Snowbound

  Mary Anne and I tiptoed through the front hallway. We peered out the small windows by the door. “I can’t make out anything,” I said.

  “Wait a second, I can see,” said Mary Anne. (She wears glasses just for reading. I have to wear them all the time. My vision is about as good as a mole’s. Even when my glasses are on.) “It’s my dad!” Mary Anne exclaimed.

  “Your dad? Are you positive?”

  “Yup.” Mary Anne opened the door.

  Sure enough, standing on the stoop was her father. “I hope I didn’t scare you,” he said.

  “Oh, no,” I replied. (My heart was tap dancing in my chest.)

  “I just wanted to make sure you’re all right. I was a bit nervous when the lights went out and I couldn’t phone you.”

  “We’re fine, Dad,” said Mary Anne. “Honest.” She told him what my brothers and sisters were doing. “We’re going to go to bed soon,” she added.

  “All right. I’d offer to stay with you, but Sharon isn’t back yet and I didn’t hear from her before the telephones went out, so I’m a little worried. But I suppose no news is good news.”

  “Gosh,” I said as Mr. Spier stepped carefully down our icy front stoop. “Your mom and Dawn aren’t back yet, and we don’t know where Stacey and her mom are. It’s kind of spooky, isn’t it? I wonder what our other friends are doing.”

  “Boy, I wish I knew,” replied Mary Anne.

  * * *

  An hour later, Mary Anne and I had succeeded in putting my brothers and sisters to bed. It was quite late — long past their bedtime — but I didn’t care. We wouldn’t have school the next day, so we could sleep in.

  I lay cozily in my warm bed that night. Even so, I didn’t sleep much. Probably the sugar from the ice cream and hot chocolate. Also, I couldn’t help worrying about Stacey and Dawn. I was driven crazy by the fact that I was unable to phone them, or anyone else. Had Jessi and Quint made it back from Stoneybrook or were they stuck somewhere? Was Quint even in Connecticut?

  I listened to the wind whistle around the eaves of the house.

  Twice, I tiptoed to the window and peeked outside. Not a light anywhere. Not even a streetlight. The power had not been turned on. I squinted my eyes and tried to see what the blizzard was doing. I was pretty sure snow was still falling, because the plows had not yet come down our street.

  Around two o’clock I fell asleep. But I awoke again before six. I peeped out the window. Day was breaking, so I could finally see. It was snowing, but only lightly, and I thought the sky looked brighter than it had on Wednesday afternoon. I tried to guess how much snow had fallen and decided on at least two feet. Cars were half buried, our stoop was a small hill of snow (Mr. Spier’s footprints had vanished), and shrubbery was completely buried.

  I wondered if the power was back yet, and I turned on the radio alarm clock. A newscaster was saying, “All public, private, and parochial schools are closed today.”

  Yes! No school — and the electricity had returned.

  I switched off the clock before the radio could waken Mary Anne or Vanessa. Then I tiptoed downstairs and double-checked the appliances. The only thing on that should have been off was a light in the rec room, so I flipped its switch, then tiptoed back upstairs and checked on the boys and Claire and Margo. They were sleeping peacefully.

  I returned to my own bed.

  “Mal?” mumbled Mary Anne from her cot.

  “Yeah?”

  “What’s going on?”

  “I think the storm is over. Oh, and school’s closed.”

  “Hey! Who turned out the lights?” called Myriah.

  “Yeah, who turned them out?” echoed Gabbie.

  “Nobody,” I replied.

  “Mr. Nobody?!” yelped Gabbie.

  “No. I mean, nobody turned them out. I think the snow knocked down some power lines. We probably don’t have any electricity at all. Myriah, do you know where your mom and dad keep their flashlight?”

  “Yes. It’s in the cabinet in the rec room. And it’s big. It needs lots of batteries.”

  We felt our way through a hall and into the rec room. “Which cabinet?” I asked Myriah. (She and Gabbie were holding onto me by my belt loops.)

  “This one, I think,” she replied.

  I opened the cabinet and reached one hand inside. Since I couldn’t see a thing, I suddenly became afraid of all sorts of awful creatures that might be hiding there, just waiting for my hand to appear … then snap! But the first object I touched felt like a flashlight, so I took it out of the cabinet, fumbled for the switch, found it, pressed it up, and —

  Okay. We had light. Now what?

