Free Winds of terror by Patricia Hagan Page A

terrace, talking about people and politics and the state of the world, while the children would skip and run and play without a care. Later, Hilda would bring out the homemade ice cream and sweet lemonade, and everyone would gather on the terrace to share the treat
    Such happy times . . . She wiped her eyes, blinking back the tears. She had so many hopes and dreams then—to grow up and fall in love with a wonderful man and have his children. But with Robert's death, the dreams had flown away like those lovely yellow butterflies she'd chased so long ago—always within her grasp, but eluding her at the final moment
    She began to drift off, putting to rest all thoughts of the conflicts and tensions of the life she'd been plunged into. Tonight, she would not worry about Mark's unusual behavior, nor would she think about Addie and her strange ideas. For some reason she could not define, her thoughts returned, again and again, to Cale, and to the fires of life burning in his beautiful eyes. Someday, she prayed, that spirit would be released, and he could live his life the way he chose ...
    Something woke her up! Melanie sat straight up in bed, fighting grogginess. Something had brought her out of a sound slumber, but now all was silence. Then she heard it —a distant rumble of thunder. She let her breath out and sank back against the pillows, chiding herself for being so jumpy. It was only a spring storm blowing up, and there would be thunder and lightning. It was certainly no cause for her to be shaking with fear.
    She closed her eyes, preparing to drift off to sleep once again. Then she heard another noise—and this time it was not thunder. She heard footsteps moving slowly down the hall. Melanie turned her head quickly to the illuminated dial of the travel clock she had placed beside the bed. Three a.m.! Who would be up and walking about at this time of night?
    Butch ran out from under the bed, a growl escaping from deep in his throat. Melanie thought quickly. If someone were up and about, perhaps sick, it could only be Mark. Cale couldn't walk, of course, and the steady, measured footsteps could not be those of a person as weak and frail as Aunt Addie. It could only be Mark. She decided to get up and see if she could help him.

    She patted Butch and told him to be quiet. "It's okay, boy. You don't want to wake up the whole house, do you?" He whimpered and wagged his tail, but he still pawed anxiously at the door, straining to go out and investigate.
    Melanie pulled on her robe and slippers, then padded across the room and opened the door. The hallway was silent now. She felt her way along the wall until she came to the switch. She touched it and light flooded the empty hallway. She moved towards the stairway and peered downstairs, but the first floor was dark. Perhaps Mark had gone down for some aspirin or soda water, and she had heard him returning to his room. She decided to go back to bed, but tomorrow she would tell Mark that if he ever again became sick during the night, she would be glad to get up and see what she could do for him.
    Then she heard Butch growling, and she saw him, once again at the door to Uncle Bartley's room, pawing anxiously, digging his nails furiously into the wood as he whimpered and snarled.
    "Butch, no, no," she whispered as she tugged frantically at his collar. "Please, no. You're going to wake up the whole house."
    But still he kept on, digging and scratching with a note of hysteria in his throaty whines and growls. He was determined to get into that room! She gave him a hard tug, pulling him back this time. As she began dragging him towards her room, he snarled even louder and strained with all his might to get away from her.
    "What the devil is going on out here?" The voice was so startling that she lost her grip on Butch's collar. Butch bounded back down the hall and resumed his assault on the door. Melanie lifted frightened eyes to see Mark standing behind her in pajamas and robe, looking