Leona had already witnessed a few small snowstorms this year, but with the evening hours of December 17th came the first big snowstorm of 1918. A giant Nor’easter swept down on Maine and dumped 37 inches of snow by the time it ended, nearly forty hours later. Strong 30 to 40 mile per hour winds created drifts that were more than six feet high, some rising halfway up the north side of the Haley house, making peering out the bottom half of the first-floor windows impossible. And after the storm was over, seeing out the top half of those windows was virtually impossible too, but not because of snow. Instead, the culprit was a thin layer of frost that had built up on the first-floor windows during such storms, something that was not too unusual, especially in the frigid weather that often gripped Maine.
Leona watched the ferocious storm begin from the comfort of her bedroom, her place to be safe, warm, and to be alone with her thoughts. She was sitting in her comfy chair near the window reading Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson when the wind began to blow and the snow began to fall, just before dusk. The sudden change in weather made her room much too dark, so she laid the book on the windowsill and got up to light two kerosene lamps that were kept in her room: one on a nightstand at the head of her bed and the other on a small table near where she had just been reading. Returning to her chair after lighting the lamps, Leona then lit two candles she kept on the windowsill, picked up the book, and started to open it once again to page 69, where a bright-yellow ribbon she used as a bookmark was placed. She began to read:
“Chapter Fourteen——The First Blow——I was so pleased at having given the slip to Long John, that I began to enjoy myself and look around me with some interest on the strange land that I was in.
“ I had crossed a marshy tract full of willows, bulrushes, and odd, outlandish swampy trees; and I had now come out upon the skirts of an open piece of undulating, sleepy country, about a mile long, dotted with a few pines, and a great number of contorted trees, not unlike the oak in growth, but pale in the foliage, like willows. On the far side of the open stood one of the hills, with two quaint, craggy peaks, shining vividly in the sun.
“ I now felt the joy of exploration.”
After reading that part, Leona began to daydream about a place she had seen down by the stream that she was now reminded of. Then she started to read again; but upon hearing a howl indicating that the wind had picked up, she instead closed the book and stared out the window watching the developing storm. To Leona’s surprise, it was becoming stronger by the minute, now and then blowing the snow horizontal to the ground. Some of the time, however, when the wind calmed down, she watched the large, white snowflakes drop almost straight to the Earth where they quickly piled up. At other times the snow’s journey to the Earth was more haphazard, being blown this way and that, and once in a while even in a spiral path. Whether or when the snow would fall straight down or take a more circuitous route to the ground was totally unpredictable, and that’s what made the powerful Nor’easter so fascinating to watch from the safety of her perch.
When Leona undressed for bed that night she, as always, did it quickly in response to the cold air filling her darkened bedroom, replacing her heavy clothes with a light, cotton nightgown, or similarly light pajamas she invariably wore to bed. After climbing under a thin sheet and two heavy woolen blankets that she used during the most frigid part of the winter months, only the bridge of her nose to the top of her head was visible.
Anyone who was not accustomed to living in her house might think Leona foolish to wear light pajamas rather than heavier ones on such cold nights; however, if they were to do so, they would soon learn why light pajamas were more appropriate, even during the coldest months of a Maine winter. The reason? Just before Murdock went to bed, around nine o’clock in the winter, he always filled the stove to the brim with hardwood. As a result, the house became uncomfortably warm for about thirty minutes, necessitating the throwing off of both heavy blankets and sleeping only under the thin sheet. But even that was not sufficient, because if heavy pajamas were worn to bed, one would likely sweat, and when the house finally cooled off as the wood burned more slowly, the dampness of sweat-soaked pajamas made it impossible to stay warm, even after climbing back under the two heavy blankets. Thus, thin, lightweight pajamas, in conjunction with the judicious use of the two heavy blankets, solved that problem.
The little girl had always loved lying in her bed on the coldest of winter nights, listening to the howling winds whistle through cracked or loose clapboards on the old house, and watching the snow being blown in gusts against the bedroom window; and this wild and blustery night was no exception. To make her room that much more special, Leona always kept a lit candle or two sitting on the windowsill so that the blowing or free-falling snow just outside her window would be visible even at night.
She also enjoyed seeing the candles reflect colorfully off the frost-covered corners of the window, enhancing the beautiful winter scene that it framed. And when she saw it she often thought that the view framed by her window on such magical nights rivaled the most uplifting winter spectacle ever depicted, even in the most picturesque painting. As the cold wind crept through the timeworn cracks in the window frame, the candle’s yellow flame almost seemed to dance and make that sight even more special.
Each time it snowed at Leona’s bedtime, she fell asleep watching the delicate snowflakes floating downward, or sometimes being violently blown past her window, causing her to become mesmerized by the snow’s soothing qualities and natural haunting beauty. The effect of sometimes softly-falling snow, and sometimes quickly-swirling snow, accompanied by eerie gusts of howling wind, was as soothing to Leona as the sight and sound of ocean waves hitting the shore along the rocky Maine coast, a scene that she saw and heard for the first time only last fall.
