Jessica Holmes sat at the kitchen table, peeling potatoes for the evening meal. A single tear formed in the corner of her eye. Angrily dashing it away, she bent her head and continued her tedious task. Another tear formed, and another. Then, her heavy head sank into her folded arms. Jessica sobbed.

"What are you crying for?" Granny grouched from her corner near the stove. "Ain't nothing wrong with you."

Jess raised her head and eyed her grandmother maliciously. The family elder drew her shawl tighter around her frail body and continued to rock. Nothing seemed to perturb the stalwart older woman. Through thick and thin, she remained unmovably stubborn.

"Leave her alone," Clara snapped, turning from her vigilance at the window. "She's worried about her Papa."

"Damn fool son of mine," Maude grumbled. "Of all my children, he's the one shoulda joined the circus. Always was a clown. If he didn't need his Ma, I'd stayed in Cincinnati."

"Wish you had," Clara muttered under her breath. "We'd all been better off."

"I heard that," Granny countered, stubbornly setting her empty gums.

"For two cents, Maudie Holmes, I'd stick you on the next train outta here." The angry mother turned and shook her fist at her in-law. "Then, maybe, we'd have some peace and quiet 'round here."

Maimie rose from the floor and clutched her mother's skirts. Sticking her thumb in her mouth, she gazed up at her Mama. Loud voices frightened her. The frequent arguments between her mother and granny escalated.

Clara bent and lifted her youngest daughter. Maimie flung her arms around her mother's neck and buried her head.

"You're spoiling that child," Maud grunted her opinion.

"Not your business," Clara countered.

'Jess." Jessica's head rose when she heard her name. It sounded eerie, as though it traveled a great distance.

"PAPA!" The girl exclaimed, leaping to her feet. Making a mad dash to the door, she flung it open, then stepped outside. The blizzard wind nearly swept her away. Still, she struggled to keep her balance. Overhead, the sky rumbled, and the clouds flashed with a sudden dim light.

'Jess.' Her father's voice penetrated the raging winter storm. Jessica pushed onward.

Jess struggled, her skirts wrapping around her legs. Strong arms encircled her waist. She managed to turn and began to beat off her captor. Freeing herself, she faced the storm.

"Papa needs me," she mouthed, her voice caught in the furious wind.

Using all his strength, Matthew lifted his sister and carried her into the house. He dropped her unceremoniously into the empty rocker, then bent to undo her shoes. Clara and Maud stripped blankets from the bed to wrap around Jessica. Matt chafed her frozen feet, warming them.

"Papa called me," Jess whispered, her voice low and eerie. "I must go to him."

"You'll do no such thing!" her Granny impatiently announced. "Of all the nonsense...I never."

"But, I heard him. He called my name," the girl declared, sharply looking up. Her blue eyes appeared sunken in her peaked face. She stared straight at the door and attempted to rise.

"Sit still," Clara advised, handing her daughter a steaming mug of tea. "Sip this. You'll feel better."

Jessica continued to stare for a moment. Then, she focused on her hot drink. The mug felt warm beneath her icy hands. She held it wrapped in her palms and allowed the heat to penetrate her skin. After a moment, she raised it to her lips and sipped. It tasted different than ordinary tea. The spoonful of bourbon her mother added calmed her considerably.

Outside, the sky continued to grumble like an empty stomach. The clouds opened, and a sharp lightning fork lit the shanty window. Then, the greyness enclosed the room again.

"What? What was that?" Jess asked nervously.

"Thundersnow," Granny responded briskly. "Heard of it. Never thought I'd see it."

"You mean it can thunder and lightning during a blizzard," Matt stated, stepping in from the lean-to. He held the milk pail and a coil of rope.

"Best stay in for a bit, young man," his grandmother stated. "The cow can wait. That lightning might strike again. You and that pail are a likely target."

Reluctantly, Matthew returned the pail and rope to the lean-to and unbuttoned his coat. He eagerly wished to prove himself a man of responsibility. His father's absence provided him with the opportunity. Still, he knew better than to leave the shanty with lightning in the air.

The hours ticked away, and darkness fell. Clara lit the kerosene lamp and placed it in the window. If Clem still wandered the snow-blown prairie, the dim light might guide him. She peered outside, a sad, lonely form framed by the four-paned glass window.

Behind her, the glum faces of her family watched her. Clara turned and drew in her breath. Jess, still in the rocker, covered her face in her hands. Her shoulders heaved. Maimie crawled into her sister's lap and sat staring straight ahead.