Lost in the Blizzard Read online

  Logan dressed quickly and went downstairs. Everyone was already in the kitchen. Ma was cooking pancakes and fried eggs. Tess was braiding Annie’s hair. Drew was polishing his boots with an old rag. Skeeter was gnawing on a soup bone in front of the stove.

  “Mr. Bruna said there will be a snowstorm this weekend,” Logan announced. He plucked a pancake from the pan, dunked it in a pitcher of maple syrup, and stuffed the whole thing in his mouth.

  “Logan Dale Pryce! Manners!” Ma scolded him. “And what’s this about a snowstorm? How does Mr. Bruna know?”

  Logan chewed quickly. “Um . . . well . . . his horse was facing north.”

  “Ha!” Drew scoffed. “That’s as bad as Tess’s balderdash about the squirrels.”

  “It’s not balderdash. It was in a book!” Tess said hotly.

  “Does ‘balderdash’ mean that you’re bald?” Annie asked curiously.

  “It means ‘nonsense.’ Everyone, please! Let’s eat up so we can get to work. Snow or not, we have a lot of chores to get through today,” said Ma.

  A short while after breakfast, the five Pryces had bundled up and headed outside. They started working in the garden. Ma explained that it was important to harvest the remaining fruits and vegetables, since a hard frost could destroy them. Most of them would be canned and eaten over the long winter. Some, like the potatoes, could simply be stored in wooden barrels. The green tomatoes would be wrapped in newspaper to ripen in the root cellar.

  They worked steadily for the next few hours, even Annie, whose job was to brush dirt and soil from the potatoes. As the morning progressed, Logan noticed puffy gray clouds gathering low in the sky. The air felt heavy and damp, even though it wasn’t raining.

  Around noon, Ma suggested that they go inside to eat lunch and get warm. Tess and Annie set aside their tools and followed her into the house. Drew hung back.

  “Aren’t you going in?” Logan asked Drew.

  “In a minute. I’ve been meaning to go back for that old tree,” replied Drew. “I want to surprise Ma and Pa with some extra firewood.”

  Logan nodded slowly. So that’s why Drew had kept quiet about the fallen tree the other night!

  “Do you want me to help you? I’m pretty good at hauling heavy things,” Logan offered.

  “Nah. This is grown-up stuff. You should stay here and have lunch with the ladies—or maybe play with your little secret invention.”

  Lunch with the ladies? Little secret invention?

  “Fine! I hope you drop a log on your toe!” Logan huffed.

  Drew rolled his eyes, picked up a saw, and headed toward the forest.

  WHITEOUT!

  Ma, Tess, Annie, and Logan had just finished their lunch when Skeeter began to bark.

  “What is it, boy?” Logan asked.

  Skeeter pointed his nose at the kitchen window and continued barking. Everyone turned.

  They saw a white flake . . . then another . . . then another.

  “Snow!” Logan shouted.

  “I knew it! The squirrels were right!” exclaimed Tess.

  “Hooray! Mrs. Wigglesworth and I can have our tea party with the snowman family!” Annie added.

  “My goodness! I’m glad we finished with the garden. We can tackle the rest of the items on Pa’s list another time.” Ma paused and glanced around. “Where’s Drew?”

  “Um . . .” Logan scrambled to come up with an explanation. He was still mad at Drew, but he didn’t want to ruin the firewood surprise. “He . . . um . . . went to the barn to check on the animals. I’ll go fetch him!”

  Before Ma could ask any more questions, Logan pulled on his coat, gloves, and cap, and raced out the door with Skeeter. First, I’ll find Drew. Then I’ll help him carry the firewood back to the house, he thought.

  On the way to the forest, Logan stopped by the barn and grabbed his sled. It wasn’t completely finished, but it might come in handy. He also brought his walking sticks and some snowshoes that he had made last year out of wood, wire, and leather scraps.

  Logan hurried toward the forest, dragging the sled behind him. The snow was coming down harder now, and the landscape was quickly turning from brown to white. An icy wind whipped around.

