opera is fun to watch? It’s not. It’s exhausting. And for your information there was a Frenchman called Bizet, who pulled off with real panache what you can only play at, and it was called Carmen!”