O, tidings of comfort and joy, comfort and joy!

O, tidings of comfort and joy!

- Traditional English Carol

Chapter Twenty-One

The next morning brought bitter winds and a grey, crackling world outside. Ice covered the evergreens, broken branches lay across the garden. The sleet continued at intervals, mixed with snow. She heard a salt truck pass by on the street below the house. Traveling at a snail’s pace, it crawled down the icy white path. Relenting, she turned to the television, watching mesmerized as the Weather Channel discussed the treachery of the winter weather blowing through the Midwest, the two meteorologists grim-lipped at the video of a snow plow sliding and fish-tailing on highway 70. Semi-trucks were out in the storm, stranded in blowing drifts on the long highway that crossed the state.

Grace waited for another pot of tea to brew in the kitchen. It seemed she had drunk gallons since the storm started. She looked out the kitchen window and watched puffed up, shivering doves huddle in the spruce, floating down to nibble briefly at the bird seed then back to the crackling branches for protection. Norm had filled both of the brass feeders for her and left ears of feed corn for the hungry squirrels.

Grace diced vegetables for a soup, thinking of dinner and killing some time. A half-finished gift basket sat near the Christmas tree, where she steadily filled it with treats and special canned goods to send to the Rodwells. There were Christmas presents to wrap: a silk scarf for Bernadine, new gloves for Homer Emerson, a pearl brooch for Granny Stillwell, and numerous gift card envelopes for the nieces and nephews still to be signed.

The Weather Channel became an annoyance. She flipped channels aimlessly, finally settling on a Christmas cooking show. Ellie called on her cell phone to warn that phone lines were down but power remained on across the tracks. Her voice seemed distant. Grace could hear the laughter of nieces and nephews in the background, safe inside from the storm. Katy called to be sure she had heat in the “old shack”. Then Babe checked in, to compare Midwest weather to that of Montana, where they had “real snow”.

The tired furnace in the house chugged endlessly but couldn’t quite manage to warm the wooden floors she had so admired when she took residence. She closed the drapes in the rooms she was not using, insulating the house against the dropping temperatures. Adding wood to the fire, Grace silently thanked Norm and Ed, and then rubbed her hands together, willing the warmth to fill the small house.

She tried to read, but couldn’t focus, even a slick new magazine that had just arrived did not tempt her with promises of “Great Skin After 35!” By 4:00 she realized she was pacing from room to room, rearranging pictures, dusting a lampshade, pulling lint from the back of the overstuffed chairs. Her muted television flashed a low light, challenging the fireplace for illumination if not warmth, Christmas movies playing silently. Grace glanced up to see Ralphie admiring a Red Ryder BB gun in the department store window for the second time today, she was sure.

The storm dwindled from a monster to a moaning ghost, snow swirling. The bird feeder was no longer visible, the doves had long ago taken deep shelter from Mother Nature. Dark was sliding fast across the hill in the way it always did in winter, hastening dusk before it seemed due. She listened for the wind as she turned down the fire under the bubbling vegetable soup. A loaf of crusty bread warming in the oven helped fill the kitchen with an aroma of food and comfort. She would do as Granny Stillwell had done for so many years, leave the door to the oven open to push the heat into the kitchen after the meal had been taken to the table.

Grace heard the first small cry as she carried a soup bowl to the stove. In mid-step, she stopped and listened. The wind continued to rattle the windowpanes in the old kitchen, but this was not wind that she heard. There it was again. A plaintive keening coming from the back porch.

She flipped the porch light on, peering through the ice-coated window into the storm. A small blotted blur of grey moved toward the jutting door frame. She watched. This was too big to be a mouse and no squirrel would be out in this blow of weather. Another just-visible blur followed, accompanied shortly by another small cry. Whatever was there, both were now piled against her door frame, attempting to get out of the wind. Grace carefully pulled open the kitchen door a bit and listened. Gusts whistled into the kitchen, puffs of snow lay on the linoleum. She began muttering, “I must be insane . . . ” The storm door, nearly encased in ice and snow, would barely move, the bottom stuck thoroughly.

Norm and Ed were up the hill, ensconced in the cozy warmth of their cottages with the twins. They did not know her back door was iced shut, since no one with sense would go out in this weather. So much for this theory of angels. The small wails continued, but they were less frequent and fading.

A driving sense of urgency pushed Grace to her coat and gloves. She found her hiking boots stashed in the closet, unused in the generally mild Maryland winters, they would come in handy now. She pulled on her coat, grabbing a thick red muffler and beginning to wrap her head and neck as she went, walked out through the front door. The brothers had salted the walk at some point, but it was barely navigable now. Her legs threatened to slide out from under her repeatedly as she inched around the house. Losing her footing, she grabbed at the old lilac for support as she rounded the corner. Its branches crackled, threatening to snap. The blowing snow was nearly blinding, but she could just see the two small mounds huddled by her back door. Grace approached, stomping down the snow and ice as she went, hoping for some traction so that she might stay on her feet. She saw movement. A tiny, ice-coated paw curled.

Kittens. The largest one was silvery-grey, a tabby just bigger than her hand and the other nearly as white as the snow which surrounded it. She reached tentatively to scoop them up. Neither moved. The little bodies were cold already. Half covered with drifted snow, they were so small they could barely be weaning age.

