Everyone knew a snow storm was coming. By three in the afternoon, the sun appeared cheerless in a dull, gray sky, heavy with dark clouds. Perhaps, the dampness in the air or the precarious icy wind gusts were the precursors of the storm's debut.
Still, residents of the town of Hilston were out and about. Some were busy in their backyards battening down objects that could be taken without much effort in a blizzard wind. Others secured snow shovels and posted them at their back doors.
The town's shops were buzzing like bee hives with people doing their last minute shopping for things like candles, batteries, canned goods, matches and other necessities fear of being shut in by a storm seemed to generate.
The town of Hilston was like any other picturesque rural area. It came with an iconic brand of history back to days of the Revolutionary War. This particular pedigree was a deeply embedded part of the population of three hundred who lived here.
It was as if the Revolutionary War just ended. There were signs and symbols everywhere of honored names and places where battles were waged that were daily reminders of a patriotic past.
In Hilston the ancestry of residents justified their slightly elevated opinions of themselves. Some were direct descendants of Pilgrims. Others settled in Hilston after escaping as refugees from other places where life was too harsh to endure. And yet, Hilston people were slaves to their past struggles and hardships embedded more deeply in their minds than they admitted.
There were grand old families like the Wheatleys, Corrigans, Van Sykes, Dunnistans and Vonderbergs. Hilston was a crazy patchwork quilt of two classes of citizens: Grand old families nestled in large, two-story homes dating back to the early 1600s and newer influxes of blue collar residents who came in waves during the late 1800s and early 1900s, with names like Abbatiello, Steinmann, McKinley and Schwartz.
They lived in smaller, economically built, row homes just off Dyson Avenue, the main street upon which numerous shops were located. Most of the homes were built in the late 1880s, when the major business in Hilston was a grist mill, known as Watkins Grain.
Not much changes in Hilston. The people like it that way. Such familiarity over long periods of time breeds a sense of security and parochialism not found in large urban cities.
When an interstate highway was built in the mid 1940s two miles from town, it had little effect on Hilston businesses or townspeople. Hilston had its own natural barrier to keep out unwanted trespassers: it was surrounded on three sides by dense woods and on the fourth side by a wide, very old body of water, named Washington Canal. The main street of Hilston was only barely connected to the interstate. All other streets linked in patchwork fashion.
For centuries, Hilston children swam in the canal in humid, hot summers. In winter, they skated on it, if the ice was solid enough to withstand their weight. A small sign at the foot of the canal's banks warned of the daily condition of the ice.
This day, however, children would be indoors by supper time. The sun, what little remained of it, tucked behind clouds for the last time at four o'clock that afternoon. Winds grew more forceful. Hilston's woods offered some protection from wild winds, just not from huge trees falling.
When this happened, the men of Hilston viewed downed trees as an opportunity to provide wood for their fireplaces. Every home in Hilston had a formal fireplace. This was a feature leftover from the decades before central heating became a necessity. The regular sound of axes chopping wood was a rhythm no one paid much attention to.
The scent of burning wood rose in the air over Hilston as the sky darkened and townspeople sat down to supper. Now and then, children's faces were glued to window panes seeking the first signs of the coming storm.
By eight that evening, snow fell in earnest. First, in large, heavy clumps. Then, in light, windy flakes drifting from heaven to the cold, stark earth below. It didn't take long for Hilston to look like the interior of a shaken snow globe.
Townspeople comforted themselves by reading or watching TV. At midnight, Hilston folk were asleep. The only lights in town were those of street lamps. Dyson Avenue shop owners took the precaution earlier in the day of shuttering their storefront windows...just in case. They needn't have. What was coming was more powerful than any shuttered windows could protect Hilston from.
Hilston people never admitted to a strange element of mass superstition. It wouldn't have occurred to them to appear "odd" or "unusual," particularly when "normal" was the perceived overview of life in town.
Normal was a town that basically awoke each day at five in the morning, became fully active by seven and busy until five in the evening. In a neatly designed routine, everyone had a place and there was a place for everything. Fine, upstanding people are like that.
Hilston never really had much experience with the truly unusual. But, this storm would test their mettle as no other had ever done before. The snow fell harder and faster. The wind grew to a subtle howl. Three foot high snow drifts formed against parked cars, fences and storefronts. Visibility in the white out was minimal at best. Since no one was out in the storm, what did it matter?
By the following morning, howling winds sounded like packs of wolves in season. Children looked out of windows in awe at how much snow had fallen in the span of only eight hours. Women busied themselves with domestic chores. A few baked bread from scratch...just in case.
The sound of trees falling began by mid morning.
First, it was the one hundred year-old maple downed on the Van Sykes' detached garage. Then, a fifty year old oak fell upon the Dunnistans' front porch. These were the exclusive homes nearest Dyson Avenue. Their large properties abutted the edge of the woods.
At noon, the first of the more serious storm damage began. The old sycamore tree on Epperson Street fell forward into one of the utility poles, ripping electrical and telephone lines from it. Houses on Epperson Street and neighboring Hollowyne Street went dark. With the snow falling faster and mounting snow drifts piling up, it was clear what the prognosis for the immediate future would be.
In such a storm, silence pervades the streets like a lone, forgotten cemetery. Indoors, families also began to feel stressed and exchanged idle talk less. Snow continued to fall late into the afternoon.
Against the backdrop of brilliant white, lay striations of black tree limbs atop snowy mounds. It was impossible to see where snow buried cars.
