No Crystal Stair by Eva Rutland

with Dad. Some kind of medical meeting at the Veteran’s Hospital.”
    â€œOh.” Of course she’d know. Tuskegee wasn’t that far from Atlanta. But he still felt anxious. “Mrs. Anderson’s a widow and works at the college. She’ll be away during the day and you’ll have the house to yourself. Anyway, she’s very nice. It won’t be too bad—living with her, I mean.”
    â€œI’ll love it,” she said. “You’ll be there.” She stood on tip-toes to give him a kiss that was almost reassuring.
    But now, when they stopped in front of Mrs. Anderson’s little house, the anxiety returned. How would Ann Elizabeth like
sharing a bath, cooking in someone else’s kitchen, with separate cabinet and refrigerator space apportioned to her?
    After the men unloaded the luggage, Randy and Pete drove off. Rob lifted Ann Elizabeth over the threshold into the house. He kicked the door shut and felt some apprehension as he surveyed the living room for the first time through Ann Elizabeth’s eyes. Too small for the overstuffed blue sofa and the two matching chairs, the shadow boxes on the wall, the clutter of mementos. So different from the spacious elegance she had left. Had he been wrong to bring her here?
    â€œWelcome home, Mrs. Metcalf,” he said through dry lips.
    She slid to the floor and looked around. He held his breath.
    â€œThis is ... nice,” he heard her say. “So cozy and clean, and look, Rob! A gift.” She pointed to the gaily wrapped package on the coffee table. “For us,” she said, taking from it the attached envelope. “See? ‘To Lt. and Mrs. Robert Metcalf.’ Lt. and Mrs. Robert Metcalf,” she repeated, turning to him with shining eyes. “I like the sound of that.” She carefully unwrapped the package, revealing three fluffy white guest towels, a quilted red rose embossed on each. “Oh, Rob... It’s such a beautiful and symbolic gift, don’t you think?”
    â€œHuh?”
    â€œGuest towels for our mutual bathroom. Like she’s saying we’re welcome to share her home.”
    He nodded and smiled as he watched her open the envelope.
    â€˜â€œThis house is yours for tonight,’” she read. “‘Have a happy beginning. Love, Mamie Anderson.’” Ann Elizabeth glanced up.
    â€œWasn’t that thoughtful of her!” she exclaimed. “I like her already. I can tell she’s a very perceptive, very sweet person.”
    â€œYou’re sweet,” he said, taking her in his arms. Everything was going to be all right.

    As Rob approached their bedroom door, the delicate spicy sweet aroma he’d come to associate with Ann Elizabeth permeated the air. His pulse quickened and his hand tightened on the champagne bottle.
    He paused in the doorway to gaze at his bride.
    The light from the shaded lamp cast a soft glow on Ann Elizabeth. She wore a white silk negligee and looked so fresh and pretty that his heart leapt with desire. Her face was flushed, her hair damp and curling from the steamy bath. One hand timidly touched the ruffled lace collar of her robe. The ruffle stirred slightly in the breeze.
    Breeze? There was no breeze.
    It was Ann Elizabeth trembling. She was looking not at him but at the bed. Her eyes were wide and frightened.
    Quietly he withdrew.
    When he returned, she was sitting on the edge of the bed, stiffly and primly, like a child. She turned to smile up at him.
    He set the tray with two steaming mugs of hot chocolate on the bedside table.
    â€œYou had a long day,” he said, and kissed her lightly on the lips. “I brought you a nightcap.”
    â€œHow nice! Thank you Rob.” She sounded polite. Distant.
    He sat in the big chair across from her and regarded her thoughtfully as he sipped his chocolate. She clutched her mug with both hands, holding on for dear life.
    â€œThis is so good. How did you know this is