Nine Lives to Die

Snow bits stung Harry as she drove the 80hp tractor outfitted with a snowplow down the long drive. The old, big tractor emanated power. She wished that it had a covered cab, but such a convenience was too expensive when she bought the tractor years ago. It was even more expensive now.

An emergency call had pulled Fair out of bed at four in the morning. Although a foot of snow had fallen by then, his one-ton four-wheel-drive truck managed to crawl through. Now, at seven-thirty in the morning, gray and dark, Harry plowed as snow piled up.

As she approached the secondary state road she could see the snowplows had passed over it at least once. They’d need to come back. Making a big circle, she headed back down her drive. With the wind-driven snow at her back, she felt a bit better.

Harry could take most any weather. Growing up on a farm, farming for most of her life, she was tough. The four years at Smith College were the softest she’d known. Even when she’d worked at the post office in Crozet, she’d come home and do chores, also doing them at dawn before heading east to the small town.

A new post office had been built by the railroad tracks. She left the job because she couldn’t take her cats and dogs. The little country post office, so warm, felt like home. The big new post office, while impressive, felt like one more government building.

Whenever people mocked the postal service for its monetary losses, she still defended it. It was a department of government held to different standards, hemmed in by various monetary restrictions, some concerning its pensions. She didn’t believe the P.O. could ever make money. A one-cent rise in gas prices would cost the postal service more than a billion dollars. Just one cent.

She missed seeing everyone in town five days a week and she missed working with Miranda Hogendobber, an older friend. And one more thing: Harry missed a regular paycheck.

Despite that, she loved farming full time and, like every farmer, she accepted that Mother Nature was a demanding, difficult business partner. No one day was like any other.

A honk startled her. She turned around, snow hitting her in the face again, to see her neighbor, Deputy Cynthia Cooper, in a four-wheel-drive sheriff’s vehicle.

Harry cut the motor on the tractor, climbed down.

“Hey,” she greeted Cooper.

Window down, Cooper responded, “You’ll freeze your butt off.”

“Not much to freeze,” Harry joked.

The lanky law enforcement officer smiled back. “Well, that’s the truth, and how many women can say the same? Do you need anything?”

“Oh, no, Coop, thanks. Fair’s on an emergency call. He’ll bring back supplies.”

“Where is he?”

“At the de Jarnettes’.”

“He’ll have slow going coming home. This is supposed to stop by mid-morning, clear. Then more snow tomorrow night. Well, it will keep me busy.”

A gust made Harry duck her head for a moment. “It’s the wind that gets you.”

Cooper nodded. “Does.”

“Speaking of picking up things,” said Harry, “Jessica Hexham and I are going to Nordstrom’s tomorrow. I desperately need a dress for the Silver Linings fund-raiser. Need anything?”

“An entire wardrobe.” Cooper smiled. “If I don’t see you before the ‘do,’ have a good time. Raise money.” She wiped some blown snow off her face. “I’ll be on duty that night. Should be a great party.”