Jane stood in Mrs. Gingery's dining room, watching the men shovel out Blair's Infinity. Prett had told her to stay in the warmth, and Jane hadn't protested. The sun would soon set, and the dwindling light made the air seem even more frigid. At least the snow had stopped.

Cadence had dug out half the car before they arrived, and gave Danny a withering glare when he tried to relieve her of her shovel, so she remained in the cold, working as hard as the men. I'm such a wimp in comparison. I should be out there, too. Jane took a sip from her mug of cocoa–courtesy of Holly–and looked at the distressed teenager next to her. Blair sniffled and wiped her eyes yet again. Poor thing. She's really scared about driving in the snow. "It's okay." Jane put her arm around the slender girl's shoulders. "They'll get your car dug out and home safe. Val's a particularly good driver on these roads."

Blair scowled. "Why are you being nice to me?"

Taken aback by the resentful tone, Jane removed her arm. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Blair turned away. She shifted back and forth on her feet. She flicked her hair. Then she said with a haughty expression, "I'm here to spy on you."

Jane laughed. "Spy on me!"

"Daddy knew you were trouble the minute he saw you."

"Wha–that's...I'm sure I don't even know your dad."

"He says you tried to get a job at the café. That you left with Prett. That's all he needs to know."

"Oh." Small towns. A person probably can't pee without half the neighbors knowing when, where, and how much. No wonder Prett hides behind pink paneled windows. "Why would your dad even care?"

"Because Grammy's rich. It doesn't look like it with all this old junk around, but she is. Millions and millions rich. Daddy says she could live like a queen if she wanted, but she doesn't. She scrapes by on Social Security and retirement. Daddy wants to make sure her money is managed right, but Prett took it over, and he's giving it all away. To druggies. And foreigners. And," Blair gave her a contemptuous glance, "people like you."

"Oh." People like me? What does that mean? "Well," Jane said carefully, "I'm not here to take anyone's money."

"You said Prett hired you."

"He did."

Blair refocused her attention to the window. "Then he's paying you with Grammy's money. He doesn't have any of his own."

He's paying me with Grammy's money? Jane gripped the hot mug of cocoa. Is he taking advantage of Mrs. Gingery? He does live in a nice place. Not any nicer than here, though. And it's not as if he was out partying today. He was helping people in need. The halfway house. Druggies. The Asian family. Foreigners. The waitress with a dying granddaughter. People like me.

The men and Cadence entered the house, stomping snow off their boots. Mrs. Gingery zipped up in her wheelchair. "Well, Prettamin, I see you didn't end up in a snowdrift."

"The night's still young."

She huffed. "I'll worry every second you're out in this."

"So I'll worry about you worrying about me. We'll have a fretting contest."

Mrs. Gingery gave him a dismissing wave. "Well, come back for supper. Holly put in a casserole."

"Sounds inviting," Prett said. "But Vel here mixed up some concoction in the slow cooker, and you know how he'll pout if we don't attempt to eat it."

Mrs. Gingery insisted on kisses from the brothers and Blair before they left. She gave Jane's hand a squeeze. "Now don't let Prettamin turn you into a work horse, Jane Elizabeth. You make him carry the heavy things."

Jane smiled at her. "Yes, ma'am."

Outside, Blair stopped Prett from walking to her car. "No, I want Val to drive me." The men expressed surprise, especially Danny, who smiled with amazed relief she hadn't picked him.

Danny drove the pickup, plowing his way down the drive and out onto the road, Val and Blair following. He plowed all the way into Prairie Creek and beyond, until they turned onto a highway that was better maintained. When they arrived in the town of Aurora, Jane realized they'd retraced their early morning's drive. If they continued straight, they'd end up back at the interstate and the truck stop. Instead, Danny pulled into a subdivision of modern houses, stopping at what appeared to be the largest.

"Should we plow his driveway?" Prett asked. 

Danny snorted. 

"Which would annoy him more? Plowing it or not plowing it?" 

Danny shook his head. 

"He'll complain either way, which makes me not want to go through the effort. On the other hand, plowing it would be the Christian thing to do, no matter how much he screams about it afterwards." 

Danny continued shaking his head. 

Prett sighed and stared out the window a moment. He turned back to his brother. "We could just plow the part Blair drives on." 

Danny chortled and lowered the blade.

As Danny eased the truck onto the driveway, Val got out of the car, now parked in one of the three garage stalls. Giving Blair a salute, he headed towards the pickup. But Blair ran out to stop him. She gave him a bear hug before running back into the garage. 

