*Once Spring Comes

Intro: There were two snowstorms this week. I know that it isn't even Halloween yet, but I felt like writing a snowy story.

The snow drifted down, reflected in the headlights of the train. Martha pulled the sled along behind her as she trudged along the side of the tracks. The firewood pressed the runners down so far the front of the sled pushed through the snow like a plow. As the cars trundled past she counted them. Unlike walking along the side of the road with horses and carriages, Martha had little fear of slush splattering her. She was already wet from the day’s journey. Spring could not come soon enough.

When she reached the divide in the track she turned west, the snow now blowing in her face. She hunched her shoulders, wishing to readjust the scarf around her neck. She’d already tried once and it had only allowed more snow in before settling back exactly where it had been. The soft wool was soaked through and scratchy.

A light to her right caught her attention and he adjusted her course. Walking from the tracks to her small home was dangerous with limited visibility. She was just glad the lamp had kept enough oil. She knocked the snow off her boots as habit and pulled the sled inside with her. The snow from the logs fell to the ground in small trails. The lamp in the window she would leave lit, but never the fireplace. She’d lost a house that way.

The remnants of her last gathered firewood went in the fireplace, while the snow covered wood went in the corner to dry. She used the lamp to start the fire. The fire gave enough light for her to examine her cottage. It looked exactly the same as she had left it. Ever since her husband and two sons died from the plague three years earlier, it always looked empty and felt cold.

She put a pot of water on to heat and methodically removed her outerwear. She exchanged every wet article of clothing for a dry, albeit, cold one.

She ate a dinner of stale bread and salted meat and sat on her bed. Winter was half over, and already she felt the strain of waking each morning to the cold, empty room. Last year it had only been for the last two weeks. Once spring arrived she was able to forget the troubles as she worked as a medicine woman of sorts. With the faint firelight dancing on the walls, she curled up in a blanket and fell asleep.

A wail woke Martha. The fire was embers, and her breath misted before her. She sat up, the blanket still wrapped around her shoulders, and listened. The wail came again. The window was frosted and it was too dark to see anything anyways. She moved to the door and opened it a crack. The cold air forced in, but the snow and wind had calmed. The wail came again, louder.

“Who’s there?” Her voice cracked from disuse.

Something bumped against her legs. She scurried back and looked down. An albino cat crawled out of the snow and collapsed on the dirt floor. Martha stared at it. She hated cats. She always told her children not to feed them. They were excellent mousers but did not belong indoors. The red eyes looked around, unfocused. Like many albinos, Martha realized it must be nearly blind. It wailed again. Not a meow, but moving and heart wrenching. It seemed to sense the direction of the warmth and crawled towards the fireplace.

As it approach a coal Martha scooped it up in a panic. “Careful.”

The cat wriggled and she nearly dropped it.

The draft from the door made them both shiver.

Martha moved to the door and looked out at the snow. She shut the door and moved to her bed, pulling her now dry scarf off the rack. With the cat wrapped in the scarf and the fireplace walled off by firewood, a safe distance away, Martha climbed back into bed, the cat at the foot of the bed. Martha fell back to sleep.

Fur up Martha’s nose woke her. She batted the cat away and frowned. She put the cat back on the scarf at the foot of the bed. The rest of the night was a battle of where the cat would sleep. By dawn the cat was asleep at the foot, cradling part of the scarf between its paws. Martha woke and got to work, devising something the cat could eat. She soaked some of the salted meat in hot water to soften it. As she stared out at the sun, she realized that this was the first sunrise of winter she’d seen since the death of her family. Before she had remained in bed long after she should have risen. She turned to the cat on the bed and set the meat down.

The cat raised its head and seemed to look right at her.

“This does not mean you can stay in the house once spring comes.”