A Week in Winter

[marzipan]

This story is set in the U.S. - in rural Maine, 1933 (during the Great Depression). Fellow historical fiction enthusiasts... this one's for you. 😉 It'll be seven parts in all, as I'm imagining it now. Hope y'all enjoy! 

1: Saturday.

Collecting firewood and well water in the pitch dark before the dim January sunrise was my least favorite chore. Despite being a grown woman of 28, I still murmured passive-aggressive and unnecessarily snide commentary about the respective laziness/worthlessness/etc. of my fellow householders who were still snoozing in their comfortable beds as I froze my ears off. My grandma often used the colorfully homespun expression “colder than a witch’s tit,” and that was certainly apropos of this bleak morning.

My family ran a boarding house, so we were always crammed in tight, cheek-by-jowl with residents old and new. Yet, despite living in a tiny house with eighteen other people, I was always the lucky duck who got to haul my weary bones to the woodshed first thing in the morning. I occasionally whined about the injustice of it all, but my complaints always fell on unsympathetic ears. To be fair, we all had our share of unpleasant tasks to do. I didn’t envy my aunt Rosy who did all the floor scrubbing, for sure, or my sister Rebecca who tended our pigs in fine and foul weather - but being fair, accurate-minded, or good-spirited doesn’t come naturally to me at 4:45 a.m.

  Perhaps because I was so distracted by my own moaning and groaning, I didn’t hear the crunch of a boot in snow until an unfamiliar gentleman was about twenty feet from me, advancing slowly through the thick drifts. He was wearing a tatty coat that had seen better days, a knitted scarf that had clearly been mended on more than one occasion, and a knitted cap pulled down low over his forehead. I hated to think of how many holes were probably eating their way into the soles of his boots. “Excuse me - ma’am?” 

I fixed him with a stare as icy as the ground underneath my feet, figuring to unnerve him until I knew what it was he wanted. “Yes?”

“Do you live at that boarding house over yonder?” He had stopped about fifteen feet away from me, and I had to strain to hear his quiet voice. He didn’t mumble, exactly, but his soft Southern drawl didn’t carry across the frigid wind’s whistle. 

“...Yes, I do. Why?” 

“I was wondering if you had any work that I might do in exchange for a place to stay, just until this storm blows over. I’m a fair hand at carpentry, and I grew up on a farm, so I know livestock.  If you’ve got space anywhere, I’d be grateful.” He was too bundled up for me to see his face clearly, but his lilting twang sounded sincere enough. 

“All our rooms are taken right now, but I bet  we can figure something out. I’m not really the person to ask, anyway - that’d be my granddad. I’ll introduce you, if you’d like. What’s your name, Mr.--?” 

“Lewis.” He inclined his head deferentially 

“Well, Mr. Lewis, you come on with me. My name’s Dove Farlow.”

He murmured “Thank you, ma’am” before picking up my bucket of well water unprompted. He waited to start walking until I did and hung just a step or two behind me, letting me lead the way. 

Once we were inside and I pointed out where he should put his things, I could get a good look at him. I liked what I saw. Curly black hair, very untamed - clearly he hadn’t been around someone who could give him a good haircut for a few months. Dark eyes framed by thick eyelashes and eyebrows. Strong five o’clock shadow. An aquiline nose that looked like it’d been broken a time or two. Square jaw. Little gap between his front teeth. I sucked in a breath when he got his coat off and I saw his right arm was in a very homemade-looking sling, but I didn’t say anything. Mama would have plenty to say about it, so I didn’t need to.

“You sit down, Mr. Lewis. Let me get Granddad.” I pointed him to a chair. I was a little sorry to leave him to Granddad’s questioning. I already knew that Granddad would never turn anyone out into the snow, but I was equally positive Mr. Lewis was in for the inquisition. 

He nodded, settling down before a sudden sharp intake of breath seemed to surprise him as much as it did me. A sneeze rocked him forward before he got his elbow tucked over his nose and mouth. “He’htshhuuuh-ghhk! Hssh-ghhk!” He clenched his jaw to stymie the second outburst, but it shook through him hard and seemed to leave his eyes a little hazy in their already-obvious tiredness. He sniffled thickly and cleared his throat, reaching to rummage in his pocket before pulling out a handkerchief. “I’m sorry. Excuse me, ma’am.” 

I could feel my face blazing with a heat that I couldn’t possibly explain away, to myself or anyone else. “Um… I’ll… I’ll be right back.”

Once I rounded up Granddad and unleashed him to interrogate our newcomer, I was tempted to try to find chores that’d let me hang around the kitchen and hear what was what. So, I started knocking around the pantry, trying to look busy in case anyone walked by, straining my ears for any audible words. Unfortunately, I could hear Granddad much better than Mr. Lewis, and I already knew Granddad’s routine. Granddad would ask a million uncomfortably personal questions (“You a gambling man?... You ever done any time?... You got any kids?... How much debt you’ve got?”) and if the prospective boarder “flunked” the test… he’d let them stay anyway, even if they couldn’t pay a damn thing and never would. Granddad’s bark was worse than his bite.

His bark, though, was still loud and commanding: “Where you traveling from, son?”

“Mississippi.”

Granddad let out a long, low whistle. “You’re a long way from home. How long have you been on the road?”

“A while. Four years, I guess.”

“Yeah? And how old were you when you left?”

“24.”

“You sending money home to someone? You got a wife and kids?” 

I could hear a soft chuckle before Mr. Lewis spoke. I liked the way he laughed - low and husky. “I’m just sending money home to my mama when I can, sir. There ain’t nobody else.”

I wasn’t sure if that answer counted for or against Mr. Lewis in Granddad’s invisible ledger, but it was a plus in my book.

