Thunder Snow

by Abagail Eldan

  Momma’s strong voice carried easily to us. “I’ve been saving this popcorn for a special occasion.” She shook the jar for emphasis.

  “What’s popcorn?” Zeke’s upturned face eyed the jar with interest.

  “Something you’ll love,” I said into his ear.

  “We put some of this grease in a pot, let it melt, and put the corn in,” Momma said. “It fluffs up.”

  “Fluffs up?” Zeke’s brows drew together.

  “Just wait and see,” I had only eaten popcorn once before, but the taste was unforgettable.

  “Does all corn do that?” Zeke asked me.

  “No,” I said. “It has to be a certain kind.”

  The lard sizzled as the pot heated up. Zeke and I scooted even closer to the fireplace as cold settled into the room.

  Poppa stared out the window as the popcorn popped. When the popping slowed, Momma pulled the iron pot out of the fireplace. She removed the lid with quilted potholders. The smell arising with the steam made my mouth water. She poured melted, freshly churned butter over the top and sprinkled on some salt. I got the bowls, and Momma divided the popcorn among us. I grinned at Zeke’s expression as he got his first taste.

  After quickly devouring the popcorn, Zeke and I lay down on the quilts. He fell asleep immediately, but I watched the fire’s flickering flames and, out of the corner of my eye, Poppa. He bowed his head, and his lips moved silently.

  I worried about Chance in the barn, but he was probably as safe as we were. At least I hoped so. I would just have to trust God to take care of him.

  My eyelids grew heavy, and I slept. I awoke with Momma shaking my shoulder. It was still pitch dark, except for the flickering light from the fireplace.

  “Get up!” she said, her voice higher than usual.

  My heartbeat quickened and I sat up, Zeke groggy beside me.

  “What’s wrong?” The wind still whistled through the house, but the rain no longer beat against our tin roof. Poppa stood near the closed door with the lantern in his hand.

  “Hurry,” he said.

  I sprang to my feet and pulled Zeke to his. My heart pounded in my ears, and butterflies danced in my stomach. Zeke clutched my arm, and I placed my hand over his. Poppa lit the lantern and grinned.

  He opened the door. Zeke and I gasped.

  Snow fell from the skies and onto our small back porch, blown about by the wind. Thunder still rolled, and lightning lit the sky.

  “Snow?” Zeke rubbed his eyes.

  “Snow.” Poppa grinned.

  “But it’s March,” I protested. “Daffodils are blooming. Besides it never snows here.” I peered out the door, unmindful of the cold. The snowflakes looked as big as saucers in the light from the lantern.

  Poppa’s eyes reflected my bewilderment. He shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve never seen it snow that much down here.”

  Zeke’s eyes grew as large as the snowflakes. “Can we go outside?”

  Poppa closed the door. “Not tonight. You could get struck by lightning. Anyway, it’s as dark as a sack of black cats out there.”

  “Maybe some of the snow will still be there in the morning,” Momma said.

  “But what if it melts?” I asked.

  “That can’t be helped.” Poppa shooed us back to the fireplace.

  I held my hands out to the fire, rubbing them together. “I didn’t know it thundered when it snowed.”

  “First time I heard it thunder when it snowed,” Poppa said. He looked over me to seek Momma’s eyes.

  “It’s snowed here before?” I asked.

  Poppa cleared his throat. “A few flurries back when I was ‘bout your age and, uh, when Momma and I . . .”

  Momma’s eyes softened, and she shook her head at Poppa. “We’d best be getting back to sleep.”

  Zeke and I lay back down on our pallets, pulling the quilt over us. Poppa blew out the lantern, and he and Momma lay down on the other side of the fireplace. The flames threw shadows across the walls. Wind whistled through the wide planks but with less fury than before.

  Zeke moved restlessly. “Poppa, will you tell us a story?”

  “Well, let me see. I do know a story, an Indian legend this weather reminds me of. Let me see if I can recollect it.”

  He was quiet for a minute. Then he spoke, his voice taking on a dreamy quality, as it often did when he repeated the stories he had heard in childhood.

  “There once were two brothers named Snow and Thunder. Thunder was covered with gray feathers and had huge wings. When he flapped his wings, lightning bolts shot from beneath them.”

