The Storm

By Susan Anderson

“Linda Jean, haven’t you ever seen snow before?” Linda jumped and looked into the amused eyes of her fifth grade teacher, Miss Behne. “I’m sorry,” Linda replied, her face slowly coloring. “I love to watch the fat, swirly snowflakes.” Her answer made Bruce Hinds titter. Linda turned to glare at him. Then with a jaunty toss of her braids, she turned back to her book.

Suddenly a curtain was drawn across the sky. The pale afternoon sun ceased filtering its feeble rays through the falling snow, and the room became as shadowy as at sundown. A shiver seemed to shake the old school. Miss Behne glanced out the window apprehensively and said quickly, “All right, class, let’s finish our reading. We may have to leave school early today.”

Linda tried concentrating on the words before her, but Mrs. Mallory’s adventures in the book weren’t nearly as appealing as the world outside the window. The tempo of the falling snowflakes had increased, and the keening wind began an eerie, ominous whistling that meant only one thing in the north country—BLIZZARD! The old brick school was a landmark nestled among the patriarchal pines in the rolling hills. All the students lived on farms in the surrounding countryside. For some, like Linda, it was a long bus ride home.

A restlessness passed through the room like waves on a rough lake. Suddenly one of the seventh graders opened the classroom door and delivered a message from the principal: “School will be dismissed early today because of the approaching storm.”

Filled with excitement, the children and their teacher prepared to leave, chattering about the storm and the distinct possibility of no school the next day. Linda was a little surprised that they were letting out so early, because the storm wasn’t bad yet. Minnesotans were accustomed to violent winter storms.

Aboard the bus, Linda called to her little brothers, Rich and Randy, as they scrambled into the bus together, laughing at the whirling cold whiteness. As the bus rumbled slowly over the country roads, Linda gazed out the window, fascinated once more by the way the snow whooshed and swirled. The steady click-clack of the windshield wipers reminded her of the chch-poo, chch-poo of milking machines. She shivered a little, remembering stories of farmers getting lost just going from their houses to their barns. But that animals had to be cared for, no matter what, was a rule every farm child grew up knowing.

It was cold on the bus. The wind whistled through every crack. Still four more stops before home, she thought. Arriving home was always a cherished part of Linda’s day. Coming into the warm kitchen filled with wonderful smells and music was a delight. Always there was music. Often she and her mother would polka together around the large kitchen as they worked.

Mother was lively and full of fun, whereas Dad seemed more like the river meandering through their farm—deep, steady, quiet. Linda was often with him for hours with few words passing between them.

Linda frowned as she remembered how frustrated her mother had sounded the other day. “All we ever do is work, eat, and sleep. We need to have fun, too,” she had complained to her husband. Linda knew life on the farm could be hard, but she loved it. Her mother’s words were puzzling and disturbing.

“Come on, Lindy, wake up! We’re home!” Rich shouted, punching her arm on his way to the door of the bus. Startled, she realized the bus had stopped. She hurried to follow her brothers.

Darkness began to enfold them. The children struggled through the thick snow to get to the golden warmth of the kitchen. However, to their surprise, no delightful smells greeted them as they stamped into the house. Shrugging out of their pile-lined jackets, they all talked at once, happily emptying out their day to their mother. But today she wasn’t listening.

“Leave your things on,” she told them. “We’re going over to the Bensen’s for supper tonight.”

“In this storm?” Randy asked, his eyes wide with surprise.

Suddenly Dad was standing in the doorway. Tall, lean, and hard, the only softness in him was that which radiated from his eyes when he looked at someone or something he loved. “No, I’m afraid not,” he declared. “We’d have to be crazy to go out tonight, the way this storm is building up.”

“Oh, Jake!” Mother cried, disappointed. “It’s only a half mile up the road. Surely we can make it that far! You’ve got us through bad storms before. Laurie’s been working all day on this supper. It’s ready and waiting for us. And if the storm keeps up, they’ve arranged for us to stay the night.”

Dad looked at the row of expectant faces. “Well, they’ll think we’re nuts to show up in this storm, but let’s go,” he said.

Linda wasn’t worried about going out into the blizzard. Dad was a powerful man. If he decided to go, everything would be all right.

The car moved slowly down the road through the whirling snow and blackness. When they reached the Bensen’s, they were welcomed into the warmth with friendly teasing and heavenly smells of roast beef and apple pie.

