The snow falls slowly in a whisper. One flake, three, three thousand float from the black night to the dirty streets below where the late night quiet suggests abandonment. The flakes join and become a thin blanket giving pureness to brown squalor. Blanket upon quiet blanket falls with a soft hiss audible only to those listening to the quiet. The heavens open. The thick curtain of clouds roll back and moonlight and starlight burst through, bouncing and ricocheting from white point to white point.
The alarm clock yanks Rachel from a fitful sleep. She slaps at the sound until it stops, then lays quiet for a moment trying to summon the courage to swing her bare feet out onto the cold bedroom floor. Tossing off the goose down comforter, she throws her legs over the side of the bed, rises quickly to a sitting position and slowly stands. She removes her terrycloth robe from the foot of the bed, puts it on and synchs the belt. She shuffles down the polished hardwood hallway to the bathroom, flips on the light, closes the door, and begins studying herself in the medicine chest mirror.
Not quite thirty, she retains the girlish look of short hair, freckles and dimples, to which has had been added the pallor of worry, sleeplessness and...
"Ain't you a sight to behold", she says aloud to the figure in the mirror. After turning on the water, she removes her toothbrush from the cup holder and proceeds to scrub the remnants of another bad night's sleep from her sticky palate. Then, snatching the hairbrush off the top of the toilet tank, she passes it quickly through her short brown hair. Disgusted with the image looking back at her, she shakes her head slowly and sighs heavily before trudging to the kitchen to start coffee and see what she can scrounge up to feed her son and father.
Rachel had never intended to be living with her father at this stage in her life. She hadn't intended to be a widow at twenty eight either, but a North Korean artillery shell had done that. So much for intentions! But that was all behind her now, or was it? The night sweats still soaked her sheets. The dreams still left her feeling empty and alone. The long, empty days still seemed to stretch out before her. Everyone kept telling her to, "Give it time, give it time." But it had been three years, three long, lonely, miserable years.
She fills the coffee pot with water at the sink, measures out the coffee and sets it on the stove; the burner igniting with a low whoosh. She looks out the kitchen window at the snow.
It is the type of snow that clings to everything. The branches of the trees are bent low with the weight of it, the wet-black of their bark forming a stark contrast to the overwhelming white. The plows have been out for hours and the street in front of the house resembles a black shiny river running between high white banks. A solitary car sloshes upstream under a sky turning pale blue in the new morning light. The coffee pot begins playing the Maxwell House song.
"Mornin'."
The sound startles her. She swivels her head and sees her father standing in the kitchen doorway watching her. She stands upright and turns toward him, a smile forcing its way onto her face.
"And to you too," she says, walking over and kissing him on his bald forehead, noticing as she does the lingering smell of lathe oil which clings to all of her father's clothes, to his skin itself, refusing to be washed out.
He is sixty and almost bald. What hair remains is thin, white and grows only along the sides of his head. He is dressed, as usual, in green work pants and shirt with black work oxfords and white socks. A wry smile is on his face.
A short, fat, leprechaun, she thinks. A man without a mean streak anywhere. She is overcome with a rush of love for the old man.
"Got any preferences for breakfast?" she asks.
"I was kind of looking forward to French toast, I was," comes the reply.
"Then French toast is what it will be". She laughs a small laugh. "Ready for some coffee?"
"Is the Pope Catholic?" he replies in mock seriousness.
His name is Henry and beneath his soft, good humor this morning, his concern for his daughter, his Rach, his little girl, weighs heavily on him. Sure, she is a big girl now, but in his mind she will always be his little girl; full of "sugar and spice and everything nice." Rachel's mother died of cancer a year after Rachel was born, leaving the old man devastated and alone to care for his new daughter. And now there is Todd, his five year old grandson. Todd will grow up without a father, without even a memory of him. Henry does his best to act the surrogate, but is well aware of his inadequacy. He feels too old, too tired. It's time his daughter started surfacing, started living again, if only slowly. Time has passed, and in his opinion, is beginning to waste. But how do you broach such a subject with a person you love so much? He watches her move through the kitchen, recognizing the pallor of broken sleep on her face, seeing the slumped shoulders. Time, a little more time, he thinks.
Rachel takes a glass mixing bowl from the shelf over the sink, sets it down and glances quickly at the green clock on the wall. She begins to walk out of the room to call Todd.
"Let him sleep", Henry says as he adds two tiny saccharine tablets to his coffee.
"But dad, you know how that boy is. If I don't get him up now he'll be late for school."
"No need worrying about school today." Henry is smiling as he cradles the warm coffee mug. "They canceled it because of the storm."
"Storm!" Rachel was incredulous. "What storm? You mean that wee bit of snow we had last night? They call that a storm?"
