The Blizzard

One afternoon in February, a nor’easter blew into the town of Heaven’s Door with bitter cold winds and treacherous snowfall, catching the weather forecasters by surprise.

Joanna Fan sat playing the old organ in First Church, unaware of the danger she was in. When she had finished for the day at five o’clock, she bundled up and headed outside. Instantly the world vanished in a blinding whirl of white so thick she couldn’t see her truck parked twenty feet away. Cursing her own stupidity for ignoring the forecast, she turned to go back inside, only to find that the church had vanished too.

Tears filled her eyes and froze on her eyelashes. Groping like a blind woman, she reached for the massive columns close at hand, but they had disappeared too, their white paint blending with the snow. Her teeth chattered and the wind bit at her cheeks. Was she going to die right here on the church steps like a beggar?

Her feet went numb inside her L.L. Bean boots, and her stomach churned with dread. Then she saw a bulky figure stomping towards her like Bigfoot. Relief flooded through her as she recognized Joseph Beck, the church sexton, bundled in a plaid parka and bright red cap. His tousled black hair stuck out around his ears, encrusted with ice, and his dark eyes were glowing. A lifelong Vermonter, he wasn’t about to let a little snow get in his way. He had just finished shoveling the front steps for the umpteenth time and was heading back inside.

He saw Joanna and waded through the drifts towards her, shouting her name. She stumbled towards him, dizzy with relief. He grabbed her mittened hand and hauled her back into the church, slamming the heavy front door shut behind them. The wind shrieked like a goblin at the high windows of the sanctuary.

Joanna rubbed her hands together. “Thanks for finding me! My fingers feel like icicles!” She smiled her bright smile, and Joseph’s pulse quickened.

He blurted, “My room is warm.” His face flamed with embarrassment but he persisted. “You can come in there.”

“Really? Thanks!”

Joseph led the way downstairs to his quarters, dazed at what he had just done. In all his years at the church, he had never let anyone inside his inner sanctum. But Joanna wasn’t just anyone.

They wiped their wet boots on a mat outside Joseph’s door, and made their way inside. Joanna stood in the middle of his room and savored the warmth that seeped through the walls from the boiler next door.

Joseph pulled off his work gloves and held out one thick hand. “Your coat.” He helped her out of her wet coat and hung it on a hook behind the door. Then he shrugged out of his woolen coat and hung it next to hers. The simple action seemed almost intimate, and a strange sensation came over her.

She shook her head, puzzled. This was the same awkward man she saw every day, wielding a mop and changing light bulbs, hammering down loose nails as if his life depended on it. The man she thought of as a clod. She was always amused to see that whenever Randy showed up. Joseph slouched his shoulders, put on a sullen pout, and shuffled about like a clock winding down. Nothing Randy said could prod him to move faster.

She watched now as he opened a wooden cabinet and rummaged around. He came up with a chipped white coffee mug, a spoon, and a can of cocoa mix that he set on a card table. “Hot chocolate?”

“I’d love some.”

“Be right back.” He hustled off to the church kitchen.

Alone, Joanna gazed around at her surroundings. Along one blue-striped wall stood an old-fashioned mahogany TV cabinet like the ones from her childhood. On top of it sat an even older-style stereo system with an actual turntable and next to it, a colorful stack of LPs.

She peeked at the top title, and to her amazement, read, “Beethoven Symphony no. 9,” conducted by Leonard Bernstein. Who would have guessed Joseph was a music lover? He did remind her of Beethoven, all wild hair and black scowl hiding a tender heart.

She gazed around the room. Across from the TV, a comfy-looking bean bag chair beckoned to her, and next to it stood a narrow bed covered with a thick sleeping bag. Suddenly her eyes felt weary and she wished she could sink down onto it. She rubbed her face and stood a little straighter.

On the opposite wall hung a framed painting of silvery-white birches in autumn. The bold colors leaped out at her and the dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves seemed to light up the whole room.

She heard Joseph returning and turned. “What a great setup you’ve got here!”

“It’s home.”

He poured steaming water from a battered church pot into the cocoa mug. As he set it down, their fingers touched, making her tingle. Joanna was always surprised by the change in his gloomy features when he smiled. It was like the sun breaking from behind a cloud.

He pulled out a thin padded folding chair and gestured. “Please.”

