hell, if she comes through the front door, she's saved.»
They went up the stairs taking the lamps, advancing in an ever-moving aura of trembling white glow. The house was as silent as snow falling. «God,» he whispered. «Damn, I don't
It sounded like the whole world crying, he thought. The whole world dying and needing help and lonely, but what can you
They left one of the lamps lit and drew the covers over their bodies and lay, listening to the wind hit the house and creak the beams and parquetry.
A moment later there was a cry from downstairs, a splintering crash, the sound of a door flung wide, a bursting out of air, footsteps rapping all the rooms, a sobbing, almost an exultation, then the front door banged open, the winter wind blowing wildly in, footsteps across the front porch and gone.
«There!» cried Martha.
With the lamp they were down the stairs swiftly. Wind smothered their faces as they turned now toward the Witch Door, opened wide, still on its hinges, then toward the front door where they cast their light out upon a snowing winter darkness and saw nothing but white and hills, no moon, and in the lamplight the soft drift and moth-flicker of snowflakes falling from the sky to the mattressed yard.
«Gone,» she whispered.
«Who?»
«We'll never know, unless she comes back.»
«She won't. Look.»
They moved the lamplight toward the white earth and the tiny footprints going off, across the softness, toward the dark forest.
«It
«God knows. Why anything, now in this crazy world?» They stood looking at the footprints a long while until, shivering, they moved back through the hall to the open Witch Door. They poked the lamp into this hollow under the stairs.
«Lord, it's just a cell, hardly a closet, and look…»
Inside stood a small rocking chair, a braided rug, a used candle in a copper holder, and an old, worn Bible. The place smelled of must and moss and dead flowers.
«Is this where they used to hide people?»
«Yes. A long time back they hid people called witches. Trials, witch trials. They hung or burned some.»
«Yes, yes,» they both murmured, staring into the incredibly small cell.
«And the witches hid here while the hunters searched the house and gave up and left?»
«Yes, oh, my God, yes,» he whispered.
«Rob
''Yes?»
She bent forward. Her face was pale and she could not look away from the small, worn rocking chair and the faded Bible.
«Rob. How old? This house, how old?»
«Maybe three hundred years.
«Why?»
«Crazy. Stupid . .
«Crazy?»
«Houses, old like this. All the
''Bull!''
«But if you wanted to run away badly enough, wished for it, prayed for it, and people ran after you, and someone hid you in a place like this, a witch behind a door, and heard the searchers run through the house, closer and closer, wouldn't you
«No, no,» he muttered.
But still, some quiet motion within the closeted space caused both, at almost the same instant, to hold their hands out on the air, curious, like people testing invisible waters. The air seemed to move one way and then another, now warm, now cold, with a pulsation of light and a sudden turning toward dark. All this they thought but could not say. There was weather here, now a quick touch of summer and then a winter cold, which could not be, of course, but there it was. Passing along their fingertips, but unseen by their eyes, a stream of shadows and sun ran as invisible as time itself, clear as crystal, but clouded by a shifting dark. Both felt if they thrust their hands deep, they might be drawn in to drown in a mighty storm of seasons within an incredibly small space. All this, too, they thought or almost felt but could not say.
They seized their frozen but sunburned hands back, to stare down and hold them against the panic in their breasts.
«Damn,» whispered Robert Webb. «Oh, damn!» He backed off and went to open the front door again and look at the snowing night where the footprints had almost vanished.
«No» he said. «No, no.»
Just then the yellow flash of headlights on the road braked in front of the house.
«Lotte!» cried Martha Webb. «It
«Lotte!»
The woman, wild-eyed, hair windblown, threw herself at them.
«Martha, Bob! God, I thought I'd
Robert Webb ran to drive the car behind the house. When he came back around he saw that the heavy snowfall was already covering the tracks.
Then the three of them were inside the house, talking, holding onto each other. Robert Webb kept glancing at the front door.
«I can't thank you,» cried Lotte, huddled in a chair. «You're at risk! I won't stay long, a few hours until it's safe. Then ..
«Stay as long as you want.»
«No. They'll
«Lotte,» said Robert Webb.
«Yes?» Lotte stopped, breathless.
«Did you see anyone on your way up here? A woman? Running on the road?»
«What? I drove so fast! A
''Well . .
«She's not
«No, no.»
«It
«Yes, fine, fine. Sit back. We'll fix some coffee-«
«Wait! I'll check!» And before they could stop her, Lotte ran to the front door, opened it a crack, and peered
