by Sharon Sala
The air inside was stale and the room was dark, but he remembered the woman had said the power was still on. He felt along the wall for a light switch, then gave it a flip. With illumination came an odd sense of déjà vu, which, to Wes, made no sense at all. He’d never been to West Virginia, never mind inside something like this. But still, the feeling remained, even growing stronger as he moved from room to room.
One side of the kitchen was round, following the contour of the outer wall. The cabinets were unique, with leaf-shaped cutouts on all the doors, while the counters were unusually low. When he checked the refrigerator, he saw it had been turned off, so he switched it on high for a quick cool-down, then moved toward a door on the opposite side of the room.
Inside was a small pantry, with a rather large assortment of canned goods still on the shelves. He wondered how far it was from here to a town and knew that if he stayed he would have to find some work.
He thought about his retirement checks, which were being deposited into Aaron Clancy’s bank account, and frowned. If he pushed the issue to claim them, he would have to go to court to prove he was sound of mind. Not only did he not want to deal with the lawyers and the shrinks, he wasn’t so sure he could prove he was sane. Life still rattled him on a daily basis, and he didn’t want some do-gooder deciding he needed to be locked back up.
He closed the pantry door and moved back into the living room, found a set of keys on the mantel that fit the front door, and pocketed them before exploring the single hallway and the doors at the end of the hall.
When he opened the door to the room on the left and walked in, it felt as if he’d walked into a cave. Even though the ceiling was domed, it was low, and he had to duck his head to keep from bumping it against the light fixture. From there, he turned to the bed. It appeared to be of normal size, but was less than a foot off the floor.
This was getting weirder by the minute.
He set his duffel bag on the floor and then opened the closet. The rods where clothes would be hanging were so low that Wes knew his shirts would drag the floor. The other door led to the bathroom. He was almost afraid to look, for fear the bathroom fixtures would be minuscule, as well, but to his relief, the facilities were of normal size, although the showerhead was much lower than normal.
He walked back into the bedroom, and as he did, noticed a picture on the dresser. When he picked it up, the way the house had been built suddenly made sense.
It was a picture of the woman, Ally, and a small, older man, obviously her uncle Doo. He had long white hair with a beard to match, and was standing with one hand around Ally’s waist and the other holding a cane. Wearing overalls and a blue, long-sleeved denim shirt, he looked no different from any man in this part of the country might look—except for the fact that he couldn’t have been more than four feet tall.
Uncle Doo had been a dwarf.
Now he knew why the house had seemed so familiar. One of Mikey’s favorite Disney videos had been Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, and the little cottage in the movie was eerily similar to this. The realization hit him like a right to the chin. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Mikey would have been enchanted with this place, but could he live in something that reminded him of everything he’d lost?
The familiar tightening pain within his gut was growing with every breath when, suddenly, a flash of movement caught his eye. He turned just in time to see a small red squirrel silhouetted in the window and dangling from the vines outside. At the same moment he saw the squirrel, the squirrel saw Wes, and the expression of shock on the little furry face made Wes laugh.
But when the sound came out of Wes’s mouth, he gasped.
“Have mercy,” he whispered, then covered his face with both hands.
He’d laughed.
What the hell was wrong with him? How was that possible, when everything and everyone he’d ever cared about was gone? He started toward the door, intent on getting out of this crazy place as fast as he could before he lost what sense he had left, yet when he got there, he stopped.
The doorway framed an idyllic scene of tall trees and sunshine, with the rich, sweet scent of wisteria filling the air. Then his shoulders slumped. Instead of walking out, he swung the door shut, switched on the window unit air conditioner, then turned the lock and flicked off the lights. With an unerring sense of direction, he retraced his steps to the bedroom, turned that air conditioner on, as well, and crawled onto the bed. The covers smelled slightly of stale air and dust, but he didn’t care. He reached for a pillow, pulled it out from under the spread, then hugged it to him as he rolled over onto his side.
He’d laughed. He’d gone and goddamned, fucking laughed—betraying his own grief, ignoring his pain.
Images of the faces of his wife and son washed through his mind. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, then pulled the pillow up beneath his chin and wept.
And when he couldn’t cry any longer, he closed his eyes and slept.
When night came, Ally could not sleep. All through supper, she’d had a knot in her stomach, remembering the man she’d let strip naked in the laundry room and then sit at their table. She’d fed him and given him shelter and knew only his name. Her father would be livid if he’d known the liberties she’d taken, but she didn’t care. The shelter she’d offered the stranger belonged to her and her alone.
She thought of the pain she’d seen in his eyes and wondered what had happened to make him that way. He’d said his people were dead. She couldn’t imagine what that might feel like, to lose everyone she loved. That olive-drab duffel bag he’d been carrying looked like something a soldier would have. She knew that such things were available at any army surplus store, but since the country was currently at war and there were thousands upon thousands of military still overseas, something told her he was the real thing.
When the digital clock beside her bed registered one-thirty in the morning, she was still awake. An owl hooted outside her window; then she heard Buddy’s throaty grumble in response and she smiled. Buddy did not like to be disturbed.
