The First Frost by Claire D.A.

The First Frost
by Claire D.A.

The last lingering leaves withered on the trees, brittle and brown. All through the little village of Brookhollow, windows were shuttered against the chill night air. Soft wisps of smoke rose from chimneys into the inky November sky.

Old Nan stoked the embers of the dying fire, her knobby arthritic hands trembling. At her feet, the napping hound twitched and whimpered in his sleep. She paused to gaze out the frosted windowpane at the gently falling snow.

"Winter's arrived at last," she muttered.

The seasons had turned, as they always did. Long gone were the sunny days when children played in the town square and wives hung laundry to dry in the morning air. With winter came isolation. Families huddled indoors around meager fires; hunters checked their traplines in the white woods. A hush fell over the frozen land.

Nan sighed and tossed another log on the fire, watching the flames snap back to life. She shuffled over to the rough wooden table where her supper of bread and broth grew cold. As she sat chewing the tough crust, her eyes fell on the vacant chair across from her. A lifetime ago it seemed, her dear husband Jack would tell lively stories over dinner to make her laugh. Many winters had passed since the day they buried him under the elm tree on the hill.

Their little cottage was so empty and quiet now. Her children had settled down with families of their own in villages far away. "Too quiet," she muttered to the dozing old hound, her only companion.

A brisk knock at the door made them both start. Nan pressed her aching bones up from the chair and hobbled over.

Outside stood Jenny, the young schoolteacher who lived in the cottage down the lane. Her cheeks were rosy from the chill.

"Evening, Nan," said Jenny. "It's the first snow of the season! Isn't it beautiful?"

Nan nodded. "Aye, winter's upon us. Come in by the fire before you catch your death."

Jenny stepped inside, brushing snowflakes from her shawl. "Bitter out there tonight. But there's something magical about the first snow, isn't there?"

Nan managed a thin smile as she stoked the fire.

Jenny rubbed her hands before the flames. "Gets lonely this time of year. I was hoping you might share some of your wonderful stories tonight. I could make us some tea."

The old hound thumped his tail.

"Well..." Nan hesitated. She was tired, and too accustomed to silence. But the young teacher's presence was comforting. "Perhaps one tale wouldn't hurt."

Jenny's face brightened. She filled the copper kettle while Nan eased back into her chair.

"Let's see now," Nan said slowly. "Have I ever told you about the first winter I spent with my dear husband Jack?"

Jenny shook her head, her eyes bright with interest.

Nan gaze into the fire, remembering. "I was just a young newlywed then, nervous about the long winter ahead..."

The snow continued to fall outside. But inside, the cottage was aglow with firelight and friendship. Nan's voice rose and fell as she spun her memories into a story. Outside, the wind quieted and the night listened.

"Jack and I were both just 20 when we wed that spring," Nan recalled. "He built us a little cottage near the woods on the edge of town, where we could be near nature."

She gazed into the fire, lost in the bittersweet past.

"I remember I tried so hard to be a good wife that summer. Learned to bake bread and tend the garden. But in my heart I dreaded winter coming. I'd heard the chilling tales of bitter cold and wild beasts."

Nan paused to sip her tea. Snow swirled outside the frosted windowpanes.

"The first frost came late that year. It was November when I awoke one icy morning to find the yard covered in snow. I'll never forget the sight."

Jenny leaned in, captivated by the story.

"I was frightened at first," Nan continued. "I rushed to light the fire and prepare breakfast, sure Jack would be frozen stiff from tending the animals in the barn. But when he stomped through the door, his cheeks were rosy and eyes bright."

Nan's face softened, lost in the memory.

"'Morning, darling!' he called warmly as he hung up his snow-dusted coat. I told him my worries, but he just chuckled and kissed my forehead. 'Old Man Winter's not so scary,' he said. 'Bundle up warm and we'll take a stroll.'"

Nan paused to stir the fire, then went on.

"So we did just that. Arm in arm, we walked through the silent woods, snowflakes dancing around us. The world seemed clean and new-born under the blanket of white. I'll always cherish the magic of that first snowbound walk with my love."

Jenny smiled, eyes glistening. "How beautiful."

Nan nodded slowly. "Aye. Winter became my favorite time of year. The world slowed down and we stayed cozy by the fire. Some nights Jack would play his fiddle while I sewed quilts. Even in the darkest nights of howling wind, we kept each other warm."

She fell silent for a moment, staring distantly into the flames. Jenny reached over and gently squeezed her hand.

"Thank you for sharing such a lovely memory," said Jenny softly.

Nan patted her hand, emerging from her reverie. "These old bones grow weary at times. But I'm thankful for firelight and friends to kindle my spirit."

Outside, the snow swirled under the cold moonlight. But inside, two friends sat together before the glowing hearth, keeping the long winter night at bay.