An Untimely Winter Wind

Mary Brunini McArdle

“The only thing I don’t like about the winters here in North Alabama is the wind,” Lottie remarked, probably for the hundredth time.

“None of us do,” Lottie’s lunch companion Edith agreed.  “But it isn’t a bother every single day, Lottie.”

“What mystifies me is—“  Lottie’s face took on a contemplative expression.

“What?”

“Wind on a warm day is pleasant.  I don’t mean the breeze that’s such a relief on a really hot day—I mean a day--say—in the seventies.” Lottie was getting more descriptive by the minute.  “And a day in the seventies in January, when it’s not normal.  Then there’s a special flavor to it, with the dead leaves rustling and whipping around and the dry sticks crackling under your feet.”

Edith’s eyes were becoming glazed but Lottie didn’t notice.  She just went right on.  “And in tornado season, when it’s in the eighties and the wind begins to build and it should make you feel uneasy but it doesn’t because it’s coming from the south and has a tropical quality to it that’s nostalgic of summer days, childhood summer days.”

“Tornados happen all year long, Lottie.”

“I know, but that isn’t what I’m talking about.”

Lottie and Edith were close friends, retired women in their early sixties.  They were opposites in many ways, but had one thing in common.  Whenever either woman got into something they could talk for hours without end.  And woe to anyone who interrupted.  Each of the friends had learned to give the other the reins in these circumstances.  Edith could repeat conversations word for word, while Lottie’s discourses were more imaginative or philosophical in nature.

Edith and Lottie lived alone about five miles from one another.  Content with individual pursuits, the pair were loyal and always interested in seeing each other or just talking on the phone.  Scarcely a day went by without some kind of contact.  Two vastly different worlds merged smoothly together—Lottie had six grandchildren and dabbled in poetry and worked on her word processor and browsed antique stores; Edith had never married and played endless computer games with people around the world.  Lottie liked to spend most nights by herself; Edith loved to go to concerts or movies.

“You lived in Dallas for a long time and loved it,” Edith reminded her friend as they got up to pay their checks.  “It was windy most of the time there, wasn’t it?”

“That was different.  Dallas was different.”

“What about those visits to Chicago?  Isn’t it called the ‘Windy City’?”

“Visits don’t count,” Lottie said crispy.  “Feel that?  Bright sunshine in November and cold wind at least thirty miles an hour!  Nasty.”

“Well, I’m going home and play some bridge online.  See you later, Lottie.”

Lottie waved, and decided to stop by the mall on her way home.  She could use a  diversion to help her ignore the weather.

She drove into her garage around half past four, a gust of wind whipping her hair as she retrieved her recycle bin from the edge of the driveway.  It’ll die down after dark, she consoled herself.  Front came through last night—the wind will die down for the night and it will get even colder.

She was greeted by her pair of cats, a male brown tabby with the typical apple green eyes (called “Browning” after the English poet), and a black and white female named “Portia” (from The Merchant Of Venice).  She fed them right away, knowing there would be no quiet in the house until she did.  The cats would chirp and prance on her toes nonstop demanding their food.         

Meanwhile she could look forward to supper and some television around seven, and for now, write out a few bills.  Lottie relished a quiet dinner and a TV thriller to go along with the food, which sounds incongruous, but it wasn’t to Lottie.  She liked fast-paced shows and rental movies, even a little horror sometimes.  Unlike the practical and realistic Edith, Lottie had a vivid imagination. 

It was after supper when Lottie noticed the wind was still up outside.  Portia and Browning paced around the house, obviously restless.  Neither insisted on a place on her lap.  “It’s eight o’clock,” she muttered.  “There shouldn’t be any wind now.”

She paused her movie and switched to the weather channel.  Eventually the local forecast came on and there was no mention of wind gusts; actually light and variable winds were expected.

Lottie got up and looked out the living room window.  Her trees were swaying and the sky looked foggy near the street lamp.  Lottie liked weather and paid a great deal of attention to it, despite the fact that Huntsville, Alabama is one of the most difficult places in the country to get an accurate forecast. 

 “That wind should be blowing any fog away,” she said aloud.  “Strange weather tonight.  I think I’ll call Edith.”  Lottie picked up her phone.

“Edith—is it windy at your house?  It should have died down after dark and it’s still—oh, it isn’t windy there?  How odd—oh, you have another call coming in?  I’ll let you go, then.”

“Well, that’s that!” Lottie said.  “Edith will be on the phone now the rest of the evening.”  Lottie turned on her computer, noticing an hour later Portia hadn’t been in the room.  Unusual—Portia always wanted to be in Lottie’s lap when she was trying to work.

“A good hot bath,” Lottie murmured.  Both cats were at the living room window.  Lottie kept her shades a foot up to prevent Portia and Browning from destroying them.

Crash!  “Lottie looked outside, concerned.  She saw nothing, but the wind was even higher.

Browning didn’t walk the rim of the tub while Lottie was in it.  That was unusual also.

Later Lottie nestled on her queen-sized bed, necessary because both cats shared it.  Portia posed on the extra pillow, while the large male curled up at Lottie’s feet.  The bedroom was snug and cozy, despite the wind whistling outside.  Lottie felt unsettled; it took a long time for her to fall asleep.

