They Thought the Widow Stacked Firewood Against Her Barn for Decoration — Until the Ice Storm Came
Chapter 5
Margaret hadn’t seen her granddaughter in nearly a year.
Her name was Lily.
Seven years old.
Curious.
Stubborn.
Always asking questions.
The last time Margaret had seen her, Lily had cried because she didn’t want to leave the farm.
David had carried her to the car.
Since then, silence.
David had blamed Margaret for refusing to sell the farm after Thomas died.
Margaret had refused because the farm was the only thing she had left.
Their argument had become permanent.
Until tonight.
Now David stood in the barn, covered in ice.
“Where are they?”
“Three miles south.”
“Why didn’t you bring them?”
“The road is blocked.”
“Are they injured?”
“No.”
“Then why are you here?”
David’s face broke.
“Because I couldn’t get through.”
Margaret looked at him.
“Tell me exactly where they are.”
He described the house.
Margaret knew it.
A farmhouse near the old mill.
Low ground.
Trees surrounding it.
A terrible place to be during an ice storm.
“How much firewood?”
“Almost none.”
Margaret closed her eyes.
“Do they have a fireplace?”
“Yes.”
“Then we go.”
David stared.
“You’ll come?”
“She’s my granddaughter.”
The sheriff stepped forward.
“I’ll take two deputies.”
Margaret shook her head.
“No.”
“Why?”
“We need people here.”
David looked at her.
“Then I’ll go.”
Margaret hesitated.
“You’re my son.”
“I know.”
“And I don’t want to lose you too.”
David’s eyes filled with tears.
“I don’t want to lose them.”
They left with two volunteers.
The journey took nearly two hours.
Branches blocked the road.
They had to walk the final mile.
When they reached the house, Margaret saw David’s wife, Anna, standing at the window.
She opened the door.
“Mom!”
Margaret nodded.
“Where’s Lily?”
“Upstairs.”
Margaret rushed inside.
Lily was curled beneath blankets.
She looked exhausted.
“Grandma?”
Margaret knelt.
“Hi, sweetheart.”
“You came.”
“Of course.”
“Daddy said you had lots of wood.”
Margaret smiled.
“I do.”
Lily whispered,
“I knew you would.”
Margaret hugged her.
They spent the night in the house.
At sunrise, they began the dangerous journey back.
But the storm had done more damage.
A tree had fallen across the only safe path.
They were trapped.
Margaret examined the tree.
“We can’t move that.”
David looked at her.
“What do we do?”
Margaret pointed toward the creek.
“We take the old logging trail.”
Anna shook her head.
“That’s frozen.”
“Yes.”
“And the bridge?”
“Still there.”
“How do you know?”
Margaret smiled.
“Because I built it.”
They moved carefully.
The bridge held.
By afternoon, they returned to the farm.
Lily ran into the barn.
The children cheered.
Margaret watched her granddaughter disappear into the crowd.
David stood beside her.
“Mom.”
“Yes?”
“I was wrong.”
Margaret said nothing.
“I thought you were wasting money on firewood.”
“I wasn’t.”
“I know.”
He looked toward the stacks.
“You saved us.”
Margaret looked at him.
“You saved yourselves.”
“No.”
David shook his head.
“You prepared for people you didn’t even know.”
Margaret looked away.
“That’s what your father would’ve done.”
David swallowed.
“I miss him.”
“So do I.”
They stood silently.
Then David said,
“Why did you never tell me about the storm plan?”
Margaret looked at him.
“Would you have listened?”
He smiled sadly.
“No.”
“Exactly.”
For the first time in eleven months, they laughed together.
Then the sheriff entered.
His face was serious.
“Margaret.”
“What?”
“We have a problem.”
“How bad?”
“The main highway bridge collapsed.”
Margaret’s expression hardened.
“How many people are trapped?”
“About forty.”
“Where?”
“On the east side.”
“How long?”
“They’ve got maybe twelve hours before their fuel runs out.”
Margaret looked at her firewood.
Then toward the barn.
“We have to get them here.”
The sheriff nodded.
“I was hoping you’d say that.”