  “Is this a true story, Poppa?” Zeke asked.

  I punched his arm. “It’s a myth, Zeke. Have you ever seen a man with feathers?”

  Zeke poked out his bottom lip, his eyes sparkling in the light from the glowing logs. “Momma, Jay hit me.”

  “Sarah Jane, apologize to your brother.”

  I mumbled an apology.

  “If you two want to hear the story, you need to get quiet,” Momma rose on her elbows to send us a stern look.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Zeke and I murmured.

  Poppa shifted his position and then continued. “Thunder was covered with gray feathers, and Snow was covered with pure white feathers. The brothers were best of friends and hunted together all the time. One day they were out hunting and saw a beautiful Indian maiden. The brothers fell in love with her at first sight. They began to quarrel, both wanting to ask for her hand in marriage. Neither brother backed down. Thunder roared out his anger and lightning flashed beneath his wings. As they fought, Thunder tore feathers from the wings of Snow, and they floated to the ground.”

  “Snowflakes,” Zeke said.

  “Yes, snowflakes.”

  “Are snowflakes made of feathers?”

  “Zeke, I told you the story’s not true,” I said. “Snow’s not made from feathers. It’s made when water vapor freezes.”.

  “What’s water vapor?” He tilted his head and puckered his brow.

  “Water vapor is water in a gaseous state.”

  “What?” Zeke asked, frowning harder.

  “Sarah Jane, do you think Zeke knows what you’re talking about?” Momma rose again on her elbows and looked over Poppa to where we lay. “If y’all want to hear the story, get quiet!”

  Poppa made a soothing sound, and Momma lay back down. “Now,” he said. “Where was I?”

  “Thunder and Snow were fighting over an Indian maiden,” I offered.

  “And Snow’s feathers were falling from the sky,” Zeke added.

  “Snow fought back, becoming a blinding blizzard. The Indian maiden’s father saw Snow and Thunder destroying everything in their path. He feared for his daughter and hurried to take her away from the fierce fight. But in their blinding anger, Snow and Thunder did not see him and struck him down. The maiden ran to her father and cradled him in her arms as he gasped his last breath.”

  Zeke moved closer to me, and I took his hand.

  “Grief-stricken, she wailed all night, mourning the death of her beloved father.” Poppa paused for a second before resuming. “With the break of day, her sadness turned to anger. Thunder and Snow fled from her wrath. Snow fled to the north and Thunder to the south, never again to be friends, never again to hunt together, never again to be true brothers. Sometimes, their blinding anger returns, and they renew their fight, each blaming the other for the death of the Indian maiden’s father. That’s when you hear the roar of Thunder and see flashes of lightning, and Snow’s feathers float to the earth. And in the wind, you can still hear the wail of the Indian maiden, mourning her beloved father.”

  A lump formed in my throat, and I tried to swallow, but the muscles constricted, and an odd half-cry came from my lips.

  Chapter 7—Patience

  “Are you okay, Jay?” Poppa asked.

  “Go back to sleep now,” Momma said, before I had a chance to answer.

  I nodded, still unable to speak. She probably couldn’t see me,
but she said no more.

  A clap of thunder sounded nearby, vibrating our small house. I closed my eyes, listening to the thunder growling the deep-throated growl of an angry bear. The wind wailed, sounding eerily like the cry of a woman. I shivered. Intense fear bubbled inside me. The icy coldness squeezed my heart, and I prayed fervently, not knowing for what, until I fell back asleep.

  Sausages sizzling in the iron skillet woke me. My mouth watered at the tantalizing aroma, but I ignored it and my rumbling stomach. I tiptoed past Zeke, who still slept tangled in the quilt on the pallet. I slid the wooden bolt back, threw open the door, and gasped. Snow blanketed the earth, and gigantic snowflakes fell thickly from the sky.

  Zeke sat up and rubbed his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

  I grinned and danced over to him, holding out my hand. “Come here! You’ve got to see this.”

  He stumbled to the door, rubbing his eyes. When he peered outside, a grin spread across his face. “Jay, it really snowed.” He stood a moment surveying the sight before scampering around the room.

  Momma and Poppa came out of the kitchen, both holding steaming cups of coffee.

