Excerpt from LAMPLIGHTER
by Bernice Thurman Hunter
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Chapter 15
Digging Out Time
Five days and nights the tempest raged. The loghouse was snowed in by a solid white wall. The lamps were lit both day and night, and only the grandfather clock in the corner told the difference.
Since the storm began no one, not even Henry, had been able to get to the spring.
"'Tis lucky we are to have clean fresh snow for water," remarked Mama as she chopped a pailful right out of the kitchen doorway. "Straight from heaven it comes, just like manna in the good book."
"Aye." Papa's brow was furrowed. "But how shall I get to the barn?" He feared for his animals. Four days the poor creatures had not been tended.
On the sixth day the family woke to a strange new sound.
Silence.
"What is it, Mama?" Willie looked up from the mattress on the floor.
"The storm has passed," answered his mother.
"It's digging out time," added his father.
"Whew! It's dreadful hot in here." Artie threw back the covers.
"The temperature must be up by thirty degrees," agreed Papa.
Just then there came a mysterious sound from above. Plain as day they heard it. Footsteps. . . on the roof!
"It's the bear! It's the bear!" cried Willie, bouncing with glee on the mattress.
"Hush!" Mama pressed a finger to her lips. The whole family stayed still as statues, save Papa, who loaded his gun. "Oh, Papa," pleaded Willie, "please don't shoot him."
"Hold your tongue!" hissed his father.
Clump, clump, clump went the footsteps on the roof. Then down the chimney and through the stovepipe they heard a ghastly voice, "Henry Adams! Henry Adams!"
Mama gasped, the old folks clung together, and the children, except Willie, dove under the covers. And even Henry Adams looked a mite dismayed.
"Henry Adams. . . are ye in there?" The voice came clearer now.
Lifting the stove lid, Papa shouted right into the fire, "Aye, I am. Who be ye?"
"'Tis me, Tom Rome. Can ye let me in?"
Tom Rome and his brother Elgin were bachelors who lived in a one-room cabin some distance to the north.
Papa and Mama hurried up the stairs to let Tom in through the bedchamber window, which was the only opening left to the outside world. He had snowshoed all the way, he said, walking right over fences and even clearing the tops of trees at times.
From Lamplighter, copyright © 1987 by Bernice Thurman Hunter.
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