Free Night Winds by Gwyneth Atlee Page B

too. That the reason you strong enough to stay here.”
    “Is that why she ran off?”
    Eva’s snort was pure derision. “What the matter with you today? You just feelin’ pitiful, that’s all. Course not. You know your mama love you. She love you just like I loves my three boys. If she could be here, she would. I expect she can’t. Couldn’t take that woman, likely.” With the last statement, Eva jerked her head in the direction of the hous e and Aunt Alberta.
    Then how could Mother have left her here, in this same hell, Shae wondered miserably . Hadn’t Shae always listened to her mother? Hadn’t she even kept her secret when she’d accidentally learned of one of Glennis’s affairs? Did her mother think that she was lying when she’d sworn she’d never tell? Hadn’t she realized how very much that silence had cost Shae?
    “I best be goin’,” Eva said . “Got to get home to my boys ‘fore she thinks of somethin’ else needs scrubbin’.”
    “Goodbye, and thank you, Eva,” Shae called after her. Never much for small talk, Eva didn’t linger.
    Nor did Shae. She turned toward the house, her mind full of the black woman’s few words. More starch than blood and tears. She grimaced, thinking how much that sounded like her mother.
    Still favoring her injured foot, Shae hobbled up the back steps . When she entered the back door, dread sharpened each sense to an unnatural focus. She paused to listen for her aunt like a mouse might listen for a veteran cat.
    Clutched in her left hand, caked dirt on the old carpetbag made her skin itch and prickle . In contrast, the fussy smells of soap and wood oil stung her nostrils, and she had to stifle yet another sneeze. She paused to raise a window in the dining room, then another in the parlor. Stop stalling , she warned herself. She was wasting precious time on inconsequential tasks to keep from doing what she must.
    Moving through the house as quietly as possible, she opened more windows and allowed the quality of light to distract her . She could barely tear her gaze from its reflection off each long, pointed oleander leaf in the back yard, the way it filtered through the pink, translucent blossoms of the nearby bougainvillea. Late afternoon light, rich and yellow, somewhat softer than the burning rays of August. Good painting ligh t but not today, she realized, as she turned from her distractions. Today, she must face her fears instead.
    While she’d opened windows, she heard neither voice nor footstep to help her place her aunt . With any luck, Alberta hadn’t heard her come inside. Surely, she was lurking somewhere close-by at this hour. In her own room, more than likely, doing needlework or reading a copy of Godey’s Lady’s Book . The old woman was probably studying the latest points of etiquette and plotting hopeless strategies to force them onto Shae.
    With her heart tucked in her throat, Shae crept forward . Still no other footsteps, not even the sound of quiet humming. Good. Alberta might even be asleep upstairs. Soon, Shae stood at the doorway of her father’s study. She had never entered it before. A man deserved a goddam place where he could have some peace and quiet. King’s admonition echoed like a memory of thunder. Though she’d been young, Shae still remembered how he’d frightened her, and how emphatically she’d promised she would never go inside.
    Dare she break that vow?
    She frowned, thinking of her own sanctuary above, on the second floor. With her painting, with her birds. She forced her mind to focus on her beach scene, now a smeared stain on the hardwood, on her birds, reduced to feathered bits of clay. He’d violated her privacy first, she told herself. He had trespassed and destroyed. All she meant to do was have a look around, be certain there was nothing here to . . .
    A memory of her mother’s smile intruded, along with the warm pressure of a kiss upon Shae’s cheek .
    “Be a good lass, Shae . Won’t that essay you