In the Abbatiello home, the kitchen was warmed by the scent of tomato sauce. Pat Abbatiello's wife, Angie, started the sauce soon after breakfast. As dinner hour neared, she put a large pot of boiling water on the stove.
"Mama, spaghetti tonight?" Pat asked.
"Something to stick to your ribs," she answered.
Pat preferred his first name shortened from Pasquale. He studied Angie's face. Her darkly arched, knitted brows told him she was nervous.
He hugged her as she stood at the stove stirring thick, rich sauce.
"Not to worry, Mama. We are all safe here. This house is old and has endured many, many storms before," Pat said.
She turned toward him and placed her arms around his neck and kissed him.
"Papa, we will sit down to table in thirty minutes. Will you see that the children wash their hands and freshen up?" she asked.
"My dear, they have not been outdoors. How dirty can they be?" Pat said, with a laugh.
They heard a heavy thump in the distance. Pat scanned the kitchen window to see which tree had fallen this time.
"It's Jimmy McKinley's house. Oh my God! The tree in the backyard just went through their roof. I best see if they are alright," Pat said.
"Pasquale, no. Please. It's a white out. You will not be safe, my dear man," Angie pleaded.
"Mama, what if Jim or Catherine or their children are hurt? We could not live with ourselves if I do not see to them to safety," Pat said.
He donned his heavy rubber hip boots...the ones he used for ice fishing in the canal. Then, he put on his rubber slicker and pulled the matching black hat over his head. Angie tied a scarf around his neck.
"Papa, please come home safe, God willing the McKinley's are alright too," Angie said.
The McKinley home was just two houses to the right of the Abbatiello home. The snow was nearly waist high when Pat struggled to make his way through it. His legs felt as if each step was like hiking up a mountainside wearing lead weights instead of rubber boots.
Just as Pat got to the front steps, the tree that fell gave way and the rest of the roof caved inward. He was never so scared in his life.
Avoiding the danger and his fears, he called to them from the snow packed sidewalk.
"Jim? Catherine? Can you hear me? It's Pat...Pat Abbatiello. Is there anything I can do to help?"
No answer came from within. He hesitated for only a moment. He climbed the porch steps. Then, he turned the knob on the front door. It was locked. He thought it would be. He grabbed a crowbar before he left home. He thought it would make a sturdy walking stick to prevent him from falling.
He knocked hard on the living room window on the east side of the porch. Then, he knocked on the bedroom window on the opposite side.
"Mio Dio, they must be hurt ...or...No. I won't give in to such thought. It's this terrible gale force wind. They just can't hear me. Perhaps, they sought refuge in the basement," he muttered aloud.
He pried the living room window open with the crow bar and slipped through the opening. He called out several more times as he made his way down the hall to the kitchen. He stopped short of the entryway. The tree had landed across the entire length of the kitchen, smashing the table and chairs into match sticks. He made his way around the tree's heavy trunk and tried to get to the basement door. He could barely open it for the giant limb in its path. He pushed and pushed at the door until he squeezed through it.
He carefully called down the stairs.
"Jim? Catherine? Boys? Are you there?"
He thought he heard a slight sound as he got to the bottom of the stairwell.
He saw that the door to the large closet beneath the stairs was slightly ajar.
He pushed it hard.
"Pat? Oh my God! Pat!" Jim McKinley said.
"Jim, is everyone alright?"
"As alright as we can be in such a storm with that tree in our kitchen," Jim said.
"Catherine, look...it's Pat Abbatiello. Pat how did you find your way in that white out?" Jim asked.
"I had to come. When I saw the tree as it is, I knew it could have meant very serious injury to you and yours," Pat said.
"I have never been so grateful to anyone in my whole life. I was worried the gas line to the kitchen stove might be damaged. Explosion ...you know?" Jim said.
"Look, you'll have to prepare yourselves to make it back to my house. Do you have any heavy, outer clothing you can wear to protect you from the storm?" Pat asked.
"My fishing gear is down here and there are some old clothes in this closet. But, my wife and sons, how will we get them to your home?"
"We two will carry your sons to safety. The snow is already hip deep and the white out is very dangerous," Pat said.
"Jim, I can make it alright. There's an old plastic tarp down here...the one you used when you painted the living room. I can protect myself with that. I'll wear one of these old winter coats in this closet," Catherine said.
"Pat, is it safe to go upstairs? I'd like to get a few things to take with us...not that I'm expecting anyone to break in to this place in such a storm," Jim said.
"You go on now. I'll stay here with your family. Take note if there's an odor of gas when you make your way. If so, hurry back down. We'll leave by way of the front door. Stay in the footsteps I've already made," Pat said.
"Wouldn't it be better to exit through the basement storm door?" Jim asked.
"No. the snow is likely piled too high and it could mean an avalanche of snow on all of us," Pat said.
Jim was impressed that his neighbor knew so much about safety precautions.
Once outside, the McKinley family trudged along behind Pat Abbatiello. Gale winds cut across their faces like a thousand knives. One boy sat atop each man's shoulders, hanging on as tightly as they could. Finally, they reached the Abbatiello home.
Angie was ready for their guests with hot coffee for the grownups and hot cocoa for the boys. She reheated the spaghetti she'd prepared for dinner that evening. The three Abbatiello children helped the McKinley's by lining their boots with old newspapers to dry them.
Eventually, everyone converged in the large living room in front of the fire. Pat and Jim talked about all the shoveling they'd have to do. Angie and Catherine sat together on the sofa staring into the fireplace with cups of hot tea in their hands, talking about their children.
