CHAPTER 14 Snowbound

ON the morrow, the Brownies awoke to find the house uncomfortably cold. Connie put on her slippers and robe and ran to the window to see if snow still fell.

The pane was completely frosted over in lacelike patterns. She could not see outside.

“I’m staying in bed,” announced Veve, snuggling deeper down into the covers.

“You’re getting up,” contradicted her roommate. “Grandfather Gordon isn’t here, so there’ll be lots and lots of work to do.”

“Today’s the day before Christmas,” mumbled Veve, still drowsy with sleep. “If Mother doesn’t come—”

“Of course she’ll come. All our parents will! Now stop sniveling.”

“I’m not sniveling,” Veve denied. “And just tell me how you think our parents can get here when the roads are closed! Grandfather Gordon is in Goshen, and our folks are due to arrive at Deerford.”

“They’ll find some way to get here. Wait and see.” Connie spoke confidently, but at that time she had not seen the wind-swept road.

A little later, when she and Veve went downstairs, they caught a glimpse of the highway and yard through a window over the landing. Snow no longer fell, but a sharp wind had raised mammoth drifts during the night.

Not only was the road blocked in places, but similar mounds of snow isolated the house from the barn and outbuildings.

When Connie opened the front door onto the porch, an avalanche of snow tumbled in on the rug. All she could see was a wall of white.

“We’re desperately short of wood, and I don’t know how to get more,” said Mrs. Gordon, who was baking pancakes. Only a few sticks were left in the nearby box.

“Can’t the Brownies shovel a path to the woodpile?” asked Connie. She wanted to help.

“We can try, but the drifts are deep. There’s the stock to feed too. If only the work crews would clear the roads with the snowplow!”

The Brownies wore their sweaters at breakfast, for although a fire still burned in the kitchen and on the living room hearth, cold kept creeping in.

Outdoors, the sun was bright but had no warmth. Wind kept howling about the corners of the old house.

Before the breakfast dishes were washed, Mrs. Gordon tried to telephone to Goshen. She learned then that the weight of snow and ice had broken the wire.

“Now that our telephone service is gone we’re completely isolated,” she declared. “Snowbound.”

Mrs. Gordon and the Brownie troop leader talked quietly together, deciding what must be done. They knew that in another hour or two, all the wood would be gone.

“If necessary, we can burn the furniture,” Mrs. Gordon decided. “I would hate to do it, though.”

Miss Gordon and the Brownies thought they might be able to shovel a path to the woodpile. All they had to work with was a coal shovel, for the regular snow shovel had been left at the barn.

Taking turns, they dug and dug. It was hard, slow work. After an hour of shoveling, they had not cleared a path even a third of the way.

“We’ll never be done at this rate,” said Miss Gordon.

Just then, she and the Brownies heard a shrill whistle. Miss Gordon lifted Connie up on her shoulders, so she could see above the top of the drift to the barn.

“Why, it’s Mr. Stone!” she shouted.

The man had snowshoed across the fields and now was shoveling away a drift which blocked the barn door.

“Hi, there!” he called. “Need help here?”

“Yes, we do!” Connie shouted in return. “Grandfather Gordon is gone, and we’re almost out of wood.”

“I’ll feed the stock, and then shovel a path to meet yours,” Mr. Stone called. “Cheerio!”

Just to know that help was near greatly relieved the minds of Miss Gordon and the Brownies. They shoveled faster, making the snow fly. Some of it tumbled back into the path, but they laughed and shouted and did not mind.

Within another hour, the Brownies’ path joined the one Mr. Stone had made.

“Hi! Ho!” he greeted the girls. “I’ve fed the stock, and now I’ll make a side path to the woodpile. You run back to the house and warm your toes.”

“How are the roads?” Miss Gordon inquired anxiously.

“Still blocked. The snowplows can’t do much until the snow stops drifting.”

“And how is everyone at your place?”