She tucked them inside her coat and pulled with all her might on the storm door. It creaked in protest, but after a firm, booted kick, it finally gave way, allowing her back into the warmth of the kitchen. The two lost waifs must have been out in the weather for some time, using their last bit of energy to creep up to the shelter of her back door.

She left the furry survivors wrapped loosely in her down jacket and went to the oven. It was still warm. Grabbing towels from the cabinet, Grace quickly lined her roasting pan and tenderly placed the little bundles of fur into it, then slid the pan into the oven, door ajar. She kneeled at the door, watchful, and thought frantically of what she could feed these two little mouths if they should survive.

As Grace watched with her heart in her throat, movement came briefly from the makeshift incubator in the oven. The silver tabby mewed quietly and looked shakily about, then edged closer to curl around its sibling. The small white creature was eerily still. But the silver tabby purred loudly, trying to will warmth and life into the other body. As the moments ticked past, Grace began to lose hope. Tears filled her eyes as she lowered the door and reached into the oven to gently lift out the cold little body. As her hand curled around the kitten’s spine, the white bundle heaved a shuddering sigh and placed one paw over that of his silver brother.

“Still with us.” Grace murmured and tucked the towels back around the two kittens.

The kittens slept through the evening, waking only for a moment to take a few eyedroppers of the thinned cream she had warmed for them. The purring of the silver kitten grew louder at intervals, but the small white kitten was still weak, although it lifted its wobbly, triangular head and watched her, blue eyes from some distant Siamese cousin blinking, and attempted to eat.

Grace lined a shoebox with her heating pad, set the temperature to low, covered it with towels and took the box up to her chilly bedroom. She turned on the space heater and set the kittens in their nest beside her on the floor. As she lay there, sleepless with worry, Grace wondered if it were something like this to have children and fret over them during the night. She found herself constantly flipping on her reading light and putting her hand in the box to check the furry breathing. They slept. Their ordeal had taken all the energy out of the ghost-grey tabby and nearly taken the life from his brother, but they were alive.

The next morning, both kittens lifted wondering eyes to their benefactress but did not stir from the box. They seemed willing to accept whatever mercy Grace would offer. Clearly, she was in charge and they were grateful for her assistance. Now, what to feed them? The streets were an icy sheet, too dangerous to attempt. Finally, she struggled into her winter gear again. Leaving her little houseguests warm, tucked in, and sleeping, Grace silently promised them a rapid return and pushed through the snow to the back door of Norm and Cindy’s snug grey house.

Norm was accommodating, Cindy murmuring, making sympathetic noises as they trekked to the shed were Norm had cat food “for that darned old barn cat that Cindy feeds.” Grace suspected that in Norm’s opinion, felines were not at the top of the food chain. But he insisted on coming back down the hill into her kitchen and checking on the two “wee bags of fur” as he called them. The tall man helped her grind the dry brown pellets of cat food and make a thin gruel with warm water to feed the kittens. Both lapped enthusiastically from spoons held out to them.

With the white kitten temporarily sated, Norm thumbed through his worn leather wallet and pulled out a card, placing it near Grace on the table. “Give my nephew there a call and he’ll have a look at ‘em. He’s a good vet.” So Norm wasn’t really an angel, but a human being with extended family like everyone else. The big man reached for the white kitten and took a spoon of the gruel, cradling the cat gently in his large leathery hand. “Ahh, now take it easy there, not too fast.” He rumbled quietly. The creature stopped eating and looked closely at the giant who held him. Then it opened its tiny mouth in a large yawn and butted a miniature head against Norm’s large thumb, rubbing and purring. The kitten looked for all the world as if a small wide grin shone on the white and grey pointed face. “Now, that un there’s a joy, Miz Grace” Norm said, smiling down at the little creature.

Meanwhile, the silver tabby curled into Grace’s arm, small motor running. “Comfortable?” Grace queried, running a finger over the head of the pretty kitten. The tabby burrowed closer, eyes slitted, exhausted from eating.

Ed was at the back door, peering in.

“So you got some Christmas spirits there, Grace?” The stocky man touched the white kitten, in Norm’s hand, squinting at the faint markings, tracing them with one blunt finger. Ed gave a rumbling laugh when the cat’s silent meow was followed by an obvious kitten smile.

“Why, yes. Yes I do. I think I have a little Comfort and Joy.” They laughed as Grace christened her adoptees. “This one’s Comfort.” She showed Ed the silver-eyed tabby. “And that one’s Joy.” The furry white head turned back to Ed, grin showing once again.

She reached an agreement with the two now-mobile kittens during their confinement, on how far they could go with her beautiful Christmas tree. Unbreakable ornaments were moved down to the lower level for Joy to tap and laugh her wheezy kitty laugh. Comfort would watch, ensconced in their basket. He favored reclining in any fashion, but had a particular affection for the basket. Joy, who had proven to be a female after closer examination, was the clown of the two. Both kittens were still skittish, scurrying to hide if Grace tried to pick them up, but eventually could be coaxed to her hand, particularly if a treat were involved. They spent the evening watching her movements warily. But if she left the room, they soon followed on shaky legs, afraid to lose sight of her.