"What the hell is that about?" Prett muttered. "She saw that, too." 

A woman now peered out the front bay window. Val arrived at Jane's door, so she scooted over, careful not to knock over the poinsettia. 

"What was that all about?" Prett repeated as Val settled into the seat. 

The latter smiled and shrugged. 

"You know nothing good will come of this." Prett's phone rang. "And now it begins," he said ruefully before answering it in an overly pleasant tone. And with his hillbilly accent.

Even from the back seat, Jane could hear a woman's voice screeching, "What do you think you're doing!?"

"Merry Christmas Eve back at ye', Celia." He lifted a hand to the woman at the window. "We's plowin' yer draive."

"I don't need you to plow my drive!!"

"Oh, well, I'll tell Vel to quit, than. We only got Blair's side done anyhow. Speakin' ah which, would ye laike to thank Val fer drivin' 'er home?"

"Keep that monstrosity away from my daughter!"

"Are ye referrin' to the truck or–" Prett held the phone out to check the screen. "She done hung up on me." He returned it to his pocket. "Well, Val, now yer a monstrosity instead of an effin' retard. I'd say that's an improvement. Ye' must be growin' on 'er." Val snorted and Prett added in a mutter, "She'll soon be a'huggin' ye', jest laike her daughter."

They returned to Prairie Creek, but Danny drove past the hotel to a tiny cottage nestled behind the fire hall. He enlisted Jane's help in pulling out the last items in the truck bed: a bag of cat food and a bucket of litter. He swung the bag over his shoulder while Jane struggled with the bucket. I'm not supposed to be a work horse. "Vel!" Prett yelled with consternation, standing at the door waiting for the occupant to open it. Danny just laughed, but Val came to her rescue, effortlessly relieving her of the burden.

"I guess I can't lift fifty pounds," Jane said.

"I suspect not," Prett replied, "since that bucket's only twenty-seven."

A heavy-set elderly woman slowly opened the door. "Is that you, Prettamin?" she said in a thin, wavering voice.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Oh come in, come in, out of the cold. And your handsome brothers too, how nice!"

"Neh, I left them home. These are their ugly replacements. And this is Miss Jane, a pink little stray we found alongside the road."

The old woman glanced at Jane before grasping Prett's arm. "I didn't see that angel girl today. Her mother came by and said she was sick and couldn't come. But she left chicken soup and scraps for my babies."

Angel girl? Babies? Oh. I see the babies. Eye blinking, tail swishing, ear scratching felines. A black one on the sofa, a white one on the recliner, a striped one sprawled on the coffee table, an orange one wrapping itself around their legs. Everywhere I look, there's a cat looking back at me. In addition to the live creatures, cat figurines cluttered shelves, glass cabinets, and every flat surface available. The living room's remaining decor consisted of stacks of mail, newspapers, and magazines.

"We brought food for them, too," Prett said, "along with something to brighten your evening." He held out the poinsettia.

"Oh, how pretty! We'll put it with the others." She shuffled to a long table crowded with numerous plants, some green and healthy, some long dead. A gray cat, hidden amongst the foliage, skittered away when they approached. Prett picked up a pot that held a dried-up ficus and replaced it with the poinsettia. "Oh! Where are you taking that?" the woman cried as he turned to walk away.

"I thought this one looked dead."

"No, no, it's just dormant. Bring it back. We'll find room for it."

Prett shot a glance at Val before putting the dead plant back on the table. "Have you eaten supper yet, Miss Dona?"

"Oh, are you hungry?"

"Yes. Let's see what you have in your fridge." He steered Dona towards the kitchen. Once her back was turned, he grabbed the dead ficus and shoved it at Val, who disappeared with it out the front door. Prett signed to Danny, who rolled his eyes and sighed. He grudgingly handed over the cat food bag and picked up the litter bucket.

Then Danny noticed Jane. Smiling, he signaled she should follow. He carried the cat litter to the bathroom, pulled out a couple plastic bags and a pooper scooper from under the sink, and held them out to her.

"I think Prett told you to do it, not me." Danny shook his head innocently, still holding out the implements. Jane folded her arms. He cocked his head and gave her his prettiest smile. "You can bat your unnaturally long lashes all you want, but that won't make me change my mind." Danny thought a moment then pulled out a five dollar bill. Really? "Ten," Jane said. Danny smiled and handed her two fives. She picked up the scooper. How bad can it be? Ugh. Gross. Ewww. I should've asked for more. When she moved to put away the scooper, Danny crooked his finger at her. "Don't tell me," she said as she followed him to a cluttered bedroom. A spotted cat leapt off the bed, scrambling underneath. Danny pointed out another litter box. "One hundred dollars," Jane stated. There's no way. He pulled out several twenties. What? Way. How high is his limit?