These days, Buddy did little else but rest, but he was almost fourteen years old, which in dog years was the equivalent of a ninety-two-year-old man. Poor Buddy. He’d certainly earned his right to some peace. She just wished she could get some, too.
Despite the air-conditioning inside the house, the room felt stifling. Maybe if she got some fresh air, she would be able to sleep. She threw back the covers and got out of bed. The hardwood floors felt cool against her bare feet as she padded down the hallway to the tune of three men snoring.
Her daddy snored in long, gargling sounds as he breathed in and out. Porter only snored when he was lying on his back, and Danny’s snore was more of a faint whistling sound. But those were the sounds of her home, and the noise was oddly comforting rather than disturbing.
She took a cold can of pop from the refrigerator and let herself out the back door. Buddy heard the screen squeak and was up within seconds, sniffing at her bare toes with his big, wet nose.
“Hello to you, too,” she said softly, then settled down in one of the wicker chairs and curled her feet up beneath her.
She popped the top on the can, taking her first drink while the soda still fizzed. She’d always liked that sip best—when the fizz was fresh enough to tickle her nose. She took a couple more sips, then leaned back in the chair, letting the silence of the night and the faint breeze wash over her.
The owl that had been bothering Buddy’s rest must have flown away, because she didn’t hear it anymore. But she did hear the crickets and tree frogs, and the mournful howl of someone’s dog hunting on the mountains. The sounds were comforting and familiar to her, but she couldn’t help wondering what the stranger might think; then she wondered why she cared. He was nothing to her but some poor lost soul needing shelter. She’d offered it. Whether he took it or not shouldn’t matter to her.
Still, she made a mental note to bake extra biscuits in the morning when she was making break
fast—and maybe fry up an extra piece of ham. She’d been planning to take a walk up to Uncle Doo’s place for a week now to check on things and hadn’t gotten around to it. She would do it tomorrow and maybe take the extra food—just in case he had stayed. If he had not, then no matter. She would eat it later as a picnic lunch on her way back home.
She finished her cold drink, gave Buddy a brief hug and let herself back in the house. She trashed the empty can and washed dog off her hands before crawling back into bed. The caffeine in the pop should have kept her awake, but instead, as soon as her head hit the pillow, she fell fast asleep.
Gideon added a spoonful of sugar to his coffee then gave it a stir as Ally put the last of the food on the table.
“You made biscuits,” he stated unnecessarily, since they were obviously there.
“We’re almost out of light bread,” Ally said. “Didn’t have enough to make toast.”
“I’ll bring some home this evening when I come in from work,” he said.
“I can get the groceries,” she said.
“There’s no need for you to go to town when I’ll already be there. You just write the list, and I’ll pick up whatever you need.”
She shrugged. While she was perfectly capable of driving herself anywhere she wanted to go, her father always discouraged it. She was never quite sure if it was shame for her infirmity that made him want her at home, or if it was just another way of controlling their lives.
Porter and Danny used to have serious girlfriends. Now neither one of them did much dating. Her father had never liked any of the women they’d brought home. She wasn’t sure if they still dated and just didn’t bring them home, or if they’d simply given in to their father’s disapproval to the point of not bothering to try at all. Gideon Monroe wasn’t a man who liked change. She wondered what he would think about the stranger who’d come to the mountain.
And while she was stewing with her own little secrets, Gideon had one of his own. Freddie Joe Detweiller had been real put off by Ally’s behavior at the Sunday dinner. But Gideon had smoothed it over by blaming it on Ally’s inexperience with men, which had pleased Freddie Joe. Freddie Joe thought he would like a woman he could control.
Gideon knew Freddie Joe was desperate. He just didn’t know how much. Freddie Joe already had three kids to feed and raise, and he needed a woman to help do it. Besides that, he missed having a woman in his bed. If she was flat on her back and under him while he was doing his business, it wouldn’t matter that she walked with a limp.
Had Gideon known how little consideration Freddie Joe was willing to give another wife, he might not have pushed the issue so hard. But he’d become convinced that it was his duty to make sure that Ally would be taken care of when he was gone. It never occurred to him that she could, and had been, taking care of herself, her father and her brothers since she was sixteen.
And because of that, he’d invited Freddie Joe back again—this time, the invitation included the kids. He figured she might as well start getting used to their ways and them to hers. The older kids might have some resentment against another woman taking their mother’s place, but the sooner they all got over it, the better.
Gideon forked a bite of cured ham into his mouth and gave it a couple of chews before he swallowed. Fortified with ham fat and coffee, he made his announcement.
“Company’s coming for supper on Friday. That’s days away, but I thought you might want to know now and give yourself a little time to do extra.”
Ally looked up from her plate, unaware that she was frowning.
“Who?” she asked.
“The Detweiller family, which will make four more at the table. Porter will get the extra chairs out of the shed so’s you can clean and polish them up before they come.”
“Okay, Daddy,” Porter said, and dropped some jelly onto his biscuit before taking a bite.
Ally listened to the men planning their day and her life. She knew what Gideon was doing, but she wasn’t going to put up with it.
“I won’t be courted by that man,” she said.
