“I don't like them,” Aileen said. “Those ladies.”
“It would surprise me if you did.”
“They took my clothes off. I said I'd do it, but they didn't pay any attention, and they didn't know how to do it. They just pulled and pulled till things came off.”
“Out here? In the snow?” He was shocked.
“In the ziggurat, but it was pretty cold in there, too.”
He found the point in a drift at which the Lincoln had bulldozed its way through, and led her to it. “What did you say? A ziggurat?”
“Uh-huh. Is it much farther?”
“No,” he said.
“I could sit down here. You could come back for me in your Jeep.”
“No,” he repeated. “Come on. If we walk faster, we'll keep warm.”
“I'm really tired. They didn't give me hardly anything to eat, either. Just a piece of bread.”
He nodded absently, concentrating on walking faster and pulling her along. He was tired too—nearly exhausted. What would he say when he wrote his journal? To take his mind off his weariness and the burning pain in his right side—off his fear, as he was forced to concede—he attempted to compose the entry in his mind.
“I got in the sleeper thing, but it was so cold. My feet got really cold, and I couldn't pull them up. I guess I slept a little.”
He looked down at her, blinking away snow; it was too dark for him to gauge her expression. “Those women took you into a ziggurat—”
“Not really, Daddy. That was a kind of temple they had in Babylon. This one just looks like the picture in the book.”
“They caught you,” he continued doggedly, “and took you there, and undressed you?”
If she nodded, he failed to see the motion. “Did they or didn't they?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
“And they fed you, and you slept a little, or anyway tried to sleep. Then you got dressed again and they brought you back here. Is that what you want me to believe?”
“They showed me some pictures, too, but I didn't know what lots of the things were.”
“Aileen, you can't possibly have been gone more than a couple of hours at the outside. I doubt it was that long.”
He had thought her beyond tears, but she began to sob, not loudly, but with a concentrated wretchedness that tore at his heart. “Don't cry, honey.” He picked her up, ignoring the fresh pain in his side.
The wind, which had been rising all afternoon, was blowing hard enough to whistle, an eerie moan among the spectral trees. “Don't cry,” he repeated. He staggered forward, holding her over his left shoulder, desperately afraid that he would slip and fall again. Her plastic snow boots were stiff with ice, the insulated trousers above them stiff too.
He could not have said how far he had walked; it seemed miles before a lonely star gleamed through the darkness ahead. “Look,” he said, and halted—then turned around so that his daughter, too, could see the golden light. “That's our cabin. Has to be. We're going to make it.”
Then (almost at once, it seemed) Brook was running through the snow with the flashlight, he had set Aileen upon her feet, and they were all three stumbling into the warmth and light of the cabin, where Jan knelt and clasped Aileen to her and cried and laughed and cried again, and Alayna danced and jumped and demanded over and over, “Was she lost, Daddy? Was she lost in the woods?”
Brook put a plate of hot corned-beef hash in his lap and pushed a steaming mug of coffee at him.
“Thank you.” Emery sighed. “Thank you very much, son.” His face felt frozen; merely breathing the steam from the mug was heavenly.
“The car get stuck?”
He shook his head.
“I fixed stuff like you said. 'Layna helped, and Jan says she'll do the dishes. If she won't, I will.” Brook had called her Mother for the length of the marriage; but it was over now, emotionally if not legally. Emery's thoughts turned gratefully from the puzzle of Aileen's captivity to that.
“I could toast you some bread in the fireplace,” Brook offered. “You want ketchup? I like ketchup on mine.”
“A fork,” Emery told him, and sipped his coffee.
“Oh. Yeah.”
“Was she lost?” Alayna demanded. “I bet she was!”
“I'm not going to talk about that.” Emery had come to a decision. “Aileen can tell you herself, as much or as little as she wants.”
Jan looked up at him. “I called the sheriff. The number was on your phone.”
Emery nodded.
“They said they couldn't do anything until she'd been gone for twenty-four hours. It's the law, apparently. They—this woman I talked to—suggested we get our friends and neighbors to search. I told her that you were searching already. Maybe you ought to call and tell them you found her.”
He shook his head, accepting a fork from Brook.
“You came back on foot? You walked?”
Aileen said, “From way down by the lake.” She had taken off her boots, stockings, and snow pants, and was sitting on the floor rubbing her feet.
“Where's my car?”
“I traded it for Aileen.”
Alayna stared at Aileen, wide-eyed. Aileen nodded.
“You traded it?”
He nodded too, his mouth full of corned-beef hash.
“Who to?”
He swallowed. “To whom, Jan.”
“You are the most irritating man in the world!” If Jan had been standing, she would have stamped.
“He did, Mama. He said they could have the car if they'd give me to him, but they shot him anyway, and he fell down.”
“That's right,” Emery said. “We ought to have a look at that. It's pretty much stopped bleeding, and I think it's just a flesh wound.” Setting his plate and mug on the hearth, he unbuttoned his mackinaw. “If it got the intestine, I suppose I'll have hash all over in there, and it will probably kill me. But there would have been food in my gut anyway. I had pork and beans for lunch.”