"I hope we can repay you for your kindness," Catherine said.
"Nonsense. This is what neighbors are for," Angie answered.
A few minutes later, the entire house shook as if there had been an earthquake. Jim and Pat ran out the door. Other men also ran out of their homes. The McKinley house was a shattered mass. The gas line in the house exploded.
Pat called the other men to him.
"We'd better shut off the gas lines to our homes. We can't take a chance on losing any more homes in this storm," Pat told the others.
"You think that could happen?" Dan Schwartz asked.
"I think we need to be safe rather than sorry," Pat said.
"But, our homes. We will be without heat," Tom Parry said.
"We have fireplaces. Those who don't can bunk together until the storm passes," Larry Welkins added.
Pat gave Jim's shoulder a pat and guided him back inside.
"What was that awful noise?" Angie asked.
Pat hestitated. Jim glanced at him furtively and then at his wife.
"It was our home, wasn't it Jim?" Catherine said.
"Shhhh...Let's not scare the children. Jim and I and the other men are shutting off the gas to our houses just in case the damage is more massive," Pat said.
Angie comforted Catherine who sat sobbing on the sofa.
"All of our things...gone," Catherine said.
"Look at it this way. You got out in time. It could have been far worse," Angie said.
"If it wasn't for your Pat coming to our rescue...." Catherine said.
"Why don't you lie down for a while? We have a down comforter in the master bedroom upstairs. You'll need it. It will be cold there now that the gas is turned off," Angie said.
Pat and Jim discussed calling the police about the gas explosion just as they heard sirens slowly trekking in the direction of the McKinley home.
Later, several police knocked on all of the neighbors' doors to make sure no one was injured and to inquire as to the whereabouts of the McKinley family.
When the police reached the door of the Abbatiello home, they were glad to discover Jim and his family were safe. Pat told them he advised the other neighbors to shut the gas off.
"Thank you for that advice. That's the best we can do until this storm ends," Patrolman Tom Nedderley said.
"Uh, Tom? Will evacuation be necessary, do you think?" Pat asked.
"If this storm lasts another day, it just may be," Tom said.
"Were you able to get a weather report?" Jim asked.
"Just barely...on an old transistor radio. They expect it to last another day, possibly two," Tom said.
Pat and Jim stared at each other in disbelief.
"Two more days? Good Lord! The snow is already nearly six feet deep. Another two days and we could be completely snowed in up to the second floors of homes," Jim said.
"Not to worry. If there's an evacuation needed, you'll be transported to a safe, warm town building. At least, our three generators are reliable," Tom said.
"What should we take with us?" Pat asked.
"Only those items you can't live without for a few days. Don't forget medications. That's important," Tom said.
"What about food?" Pat asked.
"You can pack what you like. But, our municipal building is well stocked for just such an emergency. Canned goods mostly. But, bring along coffee, tea and milk, a loaf of bread and whatever kids like to eat. I'd also suggest you bring a few of their books and games to keep them occupied," Tom added.
Within an hour, the electric generating stations located at the edge of town exploded. Families in Hilston grew more tense and scared. The entire town was in darkness by three that afternoon.
"What an adventure!" Pat Abbatiello said.
"One I'd rather not have," Jim said.
The children in Hilston seemed unaffected by the growing cold at home or the sudden darkness. Angie and Catherine prepared candles in several candle stick holders. Pat and Jim hunted for batteries for flashlights and brought in firewood, while their families huddled together in the living room.
"Children, I think tonight we will camp out here in the living in front of the fireplace," Angie announced.
"I don't think it's a good idea to have the kids sleeping upstairs. Do you Catherine?" Angie whispered.
"No. Those falling trees...Oh Angie...I'm terrified," Catherine said.
"Put on your brave "Mama face" to get through this," Angie said.
Catherine wished she could be like Angie. But, Angie still had a home and personal belongings at her fingertips. Still, she knew Angie was right. There was no point in scaring the kids.
Angie made a game of sleeping arrangements. The kids were wild with excitement. Pat brought up the sleeping bags from the basement. The Abbatiello's were avid campers and travelers. Pat's people lived near the Italian Alps and were proficient hikers, a skill he still enjoyed. Although, his wife wasn't as enthusiastic about hiking, his kids were.
"Look Angie! Our camping coffee pot and radio," Pat said.
"We won't be without coffee, at least," Angie said.
"Where will the adults sleep?" Catherine asked.
"Where ever you find an empty chair, love seat or sofa. There's always the floor," Angie said.
"The floor? I don't think my back will manage a hard floor," Catherine said.
"It's just for one or two nights," Angie said.
Angie realized she had not spent much time with Catherine McKinley. She realized the woman had just lost her home. But, she seemed to complain a lot and was unwilling to "make do."
"You ladies sleep on the sofa and love seat. Jim and I will sleep on the floor," Pat said.
He glanced over at his wife and winked. As always, Pasquale Abbatiello was the one to find answers and to keep peace.
With the children snuggled in for the night in sleeping bags, Angie felt exhausted and was soon sound asleep on the love seat with Pat, on the floor beside her. Catherine slept on the sofa and Jim sprawled on the floor below.
The snow continued to fall into the early morning hours. At six that morning, Pat checked around the house for any problems, flashlight in hand. The snow was piled up to the top of the back door. When Jim McKinley, bleary-eyed, walked into the kitchen, he saw Pat pushing the kitchen table against the door.
"Pat? What's the matter?" he asked.
"Snow...over the top of the back door. Help me. The weight of that snow could push the door in. We need to secure it as best we can," Pat said.