  “There you are! exclaimed Gabbie. “And there’s Myriah, and here I am!” She sounded amazed.

  Okay. We had light. Now what? Put the girls to bed? Continue my search for Chewy? I decided the girls were my first priority, so I guided them carefully upstairs to their bedrooms. They did not like getting ready for bed in the dark, and I couldn’t blame them.

  “This is scary,” whispered Gabbie.

  She was right.

  “I don’t like walking around corners,” said Myriah.

  Neither did I.

  Nevertheless, I thought I was actually going to get the girls to sleep without problems, until Myriah said, “What if we have to get up during the night? We won’t be able to see. Even the night-light in the bathroom doesn’t work.”

  Uh-oh. Good point.

  “Well, I need the flashlight for a little while longer. Until I go to bed,” I said. “Then I could put it in the hallway or the bathroom and leave it on. How would that be?” I asked, already praying that the batteries wouldn’t run out.

  “Okay,” said Myriah. “Thank you.”

  “Okay, thank you,” said Gabbie.

  “Into bed, then,” I told the girls. “You’re up a little late tonight.”

  “I never went to bed in the dark before,” said Gabbie.

  “Hmm. Why don’t you pretend you’re going to bed and the light is on as usual?” I suggested. (Gabbie climbed into her bed.) “Now close your eyes,” I said. (Gabbie closed them.) “Now open them.” (Gabbie opened them.) “See? I just turned off the light!”

  Gabbie giggled.

  “Turn off my light!” cried Myriah.

  “Okay.” I led Myriah into her room and put her to bed. “I’ll be back upstairs in awhile,” I said. “I’m going to sleep in your room, remember? In the other bed? And I’ll set the flashlight in the hall first.”

  Myriah smiled. (Or at least I think she did.) As I left her room, she called after me in a loud whisper, “Good luck with Chewy!”

  Now how did she know I planned to continue the search?

  “Thanks,” I replied.

  I carried the heavy flashlight down the steps to the first floor. Once again, I walked from room to room, softly calling, “Chewy! Chewy! Here, boy! Chewy, where are you?” And once again I found nothing. Well, not nothing. I found a cat toy under the couch and a mitten behind a door. In the front hallway, I found a letter that had fallen behind a table.

  And then I heard footsteps.

  I heard footsteps outside, padding closer and closer to the —

  Ding-dong!

  “Oh, my lord!” I shrieked.

  “Honey?” called a muffled voice from the other side of the door. “Is that you, Claudia? It’s Mom.”

  “Mom?” I called back. “Really?”

  “Really. I just wanted to find out if everything was okay.”

  I opened the door and let her inside. “Mom!” I cried, as if I hadn’t seen her in a year or two. “I’m so glad it’s you!”

  “Are you all right? Did you know the phones went out, too? I thought you might have been trying to call us. Are the girls okay?”

  So many questions. I smiled, and my heart, which felt as if it had been beating as fast as a hummingbird’s, slowed down a little. “Yeah. We’re fine. The girls are asleep. And I did know the phones went out because I tried to call you. Mom, C
hewy’s missing!”

  “Oh, honey. When did you realize he was gone?”

  “A little while ago. Myriah and Gabbie wanted to say good night to him, and we couldn’t find him. I knew he’d been inside before, because I gave him his dinner. And I’m pretty sure no one let him out, but we’ve looked everywhere. What if he is outside? What if he’s caught in this storm somewhere? If he doesn’t come back, I will never forgive myself. Poor Chewy. He must be freezing.”

  “Claudia, calm down,” said Mom. “I’ll help you look through the house again and then we’ll call for him outside. That’s all we can do. It’s much too cold and windy to search outside, and besides, you can barely see through the snow. If we don’t find Chewy tonight, I think you’ll have to wait until tomorrow to look any further.”

  That made sense. “Okay,” I agreed.

  So Mom and I looked and looked, then leaned out the front and back doors and called and called. No Chewy.

  “I’ll stay with you tonight,” said Mom as we sank onto the couch in the playroom. “I can sleep right here.”

