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“Mrs. Harper,” he called. “This is lunacy.”
His voice dropped into the hollow like a judge’s hammer. Ben froze with the wheelbarrow. Lucy drew closer to the dog. Evelyn rested both hands on the shovel handle and looked up at him.
Boone gestured toward the excavation carved into the north-facing wall. It was already deeper than a man was tall, the front squared off, the interior dark and cool. “You’re cutting a room into a flood channel. Snow will drift in here ten feet deep. Cold will settle in this ravine like water in a basin. I’ve seen calves freeze solid in low ground overnight.”
Evelyn’s face was damp with exertion, strands of brown hair clinging to her temples, but her eyes were steady. “The problem isn’t the cold, Mr. Boone. It’s the way people fight it.”
Boone stared at her. “I’ve lived through winters on this land since before you were born.”
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