“They shot you?” Jan stared at his blood-stiffened shirt.
He nodded, savoring the moment. It's nothing, sir. I set the bone myself. Danny Kaye in some old movie. He cleared his throat, careful to keep his face impassive. “I'm going to have to take this off, and my under-shirt and pants, too. Probably my shorts. Maybe you could have the girls look the other way.”
Both twins giggled.
“Look at the fire,” she told them. “He's hurt. You don't want to embarrass him, do you?”
Brook had gotten the first-aid kit. “This is stuck.” He pulled gingerly at the waistband of Emery's trousers. “I ought to cut it off.”
“Pull it off,” Emery told him. “I'm going to wash those pants and wear them again. I need them.” He had unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned his trousers, and unzipped his fly.
“Just above the belt,” Brook told him. “An inch, inch and a half lower, and it would have hit your belt.”
Jan snapped her fingers. “Oil! Oil will soften the dried blood. Wesson Oil. Have you got any?”
Brook pointed at the cabinet above the sink. Emery said, “There's a bottle of olive oil up there, or there should be.”
“Leen's peeking,” Brook told Jan, who told Aileen, “Do that again, young lady, and I'll smack your face!
“Emery, you really ought to make two rooms out of this. This is ridiculous.”
“It was designed for four men,” he explained, “a hunting party, or a fishing party. You women always insist on being included, then complain about what you find when you are.”
She poured olive oil on his caked blood and rubbed it with her fingertips. “I had to get you to sign.”
“You could have sent your damned paper to my box in town. I'd have picked it up on Saturday and sent it back to you.”
“She couldn't mail me,” Brook said. “Are we going to get the car back? My junk was in the trunk.”
Emery shrugged. “They're stripping it, I think. We may be able to take back what's left. Maybe they won't look
in the trunk.”
“They're bound to.”
Jan asked, “How are we supposed to get home?”
“I'll drive you to town in the Jeep. There's bus service to the city. If the buses aren't running because of the storm, you can stay in a motel. There are two motels, I think. There could be three.” He rubbed his chin. “You'll have to anyway, unless you want to reconsider and stay here. I think the last bus was at five.”
Brook was scrutinizing Emery's wound. “That bullet sort of plowed through your skin. It might've got some muscles at your waist, but I don't think it hit any organs.”
Emery made himself look down. “Plowed through the fat, you mean. I ought to lose twenty pounds, and if I had, she would have missed.”
“A girl?”
Emery nodded.
Jan said, “No wonder you hate us so much,” and pulled his bloodstained trousers free.
“I don't hate you. Not even now, when I ought to. Brook, would you give me my coffee? That's good coffee you made, and there's no reason I shouldn't drink it while you bandage that.”
Brook handed it to him. “I scrubbed out the pot.”
“Good for you. I'd been meaning to.”
Alayna interposed, “I make better coffee than Brook does, Daddy, but Mama says I put in too much.”
“You should have stitches, Emery. Is there a hospital in town?”
“Just a clinic, and it'll be closed. I've been hurt worse and not had stitches.”
Brook filled a pan with water. “Why'd they shoot you, Dad?”
Emery started to speak, thought better of it, and shook his head.
Jan said, “If you're going to drive us into town in the Jeep, you could drive us into the city just as easily.”
Setting his water on the stove, Brook hooted.
“You've got money, and you and Brook could stay at a hotel and come back tomorrow.”
Emery said, “We're not going to, however.”
“Why won't you?”
“I don't have to explain, and I won't.”
She glared. “Well, you should!”
“That won't do any good.” Privately he wondered which was worse, a woman who had never learned how to get what she wanted or a woman who had.
“You actually proposed that we patch it up. Then you act like this?”
“I'm trying to keep things pleasant.”
“Then do it!”
“You mean you want to be courted while you're divorcing me. That's what's usually meant by a friendly divorce, from what I've been able to gather.” When she said nothing, Emery added, “Isn't that water hot enough yet, Brook?”
“Not even close.”
“I shouldn't explain,” Emery continued, “but I will. In the first place, Brook and the twins are going to have about as much elbow room as live bait in the back of the Jeep. It will be miserable for even a short drive. If we so much as try to make it into the city in this weather, they'll be tearing each other to bits before we stop.”
Brook put in, “I'll stay here, Dad. I'll be all right.”
Emery shook his head. “So would we, Jan. In the second, I think the women who shot me will be back as soon as the storm lets up. If no one's here, they'll break in or burn this place down. It's the only home I've got, and I intend to defend it.”
“Sure,” Brook said. “Let me stay. I can look after things while you're gone.”
“No,” Emery told him. “It would be too dangerous.”
Emery turned back to Jan. “In the third place, I won't do it because I want to so much. If—”
“You were the one that gave those people my car.”
“To get Aileen back. Yes, I did. I'd do it again.”
“And you took it without my permission! I trusted you, Emery. I left my keys in the ignition, and you took my car.”
He nodded wearily. “To look for Aileen, and I'd do that again too. I suppose you're already planning to bring it up in court.”
“You bet I am!”
“I suggest you check the title first.”
Aileen herself glanced at him over her shoulder. “I'm really hungry. Can I have the rest of your hash?”
