Lightfall Read Free

he?
    She doubled her guard as she watched him button his coat. It was obvious she’d been tricked. For all she knew he’d watched her since the moment she woke up. Had she answered something wrong? Did he mean to turn her in? She could no longer state with certainty the customs of the churches hereabouts. Could they put her to death for drawing a blank?
    Out of nowhere a searing pain she could not fathom stropped across her shoulders, leaving welts like strips of fire. She gritted her teeth and would not wince. It was some kind of test. If he saw her flinch, he would doubtless call her godless. This was the law. She remembered now: there were wives discovered every day who had one foot in hell.
    â€œYou know what I’d really like to do?”
    â€œWhat’s that?” she said abstractedly as she picked the broken blossoms out of a pot of winter flowers.
    â€œWe’ll go skiing,” Tim said with maddening cheer. “Say the week after Christmas—okay?”
    Christmas, thought Iris suddenly, apropos of nothing at all. Just four days after the solstice. Four days after— “Fine,” she said, standing up to face him. Smiling, though the whip marks stung like salt.
    She meant to fly upstairs and pack, without another word; she’d risked enough. She watched him gather up his book of dreams—black leather, tattooed with a thin gold cross—and tuck it in his pocket. She watched his shallow, laughing eyes and knew she had not betrayed a thing. By the time he got home, in the moonless dark, she would have cut loose. Some devil had sent this pain to keep her free.
    â€œYou better hurry,” Tim said as he turned to go. “You’re late.”
    For what? she wondered coolly, grabbing up the bread knife from the counter. She lifted it like a dagger above her head. She danced up close as he pulled the door wide, ready to face the morning. All her fears were gone. She hovered there like an angel and gashed at the glittering air—half a second late. The dog bowled by and threw Tim back, so he lost his footing and fell against her. The knife flew out of her hand and clattered against the counter. She watched it land by the loaf of bread.
    Tim saw nothing.
    He turned around as if to chase the dog, as if for him the ordinary ring of life sounded on the hour. All he had to do was catch one sight of Iris—dreamy-eyed and vivid, all his own, the country wife with her countless weathers. He breathed her in like morning air. He swept her up in his arms and carried her half across the kitchen, master of all the luck he lived by. Feet off the ground, her breath knocked out, Iris was near delirious to think that he was safe. She did not question the freaks of fate, or thank them. She merely twined her arms about his neck and mimicked his every laugh, as if the world were dumb and simple after all.
    The dog barked brightly, prancing about their feet. The bowl of oranges gleamed like money. In the cupboard above the sink she saw a dozen jars of pickles, mincement, honey, plums, the weight of which stood ready to see them through to spring. Though everything in her shrank from him, though voices scored and choked her, Iris knew the truth now. All these forces, whatever they were, had thought to make her give him up beforehand, so she’d run from here unburdened by regret. They didn’t want her sorrowing for Tim.
    But she had won this one concession from the darkness: now they knew she would not kill for the sake of kingdoms. Heaven and hell did not engage her, either one. She would not go at all unless they let her believe in nothing whatsoever.
    â€œWhy not just stay home?” she murmured in his ear. “We could spend the day in bed.”
    The pain tore up and down her like a madman in a cage.
    â€œDon’t tempt me,” Tim said happily, as he set her lightly back on earth.
    Please help me, she thought. Don’t go.
    But when she moved to speak it, silence