Surprised by his gallantry, she sat. “What about you?”

He shrugged and poured more water from the pot for instant coffee “Hungry? I’ve got some pie.”

“Wow, you’ve thought of everything!”

Joseph opened a round plastic container. “Sorry it’s cold.” He served her a slice on a paper plate and took some for himself.

Joanna savored the tender apple filling and flaky crust. “Who made this? It’s fantastic!”

“I did.”

“Really?”

He frowned. “The dummy can cook.”

“Joseph, stop saying that! You’re smart and talented and kind.” She smiled at him and he had to look away. He cleared his throat and went to the TV, heart pounding.

“Better check the weather.”

On a fuzzy color screen, a grinning weatherman chirped, “Stay indoors, folks. This looks like a big one. It could last until midnight.” He pointed towards the pale blue bands on the moving map behind him. They represented an arctic storm on the Doppler radar that blanketed all of New England.

Joanna sipped the hot chocolate, savoring its heat. “Joseph, is that one of your paintings?”

He looked at her warily.

“You can trust me. I won’t tell.” She paused. “I still have the beautiful one you gave me at Christmas. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he croaked. Their eyes met, and the air between them felt warm and close. Then Joseph broke the silence. He collected their forks and paper plates and scraped the crumbs into a small bin. He met her gaze and looked down.“Less work later. She saw sweat on his brow and decided it was time to change the subject.

“How long have you worked here?” She knew the answer, but only from Randy. Joseph’s story would probably be very different.

He stared at a speck on the wall. “About fifteen years. Since my uncle died.”

“Oh, I’m sorry! What was he like?”

“Pretty nice. Most of the time.” Joseph chuckled and plopped down onto the bean bag. It squooshed down under his weight and Joanna smiled. He seemed to relax more as he went on in his thick speech.

“Except when I got in fights with bullies. Then Uncle whooped me good.”

“Gosh, that’s too bad.” Joanna smiled at the word “whoop.” She’d only heard it used in movies.

“It was mostly my fault. Plus one time I dropped my hearing aid in the toilet.” He punched one fist into the other. “Pow!”

She didn’t know whether to laugh or be sad. Joseph gave his rusty chuckle.

“Uncle put up with a lot from me. Aunt Boo was always kind. Even taught me how to make apple pie.”

“What did you call her?”

“‘Aunt Boo.’ I couldn’t say ‘Beulah.’” His dark eyes shone.

With every passing moment, Joanna felt her heart warming to this strange man. He looked up. “What about you, Joanna?”

She told him about her family’s fish market and that terrible day when the attack from the brutal teenagers had ruined their business. “They called us f-ing Chinks and nearly stomped my father to death.”

His face darkened. “We’ve got punks like that too. Out at Potter’s Point.”

“I know.” She told about their harassing Emily on the bus and the day she gave them a ride home. But she didn’t mention the dead rats and tire slashing.

Joseph heaved himself up off the beanbag and paced around. “They call me the n-word and some days “Apeman.” Sometimes they throw rocks at me.” He pounded his fist into his palm. “One of these days I’m gonna clean their clock.” His gaze burned into hers as he added, “You can always count on me.”

“Oh my gosh…” Her throat closed and the tears spilled over. What had she done to deserve this kindness?

Joseph pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket. “Here. It’s clean.”

She smiled with trembling lips. “Thanks, Joseph. You’re the best.” As she dried her eyes, she didn’t see the mix of emotions struggling on his face. He turned on the TV again. This time the forecast called for snow overnight, possibly even until seven a.m.

Joanna exclaimed in dismay, “Seven a.m.! I have to be at work by then.”

“I’ll shovel you out.”

“Oh, would you? I’d really appreciate it!” Another thought occurred to her. “Where am I going to sleep? Those wooden pews are like bricks.”

Joseph bit his lip and looked around the room. Finally he turned. “You could stay here.”

“What?”

His face turned bright red, but he gestured towards the bed. Her mind whirled as she watched him toss the sleeping bag onto the floor. He opened a closet and extracted a white goose down comforter. It looked cozy and inviting. As he spread it on the bed, that strange sensation came over her again.

She could almost picture the two of them lying under it, keeping each other warm…lying back to back, staring into the darkness as the wind howled outside, keenly aware of each other’s heated breathing…

“Good night…Joanna.”

