Weather Matters in Stories Too

Winter is on the way. The weathermen have said that four letter word – snow. They warn that we might see some snowflakes tomorrow. On Halloween. But whether the snowflakes come or not, the frost and freeze is on the way. So far we’ve escaped a killing frost. My flowers are still blooming. I should go out in the rain tomorrow (before those snowflakes show up) and pick yet one more bouquet. The frosted zinnia is from the end of a past summer. The explosions of cosmos flowers is from my garden this year. They didn’t start blooming until September, but they went crazy then. Anyway, the weather forecast has me thinking about all the different kinds of weather in my stories. Weather matters. To us. This year here in Kentucky we’ve complained about too much rain, not enough rain, heat wave temperatures, too cold temperatures, snow too early. If it’s weather, we can find a reason to gripe. And weather matters to characters in my stories too. So I went out hunting for some excerpts to show some weather in my stories.

~~~

First up is snow in The Believer. I had several snow scenes in that story. The one I liked best was too long to put here, but if you read the story I hope you will enjoy Hannah’s snow scene with all the snow angels.

Snow (The Believer)

The week after Hannah made her brief escape from the confines of the village, clouds rolled in to hide the sun and brought a cold rain and piercing winds. Elizabeth spotted snowflakes among the raindrops as they walked back to the Gathering Family house after a day of labor in the laundry, but Sister Melva kept her head tucked down inside the hood of her cloak, claiming she had no desire to see proof of winter so early.

Elizabeth held out her palm to catch one of the snowflakes, but the raindrops overwhelmed it at once, turning it into water to drip off her hand the same as the rain.  That’s how she felt among the Shakers. Something different. Something apart, but at the same time she was being surrounded and absorbed into the whole. Often at night as she lay in her narrow bed under the same color woven covers as all the other sisters in the sleeping room, wearing an identical nightdress and sleeping cap on her head, having eaten the same food and sung the same songs, she had to fight the feeling that they were breathing in unison and that if she didn’t match her breath with theirs, the air in the room, the Shaker air as Hannah had called it, would not fill her lungs.

~~~

The weather mattered in Angel Sister too, but it was summer most of that story.

Summer Night (Angel Sister)

Kate stuffed the pillow behind her in the swing and stared out at the trees bathed in moonlight. The sound of tree frogs, katydids and crickets filled the night air as the swing swayed back and forth and then stopped when she kept her feet up on the swing seat. Kate felt very alone. She wished one of the barn cats would come find her on the porch and settle in her lap, but they would all be sleeping on the hay or hunting midnight mice.   

The screen door eased open and her mother stepped out onto the porch. “Too hot to sleep?” she asked softly.

~~~

Weather figured in many of the scenes in my Appalachian Mountain story about the Frontier Nurse Midwives, These Healing Hills. In a previous scene Sarge, Fran’s dog, had loved the snow, but now the snow has turned to rain.

Sarge drooped along behind her, not nearly as excited by the rain as he’d been about the snow. Fran understood. Rain pounding down didn’t have the same beauty. And now the creek, fed by that rain, was turning into a raging adversary.

There’s beauty in everything if a person takes the time to look. Her grandmother’s words. Fran couldn’t remember what they’d been looking at then. Probably a garden spider and its web that Grandma Howard always admired and that gave Fran the shivers.

She did see beauty in the mad rush of the water chasing out to join up with the Middle Fork River. The river took longer to rise so the Christmas celebrations at Wendover might still be happening. If so, they would happen without Fran. Better to stay put until the creeks stopped rising.

She looked across the rushing water up the hill toward Ben Locke’s house. It wasn’t just Becca and her baby girl she needed to see.

~~~

One last weather influenced scene. This one from The Refuge, my recent Shaker release. By the way, if you hurry, you might still grab the e-book for less than a dollar to give the story a try.

Thunderstorm (The Refuge)

Neither Sister Genna nor I had any interest in learning the dances or songs of Shaker life coming down to us. We were both ready to walk out of the village with Sister Ellie had that been possible. But instead we went through the motions of counting our steps and weaving back and forth, being careful to maintain a proper distance from any of the brethren. The lightning flashed through the windows and lit up the intense faces of those like Sister Helene who did yearn after the Shaker way.

When the session was over, Eldress Maria followed us back to our retiring room to tell Sister Ellie the storm was a sign she was making a terrible mistake and should stay within the village where she was sheltered from the world. But when Sister Ellie refused to listen, the eldress declared she could no longer be called sister.

Sister Ellie did not shy away from Eldress Maria’s words. Instead she handed Benjamin to Sister Genna and faced the eldress. “I am glad enough to be shed of the title of Sister. Simply calling someone sister does not make it true, but sharing things as we have here in this room makes a bond that cannot be broken.”

“I fear you will regret your decision.” Eldress Maria spoke softly, her voice sad. “You were a good Shaker.”

“I appreciate your forbearance with me through the years,” Ellie said.

“Such was merely my duty.” Eldress Maria’s shoulders slumped as she turned and left the room. I had never seen her look so old.

For a moment all four of us stared at the door that closed behind her. Then Sister Genna carefully laid Benjamin in his cradle. The thunder had moved into the distance and at least for this moment, he was quiet. As usual, Anna Grace was unbothered by the noise of the storm or of our voices as she sucked on her fingers and slept on.

~~~

It’s cold and winter in the first scenes of my work in progress. Weather is once again going to matter. Characters are people even if they are made up by a writer somewhere. Maybe they like snow. Maybe they don’t. Rainy days might get them down or perhaps they like walking with raindrops plopping against their umbrellas. Sunshine on their shoulders might brighten their spirits. Storms may make them want to hide.

Do you think weather matters? Does weather affect your outlook on life?