The two men pushed the kitchen table against the back door and then piled chairs atop the table.
"That ought to hold it," Pat said.
"We'll need to secure all of the windows downstairs too," Jim said.
"Good idea," Pat answered.
"What on earth are you two doing?" Angie asked, shaking sleep from her eyes.
"Shhh...we don't want to scare the kids. The snow's piled up over the top of the back door. We don't want the door to cave in," Pat said.
"What about our front door, Papa?" Angie asked.
"Hopefully, the snow will not reach the front door with the porch as protection," Pat said.
Angie was worried. Was all that heavy snow really so dangerous? What if the roof caved in? She glanced over at her husband and Jim. She knew she should have felt more confident. But, she remembered as a child the tales of skiers in her state being buried when heavy snow gave way.
"We'll should secure all the windows downstairs," Jim said.
"There's some scrap wood I was saving in the basement. We can use that to board up the windows," Pat said.
The two men made their way down to the basement of the Abbatiello home. With the electricity out, they had only flashlights to guide them. The basement air was as cold as ice.
"Pat, do you think with this cold the pipes will freeze and burst?" Jim asked.
"I wish I could say with certainty they won't," Pat answered.
"Is there anything we can do to prevent that?" Jim asked.
"Maybe, with the windows boarded up down here, the temperature won't drop below freezing. Some of these pipes and the water heater are insulated. It's just really a few of the smaller copper water pipes that aren't. If we keep water running through them, maybe they won't freeze," Pat said.
"Oh God, Pat, who thought this storm would ever be this bad?" Jim asked.
Pat shrugged his bony shoulders. But, the expression on his face told Jim he was also scared of the next few days.
Keeping the children busy and occupied was becoming a full-time job for Angie and Catherine. It became more difficult since the two women had very different parenting techniques. Catherine tried to keep her two sons from overstepping their boundaries. Angie, less of a disciplinarian, allowed her children to devise their own distractions.
By the end of the third day, nerves were frayed. Cabin fever was beginning to be more obvious.
"Poppa, can we play out on the front porch tomorrow?" Anthony Abbatielo asked.
"Tony, you know you can not. Snow is piling up against the front steps and the porch is bearing up under the weight of all this snow that's still falling," Pat said.
The Abbatielo living room looked like a scene from a boyscout camp. Children sleeping in their sleeping bags and adults plopped willy nilly on empty sofas and chairs. If not for the heat from the fireplace, the living room would have been as frigid as the rest of the rooms were.
"I am so cold," Catherine said.
"It feels like being inside a tomb," Angie responded.
When night fell, all hoped and prayed for an end to the storm.
In the morning, the two men rose early. Angie was awakened by the scent of coffee brewing in the fireplace. The hearth had become the only means of heating food and making coffee. Pat set the coffee pot in the wood grate and watched as it slowly began to turn icy water into dark, strong coffee. The men ran water from faucets every day to make sure they hadn't frozen during the night.
Around nine that morning, the two men had enough of being indoors and decided they should try to shovel some of the snow around the front and back doors. Pat stored snow shovels in the basement. They bundled themselves up and each took a shovel in hand. They started out the back door. The minute Pat pushed the door outward, an avalanche of snow fell on top of him. Seeing this, Jim quickly ran to Pat's aid and helped him to his feet.
After about two hours, most of the snow drifts nearest the back door were clear enough to make a path. Snow continued to fall.
"It won't be long before it'll be covered all over again," Jim said.
"Let's try to work our way to the front door next," Pat replied.
Pat shoveled in front of Jim. Jim cleared any snow falling back in on the path Pat was shoveling. By the time they reached the path to the front porch, they both looked like abominable snowmen. They were literally covered in snow. Their faces were reddened from the wind and their eyelashes were nearly iced shut.
"Pat? I hate to be a coward. I don't think my hands or my back will last much longer. How about you?"
"I agree. I am so cold. I don't think I'll ever feel warm again in my lifetime," Pat answered.
The two men shoveled until the path from the back door to the front door was one-man wide. Already, falling snow was covering to about one inch.
They heard the crunching of snow beneath their feet as they made their way back indoors via the back door.
"My God! Pat, Jim! You two shouldn't have stayed out there so long. You must be frost bitten by now," Angie said.
"Near abouts," Pat answered.
"Well, come and take off those coats. Sit down. Both of you. I've a big pot of soup on the hearth for our lunch," she said.
"I don't know how you are able to use that fireplace to do so much cooking," Catherine said.
Catherine set out two bowls while Angie pulled the soup pot from the fire. The odor of burning wood was everywhere. But, the sound of the fire crackling gave the families some sense of comfort.
Around three that afternoon, they heard a loudspeaker announcing evacuation for all of the families on the street. They were given twenty minutes to pack what they needed to take to the town's recreation center.
The children all balked at having to leave their things behind. Catherine and Angie gathered up what they thought they'd need to get by for the next while. Their husbands checked the doors and windows and collected things like their shaving gear and a few books and magazines they hoped they'd have time to read. Pat banked the fire in the fireplace so that only the embers would remain.
A large split rail truck returned and residents were loaded onto the back. The drive to the recreation center was long, slow and slippery.
Pat and Jim saw the full extent of the storm's damage clearly. Downed trees, houses, garages and stores were crushed from the weight of the snow. Cars were abandoned on the streets or parked with utility wires laying atop them covered over in snow. They looked like rows of small hills.
