Chapter 13
The storm came down so fast that Martha did not see it gathering.
At noon, Willow Crossing had been cold but clear enough for the roofs across the street to shine beneath a pale winter sky. Less than half an hour later, Martha looked up from the ledger at the front desk and found the opposite side of town gone.
Snow struck the windows in hard white sheets.
The wind followed a heartbeat later, rattling the glass and making the front door shudder in its frame.
Eliza appeared from the dining room with a dish towel still in her hands. “Where did that come from?”
Martha was already crossing toward the windows. She could barely make out the hitching rail beyond the porch. The street itself had disappeared beneath blowing snow.
“Percy.”
He stuck his head out from the passage leading toward the stable.
“Get the horses under cover and latch everything you can,” Martha said. “Then come straight inside.”
His eyes widened when he saw the storm. For once, he did not ask a single question. He had barely disappeared before the front door flew inward.
Wind drove two men through it along with a burst of snow that skittered across the lobby floor. One man caught the door while the other stumbled against the wall, his scarf stiff with ice.
Jonas rose from his chair near the common room and crossed quickly enough that Martha noticed the lingering caution in his stride.
Together, they forced the door shut.
The older of the two men pulled down his scarf. Martha recognized him from the livery. “Couldn’t see ten feet in front of us. We were halfway down the street and nearly missed the inn.”
His companion leaned heavily against the wall, blinking snow from his lashes.
Martha guided him toward the fire. “Sit down before you fall down.”
He obeyed, but his expression grew uneasy as soon as he looked toward the stairs. “Mrs. Bellamy, I can’t afford a room tonight.”
Martha took his wet coat and draped it over the back of a chair near the hearth.
“No one is paying tonight.”
The man stared at her.
She moved closer to the fire and held his gloves toward the heat. “Anyone who comes through that door stays until the storm breaks. I’m not sending someone back outside because they’re short a dollar.”
Behind her, Jonas dragged another chair closer.
The liveryman looked toward the windows. “You may have half the town in here before dark.”
“Then half the town will be warm.”
The front bell rang again.
After that, it scarcely stopped.
People arrived bent against the wind, snow packed into collars and caught in eyelashes. A woman from three streets over came in with one stocking soaked through after stepping into a drift she had mistaken for the road.
Two miners stumbled through together, one pressing a cloth to a scrape along his forehead where he had walked into a wagon tongue hidden by the blowing snow. A father carried his youngest daughter inside beneath his coat while his wife followed with their son clutched against her side.
Martha stopped asking whether anyone planned to stay.
She told them they were staying.
The inn changed by the minute.
Wet coats crowded every peg. Boots lined the wall near the common-room hearth. The smell of snow and damp wool mingled with coffee, woodsmoke, and the stew Eliza stretched by adding another pot of broth and potatoes.
Martha moved constantly.
She assigned rooms, paired families where she could, and found beds for strangers who would ordinarily have complained about sharing. When the last usable guest room filled, she opened the dining room and ordered extra blankets brought downstairs.
Percy appeared from the kitchen carrying an armful of split wood.
“I’m going back for the rest.”
Martha caught his sleeve before he reached the rear door.
“No.”
He looked toward the dwindling stack beside the stove. “We’ll need more before morning.”
“We have enough if we’re careful.”
“The dry pile is in the shed.”
“And the shed can keep it.”
Percy shifted his weight, plainly preparing an argument.
Martha tightened her grip on his coat. “You cannot see the shed from the door.”
“That doesn’t mean I can’t find it.”
“That is exactly what it means.”
His shoulders dropped.
Jonas passed through carrying a basin of hot water and hid a smile badly enough that Martha saw it.
She released Percy. “Help Eliza instead.”
The boy muttered something about everyone suddenly becoming unreasonable but headed toward the kitchen.
By midafternoon, the storm had erased almost every sound beyond the inn walls. Even the usual clatter of the street had vanished beneath the wind.
Inside, everything seemed louder.
Children cried. Someone laughed too hard at something that was not funny. Chairs scraped, crockery knocked together, and the front desk bell rang twice before Martha finally removed it and put it beneath the counter.
When the rush eased for the first time, she found Eliza in the kitchen slicing yesterday’s bread into thick pieces beside the stove.
The room was warm enough to fog the lower panes of the windows. Flour dusted the worktable, and three pots simmered at once while the wind hissed around the frames.
