Alfred made his way to the barn to get a few things, his old heavy jacket and one for Betty that belonged to the boys. Etta had pulled a quilt off the bed and rolled up a couple of hats, gloves and some socks, tied it with a belt she had and handed it to Alfred who slung it over his shoulders. He took a worn rubber raincoat and put it over all of that.

Lloyd was there in the barn taking care of Scout and getting the cows put up. The chicken coop had been secured as best it could be.

"Where you going Mr. Pearson?"

"Got to go get that scatterbrain Betty off Schneider's farm. She's out there fishin'."

"Let me go with you Mr. Pearson, I can help. This weather don't look good at all."

"No Lloyd, you stay here with the rest. I'll get Betty and we'll be along shortly."

With that he was out the barn door and into what was becoming a gale force wind blowing directly out of the North West. He headed Southeast fighting an ever- increasing wind that was pushing him from back trying to knock him down.

Alfred's old pants did little to keep him warm. They were worn thin by years of wear and his boots were also in bad shape. There was a hole in the bottom of one and already he could feel the cold, damp weather reaching in like someone trying to take his boot off his foot. He made a note to himself to repair his boots when he got home.

Betty had been pretty successful catching fish. She had three on the line and another nibbling at what was left of the worm. Her sack of "pies" was pretty full and she wanted just that one more fish. Those old bottom-feeders tasted like the mud they ate and were full of tiny, sharp bones but it was food and she was going to bring it home for her family.

She began to notice the wind and the dropping temperature so she put on the little jacket thankful now that she had it. The weather was getting worse but that darn fish kept nibbling at the bait.

"One more, come on buddy, grab that worm," she thought while starting to hunker down along the bank, staying back from the mud that was now getting a little harder with the dropping temperature. She waited and waited, too long now. Betty never got that last fish and by the time she picked up her gear, it was blowing hard and she could barely see. It was beginning to spit sleet, not rain, just little bits of stinging ice and Betty now realized she was in trouble.

Needles of ice hit her all over and stung like a thousand bees. She was so intent on catching that last fish Betty had not realized how cold it was becoming or how dark it was getting with the huge clouds rolling in. Her direction for home was West and the storm was blowing in from the North West so it was like fighting a tiger in a tank of water. For every two steps she took, she was pushed back by the wind three steps. The huge gunny sack slung over her back didn't help and the light jacket she grabbed on her way out the door did nothing for her. Her option was to go to the only shelter around, the old pumphouse that was dilapidated and ready to collapse. It had been useful in its day since there had been a working farm close by but now it lay in ruins, just a shell of what it had been, the rusted machinery and long black conveyer belt lay silent attesting to destructive powers of Mother Nature.

Was this the promise? Was this the result of the exuberant sense of something happening in her life today? Was this, in fact a cruel joke played once again on Betty, on her family, on her friends in this God-forsaken place? How could she have been so stupid as to believe that the promise she felt this morning was anything other than another painful lesson in her young life. And how long would the Promise allow her to live? She now felt a foreboding, felt the insult, the slap in the face by the very prairie that gave her life.

"Promise me anything but give me nothing and steal what little I have! GO TO HELL IN A HANDBASKET!"

As she made her way to the pumphouse she thought she saw a figure coming across the field. The ground was beginning to gather ice and snow, turning white as the wind blew unimpeded across the flat, endless prairie. Someone was headed her way.

Oh God, who could that be? Maybe it's a strangler or a crazy person who just wants to hurt girls, Betty thought but then she recognized the tall, lanky figure as her father, Alfred.
That was worse! He had to leave the warmth of his kitchen to come out and find her. Betty almost wished it was a "strangler" instead of him.

Alfred reached the pumphouse about the same time Betty did and both were cold and anxious to get inside. The door had been secured but it didn't take much to break the wooden plank that nailed the entrance shut. Just as they got the door open, they both saw another figure approaching from the West. It was a horse with a rider. LLOYD!!!

"Oh papa, that's Lloyd on Scout. Oh no, he's come after me too." She was in distress at the thought of these two men (yes this made Lloyd a man) and that poor old horse having to rescue her but she was also relieved. She now had a chance and she was grateful for that.

When Lloyd got to the door of the pumphouse they could tell he and Scout were cold too. They all had to get out of this now raging storm, soon to be a South Dakota blizzard. They all knew the hazards of being out in this weather. It was extremely dangerous. Anyone caught out in it would not make it. There had been school children found days later dead from a blizzard that came up as quickly as this one and several neighbors in the past had died just going from their house to the barn. It could be and would be brutal.

"Mr. Pearson, I couldn't let you come out here by yourself so I followed you. Darn it's cold!"

"It's OK Lloyd, let's try to get Scout in here. At least it's out of the wind."

And with that they pulled the old horse inside the building. It wasn't exactly winterproof and the wind came in all the cracks but at least the snow and stinging ice didn't hit them.

The old equipment lay silent and sinister and had a lot of debris including old bird's nests and mouse droppings. The dust was thick from years of non-use so while Betty wrapped herself in a damp but not really wet blanket, Alfred and Lloyd set out to clear the best spot available to them, behind a huge piece of machinery that gave them some protection from the storm. They scooped out the dirt with their bare hands and hung the rubber overcoat over the openings in the wall. That gave them some protection but it was still very cold. All of them shivered in the now below freezing temperature.

And the Blizzard came alive and danced across the prairie like a drunken sailor and raged like a mad man and the three of them huddled together wondering when or if they would ever get to go home again.