Families entered the long, brick building slowly in single file. The snow plows had made a narrow path for entrance. It seemed odd to see lights inside the building.
Once inside, the Abbatielo and McKinley families were surprised at how many townspeople had already been evacuated. There were long rows of cots in the center of the room and chairs lining the walls. The room had a kitchenette at the rear. Several large urns were keeping coffee and tea hot. Half a dozen women manned the kitchenette, handing hot cocoa to children and pre-packaged snacks.
As the newest evacuees settled in, one of the councilmen, George Bonneman made several announcements over a microphone:
"For those who have just joined us, we have enough food supplies for a week. We will be serving breakfast, lunch and dinner at 8 AM, noon and 5 PM, respectively. For now, there's plenty of water and bathroom facilities are in the hall. Please take care to dispose of your trash properly. Doctor Forsythe is here, should you need medical assistance. Choose your sleeping arrangements so that your families can remain close by. Unfortunately, there is no TV, only a transistor radio. It's located in the anteroom off this main room. We are hoping you can all return to your homes as soon as the storm subsides. Thank you."
"He's assuming some of us have homes to go home to," Catherine said.
In a room filled with nearly one hundred fifty people and counting, noise was a big problem. When night fell, getting children to sleep was nearly impossible. Angie and Pat each chose cots on the outer rim of their children's cots.
Angie thought to bring the sleeping bags and blankets. Catherine and Jim and their two boys slept on cots on the opposite side of the room, using the blankets and sleeping bags Angie provided before they were evacuated.
The constant hum of the building's generators and noise from the heating system added to the chatter in the room. No one slept well that night. The next morning everyone took a tray from the long table situated outside the kitchenette and stood in a single file line for cereal, pancakes, buttered Kaiser rolls and prepackaged sweet rolls. After receiving breakfast food, the line passed a second long table loaded with milk, sugar, coffee, tea or hot cocoa.
"The food's not so bad," Pat said, hungrily downing his pancakes.
"I should say not, when you consider the alternative," Angie laughed.
"It looks as if more evacuees will be coming in today," Jim said, joining Pat and Angie.
"Where will all of us fit in this building? It's not that large," Catherine said.
"Cathy, make do. Beggars cannot be choosy," Jim said.
Jim realized his wife felt devastated by the loss of their home. For now, there was not much to be done about it. He tried to discuss the next steps with her. But, Catherine seemed unable to concentrate on the subject without her eyes welling with tears.
One woman in the building, Barbara Theisson, was a school teacher. She'd brought some story books and toys for the kids to play with. Early that morning, she had the councilman announce she'd be happy to read stories and help older children with their studies. The older children in the room groaned loudly at this suggestion. At the "urging" of their parents, however, Barbara soon had a large group of children, organized according to age, busy and occupied. The youngest were allowed to make shapes with clay or color in coloring books. Older children were asked to read short stories and report on what they read. The oldest children were given the task of writing about their snow storm experiences in essay form. Barbara was surprised that these children seemed excited at the prospect. She announced that if their stories were good enough, perhaps, it might make a good history book for the Hilston library.
Their parents felt some measure of relief the children were not running around willy nilly and making noise as children always do when there is too much idle time on their hands.
This gave the men in the building a chance to get together to talk about the storm and how to restore the town to pre-storm condition. The women set up a slate of crews to help man the kitchenette to give all of the volunteers time to eat their meals without interruption.
"We have to get through this somehow," Angie said.
"It's like some strange, alien dimension," Tanya Roskoff said.
"It does make one feel quite unreal," Betty Malcolm said.
"Betty, you've lived in Hilston the longest of the rest of us here. Do you ever remember a storm quite like this one?" Polly Lindley asked.
"I'm certain there has never been such a storm. I was born in Hilston. I'm older than most of you. Even when I was a small child, snow storms never lasted more than a day or two. This storm is nearly a week old," Betty said.
"Some of the elderly parents here feel disoriented by the storm. It's dangerous for those in more fragile health," Angie said.
"Yes. That's true. The greater danger now is with so many people in this building crammed together, all it will take is one individual coming down with a serious case of "cabin fever," and the entire organized planning will fall apart," Betty said.
"Betty, do you think that can really happen?" Catherine asked.
"Why...certainly. When people are closed indoors for too long, they seem to shut down...mentally," Betty said.
"I've never heard of such a thing!" Ann Hewett said.
"That's because you are too young to recall what happened over at the Belverdeen house," Betty said.
The group of fifteen women leaned in to hear more.
"I was only seven years old back in 1946. Hilston was not quite as populated then, as it is now. Anyway, it wasn't snow that caused cabin fever in old John Belverdeen. It was rain. Being so close to the canal and all, four or five days of rain caused the canal to breach its banks. Water went everywhere. It was the rain that poured so hard. The very sound drowned out ordinary noise inside and even the outdoors.
Now, John Belverdeen was a Hilston blueblood, if you know what I mean. Been in Hilston his entire life. He wasn't the kind of man you'd necessarily cozy up to. He had a wife and two sons, David and Charles. He's always been a bit of a recluse himself. His wife, Adeline... Now she was a beautiful, vivacious woman and very sociable, unlike her husband.
Same thing happened in those rains, as in this snow storm. Lights went dark and power was cut by the winds. When it was all over and canal waters subsided, most Hilston people got through it...except John Belverdeen.
Apparently, he got cabin fever, shot his wife and two sons and then himself. They weren't found for nearly a week and only because Adeline's sister stopped by to check on her. She noticed the sickening odor from outside the front door. She walked to the police station to report it. Sure enough, when police broke the door down, there lay John on the living room floor. They found Adeline and the two boys upstairs. John must have shot them in their beds. So...that's how serious cabin fever can be, ladies," Betty said.
