The Long Winter (Little House 6)

“My goodness!” Laura exclaimed. “When is Christmas? I’d forgotten all about it. It’s almost here.”

Grace bounced on Mary’s lap and cried, “When is Christmas coming? When is Santa Claus?”

Mary and Carrie had told her all about Santa Claus. Now Mary did net know what to say to her and neither did Laura. But Carrie spoke up.

“Maybe Santa Claus can’t get here this winter, Grace, on account of the storms and the snow,” Carrie said. “You see, even the train can’t.”

“Santa Claus comes on a sled,” Grace said anxiously, looking at them with wide blue eyes. “He can come, can’t he, Pa? Can’t he, Ma?”

“Of course he can, Grace,” said Ma. Then Laura said stoutly, “Santa Claus can come anywhere.”

“Maybe he’ll bring us the train,” said Pa.

In the morning he took the letter to the post office and there he saw Mr. Gilbert put the mailbag into the sled and drive away, well wrapped in buffalo robes. He had twelve miles to go to Preston.

“He’ll meet another team there with mail from the East and bring it back,” Pa explained to Ma. “He ought to get back tonight, if he doesn’t have too much trouble crossing the sloughs.”

“He has good weather for the trip,” Ma said.

“I’d better be taking advantage of it myself,” said Pa.

He went out to harness David to the sled by the long rope. He hauled one load of hay that morning. At noon, while they sat at table, the light darkened and the wind began to howl.

“Here she comes!” Pa said. “I hope Gilbert made it safe to Preston.”

Chapter 17

Seed Wheat

The cold and the dark had come again. The nails in the roof were white with frost, the windowpanes were gray. Scraping a peephole only showed the blank, whirling whiteness against the other side of the glass. The stout house quivered and shook; the wind roared and howled. Ma kept the rag rugs tightly against the bottom of the doors, and the cold came crawling in.

It was hard to be cheerful. Morning and afternoon, holding th

e clothesline, Pa went to the stable to feed the horses, the cow, and the heifer. He had to be sparing of the hay. He came in so cold that he could hardly get warm. Sitting before the oven, he took Grace on his knee and hugged Carrie close to him, and he told them the stories of bears and panthers that he used to tell Mary and Laura. Then in the evening he took his fiddle and played the merry tunes.

When it was bedtime, and the cold upstairs must be faced, Pa played them up to bed.

“Ready now, all together!” he said. “Right, left, right, left—March!”

Laura went first, carrying the wrapped hot flatiron, Mary came behind with her hand on Laura’s shoulder. Last marched Carrie with the other flatiron and the music went with them up the stairs.

“March! March! Eskdale and Liddesdale!

All the blue bonnets are over the border!

Many a banner spread flutters about your head,

Many a crest that is famous in story.

Mount, and make ready, then,

Sons of the mountain glen,

Fight! for your homes and the old Scottish glory!”

It helped some. Laura hoped that she seemed cheerful enough to encourage the others. But all the time she knew that this storm had blocked the train again. She knew that almost all the coal was gone from the pile in the lean-to. There was no more coal in town. The kerosene was low in the lamp though Ma lighted it only while they ate supper. There would be no meat until the train came. There was no butter and only a little fatmeat dripping was left to spread on bread. There were still potatoes, but no more than flour enough for one more bread baking.

When Laura had thought all this, she thought that surely a train must come before the last bread was gone. Then she began to think again about the coal, the kerosene, the little bit of dripping left, and the flour in the bottom of the flour sack. But surely, surely, the train must come.