"You're starting to sound like an old fart." Henry says. "Next thing you'll be telling me how you used to walk ten miles through ten foot snow drifts when you were in school."
"Not ten foot drifts and not quite ten miles," Rachel began to counter, "but it just seems to me...".
"It's the busses." Henry interrupts, "The bus company is scared of accidents. Insurance and all, you know."
"Busses?" Rachel turns to him and tilts her head, totally perplexed. "The streets are totally clear! A little wet maybe, but clear."
"Well, at any rate they canceled school. I heard it on my bedroom radio.
"I think that old principal, what's his face there, old boozer McCree, he had a bad night, woke early and saw a few flakes, felt his head pound and recognized a perfect excuse for a holiday," Rachel says, opening the refrigerator and removing the eggs and milk.
From above their heads comes a thump. Todd is up.
Rachel looks up at the ceiling shaking her head slowly. "Of all days for him to get up on his own, he chooses a day when he doesn't have to." She makes a move to leave the room.
"Save your breath." Henry says without looking at her.
"What?" says Rachel, stopping in mid-stride.
"If he's up, he's seen the snow. If he's seen the snow, then school or no school, he'll be wanting out into it. That's why he's getting up on his own. It's the snow. It's magic to a kid Todd's age. Now what about them French toast, or should I go out to the diner this morning?"
Rachel gently cuffs her father on the back of the head as she turns her attention back to the milk and eggs.
Breakfast over, Todd is ordered into the living room to clean up the toys he left there the previous evening. Rachel piles dishes into the sink and begins wiping the table. She stops and turns at the sound of water running in the sink. Henry is standing there adding detergent to the sink as it fills.
"And may I ask what you think you're doing?" she says in an overly authoritative tone.
"What's it look like? I'm going to wash up these here dishes?"
"Now why would you want to go and do that for? How am I supposed to earn my keep around here?"
"Daughter, your KEEP around here was earned, bought and paid for the moment you entered this world. Besides, the hot water is good on these old arthritic fingers." He says this without turning and begins washing the dishes.
Rachel lets the matter slide .
"I saw your friend Karen at the grocery yesterday," Henry says. He continues washing and rinsing, waiting.
"Oh, what she been up to?" There was a slight waver in Rachel's voice.
" I didn't grill her. Just said hi and passed a few pleasantries. She did say something about inviting you out this weekend though. Her brother is in town or something like that." He knows perfectly well what the something was.
Karen's brother, Carl, had returned to his old hometown after his marriage dissolved. An accountant and an officer in the Army reserves with two tours in Korea behind him, he had married almost immediately after returning from overseas. No one in the family, or in the neighborhood for that matter, had given the marriage more than a year. It lasted fifteen months. Karen had called Rachel several times trying to "fix her up" with him. Rachel made one excuse after the other. It wasn't like the guy was some kind of looser. Rachel had even dated him a few times in high school. Now he was back, looking to re-establish roots.
Henry liked him, had always liked him. Carl was the first to make Eagle Scout back in prehistory when Henry was Scout Master. While the other kids wasted away their summers, Carl kept busy mowing lawns and delivering papers. The kid had character. Henry had, more than once, thought of how Carl would be as a son-in-law, had rather liked the idea, had come to almost expect it would happen in due course. But it hadn't.
Carl moved away, first to college and then into the service. They lost track until the invitation arrived for Carl's wedding. By that time Rachel had married a nice guy from New Hampshire, moved to Rochester and given birth to Todd. The "Police Action" in Korea ended that with the force of an exploding artillery shell. Rachel had tried to cope in New Hampshire, but finally gave in to her father's pleas and moved back home.
"Yeah, she called and asked me over a few times. I told her I'm just too busy, what with Todd and all."
She hoped her father would drop it there. She hung the dustpan and broom behind the cellar door, closed it and turned back toward the sink. Her father stood facing her, wiping his hands on a dish towel.
"Honey," he says, his voice soothingly smooth, "I think you need to get out of this old house. As for Todd, you know I..."
"I know what you're saying, dad," she cut in, "and I appreciate it, I really do. But....not now, not yet." She begins to walk quickly past him toward the living room. Henry places a hand upon her shoulder as she passes and pulls her to him. He can see the glistening moistness in her eyes. He hugs her gently.
"Well, whenever. You know I'm here."
Todd moves quickly, unseen, from the living room, through the kitchen to the mud room door. He opens the door and, ignoring the rush of icy air, goes out and climbs up on an old wooden chair. He reaches out and snatches his blue snowsuit from its hanging place on a nail, and slides down to a sitting position, white mist pluming from his open mouth. He slips his legs into the suit, but as he does his pant legs are pushed far up on his short legs. He removes the snowsuit, pulls his pant legs down and tucks them into the tops of his gray wool socks, then rams his legs back into the snow suit, slides to the floor and begins bending, writhing and struggling to get both arms into their respective holes.