  “Oh, that’s okay. Honest,” I told her. “This job is my responsibility. I don’t want anyone to think I can’t handle it. And if I do need you, you’re right across the street.”

  “I imagine that by the time we wake up tomorrow, the power will be on again,” said my mother. “Maybe the phones will work, too. You’ll feel better then. But I am happy to stay here.”

  “No. Thanks, though. I’ll call you first thing in the morning — or I’ll bring the girls over for a visit if the phone still doesn’t work.”

  “All right.”

  Mom left then, and not long afterward, I went to bed and fell fast asleep. But I didn’t stay asleep. I kept waking up, wondering what had happened to Chewy. Sometimes I listened for Laura. I wasn’t used to being in charge of a baby for so long. But the Perkinses’ house remained quiet until just after five o’clock.

  That was when I realized that somebody was staring at me. From about two inches away. I was face-to-face with … Gabbie.

  “Gabbers?” I whispered. “What are you doing up? Are you okay?”

  “I hear funny sounds, Claudia,” she replied.

  “Why don’t you sleep in here with Myriah and me for awhile?”

  “No. I want to see what the funny sounds are.”

  I yawned. “Okay,” I said, sitting up. “What do the sounds sound like?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Gabbie led me to the head of the stairs. I listened. Sure enough. I heard funny sounds, too. I heard a sort of snuffling and scratching.

  “Gabbie!” I exclaimed. “I think it’s Chewy!”

  I grabbed the flashlight and we hurried downstairs. We followed the sounds to the basement door. When I opened it, out bounded Chewy.

  “Chewbacca!” cried Gabbie.

  “Chewy! Have you been in the basement all night? How did you get shut in there anyway? And why didn’t you answer us when we called?” (What a question to ask a dog.) “I bet you have to go to the bathroom, don’t you?” I asked, as Gabbie hugged Chewy tightly. I threw my coat on over my nightgown, and let Chewy out the back door. I didn’t follow him, though. I found myself staring at an amazingly white, fuzzy world. Snow was just about all I could see. It had blown and drifted against everything. I had never seen so much snow.

  “It’s taller than me!” said Gabbie.

  It wasn’t, but it must have looked that way to her. Anyway, it was more than half as tall as she was.

  When Chewy came back inside, I dried him off. I looked at my watch. Not even five-thirty. But the girls and I were up for the day. Laura awoke because she needed a diaper change. Myriah awoke because Chewy ran to her bedroom and gave her slurpy kisses.

  We checked the electricity. Working! We checked the phone. Working! We listened to the radio. School was closed!

  After I called Mom, I had fun helping the girls get dressed and then making breakfast for them. In the middle of our breakfast, Mr. Perkins phoned, saying that he and Mrs. Perkins would be home as soon as the roads had been cleared.

  “Would you like dessert?” I asked Myriah and Gabbie later.

  “Dessert after breakfast?” said Myriah.

  “Sure. We just had a blizzard. We should make snow cream right away.” I showed the girls how to collect clean snow and put a scoop into a bowl. Then I poured maple syrup over each scoop.

  “Yummy!” said Myriah.

  “Yummy!” said Gabbie.

  And soon they headed outdoors to begin creating their snow family.

  Around nine o’clock on Wednesday night, the younger dance students began to grow tired. They squabbled with each other. They spilled things. They whined.

  “Sounds like bedtime,” I whispered to Quint.

  “I’ll say,” Quint replied.

  “Somehow, I had thought we might be home by now,” I went on. “I kept thinking the storm would stop suddenly, the plows would come through, and our parents would arrive. I guess not.” I was looking out the window. If anything, the snow was coming down even harder.

  Quint shook his head. “We’re here for the night.”

  At least the electricity was on. I didn’t know that Stoneybrook was without power, so I didn’t realize how lucky I was to be stranded in Stamford. All I could see were the problems, although I tried not to dwell on them. The business with the phones was particularly upsetting. I was sure that from New York City to Stoneybrook was a trail of worried people, especially families. As far as I knew, Quint’s parents weren’t sure where their son was. My parents weren’t sure where Quint was. They knew where I was, but were they worrying about me? Probably. I wondered if my friends were worried, too. Had Mal or anyone talked to Mama and Daddy? (I also didn’t know that the Stoneybrook phones were out of order.) I did know that Mary Anne and Mal were sitting at the Pikes’ that night, and I wondered how they were doing, and whether Dawn and her mom had been able to pick up Jeff. What if they couldn’t make the trip to the airport? Finally I worried about the parents of all the kids who were stuck here.

