Free A Flickering Light by Jane Kirkpatrick Page A

convinced her for a night that marriage meant a working through of problems, shared tenderness, not an escape where only one person achieved happiness. Not that he thought her happy, but neither was he. After that single evening together she’d seemed contented, and he thought perhaps he’d made a way through her resistance.
    But then Donald had… There’d been the accident, far away in North Dakota, and he’d had to come home to tell her, the worst journey of his life. Friends had pressed them to have more children right away. None knew that she was already with child.
    FJ had hoped they could help support each other through this wilderness place, but they had not. She claimed illness from the childbearing, wanted to be left alone. He buried his grief in his work.
    Winifred arrived four months later, and with Russell, they became the children that partially filled his emptiness. He wasn’t sure about Mrs. Bauer’s.
    As he entered the kitchen this March evening, he did not smell a warming meal, no boiled potatoes or roast beef. He thought of other reasons why there might be no dinner. It was toward the end of the month and the household budget might be a little low. He’d have to check, but there was surely enough for a chicken. If there wasn’t, it was Mrs. Bauer’s duty to inform him so his children and their parents could eat sufficiently.
    She might not feel well. Her headaches might have consumed her evening. He looked for a note. She had agreed that if she ever left him again, she’d leave a note. There was none. A single lamp burned in the kitchen, casting shadows on the curtains. He walked through to the dining room.
    “Mrs. Bauer? What’s keeping you?”
    He made his way through the still house, took the steps two at a time to the second floor and the bedrooms, then opened Russell’s door. He felt his heart pounding—from the stair climb, he hoped, nothing more. The boy was asleep. It was early, but at least he was there; well, breathing evenly as FJ pulled the blanket over the boy’s shoulder and heard his own heartbeat slow. He found Winnie sleeping quietly in her crib in the nursery, and he caressed her hair, something he’d wanted to do that morning. His knock on Mrs. Bauer’s door brought no response. He opened it slowly, never quite sure what he’d find. The door creaked. She wasn’t there. The oval mirror of her dresser reflected his own frantic look.
    He returned downstairs, calling through the house, not so loud that the children would be awakened or alarmed. She had to be there somewhere! She’d never leave the children by themselves.
    They rarely used the parlor. The drapes there kept the room cool in summer and cold in the winter. It would be cold this evening. A pump organ filled up one entire wall of the small and heavily furnished room, and sometimes Mrs. Bauer played it to soothe her nerves. But he heard no music now. His eyes adjusted to the darkness. No moonlight penetrated here. He started to open the drapes to let the moonlight in when he was startled by her words.
    “You finally join your family,” Mrs. Bauer said.
    “What are you doing sitting here in the darkness?” The words came out sharper than intended, but she’d frightened him, sitting there faded into the mahogany chair beside the door. She’d begun with accusation. He’d defended. “A small light surely won’t hurt your head.”
    “Not that it matters to you,” she said. “If it did, you’d be home at a reasonable hour, have time with your children as you were so anxious to this morning. Winnie’s been coughing. These March winds stir her and make her ill.”
    “She appears to be sleeping soundly,” he said.
    “You would check on the children first.”
    “I would have greeted you first, you know that. I couldn’t find you, and you failed to answer when I called. Please, don’t argue. I’m sorry you’ve had a difficult day with the children. My own day has been… informative, if you’d care to