8 Chapter 8 (1/2)

For reasons unfathomable to the most experienced prophets in Maycomb County,autumn turned to winter that year. We had two weeks of the coldest weather since 1885,Atticus said. Mr. Avery said it was written on the Rosetta Stone that when childrendisobeyed their parents, smoked cigarettes and made war on each other, the seasonswould change: Jem and I were burdened with the guilt of contributing to the aberrationsof nature, thereby causing unhappiness to our neighbors and discomfort to ourselves.

Old Mrs. Radley died that winter, but her death caused hardly a ripple—theneighborhood seldom saw her, except when she watered her cannas. Jem and Idecided that Boo had got her at last, but when Atticus returned from the Radley househe said she died of natural causes, to our disappointment.

”Ask him,” Jem whispered.

”You ask him, you're the oldest.”

”That's why you oughta ask him.”

”Atticus,” I said, ”did you see Mr. Arthur?”

Atticus looked sternly around his newspaper at me: ”I did not.”

Jem restrained me from further questions. He said Atticus was still touchous about usand the Radleys and it wouldn't do to push him any. Jem had a notion that Atticusthought our activities that night last summer were not solely confined to strip poker. Jemhad no firm basis for his ideas, he said it was merely a twitch.

Next morning I awoke, looked out the window and nearly died of fright. My screamsbrought Atticus from his bathroom half-shaven.

”The world's endin', Atticus! Please do something—!” I dragged him to the window andpointed.

”No it's not,” he said. ”It's snowing.”

Jem asked Atticus would it keep up. Jem had never seen snow either, but he knewwhat it was. Atticus said he didn't know any more about snow than Jem did. ”I think,though, if it's watery like that, it'll turn to rain.”

The telephone rang and Atticus left the breakfast table to answer it. ”That was EulaMay,” he said when he returned. ”I quote—'As it has not snowed in Maycomb Countysince 1885, there will be no school today.'”

Eula May was Maycomb's leading telephone operator. She was entrusted with issuingpublic announcements, wedding invitations, setting off the fire siren, and giving first-aidinstructions when Dr. Reynolds was away.

When Atticus finally called us to order and bade us look at our plates instead of outthe windows, Jem asked, ”How do you make a snowman?”

”I haven't the slightest idea,” said Atticus. ”I don't want you all to be disappointed, but Idoubt if there'll be enough snow for a snowball, even.”

Calpurnia came in and said she thought it was sticking. When we ran to the back yard,it was covered with a feeble layer of soggy snow.

”We shouldn't walk about in it,” said Jem. ”Look, every step you take's wasting it.”

I looked back at my mushy footprints. Jem said if we waited until it snowed some morewe could scrape it all up for a snowman. I stuck out my tongue and caught a fat flake. Itburned.

”Jem, it's hot!”

”No it ain't, it's so cold it burns. Now don't eat it, Scout, you're wasting it. Let it comedown.”

”But I want to walk in it.”

”I know what, we can go walk over at Miss Maudie's.”

Jem hopped across the front yard. I followed in his tracks. When we were on thesidewalk in front of Miss Maudie's, Mr. Avery accosted us. He had a pink face and a bigstomach below his belt.

”See what you've done?” he said. ”Hasn't snowed in Maycomb since Appomattox. It'sbad children like you makes the seasons change.”

I wondered if Mr. Avery knew how hopefully we had watched last summer for him torepeat his performance, and reflected that if this was our reward, there was somethingto say for sin. I did not wonder where Mr. Avery gathered his meteorological statistics:

they came straight from the Rosetta Stone.

”Jem Finch, you Jem Finch!”

”Miss Maudie's callin' you, Jem.”

”You all stay in the middle of the yard. There's some thrift buried under the snow nearthe porch. Don't step on it!”

”Yessum!” called Jem. ”It's beautiful, ain't it, Miss Maudie?”

”Beautiful my hind foot! If it freezes tonight it'll carry off all my azaleas!”

Miss Maudie's old sunhat glistened with snow crystals. She was bending over somesmall bushes, wrapping them in burlap bags. Jem asked her what she was doing thatfor.

”Keep 'em warm,” she said.

”How can flowers keep warm? They don't circulate.”

”I cannot answer that question, Jem Finch. All I know is if it freezes tonight theseplants'll freeze, so you cover 'em up. Is that clear?”

”Yessum. Miss Maudie?”

”What, sir?”

”Could Scout and me borrow some of your snow?”

”Heavens alive, take it all! There's an old peach basket under the house, haul it off inthat.” Miss Maudie's eyes narrowed. ”Jem Finch, what are you going to do with mysnow?”

”You'll see,” said Jem, and we transferred as much snow as we could from MissMaudie's yard to ours, a slushy operation.

”What are we gonna do, Jem?” I asked.

