Paul was out the door in a flash and Grandpa was pulling down the ladder in the hall to the crawl-space in the attic. As he climbed up he muttered loud enough for Grandma to hear, "Wimmenfolk and worry, cups and saucers, wimmenfolk and worry!"
When he came back with the lantern, he handed it to Maureen. "Like I said, honey, you crunch up some newspaper and give this chimney a good cleaning, and then pick the black stuff off'n the wick. Here, ye can use my flashbeam to work by."
Seconds passed, and the minutes wore slowly on. It was past time for Paul to be back. Grandpa peered out the window, trying to pull car lights out of the dark. He wished Grandma would not just sit there, hands folded in prayer. He wished she'd sputter and scold. He wished she'd say something. Anything.
He even wished Maureen would say something. But she was intent on her work. "That's good enough, honey. Better shut the flashbeam off now. We may be needing it for trips to the barn," he added seriously.
When at last Paul burst into the house, he set the can of coal oil on the table without a word. Grandma quickly opened it and poured some in the base of the lantern.
"Wa-al?" Grandpa asked as he struck a match and lighted the wick. He turned it slowly up and watched the flame steady. "Where ye been? Yer Grandma's nigh crazy with worry over ye. What took ye so long?"
"I drove around to see how bad the storm is."
"And how bad is it?"
"Bad. Real bad."
"What you lookin' so ashy about?"