The Storm Arrives
Winter came early that year.
The first snow fell in November.
Then came the wind.
At first, it was nothing unusual.
Oakhaven was used to strong winter weather. People closed their shutters, stacked firewood beside their homes, and waited for the worst to pass.
But three days later, the temperature dropped sharply.
The sky turned the color of iron.
Birds disappeared from the fields.
Even the dogs seemed restless.
Then, just before midnight, the wind began.
It started as a low whistle between the houses.
Within an hour, it had become a roar.
People woke to the sound of branches striking their windows.
Then came the cracking.
A fence collapsed near the village square.
A chimney toppled from one of the older houses.
Roof tiles began flying through the darkness.
The storm grew stronger.
And stronger.
By two in the morning, people were terrified.
The wind struck the village from the north, then suddenly changed direction and came screaming down the valley.
It seemed to attack from every side.
One family crawled into their cellar after hearing their roof groan above them.
Another watched helplessly as part of their roof peeled away.
Across the village, people prayed that their homes would survive until morning.
But one house remained strangely quiet.
Martha Gable’s.
Inside, the old woman sat beside her fireplace.
She wasn’t praying.
She wasn’t panicking.
She was listening.
The wind struck the roof.
A deep vibration passed through the house.
The wooden stakes outside began to hum.
Martha closed her eyes.
For a moment, she could almost hear Thomas explaining it again.
“Don’t fight the wind head-on.”
Another enormous gust slammed into the house.
The walls trembled.
But the roof held.
Outside, the carefully positioned stakes split and redirected the force of the wind. Some cracked. Others bent.
But they did their job.
They broke the violent gusts into smaller currents instead of allowing one massive force to grab the entire roof.
Martha remained in her chair.
She knew the house was safe.
At dawn, the wind finally weakened.
The villagers slowly emerged from their homes.
What they saw left them speechless.
Trees were scattered across the roads.
Fences were gone.
Roofing materials lay in fields hundreds of feet from where they had been installed.
But Martha’s house stood exactly where it had been.
Not one major section of the roof had been torn away.
The villagers stared.
Then someone whispered:
“Go get Martha.”
Because suddenly, everyone wanted to know the same thing.
How had the woman they called crazy been the only one prepared?