  “I didn’t know you were such a worrier,” said Quint as I poured out my thoughts to him. We were sharing my coat, sitting on it in a corner of one of the rehearsal rooms, the wound-up kids running by us.

  “I’m not usually,” I told him. “But this is an unusual situation. Aren’t you worried? You haven’t even talked to your parents yet.”

  “I know. But I’m safe, so I’m not worried. If my parents want to worry, that’s their choice. There’s nothing I can do about a blizzard. Or about talking to Mom and Dad. And as long as we’re in this situation, we should make the best of it. This is kind of fun, don’t you think?”

  “I don’t know about fun, but it’s an adventure. That’s for sure.” I glanced up then and saw Mme Noelle standing in the doorway, surveying the rowdy kids. I caught her eye. When she nodded at me, I stood up. I pulled Quint with me. “I think Mme Noelle wants to speak to us,” I said.

  We dodged around kids until we were facing my teacher. Ordinarily, I’m shy around Madame, but maybe Quint’s presence let me feel a little braver. At any rate, before Mme Noelle had started to speak, I said, “I think the kids are ready to go to sleep — even if they don’t realize it.”

  “I sink you are right,” agreed Mme Noelle. She looked around uncertainly.

  “Do you want me to help you settle them down?” I asked. “I baby-sit all the time. I’m used to it.”

  “Me, too,” said Quint. “I mean, I don’t baby-sit, but I’m good at getting my brother and sister to go to sleep.”

  “Why, sank you, Jessica. Sank you, Queent,” said Madame. “Zat would be a beeg help. Zee ozzer teachers and I would appreciate eet.”

  Maybe you’re wondering where the older kids were. They were in another room, making the most of this night without their parents. They were eating and gossiping and fixing each other’s hair. I mean, the girls were. The boys were eating and gossiping and trying to repair this radi
o that has sat on a table in the office for, like, a hundred years — and never worked.

  Quint and I divided the little kids into a group of boys and a group of girls. There were a lot more girls than boys, but that was okay. We weren’t creating teams or anything. Then Quint led the boys into one of the changing rooms and I led the girls to another. (A large bathroom is attached to each changing room.) I helped the girls to wash their faces (with paper towels); to brush their teeth (with their fingers, using water); and to take off headbands, jewelry, and anything else that might be uncomfortable to sleep on. They stashed these things in their dance bags and then returned to the practice room. Mme Duprès and Quint and I walked around while the kids arranged their coats on the floor and lay down on them.

  “Jessi?” called one of the very youngest girls. “This is not comfy. I have to sleep in my bed.” Three minutes later she was so sound asleep that she didn’t even wake up when the boys, who could not settle down, accidentally kicked a sneaker into the wall beside her during a game of Shoe Hockey (whatever that was).

  Eventually, all of the younger kids managed to fall asleep. Quint and I crept out of the room and joined my friends.

  “Hey, Jessi,” said Katie Beth. “How about a nice cup of … soup?”

  I groaned. Then I laughed. Katie Beth was teasing. It was only ten-thirty, and already the “good” food (meaning the cookies and the dried fruit) was long gone. Only the instant soup was left. Most of us were starving, but we couldn’t face any more of those slimy noodles. Instead we just sat around and talked. Mme Noelle and the other teachers left us alone, which was considerate of them. (Or maybe just smart. I’d heard Mme Duprès say she had a rip-roaring headache.) I talked with the girls; Quint talked with the boys. I would have liked to spend more time with Quint, but once I overheard him say “bowling bag” to this kid, Reed Creason, so I figured they were talking about being guy dancers, which was good for Quint. Anyway, Quint and I had the rest of our visit left for talking — provided his parents let him stay after the night’s disaster which, by the way, I thought Quint had handled quite maturely.