Wind Chill: -10. Allie Hartley swiped her palm across one corner of the front window of Hartley’s General Store, clearing the condensation. Then drew her hands beneath the sleeves of her white cable-knit sweater to keep them warm. The weather had shifted drastically within the last hour. A howling wind and slanting flurries now flattened the fat, fluffy snowflakes that had glistened beneath the vintage street lights, foretelling Christmas Eve. She could no longer see the sidewalk. Main Street was a blur. Cautionary whiteout conditions existed. The electricity flickered. She lit hurricane lamps, to be on the safe side. The flames danced within the amber globes. Flashlights had new batteries. There would be no stumbling around in the dark, should the lights go out. A reclaimed cast-iron fireplace stood ready. She’d stacked sufficient wood. She would stay warm. No store owner in her right mind would remain open. No sane customer would be out on a night like this. Snowbound lived up to its name.
