Snow had fallen all day, turning the rugged landscape into a blur of white. Toward dusk, the snow took on a bluish tint, and the sound of it falling was like the rustling of angel wings. Normally, the old farmhouse rather enjoyed winter storms, but tonight it shivered with cold and worry.
Inside the house, Marnie threw off the blankets, burning with fever, then pulled them up again to keep from freezing. She was alone and very ill. She hadn’t eaten in days. The carafe of water on her bedside table had crashed to the floor that morning as she wrestled with bedclothes. Her body cried out for food and water; her spirit cried out for help.
And then, thankfully, the children came. Cindy carefully picked up the pieces of broken glass and put a new fresh pitcher of water on the table. Laura filled a cup and held it to Marnie’s lips as Paul helped her sit up. Marnie smiled weakly, too sick to ask questions. The girls pulled the blankets around her and tucked her in, the way they themselves had been tucked in. Paul brought in wood for the fireplace and soon had a warm fire crackling. The three children took turns bathing Marnie’s forehead, keeping vigil until she finally went to sleep. Outside the window, the blue-white snow fell like a benediction.
When morning came, Marnie awoke to find medicine, food and a doctor she’d never met. Instead of introductions, she just held out a grateful hand.
“How did you find me?” The farmhouse was far from any well-traveled roads.
“Your children came knocking at my door, told me what you needed. Cindy and Laura helped my wife prepare the food for you. Paul harnessed the horse and led the way, while the girls followed close behind.”
“My children?” Marnie was puzzled. She was not much more than a child herself and had never given birth.
The old farmhouse, warm and cozy now, breathed its thanks to the children, who couldn’t resist a very human roll in the snow before floating back home.