The clink of silverware was punctuated with much laughter and talk as they ate. Linda’s father leaned back with a contented sigh, lacing his hands behind his head. “Laurie, it was truly worth coming through a blizzard for such a feast.”

“Well, thank you, Jake,” Mrs. Bensen replied, beaming.

“Have you done your chores yet?” Mr. Bensen asked Dad quietly.

“No,” he replied ruefully, “and I’d better get going while I still can.”

“I’ll go with you,” Mr. Bensen said in a voice that brushed aside any objections. Linda’s father would have gone if the situation were reversed. It was their way.

They armed themselves to do battle against the storm. Heavy thermal underwear was topped with layers of loose clothing and heavy coats. Moving like knights in armor, they went out the door and into the storm.

The joy of the evening went out with the men, and somehow the gloom of the storm came in. Linda usually loved the ritual of the dishes when she helped her mother and Mrs. Bensen. They would sing in harmony and chatter cheerfully. Tonight there was no singing and little conversation.

As the evening wore on, the younger children played themselves into exhausted heaps on makeshift beds scattered around the floor. Linda curled up on some blankets, but sleep would not come. She kept thinking about her father and Mr. Bensen. Her thoughts drifted to some of the special times she’d spent with her Dad. She remembered asking, “Why can’t the cow kick when you hold up her tail, Dad?”

“Oh, she can move around a little, but it kind of paralyzes the kicking muscles so she can’t really kick hard.”

Linda’s thoughts whirled again to the story of the farmer who had been found frozen to death after the last blizzard. Even though he had tied a rope from his house to the barn, he had lost his hold on it somehow and had died just a foot or two from the house!

Frightened by her thoughts, Linda crept quietly toward the kitchen, feeling her way in the darkened house. One tiny light burned over the kitchen table where her mother and Mrs. Bensen huddled together, waiting. Something in their voices made her uneasy. She hung back in the shadows.

“Oh, they should be back by now! My husband would never have come if I hadn’t insisted. Now they’re both in danger, and it’s my fault. Even if you forgive me, Laurie, I’m not sure I can ever forgive myself. If anything happens to them …” Mother’s voice trailed off as she put her head into her hands.

Laurie reached out to comfort her friend and saw Linda standing just beyond the door. “Oh, honey,” she said, surprised, “aren’t you asleep yet?”

A lump filled Linda’s throat as she blinked back tears. Wordless, her mother held open her arms to her daughter. “Listen, sweetie, I’ll come and tuck you in, and I want you to stay there and go to sleep. You have nothing to worry about. The men will be just fine,” her mother said. But her eyes told another story, and that is the one Linda believed.

As she tucked Linda in, Mother whispered, “Say a little prayer for your dad and Mr. Bensen. You’ll feel better.”

For longer than she could remember, Linda had been saying “little” prayers. She had prayed for a pony, and she had prayed to find some money to buy an ice-cream bar. But she knew that a “little” prayer wouldn’t do now. She wondered about Heavenly Father. What is He really like? She remembered her Primary teacher talking about Him and His Son Jesus Christ. She knew that They were real, that They loved her, and that Heavenly Father would hear and answer her prayers. She began to pray: “Dear Heavenly Father, I know my dad needs You tonight. I thought he could get through any storm alone, but I was wrong. He really needs You to help him and Mr. Bensen. Dad shouldn’t have let us come here tonight. I guess parents make mistakes, too, but please, Heavenly Father, keep them safe and help them find the way back.”

No voice spoke to her, but a feeling of relief gradually came and eased away the cold, hurting fear, leaving her with a feeling of peace. She slept.

A door opened and a gust of cold air blew across Linda’s face. She opened her eyes and heard the deep rumbling of men’s voices. She raced to the kitchen and flung her arms around her dad, jostling her mother to find a spot to hug.

“You’re safe!” she cried. It was long past midnight. They had been gone nearly six hours.

“We had to feel our way home,” Mr. Bensen said. “I still don’t know how we made it. Jake drove and I hung out the door and felt for gravel to make sure we were still on the road. Several times we had to stop to shovel the car out of the drifts.” He shook his head. “I’ll never figure out how we found our way. We couldn’t see a thing!” The men were exhausted and their lips were blue and stiff with cold.

Linda never forgot the coldness of Dad’s rough whiskers on her cheek as he tucked her into bed. Before she drifted off to sleep, Linda thanked Heavenly Father for Dad and Mr. Bensen’s safe return.

Illustrated by Michael Rogan