A Lantern in the Window Read Free Page B

living room, had a huge iron cook stove
presiding at one end and a wood heater at the other. Both were
giving off waves of comforting warmth, and Annie and Bets moved
hesitantly to stand by the heater and warm themselves.
    There was a square wooden
table and four chairs near the cook stove, and a horsehair sofa and
a rocking chair at the opposite end of the room where a narrow
staircase led to another floor. There were several cross-stitched
pillows on the sofa, and a border of hand-embroidered roses trimmed
the white fabric of the curtains at the window. The wooden floor
had several braided rag rugs, and there was floral wallpaper on the
walls. An ornate clock sat on a shelf specially made for it. Also
on the walls were several pictures clipped from magazines and
carefully mounted on cardboard.
    Everywhere Annie looked
was the mark of a woman who’d made this house into a cozy
home.
    Noah Ferguson had told
Annie in his first letter that he was a widower, that his wife and
baby son had died two years before.
    It was obvious that Noah's
wife had loved this house, Annie thought uneasily. Her touch was
everywhere, although as Annie looked more closely, there was also a
general air of neglect. There was a thick layer of dust on the
dresser, and the curtains were limp with dirt. Although the wide
boards on the floor showed signs of a recent sweeping, it was plain
they hadn’t been scrubbed in some time.
    Near the heater were two
doors. One was shut, but the other was ajar, and suddenly, a loud
banging came from behind it, as though someone was hammering on the
floor with a heavy object.
    "Lordie, that scared me.”
Annie’s hand went to her heart. “I forgot there was anybody else
here.”
    Bets’s eyes were wide and
fearful.
    “I think it’s Mr.
Ferguson’s father,” Annie indicated. "I will see to him. You warm
yourself by the fire.”
    Hesitantly, she tapped at
the door and then pushed it open so she could enter the small room.
It was painted blue, and on the wall was a picture of a smiling
cherub cuddling a kitten. A chair, a dresser, and the single bed
took up most of the space.
    "Mr. Ferguson?" Annie said
in a hesitant tone, standing beside the bed. “I’m—I’m Annie. I’ve
only just arrived. Is there something you want?”
    The white-haired man lying
propped on pillows in the disheveled bed held a cane tight in his
right fist. When he saw Annie, he lifted it up and brandished it
threateningly, making strange guttural noises in his
throat.
    She cried out and leaped
back, certain he was about to strike her.
    His face was twisted
grotesquely to one side, and it was plain to Annie that his right
hand and side were useless. It was also obvious that he was in a
furious temper.
    Annie stared at him,
horrified. Was he a madman? Noah Ferguson had mentioned his father
in his letters, but all he’d said was that the older man was “in
ill health.”
    He stopped trying to speak
and lay back panting, staring at Annie with the same coal-black,
angry look his son had given her earlier.
    “Can—can I get you
something, sir?” she asked again.
    He used the end of the
cane to gesture at a water glass and Annie cautiously sidled over
and snatched it up.
    “Water? I’ll bring it
directly.” She backed out of the room, expecting at any moment that
he’d throw the cane at her.
    In the outer room, Bets
was coughing again, huddled in an exhausted heap on a chair by the
fire. Annie went over and felt her head.
    “You’re burning up. We need
to get you to bed, sweets.”
    She filled the water glass
from the pail on the washstand, but before she could take it back
into the bedroom, the awful hammering began again.
    Annie rolled her
eyes and blew her breath out in an exasperated whoosh . He was
trying her patience, that was certain.
    She walked quickly back
into the bedroom and over to the bed, holding out the glass. In a
firm tone, she said, “Here you go, and I'd be grateful if you’d
please stop that banging, Mr.