After she finished the job and scrubbed her hands, they found Prett, Val, and Dona sitting around the kitchen table, the latter slurping a bowl of soup while the men munched crackers. Danny held out a chair for her.

Now Dona noticed her. "Well, hello! What's your name?"

"Jane."

"Jane. Did your mother visit me today?"

"Um, no."

"No, Miss Dona," Prett said. "Jane's a stray. Found her in a cardboard box alongside the road. She looked so scared and pitiful we brought her home with us."

"Oh, my!" Dona regarded Jane with sympathy. "You poor kitty. Are you hungry?"

"Uh..." Jane hesitated.

"Would you like soup, dear?" Dona pushed her bowl towards Jane, but Prett gave a small shake of his head, sliding the sleeve of crackers across to Jane.

"No, that's for you." She slid the soup back to Dona. "I just want crackers." Jane took one. That soup smells delicious. Looks homemade. And we're eating what–some slow cooker concoction Danny made?

A siren revved up outside the window, the blaring sound piercing Jane's chest and ears. She froze. "What's that?!"

"Air raid." Prett took another cracker. "Guess we're under attack."

"What?!"

"No. It's six o'clock."

"What do you mean!?"

"I mean it's six o'clock."

Jane glanced around the table. I'm the only one freaking out. The siren lowered its pitch until it faded into silence. "An air raid siren blows at six o'clock?" Don't sound so mousy and idiotic.

"The town whistle," Prett clarified, "blows at seven, noon, one, and six."

"It does?" she asked. Prett nodded. "Why?"

His mouth twitched. "So you know what time it is."

"You're putting me on."

"No. If it doesn't quit blowing, there's a tornado. If it blows several times in a row, there's a fire/rescue call. Otherwise, it's just letting you know what time it is. Seven, noon, one, or six." Jane stared at him. "It's a small town thing," he added.

"Vernie should be home soon," Dona said. "He's always home by a quarter after. Oh, dear." She examined her empty bowl. "And I ate all the soup."

"There's plenty more," Prett said. "Would you like another bowl-full?"

"No, no, I've had quite enough."

"Some applesauce, then?" He switched the soup bowl with a smaller one.

"Oh, thank you." Using her spoon, she dabbed applesauce onto a half-eaten cracker and took a dainty bite. Prett exited to wash the handful of dirty dishes and Danny took his chair. "Oh, my!" Dona said. "Is that you, Velentinny?" Danny nodded with a smile. She leaned closer to him, whispering loudly, "Won't you be in trouble for growing your hair so long?" He signed his reply, but she interrupted before he'd finished. "Oh, that's right, you lost your voice, didn't you, poor thing. Do you have a headache now?" As he shook his head, a long-haired tortoiseshell cat landed with a thud onto the table directly in front of him. Jane jumped. "Oh, Princess!" Dona exclaimed as the cat trotted over to inspect her dish of applesauce. Danny whisked the cat off the table while Jane surveyed the top kitchen cabinets from where the animal had leapt. How many others will drop from God knows where?

After Dona finished eating and Prett washed the last dish, the men made to leave. Dona wished them to stay longer, and Prett regretted they couldn't.

They returned to the pickup, Prett once again getting in back with Jane. "I never met a cat lady before," she said to cheer the mood. "But my great-aunt was a bird lady." She thought for a moment before adding, "They probably wouldn't have gotten along. Aunt Evie hated cats." Jane went silent until Danny pulled in front of their building. "She has Alzheimer's, doesn't she?"

"Yeah," Prett answered. "She's getting worse every day."

"Aunt Evie had it, too. Does she have any family to take care of her?"

"Just a granddaughter who cares only about her inheritance. Which consists mostly of cats."

"That's so sad. What about the man she said would be home soon?"

"Her husband, Vern. Dead twenty years now."

Author's Note: Thanks for reading! Please help me improve my writing by pointing out problems. And if you like what you read, please click the Vote button below. And comment! I love comments! 😊 

Fun Facts:  My mom suffered with Alzheimer's the last eleven years of her life. Like Dona, she remained mostly cheerful throughout. But in her addled state, people and cats became interchangeable. Sometimes our cats were "the children" and sometimes she called me "a good cat." 😅😄 

My parents died five months apart in 2014. 

Here's one of their wedding photos, taken Dec 30, 1956:

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