Mr. Stone hesitated a moment and then said with forced cheerfulness: “Oh, fine! We have plenty of wood to keep the cabin warm.”

“And food?”

“We’re somewhat short,” Mr. Stone admitted briefly. As if afraid Miss Gordon would ask him other questions, he picked up his shovel and hastened off down the cleared path toward the barn.

Returning to the house to warm themselves, Miss Gordon talked matters over with the Brownies and Mrs. Gordon. Although supplies were short, they knew that the Stone family had even less to eat.

“We can’t let the children go hungry,” declared Connie earnestly.

“That’s the way I feel about it,” said Miss Gordon. “On the other hand, the roads may be closed several days. If we share our supplies with the Stones, it means a sacrifice. We’ll have a very drab Christmas Day dinner.”

“Who cares?” demanded Sunny.

“Not I,” sang out Eileen.

“I vote that we share our food with the Stones,” added Rosemary, and Jane nodded agreement.

Veve did not say anything, for as she was not a Brownie, she felt she had no right to vote.

“I’ll prepare a basket immediately,” Grandmother Gordon said. “I must check my supplies to see what we have left.”

By the time Mr. Stone came to the house with an armload of wood, the basket of food was ready. At first, he did not want to accept it, because he thought Mrs. Gordon would not have enough left for her brood of Brownies.

“Now don’t you worry about that, Mr. Stone,” she reassured him. “We’ll manage.”

Although Mrs. Gordon felt grateful to the man for feeding the stock and shoveling so much snow, she had not changed her mind one whit about Mrs. Stone. However, she could not bear to think of the family going hungry.

After Mr. Stone had gone, the Brownies had luncheon. Though the meal was a rather skimpy one, no one complained. Nevertheless, the Brownies felt increasingly blue, knowing that with the roads blocked they were unlikely to see their parents on Christmas.

“Do you suppose they’ll come to Deerford and just wait there?” Connie speculated. “Or will they decide not to leave Rosedale?”

Miss Gordon had no satisfactory answer for either of the questions. With the telephone still out of service, it was impossible to call the Deerford station or Mr. Gordon, who had remained at Goshen.

After the luncheon dishes were washed and put away, the Brownies, for the first time since they had arrived at the farm, did not know how to occupy their time.

It was too cold to play outside. In any case, the only place they could go was through the long trench of snow to the barn and the woodpile.

“If the attic isn’t too chilly, why not explore there again?” suggested Miss Gordon.

“Oh, yes, let’s!” cried Eileen. “May we dress up in the old clothes?”

“Use anything you like,” replied Grandmother Gordon.

The unheated attic was too cold for comfortable play. However, the girls made their selection of clothes and carried them down to the living room by the hearth.

Veve chose a short red skirt, a lace blouse and high button shoes. Eileen found a tight fitting black velvet gown and a tiny feathered hat which gave her the appearance of having stepped out of a very old picture book.

Connie put on Mrs. Gordon’s lavender silk wedding gown. The full, ruffled skirt swished delightfully as she paraded up and down the carpet.

“How that dress brings back memories,” remarked Mrs. Gordon, thoroughly enjoying the show the girls were putting on. “The silk has held up all these years. One can’t buy such material these days.”

“Let’s have a style show,” proposed Connie. “I’ll lead off.”

“And I’ll provide the orchestra,” laughed Miss Gordon, seating herself at the old organ.

Connie pranced across the living room in her best imitation of a department store model. All the Brownies clapped and laughed.

“Now it’s Jane’s turn,” declared Connie. Just then her nose tickled, and without thinking she reached into the pocket of Grandma Gordon’s wedding dress for a handkerchief.

Of course, there was no handkerchief in the pocket, but she did feel something small and round and hard.

“Why, what is this?” she said, pulling it out.

In her hand she held a golden locket on a chain.

Mrs. Gordon saw the trinket and uttered a startled cry. “My locket!” she exclaimed. “It’s the one I lost!”