Drafts leaking from the loose front entrance doors kept the foyer cleared, but a crowd had formed in the sitting room, where the fireplace flared and candles were glowing. The restaurant beyond was crammed. In there, women stood on line for the washroom.

I made it to the Admiral’s Suite and showered. I ate a tangerine in the hot spray, pinched the rind and dripped juice onto my head as a hair rinse.

Shadows blackened the bedroom. I groped around, clenching a towel at my chest.

Just before dawn I woke with my head on Raymond’s bare shoulder, his arm caught under me.

In the dark, I found my flashlight belt and dressed; tiptoed out and walked the egg-and-dart-papered hall.

There were sleeping bodies everywhere now: in the taproom, on the bar itself, behind the bar. In the sitting room, swaddled bodies lay on the couches and crisscrossed on the rugs. The fire was down to a last bump of smoldering wood.

I kept my flashlight’s beam lowered but here and there shined on a startled face.

In a corner, a young couple chatted. Near them, a woman rocked an infant in her arms.

All the storm candles had burned away.

Dottie leaned on the mantel. I went near, and when she said nothing, I tipped my flashlight up at her profile. She was asleep.

“You’re some kind of horse,” I said.

“I’m right here,” she muttered.

“No you’re not, Mom. Go to bed.”

“I’m standing watch.”

“You’ll be no good to anybody tomorrow. It is tomorrow. You must hurt and you must be wrecking your poor legs.”

She had me follow her into the chilly hallway, away from the crowd. “The furnace is giving us a little heat but the blowers are out. It’s going to stay bitter cold all morning. We’re down to instant coffee but we have tea. It’s stale, but nobody’ll know the difference.” She heaved a deep breath and hugged herself, hugged the sleeves of her navy-blue cardigan. “What else? We’re out of fruit juice and yogurt,” she said.

At sunup, the winds calmed, the snow stopped. The storm had passed.

I waded all over the side yard, searching with my flashlight. It felt eighty below and my cheeks froze and stuck to my stocking mask after ten minutes of burrowing, but I recovered Raf’s miraculous medal and hung the icy stiff chain on my neck.

Monday morning had the festive oddness of a canceled business day.

The storm victims had drunk the entire beer supply and two kegs of hard cider that Dottie stored last Halloween.

Many of those milling in the main house were hung over and ill, or just impatient to get home and start digging out.

I went for a short hike to see if the roads were clear enough for Raf to manage.