Gideon frowned. “Now, daughter, I won’t live forever, and you can’t expect your brothers to take care of you their whole lives. One of these days they’ll take wives, and most women don’t like another woman in their kitchens.”
Ally felt as if she’d been slapped.
“Take care of me?”
“Well, I didn’t mean it—”
“And Porter and Danny are finally getting married? Are you going to pick their wives out for them, too?”
Gideon’s face turned red. “Don’t be rude.”
“Then don’t treat me like some idiot daughter who you have to sell to get rid of.”
Gideon reeled. “I have never said you were missing your good sense.”
“Just a straight leg and sure step, right, Daddy?”
He looked away.
She bit her lip to keep from crying as she scooted her chair away from the table and carried her plate to the sink.
“You didn’t eat your food,” Gideon said.
“I’m too full of that crow you insist on stuffing down my throat,” Ally said.
Gideon knew he should apologize, but the only thing that came out of his mouth was a warning.
“There’s still gonna be four extra for supper on Friday.”
“I heard you the first time,” Ally said.
Danny wished his father would stop. It embarrassed him to see his sister shamed in this way.
“Come on, Dad. Freddie Joe isn’t much of a catch, and he’s sure nothing to look at.”
“They’re invited. It’s done, and I won’t hear any more about it,” Gideon said, then shoved his chair away from the table and got up. He slapped his hat on his head and stomped out the back door, got in his truck and drove away.
Danny gave Ally a hug as Porter got up and left the room. “I’m sorry.”
Ally shrugged. “It’s not your fault he considers me the family burden. What he doesn’t realize is that he can’t make this happen, no matter how hard he tries. I won’t marry any man I don’t love.” Then she made a face at him and grinned. “So, do you have a girlfriend?”
Danny’s face turned as red as his hair. “Maybe.”
Ally’s smile softened. “Don’t wait too long, Danny boy. We’ll be old before you know it.”
Danny grinned, then put a finger under her chin and tilted it up.
“Chin up, Ally. After Friday, it will all be over.”
Ally rolled her eyes. “I’ll tell you what’s going to be over…Freddie Joe’s dreams.”
Danny laughed out loud.
“Atta girl. You tell ’em, sister.” Then he yelled down the hallway at Porter. “Are you coming to town with me or not?”
“What for?” Porter yelled. “We got laid off.”
“Yeah, but I heard the seed store’s hiring down in Blue—”
“I don’t care who’s hiring where. I’m not in the mood,” Porter said. “I’m going hunting.”
“Whatever,” Danny said. “See you later.” He got in his truck and drove away, while Porter got his hat and gun and headed out the back door.
Once they were gone, Ally hurried through the dishes, then packed up the extra biscuits and ham, changed into her walking shoes and hurried out the door.
Wes woke up in a cold sweat with his hands around an Iraqi soldier’s neck, only to realize it was a pillow he was strangling. He groaned, then shoved it aside as he willed the dream into hell. He swung his legs off the side of the bed and grunted in surprise when he almost bumped his chin on his knees. He’d forgotten the bed was so low.
He turned on the light, then made his way into the bathroom. Despite the lack of hot water, it felt wonderful to be clean all over. He took his time in the shower, but when he began to dry off, he found that he didn’t like the face in the mirror. He tied his hair back with a shoelace, then went through the drawers in the house until he found a pair of scissors. It took another thirty minute
s to get rid of his beard.
First he cut until he couldn’t cut any closer, then he picked up his razor to finish the task. As he was shaving, the memory of Mikey’s first and last shave nearly sent him to his knees. He choked back a sob, then gritted his teeth to finish the job.
Later, as he was digging through his bag for clean clothes, his stomach began to grumble. Although he’d eaten snacks on the road, the meal he’d had yesterday at Ally Monroe’s house had been his only real meal in two days. Now his belly was objecting to the sparse fare.
Once dressed, and feeling slightly light-headed at the lack of his beard, he started toward the kitchen. Even though he’d given the odd little house the once-over yesterday, in the light of day he saw dozens of things that he’d missed seeing before. There was a small shelf in the hallway with a carving of a dog. He thought he recognized it as the old hound from down the hill and marveled at the skill with which it had been carved. The shelves in the living room were stacked with books, including quite a few that identified flora and fauna native to the United States, as well as some bestsellers. It seemed that Uncle Doo had a fondness for Tom Clancy novels. But when Wes spied a stack of Spider-Man comic books stacked neatly beside them, he smiled. The old man must have been a treat.
His stomach rumbled again, so he abandoned the books for another time and headed into the kitchen. He was in the pantry looking for coffee when he heard a knock on the door. He started to panic, imagining some locals coming to accuse him of breaking and entering; then he heard a voice he recognized.
“Wes Holden? It’s Ally Monroe.”
His first instinct was that she had changed her mind and wanted him gone, and he was surprised by feeling regret. He backed out of the pantry and then hurried to the door.
The greeting Ally had planned died in her mind when she saw his face. The beard was gone. Before, all she’d seen were those clear blue eyes; now she had a face to go with them. Then she found her voice and thrust a small woven basket into his hands.
