Snowy Work

Shayne stepped into the cold and winced. Her thin coat and wet clothes were no help at all against the cold wind and snow. Stepmother had sent her out for firewood, instead of sending one of her own sons, Edward or Timothy.

Some days after hard labor, Shayne wished that her stepmother would drop dead. Then she would immediately repent and tell herself that Beatrice deserved life just as much as every other sinful being. Shayne still got sick of the treatment.

Back when her mom was alive, Shayne filled her days with stitching and weaving and cleaning clothes, a woman's work. She would warm herself by the fire on cold days, not helping to build it. Ever since her mom’s death, Shayne had felt an empty place in her heart. Beatrice always gave Shayne the hardest and most miserable jobs—like digging a path through the snow, bringing in firewood, and even bringing in ice from the lake to be used as drinking water, bath water, and dish water, which Shayne would have to melt as well, after working in the freezing cold to dislodge the piece of ice—as well as her usual chores.

Shayne trudged her way through the snow. She followed the path through the trees. Sometimes she gazed in wonder at how they looked so much like an archway in a garden. Now the branches were bare except the snow piled on top of them.

Shayne reached the shed and went inside. She tried to savor the few moments of slightly warmer surroundings before she picked up her burden of wood and entered the cold flurry outside once again.

When Shayne reached the house, she saw Beatrice sitting comfortably on the loveseat with her eyes closed. At the sound of the door opening, Beatrice opened her eyes. Seeing Shayne, Beatrice smiled and said, “Oh, there you are. Please start a fire in the fireplace. I’m freezing!”

Shayne narrowed her eyes at her stepmother. Sometimes she felt like a slave in her own home. She knelt by the fireplace, glancing at Beatrice as frustration built up in her. Why did her stepmother have to torment her? Shayne had asked, not too long ago, why she had to do all the work and Edward and Timothy did nothing. Beatrice had scolded her and piled even more responsibilities on Shayne after that. Sometimes Shayne wanted to just throw down whatever chore Beatrice gave her and storm out of the house. But she knew she couldn't do that. Her father would just die if he found out he had lost both his first wife and only daughter. Shayne's mom's death had really taken a toll on her dad. He used to find plenty of time to stay home from work and hang out with his wife and Shayne. Now he spent most of every day at work. Even Beatrice, as much as he loved her now, couldn't heal the gap in his heart where Shayne's mom had been.

When dad was home, he moped around, eyes blank. He never noticed Beatrice's harsh treatment toward Shayne. Shayne could tell his heart wasn't happy with life as it was. She could tell he felt like a lost old man waiting to die, like his late wife. Beatrice didn't notice, though. She acted like everything was normal. Maybe this was how her last husband had been, and she was used to it. Shayne felt a tap on her shoulder as she lit the match. She grunted.

"What do you want, Timmy?" she asked without turning around.

"I wanna play a game, Shayne. Will you play chess with me?"

"Have you learned the king's moves yet?"

"No..."

"Then no, Timmy. You can't play a game you don't know how to play."

"We can make it up!"

Shayne rolled her eyes as she lit the fire and urged it to grow in her mind.

"I'm busy right now, Timmy. I can't play just yet. Why don't you go and look for something else to play, like Candyland."

Timothy sighed and mumbled something Shayne couldn't hear as he wandered away. Shayne felt somewhat guilty. She didn't approve of Beatrice or Edward, but Timothy was a cute, kind little boy that Shayne loved like her own brother. But Shayne didn't share a drop of blood with the sweet little boy. He was born back when Beatrice was married to her old husband. Shayne used to hang out with him a lot, back when she was younger and didn't have as many chores taking up all her time. But maybe that was why Beatrice decided to give her so many
time-consuming chores. To keep her away from Timothy. Shayne suspected Beatrice wanted Timothy to grow up like herself or Edward and was afraid Shayne's good character would rub off on him instead. Not that Shayne thought highly of herself, she just knew Beatrice was spoiled and mean, and that Shayne was less so. When the fire was burning steadily, Shayne put the matches up and stacked the leftover logs by the stove. Shayne saw Edward step into the room, eyes on the fire. He had a mischievous look in his eye, as always. Shayne glared at him as if to say, don't you dare do it.