”You'll see,” he said. ”Now get the basket and haul all the snow you can rake up fromthe back yard to the front. Walk back in your tracks, though,” he cautioned.

”Are we gonna have a snow baby, Jem?”

”No, a real snowman. Gotta work hard, now.”

Jem ran to the back yard, produced the garden hoe and began digging quickly behindthe woodpile, placing any worms he found to one side. He went in the house, returnedwith the laundry hamper, filled it with earth and carried it to the front yard.

When we had five baskets of earth and two baskets of snow, Jem said we were readyto begin.

”Don't you think this is kind of a mess?” I asked.

”Looks messy now, but it won't later,” he said.

Jem scooped up an armful of dirt, patted it into a mound on which he added anotherload, and another until he had constructed a torso.

”Jem, I ain't ever heard of a nigger snowman,” I said.

”He won't be black long,” he grunted.

Jem procured some peachtree switches from the back yard, plaited them, and bentthem into bones to be covered with dirt.

”He looks like Stephanie Crawford with her hands on her hips,” I said. ”Fat in themiddle and little-bitty arms.”

”I'll make 'em bigger.” Jem sloshed water over the mud man and added more dirt. Helooked thoughtfully at it for a moment, then he molded a big stomach below the figure'swaistline. Jem glanced at me, his eyes twinkling: ”Mr. Avery's sort of shaped like asnowman, ain't he?”

Jem scooped up some snow and began plastering it on. He permitted me to coveronly the back, saving the public parts for himself. Gradually Mr. Avery turned white.

Using bits of wood for eyes, nose, mouth, and buttons, Jem succeeded in making Mr.

Avery look cross. A stick of stovewood completed the picture. Jem stepped back andviewed his creation.

”It's lovely, Jem,” I said. ”Looks almost like he'd talk to you.”

”It is, ain't it?” he said shyly.

We could not wait for Atticus to come home for dinner, but called and said we had abig surprise for him. He seemed surprised when he saw most of the back yard in thefront yard, but he said we had done a jim-dandy job. ”I didn't know how you were goingto do it,” he said to Jem, ”but from now on I'll never worry about what'll become of you,son, you'll always have an idea.”

Jem's ears reddened from Atticus's compliment, but he looked up sharply when hesaw Atticus stepping back. Atticus squinted at the snowman a while. He grinned, thenlaughed. ”Son, I can't tell what you're going to be—an engineer, a lawyer, or a portraitpainter. You've perpetrated a near libel here in the front yard. We've got to disguise thisfellow.”

Atticus suggested that Jem hone down his creation's front a little, swap a broom forthe stovewood, and put an apron on him.

Jem explained that if he did, the snowman would become muddy and cease to be asnowman.

”I don't care what you do, so long as you do something,” said Atticus. ”You can't goaround making caricatures of the neighbors.”

”Ain't a characterture,” said Jem. ”It looks just like him.”

”Mr. Avery might not think so.”

”I know what!” said Jem. He raced across the street, disappeared into Miss Maudie'sback yard and returned triumphant. He stuck her sunhat on the snowman's head andjammed her hedge-clippers into the crook of his arm. Atticus said that would be fine.

Miss Maudie opened her front door and came out on the porch. She looked across thestreet at us. Suddenly she grinned. ”Jem Finch,” she called. ”You devil, bring me backmy hat, sir!”

Jem looked up at Atticus, who shook his head. ”She's just fussing,” he said. ”She'sreally impressed with your—accomplishments.”

Atticus strolled over to Miss Maudie's sidewalk, where they engaged in an arm-wavingconversation, the only phrase of which I caught was ”…erected an absolute morphoditein that yard! Atticus, you'll never raise 'em!”

The snow stopped in the afternoon, the temperature dropped, and by nightfall Mr.

Avery's direst predictions came true: Calpurnia kept every fireplace in the house blazing,but we were cold. When Atticus came home that evening he said we were in for it, andasked Calpurnia if she wanted to stay with us for the night. Calpurnia glanced up at thehigh ceilings and long windows and said she thought she'd be warmer at her house.

Atticus drove her home in the car.

Before I went to sleep Atticus put more coal on the fire in my room. He said thethermometer registered sixteen, that it was the coldest night in his memory, and that oursnowman outside was frozen solid.

Minutes later, it seemed, I was awakened by someone shaking me. Atticus's overcoatwas spread across me. ”Is it morning already?”

”Baby, get up.”

Atticus was holding out my bathrobe and coat. ”Put your robe on first,” he said.

Jem was standing beside Atticus, groggy and tousled. He was holding his overcoatclosed at the neck, his other hand was jammed into his pocket. He looked strangelyoverweight.

”Hurry, hon,” said Atticus. ”Here're your shoes and socks.”

Stupidly, I put them on. ”Is it morning?”

”No, it's a little after one. Hurry now.”

That something was wrong finally got through to me. ”What's the matter?”