Or something sure as hell did. The only illumination in the cavernous dining hall came from the candelabra on their table and from the flickering, amber glow of the fireplaces. The doorway to the entry hall was nothing but a black void. Likewise the kitchen door.
“Just a localized blip,” Les assured them. “Our power goes off like this all the time when there’s a storm. It usually comes back on again in a second.”
But it didn’t come back on again in a second.
Des went over to the windows and looked outside, shielding her eyes with a hand. “I don’t want to alarm anyone, but I don’t see a single light on anywhere in Dorset. Or across the river in Old Saybrook or Essex.”
“It’s the ice storm,” Mitch said. “The trees can’t handle the extra weight, not when there’s this kind of wind. It can split them down the middle.”
“And right down onto the power lines,” Des added grimly. “This looks bad. Very bad.”
“Poor Jory is stuck down in the wine cellar,” Norma suddenly realized. “I’d best take her a flashlight.”
“I can do that,” offered Spence.
“You’d better let me,” Les said. “Those old cellar stairs are tricky, Spence. You might fall and hurt yourself.”
As Les started for the kitchen, candelabrum in hand, Norma began lighting the candles that were set on the other tables.
Over by the windows, a pager started beeping.
“That’s me,” Des said. “I need to check in.”
“I’m afraid the phones will likely be out, too,” Norma told her.
“It’s okay, I’ve got my cell.” Des grabbed a candle, excused herself and retreated in the direction of the taproom.
Now Mitch heard a door slam somewhere, followed by heavy footsteps. Someone with a powerful flashlight came clumping into the dining room from the kitchen. It was Jase. The shy caretaker was covered with ice and panting so hard for breath that the key chain on his belt was jangling like a tambourine. “There’s… there are…” He could not get the words out, he was so agitated.
“What’s happened, dear?” Norma asked him gently. “Go ahead and tell us. Speak right up.”
“It’s the t-trees!” he stammered. “They’re coming down all over the place!”
“Why, it’s a miracle,” Carly exclaimed in mock astonishment. “The furnace monkey spoke an entire sentence.” She didn’t say this to anyone in particular, but she did say it loud enough for Jase to hear. The offhanded cruelty of her remark stunned Mitch.
Jase, too. He peered at her with a surprised, hurt look on his furry face before he turned back to Norma and said, “Is… Jory okay? Where is she?”
“In the cellar, dear. She was fetching a bottle of wine when the power went out. Les has gone down with a light to find her.”
They heard footsteps in the kitchen now and Les appeared in the doorway, candelabrum in hand. “You’ll never guess who I found wandering around in the laundry room.”
“Where is she?” Jase asked him anxiously.
“Right here, sweetie.” Jory appeared next to Les in the candlelight, giggling. “I seem to have taken a wrong turn somewhere.”
“But you’re okay?” Jase moved over toward her, acting very protective.
“Of course. Not to worry.”
Outside, another tree landed with a thud.
“Folks, we may be in the dark for a while,” Les informed them. “There’s a supply of hurricane lamps and flashlights at the front desk. If you’ll follow me, I can hand them out.”
“We’re all yours,” Teddy said gamely. “Lead on.”
“Mitch, may I borrow your elbow?” Ada asked, clutching him by his right arm.
“Absolutely,” he said, as someone else grabbed his left hand.
“I’m afraid of the dark,” Carly explained, her hand small and cold in his. “It turns me into a snarling bitch. I hope you don’t mind.”
“I don’t. But Jase might beg to differ.”
The three of them followed Les and his candelabrum through the blackened entry hall. As they passed the taproom, he could hear Des in there talking on her cell phone.
At the front desk Jory produced a tray filled with kerosene lanterns. She swiftly fired up enough of them for everyone, bathing the three-story entry hall in a golden glow. She also pulled out a carton of flashlights. Les, meanwhile, checked the telephone at the reception desk. The line was dead.
From upstairs, a male voice roared, “Will someone kindly tell me what the devil is going on?! It’s pitch-black up here!”
“That would be our red-meat American,” Ada observed dryly.
“The storm has knocked out our power, Aaron!” Les hollered up to him.
“I have no lights up here!”
“No one does!” Norma called out. “It may get a tad nippy, too, but we’ll just have to muddle through!”
Muddling through was something that Mitch had gotten quite used to. Out on Big Sister, he lost power pretty much every time they had an electrical storm. On at least a half dozen occasions, he’d gone without power for twenty-four hours. And the darkness was actually the least of it. Without electricity the well pump couldn’t produce water and the fuel pump couldn’t feed the furnace. That meant no water, hot or cold, and no heat-which was why Norma had said it might get a tad nippy. Try frozen.
“Stay where you are, son!” she called to Aaron as he started down the stairs to them. “I shall bring you a light!”
“Surely you have a back-up generator for this type of situation,” Aaron blustered as Norma met him on the winding stairs, clutching two lanterns. “They sell the damned things at Home Depot.”
“We did have a diesel generator,” Les acknowledged. “But our guests complained about the stink and the noise. They prefer to go without. We’ve got plenty of firewood. The kitchen stove runs on gas. And our stereo system can run on batteries.”
“Oh, goodie,” Ada cracked.
“Besides, it’s a bit of an adventure,” Les added. “People think it’s fun.”
“Fun?” fumed Aaron. “Freezing to death in the dark is not my idea of fun!”
Mitch went over to the big front door and flung it open, shining his flashlight out into the blackness of the howling night. What the flashlight beam revealed was a shimmering, bejeweled world unlike any he’d ever seen before. A gleaming layer of ice had coated every single exposed surface. Every branch, every path, every stone. And the frozen pellets continued to hammer down as the raging winds whipped and tossed the trees out beyond the parking lot, snapping their frozen limbs like bread sticks and slamming them to the ground with horrifying force.
“God, how I wish I had this on film,” marveled Ada, gazing out at it in wide-eyed wonderment.
Des appeared behind them now in the doorway, wearing her game face.
“What have we got, Master Sergeant?” Mitch asked.
“A T-l emergency, that’s what,” she reported crisply. “Power lines down all over the state. As many as a half million people are without electricity. Most surface roads are impassable. The major highways are skating rinks. They’re shutting the airports down. The governor’s about to declare a state of emergency.”
“I don’t get it,” Mitch said. “The weatherman said that this storm would be passing out to sea way south of us.”
“Mitch, the weatherman was wrong.”
“Any idea when it’s supposed to let up?” Spence asked her apprehensively.
“By dawn. It’s supposed to get very cold. And then it’s supposed to snow-another six to ten inches.”
“But I’ve got Hollywood celebrities flying in tomorrow,” Spence protested.
“I very much doubt that anyone will be flying in tomorrow,” Des told him.
“You mean the entire event might be canceled?” Les was utterly distraught. “This can’t be. It just can’t. We’ve ordered tons of food and liquor. We’ve taken on extra staff…”
“You’ll be reimbursed,” Spence promised him. “The studio will make good on it.”
