And so it begins. Learning at the schoolhouse, relationships that would blossom for years to come… and the snow. Named for the hero of so many hearts, the chapter opens with Laura thankful for the walls of the house, specifically for their capacity to separate her family from the strangers. By chapter’s end Laura would indeed be forever grateful for the protective walls of the town’s buildings. (And I would find welling up a distinct desire to pull the quilt snugly about my chin, drawing closer to a glowing fire!)
Laura and Carrie nervously ready themselves for their first day of school, while Mary wishes she could go with them. Carrie fumbles so fretfully with her shoe buttons that one pops off. Ma recovers the button from its tumble downstairs and shores up not only Carrie’s little shoe, but the girls’ restless spirits. She need not reassure them of their academic preparedness; Laura is confident in their lessons at home. But Ma’s satisfied smile at their polished appearance, clad in their wool winter dresses and Sunday hair ribbons, must have eased their hearts a bit about the reception they would receive from the strangers beyond the sheltering walls.
Laura begins to compare herself with the appearance of the other girls watching the boys at play.
And then she sees him: the boy with the fair hair and blue eyes who “moved as beautifully as a cat.” This is Laura’s first glimpse of Cap Garland, who would later come to enchant her heart, even if for a brief and private time, over that of her Manly. Quite spontaneously, Cap tosses a ball to Laura, who in turn catches it mid-air. With the boys protesting and the other girls looking on, Laura sinks with embarrassment and continues to measure herself against the appearance of the other girls.
Despite her continued sense of awe at the orderly schoolroom and its polished desks in neat rows, Laura begins to feel a bit of ease. Her teacher, Cap’s sister, readily assesses Laura’s learning level and settles Laura and Carrie into their own seats. Laura takes comfort in the familiar Bible reading from the 23rd Psalm. (I would not doubt that in her heart Laura recites these words again before the day comes to a close.) As the week progresses, Laura makes quick friends of Mary Power and Minnie Johnson, joining them at recess to watch the boys play catch: Ben Woodworth, Arthur Johnson … and Cap. Cap, whose grin “changed everything.” At night Laura conveys the day’s lessons to Mary, who dreams of attending college. The family’s new routine of life in town settles in comfortably for the winter.
When Monday comes again, Laura cringes at wearing her red flannel underwear. Ma insists that, while the weather is mild, it is the proper time of year to wear the extra, albeit itchy, layer of clothing. As Laura finds herself thoroughly distracted from her lessons by the irritating flannels, the schoolroom is at once startlingly overshadowed. The immediate, blanketing gloom is not unnoticed by the children or Miss Garland. Laura knows this sky, this hush, just as the wild animals at Plum Creek had known. Her thoughts turn to Pa and his whereabouts, to Carrie and her fragile nature, to the polished desks and their longevity as a heat source.
As worry seizes Laura, the schoolhouse door opens to a bundled Mr. Foster, come to bring the children back to town. The children quickly, but quietly, gather their wraps, and in this moment Cap loses his smile. Laura takes great care to prepare Carrie in body and spirit as best she can. The moment the children step out of the schoolhouse, the snow swallows them in a blinding white pool. The winds whip them about, stealing their senses. No longer able to see, hear, feel or speak, the little band is consumed.
Laura soon realizes that they should have reached Main Street by now. Miss Garland and Mr. Foster seem to come to the same conclusion, hesitating in confusion. From the corner of her eye, Laura sees Cap’s shadowy figure tear away into the blizzard alone. She senses that Cap is correctly headed toward Main Street, but trudges on with the rest of the group… away from what she intuitively knows to be safe harbor. Have they passed the last shelter of town only to be lost on the boundless prairie? Laura realizes in the pause just how numb with cold she has grown and fears for Carrie’s ability to forge on much longer.
At that moment Laura is buffeted by something hard… something solid… a wall. Her calls to the others go out in vain. With all her breath she calls again into the deafening howls of the wind, managing to draw attention. The group huddles near, following the wall… Mead’s Hotel, the last building of town before open prairie. The lined street provides navigation for each child to now find their way to family and shelter. At their own door, Laura finds her hands too numb to use the handle. Pa, preparing to leave in search of his girls, ushers them in near the fire, which warmed them from without, while Ma’s ginger tea warms them from within: the tea and the spirit of home, and of family.
Cap Garland had indeed reached town in search of help for the lost group. “Cap Garland’s a smart boy,” declares Pa, grateful to have his girls gathered around him. Just how smart and how courageous they have yet to learn … but for now the snow is outside and they are inside — together. And that is all that matters.
Comments5
The discussion about long underwear hear always reminds me of Ellen Tebbits, and vice versa. In what other books is wearing long underwear discussed? It’s certainly a detail that would make Ellen Tebbits seem more historical today, even though, unlike The Long Winter, it was contemporary when first published.
What a beautifully (and entertainingly) written commentary on this chapter. I can’t help but remember the understated terror of the class nearly missing their last chance at salvation, feeling as though an angel made Laura take that step just a little more to one side. I’d wonder what would have become of Pa if he had left the house to search for them. Pa always seemed so invulnerable, but we all know he was just wise, humble, and possessing of good judgement.
“… the polished desks and their longevity as a heat source.” — Brilliantly worded, and worth an approving chuckle (when the teacher’s not looking).
After reading this many time, Ive grown to wonder if Laura brushing the house just in time as a literary device, to increase the drama and allow Laura to save the day. Almanzo has the same experience in The First Four Years. I suppose it actually happened that way a lot, and many people could have been saved by barely brushing against a building.
The way Laura describes being in hot, itchy woolen underwear, with the worst where the flannel folded at her wrists, etc, is so well written that I could feel it myself. That could only be written from personal experience
Does anyone know from historical reenactment the difference between woolen flannel and cotton flannel? Btw, I would have been one pile of red rash…I’m exceedingly allergic to wool! when I was little, the school uniform required a wool cardigan. Just trying it on broke me out. Fortunately, there was a wonderful “new” fabric called acrylic that my dear, sweet, long-suffering mom special ordered for me. Did people in those days understand about allergies, I wonder?
I always get a little irritated while the girls are drinking their hot tea and trying to recover from their ordeal when Grace asks for some tea and Pa hints to Ma that he’s not sure why they don’t all have a cup. Geez, I don’t know, maybe Ma, Mary and Grace have been cozy at home all day while Laura and Carrie fought the blizzard… that’s why they weren’t offered a cup of tea!
Sorry.
Btw, I don’t believe 40% of LHOTP books. Lol. The dialogue sometimes seems very contrived and who remembers word for word conversations from 3rd grade? Don’t get me wrong, I am a tried and true fan of LIW… I just enjoy the books for what they’re worth and while I believe the books to be invaluable to our American history, I always remember they are after all, historical fiction.
(Please don’t burn me at the stake)
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