Whenever it snowed, Margaret made sure she remembered to check the candles on Leona’s bedroom window before going to bed. She would dutifully blow them out if Leona had not, which was usually the case. Then Margaret would kiss her angelic little girl on the forehead and wish her “sweet dreams.” Sometimes Leona would only be half asleep when her mother kissed her head, and the gentle kiss filled her with such warmth that it would seemingly keep her safe on even the coldest Maine night; and this night was to be no different.
Leona had been in bed for ten minutes and was almost asleep when she heard her mother come into the room and walk over to her bed. Then she felt her mother’s gentle kiss on her forehead. “Sweet dreams, dear,” she heard her mother whisper. The little girl wanted to open her eyes and say goodnight to her mother, but she was just too drowsy and couldn’t bring herself to do it. All she could manage was a tiny smile when she heard her mother walk over to the window to blow out the burning candles. Leona was fast asleep before Margaret walked back to the bedroom door and said, “Sleep tight; don’t let the bed bugs bite,” just before she closed it and blew out two kerosene lamps in the upstairs hallway.
—1—
When Leona awoke at six o’clock on the morning of the 18th, the Nor’easter was at its peak, with the wind howling wildly just outside her window, causing the house to whistle more loudly and more eerily than she had imagined it could. Still, the chilling sound was music to her ears and the sight of the wind-swept snow against the window was more magical than she could have imagined, as she lie there in her warm bed with her little head propped up, nearly surrounded by her fluffy pillows, her eyes barely peeking over the thick blankets covering her body.
After gathering courage, Leona finally jumped out of the warm bed, and upon seeing her breath floating softly in the cold air and feeling it biting her skin, she hurriedly changed into her clothes and then scampered down the stairs, running for the hot, inviting woodstove to seek its warmth. The Wood, Bishop & Company stove, a top of the line woodstove made and sold in nearby Bangor, was purchased by Murdock when the Haleys moved to Glenburn, to replace an older stove that had clearly seen better days. Since then, the ‘Wood&Bishop’, as Murdock was fond of calling it, served as the early morning gathering place for the Haley children, some dressed and some still in their pajamas. They often stood with their backs to the black, cast-iron stove for upwards of fifteen minutes, until the heat soaked into and gradually warmed their tiny bones. Through the fabric of their clothes or pajamas, the skin of their young buttocks and legs initially received the most warmth; and they looked much like pendulums as they suddenly moved away from the stove when its heat was too much for their warm little butts to endure, and then quickly moved back toward its warmth after sufficiently cooling off.
“Oh, that feels soooo good,” Leona said to her mother, while standing with her back to the stove.
Margaret laughed and said: “Don’t stand there too long, Leona, or you’ll overcook those buns of yours.”
Leona giggled.
“We sure got a ton of snow last night, Mama.”
“That we did, dear. And by the looks of it, we’re gonna get a lot more before it’s done. I guess we’re gonna have a white Christmas after all.”
“I sure hope so; I want this to be the best Christmas ever.”
“Get away from that, you little shit!” Leona heard Arlene yell.
“What’s Wally up to now?” Margaret shouted to her daughter, who was in the living room with her pesky little brother.
“He tried to crawl under the Christmas tree again, Mama,” she yelled, “but I’ve got him.”
“Good. Keep him!” Margaret yelled back.
Leona laughed vigorously when she heard the tone of her mother’s voice; and she laughed even harder when she heard Arlene’s response.
“Okay, Mama. I’ll keep an eye on him for a little while longer; then it’s Leona’s turn to suffer. I swear, Wally must’ah been put on this Earth just to aggravate me. I wonder what I did to make God so mad?”
Little did Arlene know how right she was; but she would surely find out in the years to come.
After Leona finally stopped laughing, she asked her mother a question.
“Mama, is Lillian up yet?”
“You’ve gotta be kiddin’, Leona. Chances are, the nor’easter will be long over before she’s up.”
“Yeah, you’re right. Dumb question.”
Leona looked out the kitchen window and saw that the Nor’easter was still going strong.
“What’s the temperature now, Mama?”
Margaret leaned over the kitchen sink and peered out the window at a thermometer Murdock had attached to the window frame that fall.
“It says minus fifteen,” she replied. “But the wind must be close to thirty, so I’m guessin’ it feels more like minus 50 or 60 out there.”
“Brrrrrr. I think I’ll stay right here by this stove all day,” Leona said, causing her mother to smile.
When Leona heard how cold it was outside she was particularly thankful for the heat given off by the kitchen stove on this frigid day, as she and the others were on most wintry days. But heat was not the only thing that lured the children to the cast-iron stove each morning. The smell of their daily breakfast simmering on the Wood&Bishop while being prepared by their mother was often infinitely more alluring than the heat, depending, of course, on the severity of the weather outside. Sometimes Margaret would have bread baking in the oven, and the smell that emanated from its door was almost enough in itself to fill the children’s stomachs; almost, but not quite, because no one could resist the taste of Margaret’s freshly baked homemade bread. Indeed, Murdock and the children knew firsthand that anything coming off that stove, whether it be in the early morning or at any other time of the day, was Margaret’s masterpiece, and that it was something to be savored when it finally entered their mouths.
