disappearing dirt road.
"Maybe you should call back and tell him I'm on my way up. I should be there in forty minutes or so."
"He said to tell you that if it was raining you didn't have to do it."
"No, I'd better, just to finish it. The surface won't be too wet." But I will, said a protesting voice, I'll be wet and damned cold. Shut up and get on with it, she said, and she did.
The surface was actually better than it had been that morning, but the trees looked very large and dark, and they swayed and creaked gothically in the rising wind. In a minute they swallowed her up, and she jogged steadily uphill on the narrow, rocky road, very much alone, with the huge trees bending and groaning on all sides, the big drops splatting onto her face and clothes, the occasional lighted house, glimpsed through tossing branches, serving only to increase her sense of isolation. It was getting darker, and she ran faster now to shake the eerie shadows and fought off the feeling that someone was behind her by pushing herself physically. Her shoes chuffed rhythmically and she had to concentrate on the road surface to avoid ruts and stones. She was sweating freely now despite the chill drops that worked their way down the neck and through the seams of her parka, and her breath was coming in great gulps as she fought toward the fast-fading point where the pale road disappeared between the dark walls of the woods. She passed the Adams house on the left--not far now.
Without warning the world exploded into light and for a moment Kate, completely disoriented, braced herself for the clap of thunder. Instead she heard a welcome voice shouting angrily.
"Turn that thing away, for Christ's sake, you're blinding her." The light shifted, and through the dazzle in her eyes she was aware of figures, a car, a lighted house beyond. She automatically reached down and switched off her timer, and then stood, hands on knees, gulping in air.
"You all right?" Hawkin's voice again. She bobbed her head, and spoke as best she could.
"Yeah, just wanted, to make it, before dark, couldn't run, by flashlight, could use, a drink, of water, though."
"I'd have thought you had enough on the outside to make you happy, but come on in the house and catch your breath."
Kate ducked into the log cabin after him and accepted a chair and a drink, and as her heart slowed she was grateful for the glow of the wood stove at her side. Angie Dodson was a tiny, thin woman with a thick tumble of dark blond hair held determinedly in place by numerous inadequate hairpins, and she had filled the low room with bright pillows and tapestries and the smell of good food, with a large loom in one corner and a spinning wheel behind a chair. A serious, freckled child of about twelve brought Kate a big cup of hot, oniony soup and a warm, seed-filled roll.
"You're Amy, aren't you? I remember you from the other day."
"Yes. Why did you run up from Tyler's in the rain when you could use a car?"
"Because it's there, I guess. Did you make this soup?"
"I helped Mom."
"Thank you, you may have saved my life with it." Seeing the serious consideration of this, Kate smiled. "It's just a saying, but I do thank you very much for it."
"You're welcome."
"Ready, Martinelli?" Hawkin stood at the door with the jacket she had left with him several lifetimes before.
"Ready. Thank you, Mrs. Dodson, it really hit the spot."
"Please, the name is Angie."
"Good night, Angie," called Hawkin. "I hope your husband makes it home okay."
Kate looked more carefully at the narrow face of the woman who seemed scarcely older than her daughter, and noticed then the tension of worry in her face.
"I expect he'll stay in town with friends, if it's raining too hard. It's happened before." She lifted the bright kerosene lamp and led the way to the door. "Feel free to come tomorrow, if you need a hot drink."
"That's very good of you, Angie," said Hawkin. "We'll try not to bother you too much."
"It's no bother, really it
"Maybe you should call back and tell him I'm on my way up. I should be there in forty minutes or so."
"He said to tell you that if it was raining you didn't have to do it."
"No, I'd better, just to finish it. The surface won't be too wet." But I will, said a protesting voice, I'll be wet and damned cold. Shut up and get on with it, she said, and she did.
The surface was actually better than it had been that morning, but the trees looked very large and dark, and they swayed and creaked gothically in the rising wind. In a minute they swallowed her up, and she jogged steadily uphill on the narrow, rocky road, very much alone, with the huge trees bending and groaning on all sides, the big drops splatting onto her face and clothes, the occasional lighted house, glimpsed through tossing branches, serving only to increase her sense of isolation. It was getting darker, and she ran faster now to shake the eerie shadows and fought off the feeling that someone was behind her by pushing herself physically. Her shoes chuffed rhythmically and she had to concentrate on the road surface to avoid ruts and stones. She was sweating freely now despite the chill drops that worked their way down the neck and through the seams of her parka, and her breath was coming in great gulps as she fought toward the fast-fading point where the pale road disappeared between the dark walls of the woods. She passed the Adams house on the left--not far now.
Without warning the world exploded into light and for a moment Kate, completely disoriented, braced herself for the clap of thunder. Instead she heard a welcome voice shouting angrily.
"Turn that thing away, for Christ's sake, you're blinding her." The light shifted, and through the dazzle in her eyes she was aware of figures, a car, a lighted house beyond. She automatically reached down and switched off her timer, and then stood, hands on knees, gulping in air.
"You all right?" Hawkin's voice again. She bobbed her head, and spoke as best she could.
"Yeah, just wanted, to make it, before dark, couldn't run, by flashlight, could use, a drink, of water, though."
"I'd have thought you had enough on the outside to make you happy, but come on in the house and catch your breath."
Kate ducked into the log cabin after him and accepted a chair and a drink, and as her heart slowed she was grateful for the glow of the wood stove at her side. Angie Dodson was a tiny, thin woman with a thick tumble of dark blond hair held determinedly in place by numerous inadequate hairpins, and she had filled the low room with bright pillows and tapestries and the smell of good food, with a large loom in one corner and a spinning wheel behind a chair. A serious, freckled child of about twelve brought Kate a big cup of hot, oniony soup and a warm, seed-filled roll.
"You're Amy, aren't you? I remember you from the other day."
"Yes. Why did you run up from Tyler's in the rain when you could use a car?"
"Because it's there, I guess. Did you make this soup?"
"I helped Mom."
"Thank you, you may have saved my life with it." Seeing the serious consideration of this, Kate smiled. "It's just a saying, but I do thank you very much for it."
"You're welcome."
"Ready, Martinelli?" Hawkin stood at the door with the jacket she had left with him several lifetimes before.
"Ready. Thank you, Mrs. Dodson, it really hit the spot."
"Please, the name is Angie."
"Good night, Angie," called Hawkin. "I hope your husband makes it home okay."
Kate looked more carefully at the narrow face of the woman who seemed scarcely older than her daughter, and noticed then the tension of worry in her face.
"I expect he'll stay in town with friends, if it's raining too hard. It's happened before." She lifted the bright kerosene lamp and led the way to the door. "Feel free to come tomorrow, if you need a hot drink."
"That's very good of you, Angie," said Hawkin. "We'll try not to bother you too much."
"It's no bother, really it
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