Free After Eli by Terry Kay Page A

of the tarpaulin and ran into the house. Floyd tapped the reins over the mules and the wagon bolted forward, in a circle, then back to the road.
    From a splintered opening in the barn door Michael could see Rachel through the side window of the house. She closed the front door and stood looking out the window at the barn. Then she pulled something over her head and opened the door and ran into the rain toward the barn.
    Michael stepped away from the door, into the shadows of an empty feed stall. He could hear Rachel’s running steps splattering in the water. The door opened quickly, then closed against the wind. She stepped cautiously toward the room and stopped.
    “Michael?” she called.
    He waited for the echo of his name to die. Then he said, “I’m here.”
    The sound of his voice—not from his room, but from the shadows—startled her. She whirled and cried out and stumbled backward.
    Michael jumped from the stall, catching her. He held her close, gently.
    “Hush, hush,” he whispered. “I’ve put the fright in you, bein’ hid away like that. It’s only me. That’s all. Nothin’ more.”
    Her body shuddered like deep sobbing and then it relaxed.
    “That’s better,” he said quietly. “Fact is, you scared me almost as much, not expectin’ you back in such a storm. That’s why I was hid out in the stall, to see who it might be. Then when I knew it was you and you called out my name, I was in a quandary about lettin’ you know where I was without puttin’ the fear in you.”
    He laughed easily and rubbed her back with his hand.
    “It can’t be done, you know,” he added. “I’ve had many ghosts tell me that. There’s times when you’d be believin’ the very angel of Hell has you in his sight and it could be nothin’ more than a bug lookin’ you over.”
    She pulled away from him.
    “I know,” she said. “I didn’t mean to scream. I’m sorry.”
    “Sorry? For what? Well that you did. But you look more like you’ve been drowned. Come along now. I’ve some strong tea and honey and a fire in the stove. You need to warm yourself, unless I’m wrong.”
    She hesitated and looked at the barn door, then back to Michael.
    “Yes,” she replied. “I do. The rain’s cold for summer.”
    He turned and led her into his room.
    “Sit by the stove,” he said. “I’ll put more wood in and get you some tea and you’ll be feelin’ dry inside out in a few minutes.”
    She dropped the shawl from her shoulders and sat close to the stove and watched as he pushed two pieces of wood into the hot coals.
    “Mama Ada’s near to death,” she said at last. “Floyd’s gone back to town to see if the doctor’s come back. He was out this mornin’.”
    Michael shook his head sadly as he poured the tea into a cup.
    “It’s a pity,” he said. “Grand old lady such as she is. Helpin’ out the world and then not havin’ the same kind of help when she most needs it.”
    “Floyd brought me by to find some of Dora’s herbs that Mama Ada’s been askin’ for. He said he’d have the doctor stop by in his car and pick me up.”
    “Bad as it’s stormed, I’d be doubtin’ if a car’d make it over the roads,” replied Michael. He stirred the honey in the tea and handed it to Rachel.
    “Floyd said he’d come back if the doctor couldn’t be found,” she explained. She held the cup in her hands and stared thoughtfully at the deep amber liquid. The rain echoed in the room like a hum.
    Michael could feel the awkwardness of her silence. He knelt before her and gently pushed the cup to her lips. She swallowed without looking at him.
    “What you’re sayin’ is that it won’t matter,” he whispered. “Is that it?”
    She nodded.
    “I thought as much,” he said. “The time is on her. I knew it was near when she drove the poison from me. Somehow in that strange other world of bein’ half-alive, I knew it.”
    She began to cry, though without sound or expression.
    “It’s the way of things,”