  At the edge of the forest, Logan yelled: “Drew!”

  There was no answer.

  Frowning, Logan tried to remember the location of the rock elm tree. Was it to the right or the left or straight ahead? Drew was likely there, waiting out the sudden storm.

  And then he remembered. On Thursday, he and Drew had been traveling from west to east through the forest. He knew this because he’d looked over his shoulder to see the sun setting behind him, and the sun always set in the west!

  If only he could figure out which way was west. He needed a compass.

  Crack! A small tree limb landed softly. Pine needles were laid out against the snow.

  “Needles! That’s it! We’ll make our own compass!” he told Skeeter.

  Logan checked his jacket pocket for the needle he kept there to pin his mittens. He would use his cap for the wool. He soon found a leaf, and all he needed was some water.

  But where would he find water in the middle of a snowstorm?

  LOGAN TO THE RESCUE

  Logan began kicking at the snow. Maybe there was a puddle hiding underneath all that white.

  Skeeter was eager to join the game. He pawed at the snow and sent it flying into the air.

  They did this for a while—Logan kicking, Skeeter digging.

  Slurp, slurp, slurp.

  Logan whirled around. Skeeter was lapping water from a puddle!

  “Good boy, Skeeter!” shouted Logan. Luckily, the puddle wasn’t frozen yet, and there was enough water in it to cobble together a compass.

  He took off his wool cap and rubbed the needle against it, just like Mr. Bruna had described. Then he carefully laid the needle on the leaf in the water. He leaned over the puddle to protect it from the wind and snow.

  The leaf floated slightly. Slowly, gradually, it began turning like the handle of a clock. After a minute, it settled and became still.

  “Skeeter, that’s north!” Logan said, pointing. “That means west is that way! We did it, boy!”

  Skeeter’s honey-colored tail whipped back and forth happily.

  There was no time to waste. Logan began stomping westward with his snowshoes and his sled. Skeeter trotted alongside him.

  Now the snow was falling almost sideways. It stung Logan’s eyes and made it impossible to see. He shielded his face with his hand and inched forward step by step.

  Just keep going west, he told himself.

  After what seemed like forever, he stopped in his tracks and glanced around. Nothing but white.

  “Drew!” he yelled again.

  “Logan!” came a voice from a distance.

  Relief washed over Logan. He’d found his brother!

  “Drew! Keep talking so I can find you! Or sing a song!”

  After a moment, Drew began singing:

  “In the snowing and the blowing

  In the cruelest sleet

  Little flow’rs begin their growing

  Far beneath our feet”

  Logan moved toward the voice. Another thirty steps more . . . and he spotted the fallen rock elm.

  Drew sat huddled under a shelter of elm branches, next to a pile of freshly cut logs.

  “Drew!”

  “Logan!” Drew jumped up and gave him a fierce hug. “Am I ever glad to see you! Thanks a bunch for finding me!”

  Logan smiled to himself. Drew had never hugged him before.

  “You’re welcome! Let’s load the firewood onto my sled and get home quick. Ma’s probably wondering where we are. You can borrow my snowshoes.”

  “You mean those ugly stick things on your feet? I’m fine with just my boots,” said Drew.

  But as Drew stepped forward, he sank into the snow up to his knees. “Whoa! I guess maybe I will borrow them after all.”

  Logan unstrapped his sn
owshoes and handed them to Drew.

  “Thanks again,” Drew said sheepishly.

  “You’re welcome again.”

  “Say, is that your secret project? The sled?”

  “Yup.”

  “Huh. It’s pretty nifty!”

  For the first time, Logan didn’t feel like such a little brother.

  FUN IN THE SNOW

  By Sunday morning, the storm had passed. Glistening white snow blanketed all of Maple Ridge.

  Ma gave Logan and Drew permission to go sledding, even though she was still upset at them for worrying her during the blizzard. When they’d finally made it back to the house, she’d hugged and scolded them at the same time. Fortunately, she’d been pleased about the new firewood. She, Tess, and Annie had admired Logan’s sled, too.