"That's quite a story," Angie said.
"Things like this happen all the time when someone's mind is already "fragile" or unstable," Betty said.
Angie glanced over at Catherine. She sensed Catherine McKinley was in a fragile mental state. Surely, she wouldn't become violent. Angie dismissed the thought. Catherine glanced back at Angie momentarily with a wan smile.
As the day progressed, most of the town's residents were evacuated and the inside of the recreation building grew cramped, noisy and crowded for space. Every available inch of floor space was filled with cots.
It never occurs to people who live in small towns that they really know so little about their neighbors' lives. Now, with nearly three hundred townspeople virtually lining the walls of the building, the few bathrooms available forced people to stand in long lines. Lines to the kitchen and food tables were constant.
Outside, the snow continued into the next day and the next. Inside the building, tempers began to flare over petty issues. Then, on Day Five of the storm, Mayor Kilgarry announced that anyone who brought food supplies from home should bring them to the kitchen to be shared.
The grousing over this sent the volume of chatter in the room into the rafters.
One of the townsmen grabbed the microphone from the councilman and shouted into it.
"This is absurd! Why should we have to share with those who didn't think to bring enough provisions for themselves?" the big, burly man bellowed.
Many in the room agreed.
"Pat, I'm scared. With this many people in the room and not enough food, this could get very ugly," Angie said.
"Angie, these are all our neighbors. We know each other. I'm sure Tom Howden wasn't making any threats just now," Pat said.
"What about the McKinleys? There was nothing they could bring. Their home is gone. Pat? I'm worried about Catherine. Does she seem distraught to you?" Angie asked.
"My dear, of course, Catherine is distraught. She's lost everything dearest to her," Pat said.
The Abbatiello children, Rosie, Anthony and Pat Jr. found a momentary distraction in a small Yorkie puppy that belonged to old Mrs. Rothman. Mrs. Rothman's cot was on the opposite side of the room from the Abbatiello family's cots.
"Anthony, I think Mrs. Rothman may be worried about her dog. You children should return it to her. You've played with it long enough," Angie said.
Pat noticed the strain in Angie's voice. Being cooped up in the recreation building for a week was beginning to take its toll on her patience. There was so little space to move around. Most of the evacuees just sat on their cots all day, every day. Their only exercise was standing in the long lines to the bathrooms or food tables.
Pat put his arm around his wife. But, Angie knew Pat was also becoming worried. When Pat worried about something, Angie knew it was serious business.
They glanced up the minute they heard Catherine McKinley's scream.
"Get that damn dog out of my space," Catherine yelled.
"Cathy, please. It's just Mrs. Rothman's Yorkie puppy," Jim said.
"I don't care. You know I have asthma. If I have an attack, there's no way to get me to a hospital in this, is there?" Catherine snarled.
Jim sheepishly picked up the puppy and walked across the room. He handed the pet to its owner.
"Oh, thank you, Jim. I was wondering where he'd gotten to," Ariana Rothman said.
"No problem. My wife, Catherine...she's asthmatic. In this storm, a serious asthma attack could be fatal without a nearby hospital to help," Jim said.
"I understand, Jim. I'll try to keep Roscoe here. It's kind of difficult with so little space for him to get his usual daily exercise. You know how it is," she said.
Jim returned to his wife.
"Jim, did you brush yourself off? You might have dog hair on your clothing," Catherine said.
Jim stood up and walked through the long lines of cots to the nearest exit. How he wished he could just walk through the door and not return. He brushed himself off and headed back to his cot.
With dark of night upon them, day and night seemed to be like an endless dimension blended into one. Catherine rose from her cot.
"Catherine? Is something wrong?" Jim whispered.
"No. I need to use the bathroom is all. I'll be right back," she replied.
On her way to the bathroom, Ariana Rothman's dog spied her and followed jauntily after.
"Shoo. Dog...Shoo!" Catherine whispered.
The dog thought she was playing a game.
She opened the bathroom door and Roscoe followed her inside. Catherine returned to her cot and fell back to sleep.
In the wee hours of the early morning of the next day, Colleen Brannigan was first to enter the ladies bathroom. She screamed so loudly that those sleeping were immediately awakened.
"What's happened?" Everyone asked each other.
Angie and Tanya Roskoff were first to run to Colleen's aid. Several men followed and waited outside the bathroom door.
"Oh my God!" Tanya said.
Betty Malcolm and Ann Hewitt entered the bathroom. They stood stock still behind Angie and Tanya.
"Who would do such a horrible thing?" Colleen sobbed.
"Someone with a very sick mind," Betty Malcolm said.
"We'd better get one of the men to remove the poor little thing," Ann Hewitt said.
Betty and Ann walked outside the door of the bathroom. Jim McKinley and several men were standing around sheepishly awaiting one of the women to tell them what had happened.
"Mrs. Rothman's dog, Roscoe...Someone drowned it in the toilet," It must have happened while we were all asleep," Betty Malcolm said.
Colleen Brannigan, Angie and Tanya all confirmed what Betty said.
"Good God! Who among us would do such a thing?" Ralph Lindley asked.
"Come on Jim. Let's remove it before the children catch sight of it," Pat Abbatiello said.
"I hope this is not the start of cabin fever," Betty said, prophetically.
"I'm sure not," Angie said.