  “Sarah Jane,” Momma said. “Close that door. You’re going to freeze us to death.” A slight smile played across her face as she gazed at the snow, and her face softened.

  While Zeke craned his neck to catch a last glimpse, I slowly closed the door.

  “Can we go out?” I asked.

  “Please?” Zeke said, his head tilted to Poppa.

  Momma shook her head. “Ain’t no need to rush. The snow’ll be there later.” She returned to the kitchen.

  “But, Poppa, the snow will melt!” Zeke’s face turned red.

  Poppa laughed. “It ain’t going to melt any time soon. I’ve been out to the barn, and the snow’s knee deep. Some places it’s deeper, and it’s still snowing.” He took a sip of his coffee. “Get dressed. Momma’s about done with breakfast.”

  Zeke and I dressed in record time and slid onto the bench at the kitchen table. After Poppa prayed, we wolfed down our sausage and eggs. As soon as Momma gave the nod, I cleared the table. Poppa stayed there, lingering over his coffee.

  Momma filled the dishpan with hot water from a pot on the stove. She washed, and I dried. As soon as the last plate clattered to its place on the shelf, I made a beeline for the door, Zeke behind me.

  Momma paused in the middle of wiping off the table. “Whoa! Where do you think y’all are going?” She turned to the pan, rinsed out the dishrag, and rung it out.

  “We’re going out to play in the snow,” I said, puzzled.

  Momma shook her head. “Y’all are not going out now.”

  My mouth fell open. She couldn’t be serious. “Momma, you told us we could go out.”

  She pressed her lips together and shook her head. “I never said no such thing.” She picked up the dishpan. “Open the door for me.”

  I unbolted the door, letting in the freezing air. I held the door as she flung the water out into the yard onto the blanket of snow. I closed the door and trailed after her into the kitchen.

  “Why can’t I go out?” I glanced to Poppa, still sitting at the kitchen table.

  Momma turned to face me. “You don’t have gloves, and your hands will freeze. It needs to warm up some. Maybe it’ll be warm enough tomorrow.” Momma slammed the dishpan onto the counter.

  Zeke wrapped his arms around Momma’s legs and wailed. I stalked away.

  Nowhere to hide but my bed. I grabbed one of the quilts from where they still lay in front of the fireplace and headed for my tiny room. I flung myself on my bed and pulled the still warm quilt over my head. Zeke’s cries gradually died down. A chair scraped across the wood floor, and I heard the murmur of voices. Poppa’s soft, sooth tones draped over Momma’s more strident ones.

  When I heard Poppa’s strong, purposeful footsteps coming toward me, I uncovered my head.

  “You can go out . . .” Poppa said.

  I sprang up and threw my arms around him. “Thank you, Poppa!” I skipped from my room, and Poppa followed.

  “Wait. I didn’t finish. You can’t go out now. You’ll have to wait until after lunch.” His eyes searched mine. “You need to let it warm some. It’s freezing outside.”

  “But, Poppa . . .” I reached to touch his arm.

  “Now, Jay. No arguing. I’m going out to the barn.” He squeezed my shoulder. “While I’m gone, you can help your momma clean the house.”

  I poked out my bottom lip, knowing I was behaving like Zeke. But how many times in my lifetime would it snow like this?

  At least we were going to get to go out. We would just have to be patient. I sighed and watched Poppa bundle up and leave.

  No need to stand around brooding. It just might give Momma another reason to keep us inside. I picked up the quilts from around the hearth, folded them, and placed them in the chiffarobe. Then Zeke and I swept the floors, which didn’t take long since most of the dirt fell through the cracks. Zeke and I made several trips to the window to press our noses against the pane of glass, trying to catch a glimpse of Poppa.

  Momma brought the churn to the fireplace, and I churned while Zeke played in front of the hearth. With my chores done, I retreated to my bed and dragged out David Copperfield. I read until Momma called me to help with lunch.

  Poppa returned, stamping the snow from his feet. He leaned close to Momma to whisper something in her ear. Whatever he said caused her to frown.

  Poppa took a step back and searched Momma’s eyes. “Molly, please?”

  Momma gave a short nod. I wondered what Poppa had said to her but knew better than to ask.