Joseph’s hoarse voice jerked her back to reality. He picked up the sleeping bag, rolled it under his arm, and headed for the door. Joanna called, “Wait, where are you going?”

His dark eyes met hers for a split second. Then he mumbled, “Somewhere else.”

“But the church is freezing cold!”

“I’ll be all right. Good night.” Hastily he closed the door behind him.

Joanna tossed and turned most of the night. Although Joseph’s comforter kept her warm, there was a lot of hissing and banging from the pipes in the basement, waking her out of a deep sleep. How could he stand it? Then she remembered that his impaired hearing probably muffled the racket. No wonder Randy had figured this room would be perfect for him!

But for visitors like Joanna, it was awful. Then again, Joseph probably didn’t have many visitors, if any. She wondered if he had ever slept with anyone. Would she have been the first if he had stayed? She wondered where he had gone and felt bad for having turned him out of his cozy bed.

As the room lightened in the morning, Joanna gazed at the exquisite painting on the wall. There was something very special about Joseph Beck, no matter what other people thought.

She got out of bed and stretched, wishing she could brush her teeth.

The door rattled open. Joseph shuffled in and stopped short. Clearly he wasn't used to seeing anyone else in his room, much less in his bed. Color spread across his broad features, and he shifted from foot to foot. His hair looked disheveled, as if he’d been through a wind tunnel.

“Hi Joseph, how are you?”

“Fine,” he croaked, looking anything but. His glance took in the bed with the crumpled comforter. He gulped and yanked his sweatshirt down over his jeans.

Joanna straightened. “Thanks for letting me stay here. I was really in a pickle.”

“A pickle?” he repeated like a robot.

“You know, a jam.”

They broke into shaky laughter.

“You hungry? I’ll make breakfast.”

Joanna smiled. “I’d love some.”

He set down his sleeping bag and took the coffee pot to the kitchen. She heard him bustling around, banging pots and pans and humming in his hoarse voice. Soon delicious breakfast smells came wafting down the hall. He really did know how to cook!

Joanna straightened up the little room and brushed pie crumbs into the trash. After twenty minutes, Joseph returned, carrying one of the church’s trays like a waiter with two plates of fried eggs, coffee, and toast with blueberry jam.

“Joseph, you’re unbelievable! This looks fantastic.”

He set down the tray and blushed. “Aunt Boo taught me to cook.” His smile faded. “Might as well. Nobody wants me.”

Joanna sat down and poured their coffee. “Why not?”

Joseph looked away and shrugged. She persisted.

“You’d be a great catch, Joseph. You’re an awesome cook and artist too.”

An awkward silence fell. Joseph set down his plate on the stereo and gulped his food.

Joanna savored her breakfast and imagined starting every day with him. He would make breakfast and she would wash the dishes, then head upstairs to practice. Joseph would do his sexton work right up until noon. He would ring the bell and then they would have lunch. In the afternoon, they would hike in the pristine white woods, Joseph pausing every now and then to photograph the winter beauty for his paintings. She thought her heart would break - he was so humble. I must be falling in love with him…

She jumped up and fetched her blue scarf. Joseph turned. She held out the scarf. “Thanks for everything, Joseph.”

He backed away. “But—I can’t take it. You’ll freeze!”

Joanna shook her head. “It’s okay, I brought lots. Really. I’m a flatlander, remember? I figured I’d freeze to death up here.” She laughed and after a moment he joined in.

Joseph held up the scarf, then draped it around his neck aviator-style.

Joanna stepped back. “Wow, that looks great on you!”

He blushed. “It’s really nice. Thanks.”

She moved closer and took his hand. He had probably never been hugged by a woman before. Well, he deserved it. His sweet, shy nature, so unlike Brandon’s forceful passion, warmed her heart. They were almost the same height and it would be so easy to kiss him. So she did, surprised by his soft lips. He froze. After a moment he stroked her hair, then backed away, stammering, “So-sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” she whispered and pulled him close for a longer kiss. She felt his warm solid bulk and his curly hair tickled her cheek.

A diamond in the rough. That folk expression came to mind as she held the shy man close and gazed into his dark eyes. His features were blunt, even coarse, but now he seemed beautiful to her eyes.