“They’ll find some way to get here. Wait and see.” Connie spoke confidently, but at that time she had not seen the wind-swept road.
A little later, when she and Veve went downstairs, they caught a glimpse of the highway and yard through a window over the landing. Snow no longer fell, but a sharp wind had raised mammoth drifts during the night.
Not only was the road blocked in places, but similar mounds of snow isolated the house from the barn and outbuildings.
When Connie opened the front door onto the porch, an avalanche of snow tumbled in on the rug. All she could see was a wall of white.
“We’re desperately short of wood, and I don’t know how to get more,” said Mrs. Gordon, who was baking pancakes. Only a few sticks were left in the nearby box.
“Can’t the Brownies shovel a path to the woodpile?” asked Connie. She wanted to help.
“We can try, but the drifts are deep. There’s the stock to feed too. If only the work crews would clear the roads with the snowplow!”
The Brownies wore their sweaters at breakfast, for although a fire still burned in the kitchen and on the living room hearth, cold kept creeping in.
Outdoors, the sun was bright but had no warmth. Wind kept howling about the corners of the old house.
Before the breakfast dishes were washed, Mrs. Gordon tried to telephone to Goshen. She learned then that the weight of snow and ice had broken the wire.