"We should tell Reverend Allen to tell Ariana about this," Colleen said.
"I agree. There are two ministers, one vicar and one priest in this building. Let them comfort her. That dog was really all she had," Ann said.
Some of the men grouped themselves in the corner of the hall and spoke in whispers.
"Whoever did this should be punished when this storm is all over," Ralph Lindley said.
"I agree. Old Mrs. Rothman didn't deserve this," Pat said.
With so many children in the building, Barbara Thiessen had more trouble finding space to keep them busy. She asked the councilman if perhaps it might be possible to allow them some room in the basement.
"There's a lot of junk stored down there. I don't know how safe it is for kids," Councilman George Bonneman said.
"Anything is better than this cramped, crowded room," Barbara said.
"Let me check with Mayor Kilgarry first," George said.
When George returned, he told Barbara he'd get some of the men to clear enough room in the basement for the children to play and do their studies. One hour later, Barbara marched the children, single file, down the steps to the basement.
The Councilman was right, the basement, though very large in floor space was crowded with old filing cabinets and obsolete recreation equipment.
"Children, please. Your attention. We have been given permission to use this area so they you might have a little space to play and to do your studies. I am adamant that none of you should venture outside of this open space. Do you all understand?" she asked.
"Yes, Mrs. Thiessen," they answered in unison.
Upstairs, townspeople were buzzing among themselves about the incident in the ladies bathroom. Across the room, Reverend Allen sat beside Ariana Rothman.
"Ariana, I have some...uh...difficult news to tell you," Reverend Allen started.
"Yes? And what is that?" Ariana asked.
"It's about your dog..."
"You know, Reverend? It's the strangest thing. My Roscoe...I've searched everywhere for him. I know he can't have gone very far," Ariana said.
"Ariana, I'm sorry. Roscoe was found in the ladies bathroom this very morning," Reverend Allen said.
"Well, can I have him back?" she asked.
"I'm sorry, Ariana. Roscoe is...dead."
"Dead? But, how can that be? He wasn't sick. What happened to my dog?" Ariana asked.
"He drowned," the Reverend said.
"Drowned? Where?"
"In one of the toilets."
"Roscoe would never drink from the toilet," Ariana said.
"He was "in" the toilet."
"You mean someone drowned my dog?"
"It looks that way."
"Who? Tell me who would do such a mean, cruel thing?"
"We don't know. We think it was someone who did this while we were all asleep."
"It has to be someone in this building," Ariana said, tears streaming down her face.
Reverend Allen did what he could to comfort her. But, there was no consoling the elderly woman. She lay on her cot sobbing.
"This is ridiculous...her sobbing hysterically like that. It's only a dog," Catherine said.
"Cathy, that dog was all she had," Jim responded.
"I still think she's carrying on more than is necessary. We lost our home. All she lost is a dog," Catherine snarled.
"Catherine, I can't believe you can be so uncharitable," Jim said.
"Believe it. Now that we have nothing left, I don't feel very "charitable" as you say," she answered.
Jim was shocked. He worried that perhaps it was Catherine who got rid of the dog. In her present state of mind, no one would blame her for such a breakdown. He felt a chill down his spine. He knew he had to keep a better eye on his wife. It would be a disaster if she had a mental breakdown in this storm.
He felt less anxious when she took to her cot and remained there for the afternoon. He was afraid to join the other men who broke into small groups for idle chatter. He felt fearful he might have to defend his wife, should anyone accused her of the dog's demise.
Larry Randall, Art Covington, Sam Mooreman and Don Lescott stood off to one corner. Jim noticed them nodding toward him as they chatted. He knew they were talking about him.
By dinner that evening, townspeople knew the storm couldn't last much longer. At least, that's what they hoped. Supplies were beginning to run low. Practically, the whole town was evacuated and housed in the building.
"Uh, ladies and gentlemen...If I could have your attention for just a moment," Mayor Kilgarry began.
The room went silent.
"It appears that we are running low on supplies," he said.
The roar in the room was deafening.
"Now, now...wait..We are not desperate yet. However, I would ask that you be more conservative with the drinking supplies. We are running low on fresh water. We will have to cut our daily consumption, if we are to get through this. We ask that each of you take no more than three glasses of water a day until the storm passes," he continued.
"What about the older people who need water to take their medicine?" someone yelled.
"We can make allowances...as needed," the mayor answered.
Councilman George Bonneman took the microphone.
"We are melting snow and will keep a supply of water from the melted snow in a large water tank. I ask that some of you men volunteer to haul the tank out of the basement," the councilman said.
Several men volunteered. The tank was an old one used before the building had running water and had sinks and taps installed. It was set just outside the basement door just across from the kitchenette. It was far enough for anyone to be tempted to help themselves to more than their share.
"This is just awful. Now, we can't wash before bed? Why should the older ones be allowed to have more...just because they take medicine?" Catherine complained.
"It's not much longer now, Cathy. This storm can't last forever. Think like an Eskimo. They manage just fine without water in their coldest temperatures," Jim replied.
"I'm not an Eskimo. I want our home and our own water," Catherine demanded.
Jim had never known Catherine to be so belligerent. He reasoned that dire circumstances bring out the worst in some people.
"Catherine, please. Try to compose yourself. There are too many people crowded into this building right now. We don't want to make a spectacle of ourselves, do we?"
"I don't care. Let the older ones die. It's natural for that to happen when disasters occur," Catherine said.
Jim was shocked. And...frightened others would notice that his wife was having a breakdown.
