âI CANâT BELIEVE weâre going to get hit with the snowstorm of the century, today of all days, when Gus is bringing his bride-to-be home to meet us!â seventy-four-year-old Clara Whittaker said, worry etching her face.
Sam Whittaker watched as his grandmother rushed around before going off to work at the family-owned department store, putting her spotless country kitchen in order.
âNow, Gran. Iâm sure Gusâll make it to Clover Creek intact,â he reassured her. âThough as for his bringing a womanâ¦â Sam paused, not sure how to put this, only knowing he didnât want to break his hopelessly romantic grandmotherâs heart. âGus didnât exactly say he was getting married, you know. Only that he had a surprise that was going to be presented to all of us around three or four oâclock this afternoon.â He held up a hand, effectively silencing his grandmother before she relayed her concerns. âAnd again, youâve no reason to worry. Storm or no storm, Iâm sure Gusâs surpriseâll be here.â
Sam only hoped Gus didnât break any laws this time. The situation with the borrowed Humvee, the Santa, the faux reindeer and the damaged parking meters during the Christmas holidays had been a little sticky. At least until Gus had agreed to pay for all damages, in lieu of the citation and fine Sam had had no choice but to impose.
âWell, I donât know what the rest of you think, but I know what Gus said and what he didnât say, and I still think heâs bringing home a bride,â Clara said emphatically as she strode to the bay window to look out at the pale gray storm clouds obscuring the early-morning sun.
âYou may have a point,â Harold Whittaker murmured thoughtfully as he brought out galoshes for himself and his wife. âGus always said he was going to be married by the time he was thirty-five. Heâs been hinting at a satisfying new romance in his life for weeks now. Not to mention debatedâin theory only, of courseâthe virtues of having a wedding right here in Clover Creek, West Virginia, as opposed to the more metropolitan New York City. And, letâs not forget, his thirty-fifth birthday is Saturday.â
âThe only question is how is Gus planning to introduce the woman of his dreams,â Samâs seventeen-and-a-half-year-old sister, Kimberlee, said as she, too, cast a glance at the wintry gray sky before gathering her book bag, coat, earmuffs and gloves into her arms. She swept the length of her long golden-brown hair over her shoulder, away from her face. âYou know Gus would never do it in any normal way.â
âThatâs the understatement of the year.â Sam thought about his older brotherâs penchant for distinctly un forgettable fanfare as he chugged the last of his coffee. He noticed the first intermittent snowflakes starting to float down from the sky. The white specks were almost too tiny and far apart to even be called flurries, but they were a definite harbinger of the storm to come. They looked so peaceful and delicate, serene, even. Hard to believe the weather forecasters expected the seemingly harmless flakes to whip up an all-out wicked winter blizzard. As a law officer, heâd have his hands full in a few hours. And so would everyone else up and down the East Coast, although the storm would likely wreak havoc differently in each locale. Some cities would lose electricity. Others would be inundated with ice and sleet, as well as snow. Unlucky travelers would get strandedâprobably in the worst possible place, at the worst possible time. And school would be cancelled everywhere.
Mentally shaking himself, Sam turned back to his grandparents and sister. âClover Creek still hasnât gotten over Gusâs parachuting onto Main Street when he arrived for that impromptu visit last fall,â he recalled. Never mind the two minor auto accidents and the painting mishap caused by his unheralded descent from the sky. And that day, Gus had had nothing in particular to announce to the world, save his unannounced homecoming. Sam didnât want to imagine what spectacle Gus would decide a wedding needed.