The thin crust of ice crunched under his weight as his boots left footprints in the unblemished blanket of white. Chad Larson walked along the edge of the street, unconsciously observing the results of a late winter snow. The snow had stopped during the night, leaving an overcast sky. A cold northwest wind had quickly hardened the fresh white sheet that covered the landscape. Along with the sound of his own footsteps, Chad could hear the familiar noises of the town waking to another day. Pots scraped over the hot surface of cook stoves. Wood was being split for the fires that would fend off the chill of the day. Chad thought to himself how cold these small, company-built, clapboard houses must be during the winter months. Although it was the second largest in town and well-built, the house he and Alicia shared was not always warm. But it was home for his family, he, Alicia, and Matthew, their son, who was nearing his second birthday.

As he walked along without intentionally eavesdropping, Chad heard the voices of mothers calling their children to get out of bed, children who resisted crawling out from under the heavy, warm quilts just to have their feet chilled by the cold floor. He found the variety of expressions interesting. There were the soft tones of women whose voices were encouraging and almost playful. Others spoke in harsh tones of impatience that carried a warning of what happened to children who were late for school.