From across the room, Angie and Pat and their children kept busy. Angie started to knit a sweater. She realized she'd never taught her daughter, Rosie, how to knit.
"Rosie, would you like Mama to teach you how to knit? I'll show you and then we can both knit a scarf for papa and your brothers and maybe a nice vest or sweater for yourself," Angie said.
"Do we have enough wool?" Rosie asked.
"Sure. There's plenty. Let's get busy," Angie said.
Now and then, Angie looked across the room at Catherine. Angie saw Catherine was not herself and was spending most of her time sleeping. Now, that water was in short supply, Angie noticed Catherine walked several times to the long table near the kitchen where cups of water were placed for those who hadn't had their daily ration.
"Pat, look. Catherine has been taking more than her fair share of water. I've seen her go to the table four times," Angie said.
"Oh Mama, she must be bringing it for her sons or Jim. That's all. Never you mind about that. I'm sure Catherine wouldn't take more than she's allowed," Pat said.
Angie wasn't so sure. Catherine had been acting peculiarly ever since Betty Malcolm told the women that story about John Belverdeen.
After their evening meal was through, Angie saw Catherine speaking to Ariana Rothman, briefly.
"Ariana, I'm so sorry about your dog Roscoe. Is there anything I can do for you?" Catherine asked.
"I'm not so good on my feet this day. Would you be so kind as to bring me a cup of water? I need to take my arthritis medicine. I promise this is my second glass," Ariana said, apologetically.
Catherine went to the table to get a glass of water for Ariana.
Angie saw her and assumed it was for Catherine. She hurried to the other side of the room.
"Catherine, I don't like to ask. I've seen you with your water cup four times already," Angie said.
"It's not for me. It's for Ariana. Mind your own business Angie Abbatiello," Catherine said, angrily.
Angie realized she shouldn't have said anything to Catherine. She hurried back to her knitting with Rosie.
By the time Catherine returned to Ariana's cot, the old woman was asleep. Catherine placed the cup on a book set down at the foot of the cot, where she was sure to find it when she awoke.
As people began readying for bed, Angie noticed Doctor Forsythe hurrying to Ariana Rothman's cot. Then, Pat was called over, along with several other men by Doctor Forsythe.
"Poppa, what is it? Has something happened to Ariana?"
"I don't know, my dear. I will be right back," Pat said.
"Oh my dear. This is so sad. Ariana must have had a heart attack over the loss of her dog," Pat said.
"Will she be alright?"
"I'm afraid she's dead," Pat answered.
"Dead?"
"Yes. She must have succumbed shortly before nine this evening. No one noticed because she's slept quite a bit since Roscoe..." Pat's voice trailed off.
"What will they do with her body?" Angie asked.
"The men will remove it to the back of the building...in the attached garage. It's all they can do for now with this storm," Pat concluded.
The following day, everyone was buzzing about Ariana Rothman's death.
"First her dog, now Ariana," Ann Hewitt said.
"What do you mean, Ann?" Tanya Roskoff asked.
"Someone wanted that little dog gone. Maybe, they wanted Ariana gone too. Maybe, Ariana figured out who killed her dog," Betty Malcolm said.
"Ladies, you are scaring me," Angie said.
"We need to be scared. This storm is getting no better. Now, there's not much water. We won't last another two days in this condition," Betty added.
"I won't go without food. They have to provide us with some sustenance," Catherine said.
"Catherine, we can all share what we have," Angie put in.
"You can. The McKinleys can't. We don't have anything to share. Nothing!" Catherine snarled.
Catherine ran across the room to her cot, flung herself upon it and sobbed.
"Ladies...I don't like to be nosy or anything. But..." Betty Malcolm started.
"But what, Betty?"
"I think Catherine McKinley is distraught and she's getting worse. Shouldn't we tell Jim?" Betty said.
"Tell him what? To watch his wife? In a building that's already overcrowded and packed like a sardine can?" Tanya said.
It had become quite a daily ritual for men to gather in small groups on one side of the room and women to gather on the opposite side.
"Maybe, Catherine needs spiritual counseling," Ann Hewitt said.
"Anyone know which church she belongs to?" Betty asked.
"Yes. I've seen her at St. Michael's at Mass," Angie said.
"Well, maybe suggest...subtly, of course, to Father Ryan that Catherine needs some comfort," Tanya said.
"I guess I should do it. The McKinleys are our nearest neighbors. I'll speak to Father Ryan in the morning," Angie said.
The next morning was a nightmare Hilston was unlikely to ever forget.
The brunt of the snow storm ended during the night. The early morning sun was shining brightly when townspeople began to wake in the recreation building. By noon of that day, all of them were dead or dying. All except for Catherine McKinley.
With the storm finally over, it took police most of the morning and part of the afternoon to finally free the doors of avalanches of snow drifts. When they opened the doors of the recreation building at three o'clock, they were stunned by what they saw: two hundred and fifty bodies of men, women and children lying on cots or the floor...all dead, save one.
They found Catherine McKinley sitting beside the water tank, laughing hysterically, her shrill, piercing voice reverberating.
"See what I did? I got even with them" she laughed.
"Catherine McKinley? What in God's name have you done?" Patrolman Tom Nedderly asked.
"I poisoned the water. Now, I won't be thirsty anymore," Catherine said.
She put the cup to her lips and drank. Within minutes, she slumped over.
"Tom, this is bad. This is the worst thing that's ever happened in our town," Tom's partner, John Casper said.
"Sometimes, all it takes is being shut in too long. Cabin fever, that'll do it," Tom said.
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