Martha leaned both hands against the table.
“I have no idea where I’ll put another person.”
Eliza looked toward the ceiling as though mentally counting rooms. “If anyone else comes, we make pallets in the dining room.”
“They’ll freeze near the windows.”
“Then we move the tables closer to the stove.”
Martha rubbed at the ache between her brows. “We’re running out of blankets.”
Eliza slid the knife through another loaf. “There are clean tablecloths in the linen press.”
Martha gave her a tired look.
Eliza finally smiled. “I’m serious. They’re thick enough folded twice.”
Despite herself, Martha laughed.
The sound faded almost as soon as it came.
She picked up a heel of bread and turned it between her fingers. “I shouldn’t have taken time off the other day.”
Eliza stopped cutting.
Martha stared at the bread rather than at her. “The west wing is still unusable. The inn is full. I sat in front of a fire and drew while there was work everywhere.”
“You took two hours.”
“I could have done something useful with them.”
“You did.”
Martha looked up.
Eliza set the knife down and wiped her hands on her apron. “You looked happy.”
The words caught Martha off guard.
Eliza’s voice softened. “I haven’t seen much of that from you in a long time. Not real happiness. You laugh, but half the time you’re already looking toward the next problem.”
Martha looked toward the kitchen doorway, where the crowded lobby beyond remained just visible.
“I don’t know if I remember how to do anything else.”
“That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try.”
Before Martha could answer, the rear door burst open.
Fergus Dalrymple stumbled through beneath a blast of snow.
“Martha?”
She straightened immediately.
Nell came in behind him with Annie bundled beneath her cloak. Both adults were coated in white, and Fergus carried two sacks of supplies beneath one arm.
“We were in town when it started,” Nell said, breathing hard. “We thought we could make it home.”
“You tried?” she asked in surprise. She couldn’t decide whether she found them admirable or foolish for even considering the notion.
“Only as far as the north road. We couldn’t see the fence beside us.”
Martha crossed to her and reached for Annie. “Then you’re done travelling for today.”
Fergus looked toward the lobby. “You’re already full.”
“We’ll find room.”
Annie stirred beneath the blanket and made a tired sound against Martha’s shoulder.
Eliza shut the door firmly behind them and began brushing snow from Nell’s coat. “I’ll get you something hot.”
Nell started to protest, but Eliza was already turning toward the stove.
Martha led them into the common room, where Jonas immediately rose and surrendered his chair beside the fire.
“Sit,” Martha told Nell.
The woman lowered herself gratefully, holding both hands toward the heat.
Fergus dragged a stool closer while Jonas took one of the supply sacks from him.
For several minutes, Martha stayed with them, loosening Annie’s damp bonnet and checking Nell’s hands for cold. Only when she was satisfied that all three were warming did she allow herself to move on.
The afternoon disappeared beneath other people’s needs.
A guest needed dry stockings. A child had lost a mitten. Mr. Dobbins became convinced snow was coming through the upstairs window until Martha showed him it was condensation freezing along the glass.
Percy lost one of the room keys and found it ten minutes later in his own pocket.
By the time Martha returned to the common room, dusk had begun darkening the storm outside.
Nell sat close to the hearth with a bowl of stew balanced in her lap.
“Give her to me,” Martha said, reaching for Annie.
“You’ve been on your feet all day.”
“So have you.”
Nell surrendered the child with little resistance.
Annie settled heavily against Martha’s chest, warm from the fire and already half asleep. Martha sank into the chair beside Nell and tucked the little girl more securely into the crook of her arm.
Across the room, Fergus sat at a small table with Jonas.
A deck of cards lay between them.
Fergus frowned at his hand while Jonas leaned back with an expression of such innocence that Martha immediately suspected him of winning.
Jonas looked up and their eyes met.
Martha smiled before she could think better of it.
His attention lingered, the corner of his mouth lifting.
She looked down at Annie.
Nell followed her glance toward the card table but said nothing. “The cabin held through the last storm. I hope it’s alright in this.”
Martha forced her attention back. “And the fireplace?”
“Fergus checks every stone now because Jonas told him one bad seam could fill the cabin with smoke.”
“He was probably right.”
“He generally is. It’s irritating.”
From the corner, Fergus complained loudly that he could hear them.
Martha laughed.
When she glanced back toward Jonas, he was already watching her again.
Something warm and uncertain moved through her chest.