Anne’s voice floated from the living room. “What happened?” “The storm must’ve knocked the power off,” he answered. “I’ll grab one of the oil lamps. Stay there and be warm, okay?” “I will. Did you get dressed?” He hadn’t so he took time to pull on his clothes. Then he got two oil lamps, one a glass hurricane-style lamp, the other the kind with a tall clear chimney. He filled both from the lamp oil he kept under the kitchen sink and lit one. Ned carried it into the front room and placed it on the end table beside the now useless table lamp. Its flickering flame cast tall shadows against the wall. Anne peeked at him from under the hide, her face softened by the illumination. She watched him as he stoked the fire. “I’m going to bring some more wood in,” he told her. “I’ll be right back.” When he stepped out onto the back porch, the frigid air cut through him like a sharpened blade. Ned shivered and wished he’d at least donned his blue jean jacket. Most of the snow had slacked off but he gauged at least ten inches, maybe twelve on the ground. He used his hands to pull more wood from the pile and carried it inside. Ned left most of it on the back porch. Anne met him in the kitchen.
