When we finally pulled into the barn, Jack’s parents rushed out with flashlights in hand.
“Thank God you’re OK,” Alda said.
“We’re fine.” Jack unhitched Moonbeam.
Lars stepped in and tended to Bubbles. “You had us worried,” he said gruffly.
“Kat’s mom called three times,” Alda said.
“The storm just blew up so quickly.” Jack’s head dropped as he led Moonbeam into her stall. “We had a hard time with the team.”
A howl of wind rattled the rafters of the old wooden structure. Jack’s parents were aware of his special immunity to the cold, but they were not aware of his weather-wielding abilities. His grandmother had thought it best to keep quiet about it, even to his parents. “For their protection,” had been her cryptic warning to Jack. And as much as I, too, kept my abilities from my parents, owing to a Stork oath, I, at least, had Hulda and my sister Storks for guidance and advice. Jack had no one except his grandmother and me. And neither of us was exactly a bucket of know-how. She had vague centuries-old legends of the special among the Veturfolk to offer. I had only a profound belief in our combined fates to comfort him.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Alda said. “It looks like it’s picking up again. We better get inside.”
Eerily backlit by the fireplace, Jack’s amma sat at the family room’s picture window, entranced by the falling flakes. She had pulled up a straight-back chair and was munching from the popcorn bowl; a string of abandoned garland sat at her feet.
“Powers are out. Powers are out,” she repeated.
“Yes, Mom,” Lars said. “The phones are, too.”
As much as I wanted to believe that she was talking about gas and electricity, she had said “powers”— plural. After the whole palm-reading thing, it had me wondering.
It took several minutes, but Lars was finally able to coax her away from the window. We set up in front of the fireplace, where it had been decided we’d sleep. We listened to the radio until well after midnight. With the exception of Jack, we huddled in blankets and crowded the fire. Jack’s amma had the occasional outburst, but she soon settled. I hadn’t been able to get hold of my mom, and I was worried. Though I knew she was with Stanley and Afi, her fireplace was gas with an electric starter. Also, I doubted she had a crank or battery-operated radio like the Snjossons’.
I watched Jack get up frequently, pace up and down the room, and stare out the window at the drifting snow, which continued to fall. By the sounds of their rhythmic breathing, I knew his family was asleep. Finally I got up, drew a blanket around me, and joined Jack at the window.
“What exactly happened tonight?” I asked.
“A big mistake.”
“Was that all you?” I whispered.
He nodded his head reluctantly. “Once I got it started, I couldn’t turn it off.”
“I thought you’d been practicing.”
“I thought I had, too. It’s just . . . There’s so many variables to consider. I practiced in the fall, when the preexisting air temperature wasn’t as cold. I didn’t factor in how quickly winter air masses would grab. I was always alone, too. You . . . I didn’t factor in you.” He was so gloomy it was material, gathering at his feet in a cloud of gray matter like Pig-Pen, Charlie Brown’s sidekick. I wanted to absolve him of his self-reproach, remind him that it had been my idea. By the set of his shoulders, I knew that now was not the time.
On Christmas morning we woke to a ghostly white landscape. Snow lay in stiff peaks like a meringue topping. Tree trunks were buried, drifts crept up the side of the house and barns, and not a path or driveway was visible. The radio news made a big deal out of the fact that it was a snowstorm the likes of which hadn’t been seen in almost two hundred years. Over thirty-eight inches of snow were recorded in Duluth, topping the charts and breaking all records since 1819, the date Fort Snelling was settled and weather events first measured. Our local snowfall was even higher, with estimates coming in at over forty inches. The phone and power lines were still down, and flights in and out of Duluth and International Falls were grounded. Motorists were stranded, as were rescue crews. Plows had to dig out plows. The governor had declared a state of emergency, with damages expected to exceed fifty million dollars.
But worse than all that — far, far worse — was the report of an accident. A car, carrying a family of three, had gone off a steep embankment, and a five-year-old boy had died. Hearing that was like a bullet to the chest.
After that news, Jack retreated to his room, skulking off without looking at me. I knew why. Though he’d been too kind to say it out loud, it was all my fault.
I went to the bathroom to cry in private. I collapsed onto the toilet, burying my face in my hands. I couldn’t believe how arrogant and irresponsible I’d been. I had a gift: the ability to deliver souls. I’d found my match: another being of special abilities. And what had been my reaction to such fortune? I’d coaxed Jack into using his powers recklessly. There, in the Snjossons’ half bath, wiping snot from my nose, I vowed somehow, some way, to make amends.