this house in disbelief. The Victorian gloom seemed so out of place, so out of time. Little remained of the once impressive cloak of ivy. Now, the scant leaves curled brown, clogging the slumped gutters of the gabled roof, and dirt and grit hailed down to scratch at the windows with every gust of wind. In front of the worn porch, the front garden had gone, leaving only a smear of pocked earth. Kit’s jeep looked so incongruous parked there. Chunks of fallen slate formed a spurious path around it.
“So intractable, even as a child when your parents brought you to visit. Yet you spend all your free time keeping an elderly invalid company?”
Beyond the grounds, mounded shadows on the beach humped toward flashes of gray. “You know,” said Kit, “that’s because you happen to be the only interesting person in town.”
“And now you’ve taken in an injured cat?”
“Which I loathe.” Kit tugged the curtains shut and stepped back into the warmth from the fireplace.
“Whatever you say, my dear. So much resistance. You affect to hate my lovely darkness, and my little folktales, and you try so hard to be flippant. Don’t you ever wonder what sort of life you’d have if ever you stopped denying the romance in your soul?”
“You never give up, do you?” Kit smiled at her. So frail in the antique wheelchair—how was it possible the old woman could radiate such strength? “So how are you fixed for firewood?”
“All my needs are well met.” Charlotte smiled. “As usual. Now, tell me again about this cat. Oh, forgive my manners. Would you care for a glass of sherry?”
Kit shuddered at the suggestion—a habitual joke between them—which always seemed to delight her hostess. “Nothing to tell really.” She shrugged. “It’s probably dead by now, wedged behind the china cabinet most likely.” She paced through a wave of warmth in front of the fireplace, then back into the chill by the corner.
Charlotte clicked her tongue.
“I mean, here I knock myself out rescuing it,” continued Kit, “get blood all over my best jacket, and the whole time it’s like this lump, but the minute I get it home under the kitchen light and try to get a good look at the wounds—what a scene!”
“The poor creature was frightened.”
“Hell, I was frightened. For one thing, the damned cat is huge. I could’ve used a tranquilizer gun. And it’s ugly as sin. You should have seen me chasing it while it’s yowling its head off. Like one of those nature shows. First it’s behind the refrigerator, next it’s under the sink. Did you know that vet on Decatur Road moved away?”
“Everyone moves away.”
“Anyway, I finally got hold of this vet out by Deadhook, but by then I couldn’t find the damn cat. Spent half the night moving furniture.”
“Perhaps it simply got out again?”
“I don’t see how. I keep leaving food for it, but so far nothing’s been touched. Just what I needed, right? I’ll probably find it when I smell it. Speaking of moved furniture, how…I mean, this stool by the window…?”
Charlotte looked away too quickly. Her fingers went to her lips, then slipped away. “Lately, I’ve been looking out.” At last, she folded her hands in her lap.
“Okay, but it’s freezing by this window. Why…?” Then she noticed her friend’s unfocused expression. Around the room, firelight glimmered from the antique frames that crowded among the volumes of collected folklore on the shelves and end tables. The immediate impression was that several generations of a family had been chronicled, all the men showing a strong clan resemblance, from adolescent to grandfather. One of the old photographs, tinted with unnatural hues, depicted a thin, unsmiling young man who posed proudly but awkwardly in an absurdly old-fashioned sailor suit. Across the room, the largest of the frames showed an older man, unsmiling still, in an officer’s cap. This portrait stood guard beside a thick, leather-bound book, the
“So intractable, even as a child when your parents brought you to visit. Yet you spend all your free time keeping an elderly invalid company?”
Beyond the grounds, mounded shadows on the beach humped toward flashes of gray. “You know,” said Kit, “that’s because you happen to be the only interesting person in town.”
“And now you’ve taken in an injured cat?”
“Which I loathe.” Kit tugged the curtains shut and stepped back into the warmth from the fireplace.
“Whatever you say, my dear. So much resistance. You affect to hate my lovely darkness, and my little folktales, and you try so hard to be flippant. Don’t you ever wonder what sort of life you’d have if ever you stopped denying the romance in your soul?”
“You never give up, do you?” Kit smiled at her. So frail in the antique wheelchair—how was it possible the old woman could radiate such strength? “So how are you fixed for firewood?”
“All my needs are well met.” Charlotte smiled. “As usual. Now, tell me again about this cat. Oh, forgive my manners. Would you care for a glass of sherry?”
Kit shuddered at the suggestion—a habitual joke between them—which always seemed to delight her hostess. “Nothing to tell really.” She shrugged. “It’s probably dead by now, wedged behind the china cabinet most likely.” She paced through a wave of warmth in front of the fireplace, then back into the chill by the corner.
Charlotte clicked her tongue.
“I mean, here I knock myself out rescuing it,” continued Kit, “get blood all over my best jacket, and the whole time it’s like this lump, but the minute I get it home under the kitchen light and try to get a good look at the wounds—what a scene!”
“The poor creature was frightened.”
“Hell, I was frightened. For one thing, the damned cat is huge. I could’ve used a tranquilizer gun. And it’s ugly as sin. You should have seen me chasing it while it’s yowling its head off. Like one of those nature shows. First it’s behind the refrigerator, next it’s under the sink. Did you know that vet on Decatur Road moved away?”
“Everyone moves away.”
“Anyway, I finally got hold of this vet out by Deadhook, but by then I couldn’t find the damn cat. Spent half the night moving furniture.”
“Perhaps it simply got out again?”
“I don’t see how. I keep leaving food for it, but so far nothing’s been touched. Just what I needed, right? I’ll probably find it when I smell it. Speaking of moved furniture, how…I mean, this stool by the window…?”
Charlotte looked away too quickly. Her fingers went to her lips, then slipped away. “Lately, I’ve been looking out.” At last, she folded her hands in her lap.
“Okay, but it’s freezing by this window. Why…?” Then she noticed her friend’s unfocused expression. Around the room, firelight glimmered from the antique frames that crowded among the volumes of collected folklore on the shelves and end tables. The immediate impression was that several generations of a family had been chronicled, all the men showing a strong clan resemblance, from adolescent to grandfather. One of the old photographs, tinted with unnatural hues, depicted a thin, unsmiling young man who posed proudly but awkwardly in an absurdly old-fashioned sailor suit. Across the room, the largest of the frames showed an older man, unsmiling still, in an officer’s cap. This portrait stood guard beside a thick, leather-bound book, the
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