  We ate lunch accompanied by Zeke’s chattering. I barely tasted the food. But at last we finished, and I dried the last dish and placed it on the shelf.

  After Momma dried her hands, she walked slowly to the trunk in the corner, the trunk she always warned me not to touch. She opened it, and I craned my neck to see what was inside. She cast a glance in my direction, and I looked away.

  Curiosity ate at me, but I refrained from looking at her again. What did Momma keep in her trunk? Whatever it was, I’d know soon. She walked to where we waited at the door.

  Chapter 8—Beauty

  Momma came to the door, wearing a thick coat I had never seen before and pulling on a pair of gloves. I looked at her in surprise when she handed me a scarf and another pair of gloves, exactly like those she wore.

  “Y’all about ready to go out?” she asked.

  Zeke let out a whoop and danced around the room. I laughed and helped Zeke with his coat. I didn’t have a coat, so Poppa gave me one of his flannel shirts, and I pulled it on over my sweater.

  I marveled at the softness of the gloves as I pulled them on. Momma fussed over Zeke, making sure his coat was buttoned securely.

  Poppa smiled. “Everyone ready?”

  I tied the scarf on over my bonnet, and Poppa opened the door.

  We all stepped out into the biting cold. The snow covered everything, like froth on a pail of fresh milk. Zeke and I tumbled down the steps. Snowflakes still fell from the sky. Chance scampered around us, biting at the falling snow. Joy bubbled up deep inside me and released into a gale of laughter.

  Poppa and Momma continued walking to the barn, paying no heed to Zeke or me. About fifteen feet in front of the barn, they paused and studied it. Icicles hung around its perimeter, and deep snow blanketed the roof. I glanced back at our house, but the pitch of the roof was steeper, and only an inch or two of snow had accumulated there.

  Zeke jerked on my sleeve. “Help me make a snowman, Jay.”

  I focused on Zeke and smiled. “Sure.” We packed the snow into a ball and rolled it until it was large enough for the body. The wind whipped around us, reddening Zeke’s cheeks. My breath came out in puffs of gray, and the cold air burned the inside of my nose. I pulled the scarf up higher.

  My hands were warm in the thick gloves, and I wondered how they had gotten into Momma’s trunk. I shru
gged, knowing I’d probably never find out.

  I helped Zeke roll another ball for the snowman’s head. While we played in the snow, I watched Poppa from the corner of my eye, feeling a sense of uneasiness even amidst the happiness I felt.

  Poppa dragged a ladder to one side of the barn and propped it against the edge of the roof.

  “I’ll be right back,” I said. Zeke was too engrossed in building the snowman to care.

  Momma held the ladder steady as Poppa climbed. I stood back but kept my eyes locked on Poppa. The Indian maiden’s wail echoed within my head. It didn’t help that the wind howled through the old barn.

  Poppa reached the top rung without incident. Momma let go of the ladder to pick up the large rake lying beside her. I sloughed through the snow and grabbed the ladder. Poppa looked down at me and smiled.

  Momma held the five-foot rake upright, and Poppa grasped it and wrestled it into position to rake the snow off. Momma backed away, allowing me to hold the ladder as Poppa worked. He removed all the snow within reach. The problem was the roof gradually sloped up twenty feet or so. Poppa would only be able to clear about a fourth of the roof.

  “I’m going to throw the rake to your left,” he called, looking down at me.

  I nodded and scooted to the other side, one hand on the ladder. The rake fell into the soft snow, and Poppa climbed down.

  Zeke, huffing and puffing through the snow, came over to us. “Jay, aren’t you going to play with me?”

  Poppa motioned with his hand. “Go on, Jay. Your Momma and I can handle this.”

  “Yes, sir.” I walked away backwards, watching Poppa slide the ladder over about ten feet and climb back up. He was being careful. Why did I feel so worried then?

  That silly story Poppa told had spooked me. I picked up a handful of snow and rushed at Zeke, determined to shove the worry away, even if it meant shoving snow in Zeke’s face.

  He laughed and scooped up a handful of snow, chasing me. After we tired of battling, I helped Zeke finish the snowman. The head needed eyes and a nose, so we went into the barn to scrounge around for items.