Robin Read Free Page A

threatened a short time ago met his. Black pools so deep he could drown. “Mr. Morgan, please see who needs help. I’m fine.”
    He bumped into the door on his way out.

 
     
    TWO
                  Robin wrapped her arms around her middle and paced—five . . . six . . . seven, turn. How many times had she counted the distance from the tiny ticket office to the wall? A gust of wind blew through the broken window and a shard of remaining glass tinkled to the floor. The door rattled and a shiver slithered across her shoulders. She peered into the deepening dusk and held her breath, then when no one entered she resumed pacing—one . . . two . . . three . . .
                   Where is he? Mr. Morgan said he would return . Voices, which at first had called to one another after the storm, stilled. She longed for the sound of other human beings, even if she didn’t know them. Instead, unfamiliar noises assailed her imagination.
                  Home. She thought of her sisters in Chicago, their evening routine so predictable it swelled the lump in her throat with the thought. Wren would flit in the front door and straighten the picture of Mama’s great-uncle Alfred that hung above the table in the entryway. On her way through the parlor she’d rearrange the candelabra on the mantel, then make three turns around the large oval dining table to ensure the tablecloth hung evenly. And with each flit she’d flutter her hands and trill her day’s events.
                  And Lark—dear Lark would scold . Nothing changes, little Jenny Wren. The picture will wiggle crooked when you close the door in the morning. You never light the candles, and Mama would take to her bed if she knew you kept her best cutwork linen cloth on the table when we have no guests to entertain.
                  Robin smiled. If only they could have made the trip with her. But Wren still made the daily excursion to the Wesleys’—as nanny to their children—and Lark had her piano students at Winford Lucas Ladies Academy of Voice and Piano. No. It was best this way. Between the three of them, Papa’s debts would be paid in no time, and the sisters would join her to make their home in Kansas. Though it remained a mystery why, after all these years, John Wenghold made such an offer to nieces he didn’t know.
                  A snuffle outside the window sent Robin cowering against the wall. She lowered herself to a sitting position and drew her knees to her chest. Darkness shrouded her from her foe. Crouched in the corner, she clasped her arms around her knees and locked her gaze on the door. Her heart drummed in her chest.
                   Sing, Robin. Mama said fear and song don’t abide together.
                  A bump against the outside wall sent another shard of glass ringing to the floor.
                  “O for a faith that will not shrink, tho’ pressed by every foe.” She searched her memory for the words then raised her voice. “. . . Tho’ pressed by every foe.” A low moan rumbled outside the window. She took a deep breath. “That will not tremble on the brink . . .” With each new phrase the awful noise grew louder. “That will not tremble on the brink of any earthly wo-o-oe—” A furry head with long flapping ears poked through the open window and bellowed, took a long suck of air then brayed again. Robin screamed.
                  She released one more piercing cry before the door slammed open. A lantern in Mr. Morgan’s hand gave enough light for Robin to make out the older lady with him. Oh, how good to be in the company of another female. The woman was tall and thin as a willow branch. One long braid wound around her head like a crown, and her face crinkled in smile lines when she strode past Robin to the window.
                  “You cantankerous old sister.” The woman grabbed the intruder by the