Rachel appears in the doorway, her hands white from kneading fresh bread dough. She crooks her right hand out of the way and wipes a few dangling strands of dark hair from her eyes with a clean wrist.
"You sure you want to go out there, it's pretty cold you know?"
"Yes", he says quietly, not looking at her.
"Well then let me help you with that suit". She bends down, wiping her hands on her flowered apron, but he quickly jerks himself away.
"I can do it myself!" he snaps.
"Okay, if you say so. But I want to check you over before you go out."
He doesn't answer. He is intent on trying to line up the ends of the zipper.
She sees his inexperienced fingers fumbling and fights the temptation to zip it for him. She turns back into the kitchen.
A few moments later he comes to her, sliding his stocking feet across the shiny waxed linoleum, unzipped snowsuit hanging about him like a bag.
"Mom", he whines, "I can't get this thing..."
Rachel drops down to one knee. Taking his small hands in hers, she lines up the zipper and pulls it up a couple of inches. He quickly finishes zipping when she releases his hands. She buttons the top button snugly against his neck. He stands motionless offering no resistance, the black, scratchy, wool mittens hanging from the sleeves, sewn there at the end of a short piece of elastic. Rachel watches as Todd sticks his thumb out and slips first the right mitten into place and then the left. He turns toward the door.
"Not so fast young man", she says.
He looks back at her with a puzzled expression.
"Oh yeah", he says with a quick smile of remembrance. He turned back and digs around among the assorted boots and shoes on the floor dragging out first one and then the other of his black galoshes. He plunks himself down on the floor, reaching inside the boots and withdrawing the two squares of wrinkled waxed paper. Rachel watches patiently from the kitchen as he tries in vain to cup the heal of his right shoe with the paper so the shoe will slip easily into the boot. The grunts and bangs increase in volume.
"Mommmm!"
"Need some help?"
"I can't get it", he whimpers in frustration.
She lifts him up onto the old chair. Putting the waxed paper in position, she pulls the boots into place with a swooshing sound. Without stopping she buckles each metal clamp with a snap, wraps his neck in a knitted, white scarf, and pulls a red stocking cap carefully down over his ears. Finally she tugs his hood up, tucks blond curls and hat inside it and tightens and ties the drawstring. Todd chunks toward the door, the buckles on the boots jingling.
"You stay right out back where I can see you."
"Okay", he says removing his mittens so he can turn the old ceramic door knob.
The door opens. He runs outside but quickly turns back and pulls the door closed. He pulls his mittens back on and begins hopping down the steps.
Todd stops as he passes through the shadow of the porch roof and squints in the bright white glare. His nose is already running from the cold air and his tongue darts to wipe the meandering, salty stream. Water drips from the icicles hanging from the eaves drilling holes in the snow below. He tries to look up at the icicles but his head just pivots inside the stationary hood until his vision is blocked. He pushes the hood back a little and leans backward to look up.
The sunlight passing through the slender ice prisms flashes color in all directions. Todd inclines further back, enchanted by the sight. A small wisp of low, white cloud races out from the shelter of the roof. Todd sees the pointed roof speed forward against the backdrop of the stationary cloud. Vertigo overtakes him and he falls over backward into the unmarked snow. He recovers immediately and slowly lifts himself up onto one elbow. He lays there in this position for a moment, then stands and looks back at the indentation his body has made in the soft snow, studying it very carefully.
"Did you ever make a snow angel?" The deep, husky voice startles him. He whips around toward the sound only to confront the coal man standing not five feet away. He is big. He has on green pants like his grandpa wears, a heavy canvas bag of coal is slung over one shoulder. He has an old, gray, felt hat pulled low almost to his eyebrows. His eyes shine white against the dark black streaks of coal dust which covers most of his face. Instead of a coat he is wearing only a red wool shirt which hangs outside his pants, with sleeves rolled up to the elbow and collar open at the neck,
"Where's your coat?" Todd asks, still squinting in the brightness.
"Don't need no coat. Don't slow down long enough to get cold. Besides it would just get in my way".
"My mom won't let me out without one."
"Mothers are like that sometimes." The coal man sets his heavy bundle down with a groan and a grimace. "Now what about them snow angels? You ever make one?"
"An angel?" Todd sounds very curious and skeptical.
"Sure", the man says. "You see that print of yourself you've made there?" He points to the imprint Todd made in the snow when he fell. "Well, that's sorta like a picture of you."
Todd looks again at his imprint then back at the coal man. "Yeah, but how do I make an angel?"