She awakened around midnight with a start, then realized how quiet it was.  The cats were glued to the bedroom window.  Lottie got up; the air was frigid near the window.  Lottie peered out and gasped.  It was snowing!  Never had it snowed in Huntsville in November!

Flakes blew merrily in front of the street light—a steady snow with no sign of letting up.  Already huge drifts confined Lottie’s view to her own yard.  I don’t care if it’s midnight, she thought.  I’m calling Edith.

But when Lottie tried both her phones there was no dial tone.  She switched on her bedroom TV and got a blank screen.

It’s like I’m cut off from the whole world, Lottie thought.  But I don’t feel scared.  I—I feel sort of fascinated.

She used her microwave to make herself a mug of hot tea and went to the window again, this time awestruck, because outside there was pure magic.  A gigantic sled rested at the side of her house, and in it sat a woman with upswept black hair, a tiara of diamonds (or icicles?) and a cloak with an ermine collar.  Her eyes were almost black; tints of pale blue gleamed in the folds of her cloak.  At her feet sat a dark-haired child.

Lottie decided to go outside.   She felt almost compelled—unable to resist.  She opened her back door carefully and made her way toward the sled.  The child glanced up and looked around.  “What an ugly house you have,” he murmured.  “I don’t like it.  I like the cold better.”

“Your heart is frozen, Kay,” Lottie whispered, realizing at once who he was.  “And you have a splinter in your eye.  You can’t see things right and you can’t even feel the cold.  I know your story.  In fact, I think I’m in your story.  And I’m going to break this spell.”

Lottie still had her mug of tea in her hand.  It had cooled to lukewarm.  Ignoring the Queen’s dark eyes filled with hatred, Lottie poured some tea down Kay’s little chest, and then remembering the splinter, poured some more in his eyes.

He began to shiver and cry and turned his back, the Queen’s lips curving in a malicious, triumphant smile.

“Kay,” Lottie said, “it’s all right.  Gerda’s coming.  She’ll be here soon.”

The little boy rubbed his hands across his face and stammered, “G-Gerda?  Gerda’s coming?”

“Oh, yes.  And you,” Lottie addressed the Snow Queen, “you might as well leave.  Your power did--left.”

The Queen emitted a hiss and pushed Kay off the sled into the snow.  Then she faded, piece by piece, first her sled, then her crown, then her horses until nothing was left but a pair of glittering eyes.  A few more moments and they also were gone.  But the enormous drifts of snow remained.

“It will take a while for Gerda to arrive, because she has to travel great distances and make her way through many hurdles, some dangerous,” Lottie said.  “Let’s go inside and I’ll make you some hot chocolate.”

“But, when Gerda comes, how will she find me?”

“We won’t stay in the house,” Lottie declared.  “I’ll get blankets to keep us warm and we’ll come back out to wait.”

Goodness, Lottie thought.  It’s November and isn’t it in the spring that Gerda finally gets to the Snow Queen’s palace?  Doesn’t the reindeer set her down in a garden and then summer comes in all its glory?  How is this going to work out?

“Lottie!  she said aloud.  “Hush!  No worries.  Magic is at work here.”

She wrapped Kay in several blankets and handed him the chocolate. She added another blanket for herself on top of her coat.  The two of them sat for a long time.

The first sign of dawn came and with it a reindeer with a barefoot girl in ragged clothing on his back.  Scattered red berries appeared on the snow at the reindeer’s feet.

“Gerda!  It’s Gerda!”  Kay dropped his chocolate mug and jumped up and down with excitement.The little girl dismounted and kissed the reindeer.  Colored light flared across the sky as the animal departed.

The snow began to melt and roses popped up on the ground.  The air warmed and suddenly Gerda and Kay were young adults.  She was beautiful, he quite handsome.  They stood drinking in the sight of each other and Kay gave her a bouquet of red roses which had miraculously appeared in his hands.

Now Lottie was able to see across the street, but instead of the house that should have been there, she observed an odd little town and two cottages facing each other.  Flowers covered the rooftops; an old woman stood at a window smiling.

The air warmed even more and Lottie’s yard sprouted blooms of every description.  Kay and Gerda turned toward Lottie and waved.  Then they walked toward the cottages and all of it, the town, the flowers, the patches of snow, and the reunited Kay and Gerda, dispersed into the sunrise.  The weather returned to a normal November morning, crisp and cold.

“Edith, hi.  You’ll never guess what happened!  Late last night it snowed briefly at my house.  What?  I know, but it did go down to thirty-five degrees.”  Lottie reached down and absently rubbed Browning’s soft head.  “Anyway,” Lottie continued, “the wind blew the snow into a couple of tiny drifts.  I didn’t see any on the street or the yard next door, though.  Isn’t that the wildest thing you ever heard?”

She’ll never believe I was in a Hans Christian Anderson fairy tale all night, Lottie thought.  Nope.  Won’t even mention that. 

Mary Brunini McArdle has published extensively and has won numerous prizes in fiction, poetry, nonfiction, and short plays.  Recently she has been publishing online in such journals as COMBAT MAGAZINE, BEWILDERING STORIES, THE TRUTH, SACRED TWILIGHT, APHELION, and others.