A memory struck her just then. Amethyst had grown up hearing stories about legendary Lake Superior blizzards, of people losing their way in the blinding whiteness, becoming lost in their own yards, unable to get from their barns to the house and freezing out there. Thinking of them, those poor souls, she was grateful to be standing at her own side door.
Inside, she flipped the light switch. Nothing. She groaned and set her bags on the kitchen table. It wasn’t surprising to find the electricity out in a storm this fierce. But she noticed that all her window shades on the main floor were open, and the bluish hue of the snow outside washed through the rooms of the house. It was never pitch dark in the winter here. The snow lit up the night.
Amethyst—or Tess, as she had been called much of her life because of her childhood inability to pronounce her own name: Ama-tess, she’d say—made her way into the living room and crossed to the fireplace. She had laid it with logs and kindling that morning, thinking she might enjoy a fire after dinner. Taking one of the long matches from the box on the mantel, she was grateful for her foresight. She lit the match and touched the flame to the dry twigs. They crackled and burned, spreading to the logs in moments. The fire settled into a slow burn, illuminating the room with a soft glow.
Tess walked through the main floor lighting candles, first around the living room, with its high ceilings, dark woodwork, and original hardwood floors. An overstuffed sofa and love seat sat positioned in front of the fireplace, a giant ottoman between them. Books were strewn here and there on end tables.
She wandered into the drawing room, which her parents had turned into a library and study years before, then on to the music room, where a Steinway grand piano was the focal point. She loved the grand dining room with its table that sat ten and a built-in buffet where Tess’s grandparents’ crystal glassware would sparkle in the afternoon sun, sending out prisms of light all over the room.
But the heart of the home was the kitchen, which still had its massive AGA stove, a fireplace with two well-used armchairs on either side of it, a scrubbed wooden table by the wall of windows, generations of beloved cookbooks, and copper pots hanging from wrought-iron hooks. There were modern updates, too, like the dishwasher, the enormous stainless-steel fridge, and a second oven and stovetop that came in handy when feeding a crowd.
Soon, the main floor was aglow. This isn’t so bad, Tess thought. It’s pretty.
What to do now? Tess grabbed an afghan and snuggled on the bench by the bay window in the living room that looked out onto the front porch and the yard beyond. She curled her legs underneath her and gazed out into the whiteness. It was snowing so hard and sideways that it was even accumulating on the porch. She’d have a long day of shoveling tomorrow, that was for sure.
The ringing of the phone startled her out of her thoughts. The old-school phone—a heavy base with a rotary dial and a handset—sat in a little alcove built into the hallway between the living room and kitchen for just that purpose. She unfolded herself from her perch on the bench to cross the room and answer it.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Tess. Jim here.”
Jim Evans lived next door and owned the small grocery store a few blocks down the hill, one of a handful of businesses open in Wharton during the off-season. He and his wife, Jane, were well into their sixties, maybe even beyond that, but they both had a delightfully artsy bohemian style mixed with a lifetime of cross-country skiing that made them seem much closer to Tess’s midforties. She hoped she would be as fit when she reached their age.
“Jim! How d’you like this snow?”
He chuckled. “Wish I had my skis instead of the car,” he said. “I’d probably get home faster. I’m closing up the store and wondering if you need anything.”
This warmed Tess from the inside out.
“Thanks so much, but I think I’m set,” she said, remembering the leftovers in the fridge.
“Your power out?” he asked. “Jane said ours went out at the house about an hour ago. It seems like our whole side of town is all dark.”
“Yep, mine is out, too,” she said, nodding. “But I’ve got a fire going and a bunch of candles, so I’m fine.”
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll be over in the morning to help you dig out. If you need anything in the meantime, just holler.”
Tess thanked him and said goodbye. She put the handset back on the base of the phone and smiled down at it. This kind of neighborly concern was one of the nicest benefits of relocating to Wharton permanently. It made her think back to her family’s history here. Her deep Wharton roots.