Cold

FICTION Cold________________________________ Laura Weddle IT WAS THE KIND OF COLDJANUARY DAY that cast a vague uneasy pall, like the sky might suddenly discharge a great avalanche of snow, and smother the whole world. Between routine household chores CaIHe had made several trips to the window to look outside, but the cold gray air never seemed to move or change color, and only the moving hands on her clock told her that the day was wearing on into mid-afternoon. She checked the coal bucket to see if she ought to refill itbefore it got any later. It was still half full, but she knew she would need more before dark, and if she brought in another bucket and used it sparingly, there might even be enough to last through the night. The decision made, she took her black wool overcoat from the hook beside the door. She stepped outside, and a blast of cold air forced her backward, stinging and burning her nose and cheeks. Moving carefully, she walked to the wooden steps that led off her porch to the frozen ground below. Athin coating of ice made her wary, and she grasped the railing, taking the steps very slowly, one after the other. When she got to the bottom she pulled the coat closer around her and walked the few steps to the shed, where the ton of coal that Eldon had ordered lay in a scattered black pile. "Now where is that shovel?" she wondered aloud, and then saw it on the other side of the pile where she had dropped it early that morning. It hurt her back to bend over, but she put one hand on her hip to brace herself, and bent over to shovel the pieces into the bucket, filling it almost to the top. She stood and rested for a minute or two before starting the slow climb back up the steps. She didn't see the small patch of coal about half way up, probably dropped on her first trip to the coal pile. Her foot slipped, scattering the coal, and tearing her hand from the railing. She felt herself falling, and fought to catch herself, but felt only empty cold air closing around her. Fear grabbed her throat, choking a scream, and then she heard the familiar voice behind her. "Callie! What on earth do you think you're doing? Why didn't you wait till I got home to carry that coal in?" She felt George's arms lift her, bringing her up the steps and into the house. He carried her to the bed 30 in the small room beside the kitchen and laid her on top of the patchwork quilt. Working swiftly, he pulled another quilt from the oak chifforobe and wrapped it around her. He went back into the kitchen, and she heard the sound of water being poured into the coffeepot. "You just lay there and rest while I make some hot coffee." Waves of sleep engulfed her, and she wanted to relax and surrender to them. Instead, she was aroused by George, speaking to her as he came back into the room, carrying the steaming coffee. "Here, Callie, drink this. Don't go to sleep right now. How do you feel? You don't reckon you hurt the baby when you fell, do you?" She wanted to answer him, and tried to, but her eyes kept closing. Only the hot liquid entering her mouth as he held the cup and cradled her head against his shoulder kept her from drifting off. She placed her hand over his. Together they felt the familiar movement of a tiny hand or foot moving across the width of her stomach. Smiling, she thought of how much George wanted a boy and how happy she was that their long wait was almost over. They sat there for a long time, Callie's head resting on his shoulder, George stroking her hair and arranging the quilt around her feet to keep themwarm. Through the window onthe other side ofthe room she could see snow falling like a great gray cape, shrouding the barebranches ofthe oaks and maples down by the creek...