  Over at Goat Hill, everyone in town seemed to be out: sledding, cross-country skiing, building forts, making snow angels, and having snowball fights. Logan spotted Anthony, Wally Robbins, and a bunch of other kids from school.

  Anthony ran up to him. “Ahoy there! What do you think of all this powdery stuff?” he called out cheerfully.

  “It’s pretty grand! I brought my new sled and my snowshoes, too!” said Logan.

  “Could I borrow your snowshoes? I’ve been keen to try them. And then maybe we could take a run on your new sled?”

  “Aye, matey!”

  Logan handed the snowshoes to Anthony and showed him how to strap them on. Anthony thanked him and stomped toward his parents and his little sister, Isabella, who had just arrived. Ma had said she would be by later too, with Tess and Annie.

  “Hey, Logan! Let’s go sledding!”

  Logan turned around.

  Drew was waving him over from the base of the hill. “Come on, what are you waiting for?”

  Logan glanced anxiously at the top of the hill. The steep slope had frightened him ever since he was little.

  On the other hand, a lot of kids were sledding down it, and they looked as though they were having a perfectly fine time.

  Logan took a deep breath. Maybe the hill wasn’t as big and scary as he remembered.

  He pulled his sled over to Drew. The two brothers started up the hill together.

  “I think you should be the pilot, don’t you?” Drew suggested.

  “Aye, matey!”

  Drew gave Logan a salute. Logan saluted back.

  It was going to be a long, fun winter.

  Check out the next

  TALES FROM MAPLE RIDGE

  adventure!

  * * *

  HERE’S A SNEAK PEEK!

  * * *

  Logan Pryce yawned as he started up the hill toward the Maple Ridge School with his older brother, Drew, and older sister, Tess. He had woken up before dawn to help Pa chop wood.

  Tess was chattering about birds when the three of them reached the crest of the hill. She could be shy at times, but not when it came to things she cared about, like books and birds.

  Drew leaned over to Logan. “If I have to hear any more about birds, I’m going to stick my head in the ground like an ostrich,” he joked.

  “Or you could flap your arms like a goose and fly away!” Logan joked back.

  The two brothers chuckled.

  Up ahead was their one-room schoolhouse. A thin column of smoke rose from the chimney. The trees in the yard were cloaked with red and yellow leaves.

  Logan spotted Kyle Chambers and Lenny Watts strolling through the door with their lunch pails. And then he spotted a boy he didn’t recognize. The boy was as tall and skinny as a beanpole. He wore oval-shaped, gold-rimmed glasses and an odd hat decorated with a feather.

  Exactly twenty students attended the Maple Ridge School, and Logan knew every single one.

  Except for this boy. Who was he?

  GRACE GILMORE is a city girl, but she has always been fascinated by farm life. Growing up, she spent many summers riding horses, chasing chickens, and swimming in the creek at her great-grandparents’ farm in the hollows of Kentucky. When she isn’t writing books, she can be found playing the piano, baking cookies, or wrangling various pets. Grace lives with her family in Ithaca, New York.

  PETRA BROWN lives at the foot of Mount Snowdon near the little Ffestiniog railway, in the beautiful country of North Wales, United Kingdom. When she was a child, she used to love to look through books and draw the pictures herself. Now she finds that illustrating children’s books is immensely satisfying. You can visit her at PetraB.co.uk.

  LITTLE SIMON

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  authors.simonandschuster.com/Petra-Brown

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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  This Little Simon edition December 2015

  Copyright © 2015 by Simon & Schuster, Inc.

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  Designed by Chani Yammer

  The illustration of this book were rendered in pen and ink.

  The text of this book was set in Caecilia.

  This book has been cataloged with the Library of Congress.

  ISBN 978-1-4814-4750-8 (hc)

  ISBN 978-1-4814-4749-2 (pbk)

  ISBN 978-1-4814-4751-5 (eBook)