He noticed her glare and smirked. He stepped into the other room and came back with a glass of water.

"Edward," she whispered warningly as he stepped toward the fire. "Step away from the stove."

Edward had that glint in his eye again.

"Edward..."

Too late. He splashed the cold water onto the fire. The flames immediately flickered and sizzled down. Soon nothing was left of the fire except singed logs and ashes.

"Edward, you rascal! Get away from the stove!" Shayne screamed at him.

"Shayne! I will not have you screaming in this house!" Beatrice scolded. Shayne clenched her teeth and pointed to Edward.

"He put out the fire!"

"Just rebuild it. No need to yell."

"But now the wood's wet! It won't dry off for hours, maybe days, and it won't catch fire when it's wet!"

"Use the leftover wood."

"But I'd have to restart!"

"Enough complaining. It'll do you good to learn these trades. Soon enough you'll be all grown up, having to build your own fire over and over again."

"Why? Because some stupid teenager decides to splash water on it? I'm going to discipline my kids. Unlike you, who lets them slack off and do whatever they want!"

Beatrice's face turned beet red.

"You'll never have any children, you brat! A man would never take you to wife, seeing as how you've been so spoiled!" Beatrice cried.

"Who are you calling a brat? You're the one who basically enslaved me in my own home!" Shayne retorted. "I'm not the one who splashes water on the fire just to annoy my stepsiblings! Your kids are the spoiled brats here, not me!"

Just then the door slammed open. Shayne turned and saw her father in the doorway.

"Daddy!" she cried, running to hug him. His eyes were dull, as always, but now Shayne noticed a certain grimness to his face that wasn't normally there. Shayne swallowed down the rest of her angry words toward Beatrice and asked worriedly, "What's wrong, daddy?"

Her father turned away from her, shamefaced.

"I lost my job," he whispered. Shayne gasped, putting her hand to her heart.

"But...how will we...survive?" she asked. "Your job was all that was supporting us. How will we make money?"

Her father shook his head.

"I don't know, Shayne. I'm going into town tomorrow to see if I can find a new job."

"I have a different idea," Beatrice spoke up. Shayne turned and saw a cruel, cunning look in her eyes.

Oh no, Shayne thought. this isn't going to be nice.

"What is it, dear?"

"Oh, don't you worry yourself over it. Just know you won't have to lift a finger to support this family anymore. I'll take care of it."

"Oh, that's such a blessing, Beatrice. Thank you."

"Oh, don't think too much on it. Now, why don't you go rest in your bed? Later we can talk all about your day over a cup of coffee."

That I make, Shayne thought ruefully as she began again on building the fire.

"Yeah, daddy," Shayne agreed. "I bet you're exhausted."


Later, when the fire was roaring and coffee was brewing, Beatrice pulled Shayne aside and whispered, "Shayne, we need to talk."

"About what?" Shayne muttered snappishly. "Another chore for me to do?"

"Yes...and no," Beatrice replied. "You know how hard it is on your father, losing his job."

And his wife, Shayne thought angrily. You're no fit replacement for mom.

"Yeah," she replied aloud.

"Well, this is an opportunity for your father to take a load off, and you to cut back on some chores."

Shayne's heartbeat quickened.

"Really?" she asked. Maybe her stepmother wasn't so evil after all.

"Yes. I need you to go into town tomorrow and find a job."

"A...a job?" Shayne asked, all thoughts of her stepmother's kindness vanishing.

"Yes. You'll work while George recuperates."

"You're going to make me work? Why not Edward? I'll continue on with my daily chores!"

"No, Shayne. This is your responsibility now."

"No, it's not. You just want me to do all the work. You hate me. You hate me because I'm the daughter of the woman you replaced! I'm not putting up with it anymore!"

Shayne turned and ran to her room, tears in her eyes. She locked the door and threw herself on her bed, weeping mournfully.

"Mom, why did you leave me? Why? I loved you! I loved you so much!"

