6- Jem's Wild Winter

An unexpected cold snap brings a surprise to Goldtown . . . snow! The rare snowfall brings another, more dangerous surprise: predators following the wildlife that have come down from the high country to find food.

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Chapter 1

A Chilly Morning

 

Rattle, rattle . . . bang!

“Shh,” Mama whispered. “Don’t wake the children.”

Too late.

Jem opened his eyes. Except for a faint glow, everything was dark inside his family’s tent.

Mama held a lantern in one hand. Her other hand clutched a blanket around her shoulders.

She was shivering. 

Pa squatted in front of the potbelly stove. It stood in the middle of the tent.

Jem didn’t like that stove. It took up too much space. It was always in the way.

Sometimes Jem bumped into the potbelly stove and tripped.

In the summertime, he often stubbed his bare toes against the stove’s legs. Ouch!

More than once, Jem had asked Pa why that ol’ stove had to take up so much room in their tent. Pa hardly ever lit it.

Now, Jem knew why the stove was there.

A cold chill sneaked under Jem’s covers. He pulled the quilt over his head until just his eyes peeked out.

Brrr! Why was it so cold?

Holding the quilt close, Jem rolled onto his side and watched Pa light the stove. Tiny flames licked the wood shavings.

Pa blew into the stove until the kindling caught fire. Then he added larger pieces of wood.

Soon, the fire was snapping and crackling.

Pa closed the stove’s small door and stood up. “That should take the chill off.”

Jem sat up. “Is it morning yet?”

Icy air swirled around his body. He shivered and dove under the covers.

“Not yet,” Mama answered. “Go back to sleep.”

Jem’s teeth began to chatter. “I c-can’t. It’s too c-cold.”

Mama ducked into a dark corner of the tent. When she came back, she laid another quilt over Jem’s cot.

It was a big quilt. Big enough to cover his little sister’s cot too.

Jem rolled over and looked at Ellie. She was asleep. The banging and rattling had not waked her up.

Lucky duck! Ellie couldn’t feel the cold if she was asleep.

Jem kept shivering. “I’m still cold.”

“The stove will heat this place up in a hurry,” Pa said. “But until then, I have an idea.”

He walked to the tent flap and slipped under it. Where was Pa going?

Jem found out a minute later.

Something big and heavy jumped up on his cot.

“For goodness’ sake, Matt,” Mama whispered. “Did you have to bring him inside?”

Jem’s eyes grew wide. “Nugget!”

“Shh!” Mama shot at Jem.

Even in the dim light, Jem knew Mama was not happy.

She kept talking. “He’s wet and smelly and—”

“Nugget’s not used to this weather,” Pa said softly. “Besides, he’s a better blanket than a dozen quilts.”

Mama sighed. Jem knew she didn’t agree, but she would go along with Pa anyway.

Pa and Mama always stuck together.

Jem was glad about that. It meant that for the first time ever, his dog could sleep on his bed.

Nugget inched his way closer to Jem’s head. He didn’t make a sound.

Neither did Jem.

Mama blew out the lamp, and she and Pa went back to bed.

The only light came from the small air holes in the stove’s door.

Jem put his arm around Nugget and pulled him close. The dog’s warm body was already heating him up.

Swish, swish, swish. Nugget’s tail brushed against the quilt.

He licked Jem’s cheek once. Twice. Then he settled down and let out a quiet doggy sigh.

Jem stared at the firelight flickering through the air holes.

He was thinking hard. 

Why would Pa and Mama let Nugget come inside in the middle of the night?

Jem listened. It wasn’t raining.

Rain always made loud pattering sounds on the tent’s canvas roof. Sometimes the raindrops were so noisy that Jem and Ellie couldn’t hear each other talk.

Tonight, Jem didn’t hear even one raindrop.

Besides, even when it rained, Nugget didn’t come inside. He stayed dry under the outdoor table.

Sometimes he crawled under Mama’s big outdoor cookstove to stay warm.

But on this cold night, Nugget was inside.

Jem yawned. Maybe it was too cold for even a furry dog to stay outside.

Pa added wood to the stove two more times before morning.

Jem woke up each time but fell right back to sleep.

The last time Jem woke up, the whole tent was warm.

He shoved Nugget off the cot, threw aside the quilts, and sat up. He stretched and yawned.

“Stay away from the stove,” Mama warned. “It’s hot.”

It sure was. Jem smiled. It felt good.

Mama stood at the potbelly stove and stirred something in a pan. Next to the pan, coffee boiled.

What was going on?

Never in Jem’s eight years had he seen Mama cook inside their tent. She always cooked and baked outside.  

“Why are you cooking on that little stovetop?” he asked. “It barely holds anything.”

Mama turned to Jem. “Go peek outside and you’ll see why.”  

Jem jumped off his cot. Barefoot, he ran to the tent flap and yanked it aside.

A gust of cold wind hit his face. So did hundreds of icy white specks.