The coal man squats down to be eye to eye with the small boy. He flips his hat brim up and looks directly at him, into his eyes
"I could tell you, but I thinks it best if I show you." A large grin breaks out on the grimy face. The man looks around for a suitable patch of unmarked snow.
"Come over here now. Stand right next to me and do what I do."
Todd moves over close to the coal man.
"Not quite that close," the coal man says. ""Hold out your arms like this." The big man thrusts his arms straight out from his sides. When Todd lifts his arms the man moves a step to his right putting a few inches between their outstretched fingertips.
"You ready?"
Todd shakes his head excitedly.
"When I say three, we flop over backwards just like you did before, but we don't move afterwards. Okay?
"Okay." Todd says, almost in a whisper.
"One, two,.....THREE!"
Boy and man, man and boy flop backwards with a crunching of new snow. They lay in the snow motionless, quiet. Todd scrunches his eyes shut.
"What do we do now?"
"Just move your arms up and down, like a bird flappin' his wings," comes the reply.
Todd and the coal man flap.
"That's it! Your angel's gonna to be a good one!"
Todd flaps harder.
"That's enough. The coal man stops and remains motionless for a moment then clears his throat. "Phew! Now comes the hard part. You just stop your flappin' and lay quiet while I get up".
The coal man takes a deep breath and raises himself to a sitting position. Then with a loud grunt, he stands straight up. He looks down at Todd.
"That's the hard part, getting out of it without mashing it all up. Here, give me your hand". The coal-man reaches out a large soot smeared, reddened hand. Todd reaches. The coal man grabs his mittened, small hand tight and lifts him out of the angel. Laying his big hands on the small boy's shoulders, he turns him around to see.
Todd looks down at the two snow angels, one small, one large.
"That's neat!", he cries. "Let's do it again!"
The coal man is holding Todd's hand. "Neat? Yeah, it sure is little fella". His voice softens. His mind drifts back in time. "My dad taught me to do this a long time ago." He stands quietly for a few seconds, then with a shake says, "I'd love to make a thousand of them all over your backyard, but I have to deliver this here coal or people will be cold tonight. You go ahead, though, have a ball!" The coal man grins widely and warmly becoming all white teeth and white eyes as he does. Then, pulling his hat back down he picked up his coal bag, slung it over his back and walked away, turning once to wave good-bye.
For the next hour Todd plops and flops in every clear patch of snow he can find, until, at last, he finds it difficult to rise. He sits in the wet snow, feeling suddenly sleepy and cold. His wool mittens are soaked through and the wet wool is both warm and itchy to his hands. He shakes one mitten off and looks at his red, wet hand and smells the wet mitten. He grabs a handful of snow with his bare hand. It feels cool and soothing. He takes a small bite and chews it a little, then drops the rest and rubs his hands on his snowsuit.
In the kitchen, Rachel, cleaning up from her bread-making, looks up at the clock. "Three-fifteen", she says aloud, "Never enough time."
The telephone catches her eye and she stops with her hand on the receiver. Slowly she lifts it, dials the numbers. Her eyes are open wide and unblinking. She is aware of her acts, aware of the compulsion, the unseen force which has momentarily taken over her reason. One ring, then two. Karen answers. Small talk. "Saturday night? Sure, I'd love to. I'll be ready at seven thirty. See you then."
Rachel slowly and gently replaces the receiver. The numbness subsides The hint of a smile begins at the corners of her mouth, fed by a warm vibration flowing upwards from her navel. She hurriedly begins untying her apron as she leans to the window to check on Todd.
He is standing in the center of the yard looking down at something. She plainly sees the dark blue splotches of wet across his back and shoulders and the almost black circle around his bottom. He is removing his mittens and looking at his hands.
She opens the door and calls out, "Todd, I think you'd better come in now."
Todd turns and tilts his head back to look up at her. "Come see what I made!"
The gleeful excitement in his voice catches her off guard. She had been expecting the usual pleading, "Just a little while longer".
Rachel opens the door fully and steps out onto the small landing. The sight which lay before her causes her mouth to open. Todd is standing squarely in the middle of the yard, wet, red-faced and smiling. He is completely surrounded with images in the snow, images of angels. Her mind centers and locks on her son; smiling, laughing, now twirling around with arms outstretched; held in and protected by a circle of angels.
Her open mouth closes then reopens into a broad smile as she takes it all in. Her eyes dart from one angel to another. She sees them sparkle in the lowering winter light, hears her son's gurgling laughter. A lightness fills her, lifts her. She begins to laugh a quiet happy laugh. Then her eyes stop and fix on another object, one similar but different. She stare in wonder and bewilderment at the large angel. .