Winter
The lone set of swerving wheels left deep ruts pressed into the snow. The old man driving the cart hunched over, snowflakes clinging to his eyelashes. An old wool cap sitting on his head shielded his ears from the blistering wind. His horse, Amelia, frothed at the mouth as she trundled down the dirt road, her wild brown mane turned white.
Gently talking to his horse, he stopped at a fork in the road. Gloved fingers scratched at the stubble on his chin as he surveyed the two roads before him. Trusting his gut, he turned to the right fork and and clutched the reins between nearly frozen fingers. He whipped them up and down and Amelia continued toward their destination, snow laden aspens creaking overhead.
It was nightfall when he finally reached the cabin perched at the top of the hill. Smoke drifted from the chimney only to vanish between millions of white specks in the sky. An enticing aroma drifted from inside, but he led Amelia to the stables. Giving her a slight tap on the flank as if to say good-bye, he tossed in a bale of hay and left her to her well-deserved dinner.
Snow crunched under his feet as he managed to get to the top of the hill again and knock on the door. It opened to reveal a slight margin where someone’s eye was peeping out. Suddenly the door flew open and a young boy toppled onto his grandpa, clinging to his knees. A man in the wicker chair adjacent to the wall smiled, setting down his mug on the rickety table next to him. Half walking, half pulling, the old man settled into an unoccupied chair by the fire.
“Returned, have you, Samuel?” his son-in-law asked. The older man, Samuel, stopped warming his hands. Samuel’s daughter deposited a bowl of soup in his lap and gave her father a small hug before hurrying away.
“Yes, I have,” he replied. “It sounds like you’re surprised, Jeremiah. I sent a letter to you nearly a month ago.” Samuel held his spoon up to his mouth and blew. Jeremiah turned white but his expression remained jovial.
“That’s funny. We never received it.” Lying through his teeth, the nerve, thought the old man, continuing his meal. Jeremiah cast around for another subject. “So, how’s Fay faring?” Samuel peered down at the bowl, swirling the contents around. “Not well. But at least my son is caring for her. I was going to pass through here to get supplies, and, that’s why I showed up here, to visit.”
He could that this winter was going to be as frigid as his visit there.