The Haleys were not alone in their appreciation of her unique talent; everyone in Glenburn knew that Margaret Haley was an especially good cook. And the reason they knew it was because she always volunteered to cook baked beans, New England clam chowder, or whatever else was needed for the free meals that the town served on special occasions to those who were most needy. And, of course, she always complimented those dishes with her most delicious desserts. The talented woman from West Glenburn always made more than enough, and the volunteers who served the meals were glad that she did. Indeed, they were more than happy to take small portions of the leftovers home for their own enjoyment, and Margaret’s food was always the most tasty and, thus, most prized.
Even though Murdock often said that Margaret’s leftovers were more tasty than most people’s freshly baked food, the Haleys were fortunate in that they seldom had to test that thesis. Margaret’s meals were always voraciously devoured, to the last morsel; so much so that vultures would have likely starved if their sole source of nutrition was leftovers from a Haley meal; and this day would be no different, especially with the Nor’easter raging outside, whetting everyone’s appetite and enhancing the need to feed the coffers of their bodies in order for them to stay warm, or more likely, to warm the souls of their bodies, something that Margaret’s meals invariably did whenever they were consumed. Regardless, her life-ensuring meals were greatly appreciated on that snowy day and the following snowy night.
When darkness finally came on the 18th and the storm was still going strong, and showing no signs of letting up, Leona moved hurriedly to get ready for bed. First she lit her pinkish-white kerosene lamp that sat on the nightstand next to her bed. The beautiful light-oak nightstand that her father gave to her last Christmas had a single drawer that the little girl used to store her Holy Bible, her seldom used diary, and some personal items. The bottom of the nightstand was open and served as a bookstand for Leona’s many books, mostly received as birthday or Christmas gifts. The books that she kept there were Heidi, Little Women, Anne of Green Gables, Treasure Island, Kidnapped, Robinson Crusoe, The Last of the Mohicans, Moby Dick, The Call of the Wild, The Sea Wolf, White Fang, The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court, and a large assortment of other books; including some containing fairy tales and bedtime stories that Margaret had once read to her. Margaret knew that it wouldn’t be long before her 8-year-old would be reading stories from those books to little Wally. Leona had finished reading Treasure Island during the day, and now, at 9pm, she intended to start reading Kidnapped, but decided that she was much too tired; so she quickly changed into her pretty, pink nightgown.
As she climbed into bed and laid her head on the soft, cushy pillow, Leona’s thoughts turned to an animated conversation that took place at the Haley kitchen table that night. Margaret was talking about the neighbors, and Murdock was talking about the Red Sox: “Hot stove talk,” he called it. Although Leona’s mother made her laugh when she told a humorous story about a woman who forced her husband to sleep in their cold barn for two straight nights, it was her father’s stories about the Red Sox that were most enjoyable that stormy night. He was ecstatic that “the Sox” had won the World Series for the third time in the last four years, and it made Leona feel good to see him so happy. Lying in her bed right then, Leona had no care in the world. She had wonderful parents who created a safe, loving environment for their family; she had a warm, cozy bedroom of her very own, full of beautiful furniture that her father had made with his own hands; and she had her mother’s good cooking and her parent’s wonderful stories to look forward to every day.
—2—
A few days after the Nor’easter ended, the ground was still covered with more than three feet of snow. But, as if God wanted the Haleys’ first Christmas in Glenburn to be special, light snow fell from the heavens on the night of the 23rd, dumping another two inches of powder on top of the existing blanket of snow. When Leona awoke on the morning of the 24th she looked toward her window to see the sun reflecting brightly off its frost-covered glass; and outside she saw the new sugar-white blanket of snow, also brilliantly lit by the Sun’s rays. And then she looked up to see the cottony-white snow lying softly on the evergreens and also on the bare branches of the now leafless oak, maple, and apple trees, turning the once drab trees of winter into beautiful white monuments. The prettiest of Christmas cards could not compare to what Leona was looking at, and she doubted that a more perfect winter scene could be possible, as she had a few times before and would many, many times to come. Indeed, the sights she now beheld told the little girl that her first Christmas in Glenburn was meant to be special, and for that she was thankful. When asked to give thanks at the supper table that night, she knew just what to say.
“Thank you, Lord, for blessing me and my family with my mother’s wonderful supper, and for the pretty white snow you gave us for Christmas.”
For as long as Leona could remember, the Haleys gave thanks at the supper table. Margaret and Murdock most often gave thanks that they had been blessed with such a loving and healthy family. Easter, Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Independence Day, more commonly known as the Fourth of July, were all special holidays in the Haley household, because everyone was reminded of how fortunate they were to be so blessed. And they were also reminded of how important it was to be living in a country where they could worship the God of their choosing and live together as a family in relative freedom and tranquility.
Leona appreciated that as much as anyone, and she looked forward to this Christmas with more anticipation than ever, mainly because Wally was finally old enough to really experience the joy and excitement of a young child’s Christmas.