Shayne looked up and around her room. It hadn't changed a bit since her mother had died. Shayne saw the one most important thing her mother had given her before she died. It was up on her highest shelf. A picture of the day her dad and mom got married. Shayne had found it buried in the attic and had asked for it. When Beatrice moved in, she had tried to get rid of the photo. But Shayne hid it on the top shelf, where Beatrice couldn't see it without looking up. Shayne scarcely allowed Beatrice in her room anymore anyhow. Shayne pulled a chair over from her desk and grabbed the picture. She stuffed it in her pocket and turned around. She grabbed a large sack and began thrusting clothes into it. Shayne took some blankets, too. She wrote a note on a piece of parchment. Then she pulled open the window. Cold air blasted onto her face and some snow fell onto her desk below the window. Shayne slipped on her coat and pulled the hood over her face she climbed out the window and began her long, treacherous journey. She had no idea where she was going, but she knew she couldn't stay in a place where an evil, hateful woman ruled her life.

Shayne felt the blizzard raging around her. She shivered coldly, wrapping her arms around herself tightly, squinting into the snow. She had been traveling for almost an hour and had already lost her way in the snow. For all she knew, she was walking in circles, wasting energy that might later be used to shovel a path through the snow by the house or start another fire. That thought...that fear of going back to her old life, was what drove her onward. Shayne struggled through the snow, hoping to see anything on the horizon. She squinted and leaned forward but continued to see nothing but blank white snow. Fingers of frost pierced her skin. She was getting weaker by the moment. She wanted to stop and curl up to retain body heat, but she knew that stopping her stride would result in all remaining heat being whipped away and she would freeze. Retaining her quick strides would pump blood throughout her body faster to warm her up. Shayne couldn't risk stopping to rest now. She had to keep going.


It seemed Shayne had been traveling for hours in the harsh weather, and now she was barely conscious, simply stumbling along blindly. She wished she had never run away from home. At least it was safe there. At least she could bask in the fire she made for at least a moment before being sent out for another tedious task. She never thought before how much worse her life could be. Shayne felt tears freeze on her face, which was long past stinging and then numbness, but it hurt even so. Suddenly, Shayne couldn't go any further. Her knees buckled and she collapsed onto the snow, breathing in short, shallow breaths. She was going to die here. Shayne buried her face in the snow, ignoring the painful cold and sobbing, "Jesus, what did I do to deserve this? Why do I have to suffer so much? You took my mother away and gave me a replacement who makes me work so hard I can't make it to bed at night without practically passing out. But that's better than freezing to death alone, with nobody in the world who cares about me. Please don't let me die here, Jesus!"

Shayne looked up, the wind seeming to whisper in her ears. She saw a figure in the distance, struggling through the snow toward her. A moth-eaten, thin coat covered his shoulders, and as he came closer, Shayne saw his work boots and weary face. It was her father.

"Shayne!" it sounded like a whisper; Shayne could barely hear the shout.

"Daddy!" Shayne screamed back. "Daddy, I'm over here!"

He didn't seem to hear her. Shayne gathered up every last drop of strength she had left in her and rose to her feet, stumbling toward her father.

"Daddy!" she cried over and over. "Daddy, I'm over here! Help me!"

At last, he turned to the sound of her voice.

"Shayne!" he called in relief. "Shayne, thank God you're alright!"

As hurried toward her and scooped her up into his arms, Shayne realized just how true his statement was. God had had mercy and grace on Shayne's soul, and now she was safe in the arms of her father.


Shayne sat in a large armchair, holding a book in her hands. Her father peered over and commented, "I thought you hated reading."

"Yeah," Shayne said. "I did. But I think I should try this book."

Shayne finally had time to read anyway, because as soon as her father had heard of Beatrice's terrible treatment toward Shayne, he'd given her a talk and told her if she didn't respect his daughter, maybe Beatrice and her sons would be better off somewhere else, where they couldn't bother Shayne and she couldn't bother them. Beatrice agreed hesitantly and walked away to prepare dinner.

Meanwhile, Shayne assumed that she'd better learn more about her Savior. Shayne opened the book and read the first phrase.

In the beginning, God created the heaven and the earth