Cutler 05 - Darkest Hour

school grounds were severe, and it gave Emily another sword to hold over the heads of those who defied her.
    But for the boys especially, snowfalls guaranteed the endless hours of pleasure that would come with their sleigh riding and snowball fights and ice skating when the lakes and ponds were considered frozen solidly enough. The pond on The Meadows, which would never be the same to me since it willingly embraced poor Cotton, crusted over, but because of the rapid stream that fed it, its layer of ice was always thin and treacherous. All the streams on our land ran faster and heavier in winter, the water looking very cold, yet clear and delicious.
    During the winter our farm animals were more subdued, their stomachs seemingly filled with icy air that leaked out of their nostrils and mouths. Whenever it snowed hard and fast, I felt sorry for the pigs and the chickens, the cows and the horses. Henry told me not to worry because their bodies had thicker skins and thicker feathers and hair, but I couldn't imagine being warm in an unheated barn while the biting winds whipped down from the north and circled the house until they found each and every crack.
    Louella and the chambermaids, who slept in the downstairs rear bedrooms without fireplaces, would heat bricks and wrap them in their beds to keep warm. Henry was busy a large part of the day providing firewood for the various fireplaces throughout the big house. Papa insisted his office be kept warm as toast. Even though he was not in it for hours, sometimes days at a time, if he entered and found it cold, he would roar like a wounded bear and send everyone rushing this way and that looking for Henry.
    During the winter months, Emily's and my walks to and from school were unpleasant at times and at times were nearly impossible because of the winds and the flurries of snow, cold rain and sleet. On a few occasions, Mama sent Henry for us, but Papa kept him so busy most of the time with his household chores, he was unable to make the trip either to or from the schoolhouse.
    Winter didn't seem to bother Emily at all. She wore the same grim expression year round. If anything, she appeared to enjoy the monotonous gray sky. It reinforced her belief that the world was a dark and dreary place in which only religious devotion offered light and warmth. I used to wonder what thoughts passed through Emily's head as she plodded deliberately, silently, her long legs moving in regular, unabated rhythm down the driveway and over the road that took us to school and back. The wind could be whistling through the trees; the sky could be so dismal and dark, I had to remind myself it wasn't the middle of the night; the air could be so cold that our nostrils were lined with tiny crystals of ice. We could even be walking through a downpour of icy rain, and Emily would not change expression. Her eyes were always fixed on something distant. She was oblivious to the snowflakes that melted on her forehead and cheeks. Her feet were never cold, her hands never freezing, even though her fingers were as red as, and the tip of her long, thin nose was even redder than, mine.
    She would either ignore my complaints or turn on me and spit out chastisement for daring to criticize the world God made for us.
    "But why does He want us to be so cold and unhappy?" I would cry, and Emily would glare at me, shake her head, and then nod as if confirming a suspicion about me she had harbored all my life.
    "Don't you listen in Sunday school? God gives us trials and tribulations to strengthen our resolve," she said through her clenched teeth.
    "What's resolve?" I would never hesitate to ask a question about something that I didn't know. My thirst for knowledge and understanding was so great, I would even ask Emily.
    "Our determination to fight off the devil and sin," she said. Then she pulled herself up in that haughty manner of hers and added, "But it might be too late for your redemption. You're a Jonah."
    She never missed an opportunity to remind me.
    "No, I'm not," I insisted, tiredly denying the curse Emily wanted to lay at my feet. She walked on, certain she was right, confident she had some special ear to hear God's words, some special eye to see His works. Who gave her the right to assume such power? I wondered. Was it our minister or was it Papa? Her knowledge of the Bible pleased him, but as we grew older, he didn't appear to have any more time for her than he had for me or Eugenia. The big difference was