Brook said, “There's more here, 'Leen. You said you weren't, but I saved—”
“I haven't had anything since yesterday except some bread stuff.”
Jan began, “Aileen, you know perfectly well—”
Emery interrupted her. “It's only been a couple of hours since they caught you, honey. Remember? We talked about that before we got here.”
“I was in there, in the sleep thing—”
Jan snapped, “Aileen, be quiet! I told you not to look around like that.”
“It's only Daddy in his underwear. I've seen him like that lots.”
“Turn around!”
Trying to weigh each word with significance, Emery said, “Your mama told you to be quiet, honey. That wasn't simply an order. It was good advice.”
Brook brought her a plate of corned-beef hash and a fork. “There's bread, too. Want some?”
“Sure. And milk or something.”
“There isn't any.”
“Water, then.” Raising her voice slightly, Aileen added, “I'd get up and get it for myself, but Mama won't let me.”
Jan said, “You see what you've started, Emery?”
He nodded solemnly. “I didn't start it, but I'm quite happy about it.”
Brook washed his wound and bandaged it, applying a double pad of surgical gauze and so much Curity Wet-Pruf adhesive tape that Emery winced at the mere thought of removing it.
“I might be a doctor,” Brook mused, “big money, and this is fun.”
“You're a pretty good one already,” Emery said gratefully. He kicked off his boots, emptied his pockets onto the table, and stuffed his trousers into a laundry bag, following it with his shirt. “Want to do me a favor, Brook? Scrape my plate into that tin bowl on the drainboard and set it on the back porch.”
Jan asked, “Are you well enough to drive, Emery? Forget the fighting. You wouldn't want to see any of us killed. I know you wouldn't.”
He nodded, buttoning a fresh shirt.
“So let me drive. I'll drive us into town, and you can drive Brook back here if you feel up to it.”
“You'd put us into the ditch,” Emery told her. “If I start feeling too weak, I'll pull over and—”
Brook banged the rear door shut behind him and held up a squirrel. “Look at this! It was right up on the porch.” The tiny body was stiff, its gray fur powdered with snow.
“Poor little thing!” Jan went over to examine it. “It must have come looking for something to eat, and froze. Have you been feeding them, Emery?”
“It's a present from a friend,” he told her. Something clutched his throat, leaving him barely able to speak. “You wouldn't understand.”
The Jeep started without difficulty. As he backed it out onto the road, he wondered whether the dark-faced women who had Jan's Lincoln had been unable to solve the simple catches that held the Jeep's hood. Conceivably, they had not seen the Jeep when they had been in his cabin earlier. He wished now that he had asked Aileen how many women she had seen, when the two of them had been alone.
“Drafty in here,” Jan remarked. “You should buy yourself a real car, Emery.”
The road was visible only as an opening between the trees; he pulled onto it with all four wheels hubdeep in virgin snow, keeping the transmission in second and nudging the accelerator only slightly. Swirling snow filled the headlights. “Honey,” he said, “your boots had ice on them. So did your snow pants. Did you wade in the lake?”
From the crowded rear seat, Aileen answered, “They made me, Daddy.”
The road was visible only as an open space between trees. To people in a—Emery fumbled mentally for a word and settled on aircraft.
To an aircraft, the frozen lake might have looked like a paved helicopter pad or something of that kind, a more or less circular pavement. The black-looking open water
at its center might have been taken for asphalt.
Particularly by a pilot not familiar with woods and lakes.
“Emery, you hardly ever answer a direct question. It's one of the things I dislike most about you.”
“That's what men say about women,” he protested mildly.
“Women are being diplomatic. Men are rude.”
“I suppose you're right. What did you ask me?”
“That isn't the point. The point is that you ignore me until I raise my voice.”
That seemed to require no reply, so he did not offer one. How high would you have to be and how fast would you have to be coming down before a frozen lake looked like a landing site?
“So do the girls,” Jan added bitterly, “they're exactly the same way. So is Brook.”
“That ought to tell you something.”
“You don't have to be rude!”
One of the twins said, “She wanted to know how long it would take to get to town, Daddy.”
It had probably been Alayna, Emery decided. “How long would you like it to take, honey?”
“Real quick!”
That had been the other one, presumably Aileen. “Well,” he told her, “we'll be there real quick.”
Jan said, “Don't try to be funny.”
“I'm being diplomatic. If I wasn't, I'd point out that it's twenty-two miles and we're going about fifteen miles an hour. If we can keep that up all the way, it should take us about an hour and a half.”
Jan turned in her seat to face the twins. “Never marry an engineer, girls. Nobody ever told me that, but I'm telling you now. If you do, don't say you were never warned.”
One twin began, “You said that about—”
The other interrupted. “Only, it wasn't an engineer that time. It was a tennis player. Did you do it in your head, Daddy? I did too, only it took me longer. One point four and two-thirds, so six six seven. Is that right?”
“I have no idea. Fifteen is smaller than twenty-two, and that's an hour. Seven over, and seven's about half of fifteen. Most real calculations outside school are like that, honey.”
“Because it doesn't matter?”
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