Chapter 20 Continues
The story so far: An act of rebellion costs one miner his life.
The people of the Range enjoyed an Indian summer until they didn't. Winter arrived with a fury during the second week of November. Temperatures dropped into the teens and Lake Superior froze. Because the ore boats couldn't get out until more icebreakers arrived at the port town of Duluth, production slowed at the mines. Men were furloughed. A few of the boarders left to work in the forests with the lumber companies. Those who remained hunted or worked odd jobs in town to make their rent until the mines took them back. Life became easier for the men and more difficult for the women.
With each week that passed, the temperature plummeted. The sky dropped white flakes as big as a newborn's hand, until all the earth was covered in white. Some days, Katka stood outside surrounded by the abyss of white and felt as if she were trapped in an eggshell. But never for longer than it took to complete her chores, for the wind hit hard, like a slap against her once-soft skin. Anton had told her that the northern air chilled a man to the bone. Although Katka had never heard that expression, she now knew what it felt like. The frigid blasts grabbed hold of her bones and sank their sharp teeth into the hardest, sturdiest parts. Many days, she thought the wind would break her into tiny shards. Then she would rush inside, shake the snow off her wet clothes and huddle by the woodstove, wondering if she would ever feel the tender warmth of the sun again. Katka's chores intensified with the cold. She and Lily gathered more wood from the pile Anton had neatly stacked to keep the fires blazing. They had to let the wet wash freeze-dry outside, so that the clothing would not drip onto the floor indoors and create a skating rink inside. Then, they would wring out the frozen fabric with their raw, red hands and hang it again near the stove. When Anton emptied his traps, the women carefully sewed fur into hats and made liners for their coats and boots. They spent hours knitting warm mittens and socks for the boarders. They traipsed through several feet of snow to haul the water from the pump. They milked the cows, gathered the eggs and prepared the meals. Often exhausted, they had less time to work on the paper.
On occasion, Katka's thoughts drifted back to her homeland, or to her trip to America. But compared to the reality of her chapped hands and constantly cold feet, her past seemed ephemeral. It was as if it had belonged to a different person. Her memories were fading and if she hadn't brought the photograph of her parents from so long ago, she was certain she would have forgotten the shapes of their faces. She did, however, still retain a clear memory of Paul Schmidt. She wanted to ask her uncle if he had heard anything about him, but she did not. When she was with him on the boat, she had been too excited to think. She just lived. And she was happy. And then he disappeared. If he was still in this country, he would have contacted her by now. If he was in this country and hadn't contacted her, well, that was a reality she didn't care to face. So she pictured him back in Slovenia, in a field of wild lavender surrounded by the Julian Alps.
In December, she experienced the first of many blizzards. The storm dumped so much snow on the log house, it was impossible to see out the windows. Although there were twelve-foot drifts to shovel and flakes were still coming down, the miners could not risk being late to work. "Lily. Kat," Anton said. "You will have to help me shovel."
Katka pulled on her galoshes and grabbed her coat and scarf, but Lily did not move. "Lily," Anton said. "Get going, my precious flower. The dishes can wait."
"No. They can't."
