Room on the Step
Iris came out of the door with a mug held in both mittens. The wool was scratchy. The mug was smooth and hot. Steam touched her cheek and went away again. Wisp floated down the path ahead of her, glowing at the edges. The lamps were lit along the lane. The snow on the low wall was old and crunchy, like sugar. Iris sat down on the stone step and held the mug close to her chin. Wisp drifted back and hung beside her shoulder.
The cocoa was too hot to drink. Iris blew across the top of it. A little cloud of steam rose up and curled and went thin. Wisp leaned right into the steam and glowed brighter. Iris laughed and blew again. The step was cold and rough under her boots. She rubbed one mitten along the stone, back and forth, back and forth. Wisp wobbled above the mug like a small warm moon. "You like that," said Iris.
Then the sky changed its mind. The wind went soft and stopped pushing. Big slow flakes began to fall on the lane. The village made room for them. A shutter swung shut. A cart was pulled in under the eaves. A dog turned around twice and curled up by the bakery door. Sparrows squeezed into the gap above a window and shuffled along the ledge. Snow landed on Iris's hat and stayed there. It made no sound at all.
Iris moved along the step, under the porch roof, and brushed the snow off the wood. "There's room on the step for two," she said. Wisp came in out of the falling snow. Its glow lit the doorframe and every bumpy line in the old paint. Iris ran her thumb over it, rough here, smooth there. She held the mug with both hands. The snow came down and down. The whole village sat still and let it.
The cocoa cooled. Now Iris could drink it. She lifted the mug to her mouth. Wisp slid down close to the rim, waiting for the steam. Iris stopped. If she drank it all, the steam would go. If she let it steam and steam, her cocoa would go cold. The mug was already cooler against her mittens. She looked at Wisp. Wisp hung low and hopeful over the warm brown cocoa. Iris thought hard.
Iris held the mug up high with both arms. Wisp floated over it and glowed. But the steam came out in one thin thread, thin as a hair. Wisp could only take the smallest sip of warm. Iris's arms grew tired and wobbly. Her cocoa cooled a little more. "That's not enough for you," she said. She set the mug down on the step and looked at it for a while. Snow settled on her sleeve like soft grey felt.
Then Iris saw the little tin lid by the door, the one she filled with seeds for the birds. She brushed the snow off it with her mitten. She poured half her cocoa into the lid. It made a wide, shallow pool, brown and still. Steam rose up from it all at once, broad as a blanket. Wisp sank down over the lid and glowed pink, then gold, then pink again. "There," said Iris. "That half is yours."
Iris drank her half slowly. It was sweet and warm all the way down to her middle. Her mittens smelled of wool and cocoa. Wisp turned slow circles above the tin lid, bright as a little lamp on the step. The sparrows watched from the eaves with their feathers puffed. The snow kept coming down, and the village kept making room. "There's room on the step for two," said Iris, and Wisp glowed brighter.
When the lid was empty, Iris pulled her blanket up around her shoulders. Wisp settled beside her cheek, cool and soft. Iris breathed out. A small cloud came from her mouth and floated up, just like Wisp. She breathed in. She breathed out again, slower. The snow came down without any hurry at all. "There's room on the step for two," she whispered. Her eyes closed, and her breathing went soft and slow and warm.