“No wife? Why not?” That’s the grandfather I know, love, and am simultaneously in awe of and embarrassed by. 

Another low, mellow laugh. “Well, sir, that’d be because I’m no catch.” I didn’t hear anything approaching bitterness; just genuine good humor. 

My sister, Lisbeth, tiptoed over to me, arms full of clean laundry. Clearly she was just starting on the day’s tasks. She was six years younger than me, but already engaged to be married, and to a lawyer  - so a bit of a success story, as far as my family was concerned. “Who’s Granddad talking to?”

“Just a new boarder. Nothing special.” I sounded a little defensive even to my own ears, but Lisbeth didn’t seem to think so. She didn’t have any compunction about throwing the pantry door open and waltzing into the kitchen, interrupting Granddad’s inquisition with an airy “Good morning!” Mr. Lewis stood up as soon as Lisbeth  walked in to drop the laundry on the kitchen table. A gentleman, I see. I trailed in behind her, determinedly looking anywhere but his face. 

“Oh, sir - what happened to your arm? Does it hurt? Is it broken?” Lisbeth approached him with a tender concern, reaching impulsively for his arm until he flinched away.  

“I… don’t know for sure, Miss. No chance to ask a doctor about it.” 

I’ll admit to a twinge of annoyance as Lisbeth pulled a blanket from the laundry pile, draping it around Mr. Lewis with gentle softness. I hadn’t noticed until she did, but he was shivering hard. He managed a grateful but shaky smile before he pulled back and twisted away from her, bringing his elbow up to cup his jaw. “H’eeh’hshuuuh! Ah--ah–rrshuuuuh!” The second sneeze bent him forward hard and rattled in his chest as he sucked in a recovering breath. I thought there might be a third one coming, but it seemed like he couldn’t find enough air to fuel it. 

Granddad clicked his tongue suspiciously. “You coming down with something, son?” Mr. Lewis didn’t have a chance to respond. He was still blinking dazedly as Lisbeth intervened for him cheerfully. “It’s the change in temperature, right, sir? It always gets me, too. How about some hot coffee? Have you had breakfast?” 

Mr. Lewis ran his knuckles under his pinkening nose and sniffed sharply before drawing himself up to respond. “I don’t want to be any trouble - “

Lisbeth laughed, patting him warmly on his uninjured shoulder. “Dove and I were just getting breakfast ourselves. No trouble at all.” She was lying, of course - I’d already eaten, and she probably had too. I raised my eyebrows at her, and she blithely pretended not to notice. “You just sit right back down - I’m sorry, what’s your name?”

“Alexander. Alexander Lewis.” Of course Lisbeth got his first name. 

“Of course, Mr. Lewis - you just sit down right there. Granddad - Grandma was looking for you. Something about a leak in the gutters, I think?” Lisbeth’s eyes were so sweet and innocent, it was hard to tell if she was doing a bit more fibbing to get Granddad out of the room. I had my suspicions. However, even if she was doing some truth-stretching, I couldn’t argue with her tactics or the outcome, since Granddad immediately stood up to go. “Well, Mr. Lewis, as Dove probably told you, all our rooms are taken at the moment. However, Mr. and Mrs. Goldstein are leaving in a week to go visit their kids in Connecticut. You can take their room once it’s free, if that suits you. I’m sure we can find some way for you to swap work for rent. In the meantime - well, we’ve got a hayloft. The barn has an old potbelly stove, so it’ll at least take the edge off the cold. How about it?”

Most folks passing through who were down on their luck took Granddad up on that offer before he finished the sentence. I was surprised to register more than a split-second of hesitation before Mr. Lewis responded. “Thank you, sir. Yes. I’m grateful.” Granddad extended his hand to shake on it, and, after another moment’s pause - this one probably due to the social awkwardness of not being able to shake with his bandaged right hand - Mr. Lewis cautiously extended his left to seal the deal. 

As soon as Granddad shuffled out of the room, Lisbeth turned back to Mr. Lewis with a glowing smile. “You must be freezing. Dove - you put some of that water on the stove. You need another blanket, sir?” He shook his head, but I could see his shoulders still trembling under the shawl-like blanket Lisbeth had draped over him. “Well, good gracious, honey, you’ve got a heartier constitution than I do. Let me just slip in there and put another log on the fire, huh?” Lisbeth’s bustling around the kitchen seemed to have a soothing effect on our guest; he relaxed back into his chair with a quiet sigh. 

I tried not to watch him like a hawk, taking my cues from Lisbeth’s casual nonchalance. Lisbeth didn’t usually go wrong in moments like this, whereas I was generally more or less adrift. When I finally met his eye to hand him a mug of scalding hot black coffee, I didn’t expect him to already be watching me, but he was. “Thank you, Miss Farlow.” His warm, crinkly-eyed grin was disarming. 

I pursed my lips, quickly hiding my flusteredness. “For heaven’s sake, no need for ‘Miss Farlow.’ I’m Dove. Just Dove.”

He accepted the mug with another deferential nod. “Right. Thank you, Dove.”

 

 

 

[AceUpYourSleeve]

Wonderfully written! I already like the setting and characters; plus the way you introduced them here. Although I don't have a good grasp of US history, this sounds really promising. Just like Mr. Lewis sneezes 😉

[Guessagain]

Aww! Can't wait for this to be continued!

[Hyacinth]

Ahh! The hayloft is open... i like where this is going😉😏

 

Can't wait for chapter 2!! 

[ThatSneezyGirl]

Your writing is amazing 😍 I can’t wait for the next part!!!

[starpollen]

Very promising! 

[Catsgotyourtounge]

Omg please continue 

[orange]

oh I like it ! thank you 🧡

[sickprincess]

Ooh I can’t wait to see where this goes!!