“Snow!”

 Chapter 2

White Winter

 

Everywhere Jem looked, the world was white.

The tall pine trees were white. Their branches hung down, loaded with fluffy snow.

Mama’s big cookstove was covered in white. Four inches at least!

And the snow was still coming down.

Jem’s heart gave a happy thump. He had never seen so much snow.

Rain, yes. Buckets and buckets of rain. The rain sometimes lasted for days.

Last winter, Cripple Creek had risen higher and higher. Mama worried that the creek would run right inside the tent.

It almost did.

And the mud! Inches of sloppy, sticky mud.

Jem didn’t like rain and mud. It was no fun panning for gold in a wild, rushing creek.

It was dangerous too. Mama never let Jem or Ellie go near the creek when it ran so high.

But snow?

There was only one word for snow. Fun!

Jem glanced around the gold claims. Campfires flickered. Miners were trying to keep warm.

It would be hard. Most miners along Cripple Creek didn’t have potbelly stoves inside their tents.

Jem’s friend Strike-it-Rich Sam was one of those miners.

I wonder if he’s cold, Jem thought.  

Maybe Strike would like to sit inside the Coulters’ tent and get warm. Or eat some breakfast.

Jem would ask him.

Quick as a wink, he dashed out of the tent. The snow burned Jem’s bare feet.

He ran faster. “Strike!” he shouted.

The prospector raised a cup of steaming coffee. “Howdy, young’un.” He frowned. “Does your ma know you’re runnin’ around outside in nothin’ but your nightshirt?”

“No.” Jem found a spot near Strike’s campfire and sat down on a stump. He rubbed his hands. “I came to invite you inside our tent if you’re cold.”

“I ain’t cold,” Strike said. “I got this here fire.”

The miner didn’t look cold. He looked happy sitting next to his campfire and sipping coffee.

“Want a biscuit?” Strike peered at Jem’s shivering body. “Or some hot coffee?”

Jem scooted closer to the heat. “No, thanks.”

He lifted his cold, red feet to the fire. He couldn’t stop shaking.

Strike chuckled. “Your ma’s gonna skin you alive.”

Strike was probably right about that.

Jem brushed the snow from his hair. It was melting fast next to the fire. “Have you ever seen so much snow?”

“Yep,” Strike said. “Back in forty-nine. It was the first year of the gold rush.”

“Really?” Jem’s eyebrows went up.

Strike nodded. “I nearly froze to death. We forty-niners were taken by surprise.”

Jem believed it. He sure had been surprised this morning!

“A bunch of miners left for the lowlands. The rest of us huddled together and shared food and campfires. We panned gold when we could.”

Strike’s voice grew sad. “A lot of miners died that winter.”

“But not Pa and Mama,” Jem said quickly.

“Of course not.” Strike laughed. “Your folks had me to help ’em.”

Jem let out a happy sigh. Strike-it-rich Sam was a good friend.  

“A tent ain’t the best place to stay warm and dry,” Strike said. “’Specially when winter turns extra cold, like right now.”

Jem nodded. He wished Pa would strike it rich so they could build a real house.

Maybe even a brick house like Will Sterling’s, the richest kid in town.

Jem glanced back at his family’s big tent. Most of the time, the roof and sides kept out the rain.

But would it keep out heavy snow? What if the roof ripped open from the weight?

What a terrible thought!

Jem watched Pa brush snow off the roof. He used a broom with a long handle.

It looked like Pa was worried about heavy snow too.

The only dry spot on the canvas roof was where the stovepipe poked through. The hot pipe melted any snow that tried to stick. Smoke curled up from it.

It looked warm and cozy.

That stovepipe looked scary, too. Tents could burn down from a hot pipe, or from a fire in the stove.

Jem shivered. What if—

“Jeremiah Isaiah Coulter!”

Mama’s shout sent Jem leaping to his feet. He tripped.

Strike caught Jem before he landed in the fire. “You’re in trouble now, young’un. Better get on home.”

“Are you sure you won’t have breakfast with us?” Jem asked. He wanted to hear more tales about the forty-niners and the early gold-rush days.

“I’ve got these biscuits to eat.” Strike popped one into his mouth. “Now get on home.”

Jem jumped over the warm rocks and landed feet first in the snow. Brrr!   

He ran as fast as he could, but the snow burned his feet worse than ever.

Mama met him at the tent door.

“For goodness’ sake, Jeremiah,” she scolded. “What got into you? You’ll catch a chill for sure.”

“I’m sorry, Mama.” He ducked under the tent flap.

Heat hit Jem like a hot summer day. Ahhh! He sighed and sat down on his cot.

Mama handed him a bowl of mush and molasses.

“Thank you.” Jem was mighty glad Pa had set up that potbelly stove.  

Yes, sirree! He would never grumble about tripping over it again.

Thank you, God, for a warm tent and good food, Jem prayed quietly.

Then he dug into his breakfast.

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