Chapter 4

Three of the students were plodding down the stairs. "Oy! Lads!" George Crabtree caught their attention with a shout and a wry grin. "If you are willing, I could use a hand here." The boys looked at each other and shrugged.

William was behind them on the staircase. He checked his time piece and calculated how long it would take for them to get back to school. He "a-hemmed" softly, and the students immediately replaced their sullen faces with more agreeable expressions and offered to help, imagining Mr. Murdoch lecturing on the equal value of all work and belief that physical activity enhanced mental acuity.

The weather had brought in a good deal of snow that was melting by the door and needed mopping, the fire box needed filling, coal needed bringing up and the walkways front and back needed shoveling, so there was a certain amount of wrangling over the tasks. William knew better than to interfere and left them to it. He spied the fourth young man finally coming to the common room from the back of the building. "Mr. Gillies. Please join your fellows with a spot of work before you head back. I assume you found the water closet to your liking?"

"Why, yes, Mr. Murdoch. Am I to suppose Newton's 2nd law and Bernoulli's equations were employed to calculate the piping and water flow? How fascinating! Will you be bringing this into next term's lessons as a practical application of classroom teaching?" James held his face in an eager manner, knowing full-well he guessed correctly and that Mr. Murdoch would approve.

William could not prevent himself letting a small amount of surprise show. "Yes, Mr. Gillies. I see you are anticipating next term's reading, per usual. I expect then you will form the experimental team from among your classmates. And you will show your work." He saw the young man's face alter ever so subtly. Good, he thought. Staying ahead of this one is a challenge. "Off with you now."

Francis had just finished the floor when the front door burst open again with force, spewing snow and six people into the Inn, among them the Brackenreids. Mr. Brackenreid struggled with his weight to close the door back up with a thud and throw the bolt against the wind's pressure.

"Blood Hell! You can't see across the street!" He actually sounded more impressed than upset despite his overcoat and business suit being soaked and his hat fairly ruined by the combination of wet and wind. "Crabtree! These folks were on the trolley that broke down." He gestured to four travelers shivering in a clump, trying desperately to get warmer. "John and I could not even make it as far as my office before it just blew up all white." He helped his son get his things off and over to the fire.

"Do you want to call Margaret, let her know you are not going to make it?" asked Crabtree. As he said that there was a flash of light penetrating through the curtains followed by what sounded like thunder. Every eye was drawn to the view out of the front windows, and several persons looked at each other in disbelief. The dogs started whimpering, hackles raised. "What the Devil?"…."Who ever heard of thunder snow?"

"How remarkable." Julia had come forward and was staring outside in wonder, a look of enraptured curiosity on her face. She stood next to William, whose own countenance matched hers. "It is beautiful… and terrifying…" she gasped.

"Yes." William, also captivated, started to comment. "It is rare, indeed. It is usually caused by a strong upward flow of air, meeting…"

Brackenreid's voice boomed. "Never mind that! I think we are going to be stuck here for the duration until that white stuff outside clears up. I'll take that phone call, George, if you don't mind." Brackenreid dropped the formalities and dumped his coat on a chair, slapping his hands together to warm them. In a lower voice he said to Crabtree and Murdoch: "Gentlemen, it is bad, so we need to be prepared. Someone's going to freeze to death out there, or get lost in the snow."

William reluctantly broke his reverie with Julia and to resume his duty. "Sir, when you are finished with your call, I will put one through to the school. I don't want the parents to be needlessly worried."

Mrs. Kitchen arrived with a tray of steaming bowls, and looked a little shocked at the group of bedraggled people, including newcomers, three men and a young lady, sorting themselves out in the common room. "What was that noise all about?" she asked, a worried look on her face. "Georgie…Er…Mr. Crabtree, shall I go get some more soup?"

Crabtree took the tray from her and set it on the bar, and carried the remaining earthenware bowls over to Johnny Brackenreid and the storm refugees, with his compliments. He asked Mrs. Kitchen to fetch another tray's worth for the rest of them and find some bread and butter or jam too, relieved that it was Edna's barley soup he smelled, and was being served.

William finished his call and offered the telephone to Julia. The last gentleman from the trolley was putting his call through as Mrs. Kitchen came back with more food. "Perhaps Marguerite would like some soup?" William asked as he counted the bowls.

Brackenreid called his son over. "John, since you are done with yours, will you take this up to the third floor for Miss Marguerite? She's in room…?"

"Last one on the right as you go up the front stair case," offered Crabtree.

"No! Let the lad go back to the fire." Mrs. Kitchen grabbed for the tray and made a strong protest that she was perfectly able, but her employer overruled her.

"Nonsense, let the lad do it. I'm sure you would appreciate the break from having to go up and down the stairs yet again." George gave the tray to John. "There you go. And bread and jam for you when you get back. Mrs. Kitchen, will you get that for us? And you might as well do a small inventory of what is on hand."

While John and Mrs. Kitchen bustled off on their tasks, William, Julia, Brackenreid and Crabtree took their soup and a jug of cider to one of the dining tables close to the stove (and away from the students) and began to eat, talking privately about how to manage for the evening. They knew each other well enough to be comfortable with this arrangement; the assumption being that the four of them would figure something out together.

They were considering the number of beds and the reliability of electric service when Johnny Brackenreid appeared at his father's shoulder and waited. When there was not an immediate break in the adults' conversation, he tugged on his father's sleeve, and whispered something to his ear. Brackenreid's face reformed into a deep frown. "Say that again?" he asked his son.

Johnny swallowed hard, and tried to straighten up and speak plainly with good eye contact. He could not keep distress from rising in his voice. "Sir. Something's wrong with Miss Marguerite. She won't wake up."

William took the stairs two at a time, his heart clenched, followed closely by the other three. He flicked the lights on as he entered her room and stood at the side of the bed, knowing without being told Marguerite was dead. "No." he breathed. Julia came up beside him, found a pulse point then and spent a long minute fruitlessly trying to find a heartbeat or respirations. There were none. Looking at the crucifix above Marguerite's bed, William's face went rigid and his eyes wide. He made the sign of the cross and started to pray.