rekindled(英文版)-第31章

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the　backwoods　of　Vermont。　She　was　hoping　she　wouldn't　see　anyone　in　the
week　she　was　here。

Pretty　reclusive　for　a　former　socializer；　she　mused　without　a　hint　of
remorse。

From　the　hearth；　the　sudden　crumbling　of　an　ash…split　log　startled　her。
She　whirled　from　the　window；　eyes　wide　in　alarm。　When　she　realized　what
the　sound　was；　she　took　a　breath　and　uncurled　fingers　from　fists。　After
months　of　being　bitten　to　the　quick；　her　nails　had　grown　into　nicely
tapered　tips。　And　there　was　her　wedding　band；　wide　and　gold；　gleaming
with　deceptive　brightness；　on　the　third　finger　of　her　left　hand。

When　the　fire　spoke　again；　cackling　for　a　feeding；　she　knelt　before　the
warm　stone。　Taking　a　piece　of　dried　birch　from　the　large　wood　basket；
she　laid　it　over　the　broken　embers。　The　log　heated；　then　burst　into
flame。　It　was　an　omen；　she　vowed；　as　she　picked　up　her　book　from　the
floor　by　her　chair。　Slipping　large　tortoiseshell　glasses　over　the　bridge
of　her　nose；　she　settled　back　between　the　chair's　wide　wings。　They　were
a　fort；　these　wings；　serving　to　keep　her　sights　on　the　fire　before
her；　rather　than　on　the　darkness　behind。

Her　ticket　to　freedom　lay　in　her　lap。　Ever　an　avid　reader；　Anne　had
escaped　into　books　in　recent　months；　when　all　else　failed　to　calm　her。
As　a　friend；　a　book　had　advantages　over　the　human　variety。　It　was　there
whenever　she　needed　it；　it　vanished　as　easily；　and　it　never　asked
questions；　expected　witty　replies；　made　awkward　suggestions；　or
otherwise　overpensated　for　its　own　inability　to　right　the　wrongs　of
the　world。　She　had　packed　a　friend…a…day　supply　for　this　trip。　That　was
all　the　pany　she　needed。

The　hardcover　in　her　hand　was　a　biography。　She　opened　it　now；　and　was
suddenly　caught　up　in　the　same　world　she　was　trying　to　flee。　On　the
inside　cover　of　the　volume　was　an　inscription　that　she　hadn't　noticed
earlier。　It　brought　back　a　storm　of　memories。

〃To　my　favorite　sister…in…law。　Have　a　marvelous　vacation　and　be　sure　to
spend　a　week　with　us　when　you　get　back。　Maryellen。〃

From　the　first；　Jeff's　family　had　adored　her。　They　had　always　insisted
that　they　would　hold　Jeff　personally　to　blame　if　the　marriage　ended。　In
that　spirit；　they　had　stayed　so　close　to　Anne's　side　that　she　had　to
finally　beg　them　for　space。　They　had　eased　off；　but　with　reluctance。

Anne's　parents　had　persisted；　urging　her　to　give　up　the　apartment　and
move　back　home；　but　she　refused。　She　knew　that　as　crammed　with　reminders
of　Jeff　as　the　apartment　was；　it　was　better　than　the　Westchester　home
where　she　had　grown　up。　To　return　there　would　be　an　admission　of
failure…failure　to　make　the　kind　of　happy　life　her　parents　had。

A　ghost　of　a　smile　lifted　the　corners　of　her　lips。　Her　childhood　had
been　happy　indeed；　even　those　awkward　adolescent　years　when　she　was　an
ugly　duckling；　by　modest　accounts。　Oh；　her　parents　denied　it；　but　the
mirror　didn't　lie；　and；　anyway；　the　ugly　duckling　became　a　swan　well
before　the　Senior　Prom。　By　that　time　she　was　quiet　and　graceful；
thriving　academically；　socially；　and　emotionally。　Nothing　in　her　rosy
first　twenty…seven　years　had　even　remotely　begun　to　prepare　her　for　the
heartbreak　at　the　start　of　her　twenty…eighth。

Brought　back　to　the　present　by　a　pang　of　hunger；　she　closed　the
untouched　book　and　went　to　the　kitchen。　She　flipped　on　a　single　light；
mixed　tuna　into　a　salad；　put　a　pot　of　coffee　on　to　perk；　and　toasted　rye
bread。　With　the　sandwich　plate　in　one　hand　and　a　coffee　mug　in　the
other；　she　retraced　her　steps；　flipping　the　light　off　with　a　nudge　of
the　elbow。

Her　hunger　surprised　her。　Unusual　for　her；　she　finished　the　sandwich。
Revived；　she　sat　back　in　the　chair；　the　mug　warming　her　hands　as　the
fire　warmed　her　feet；　and　it　suddenly　struck　her　that　she　was　beginning
to　feel。　It　had　been　months　since　she　had　smelled　coffee　brewing　or　felt
the　barefoot　plushness　of　a　carpet。　But　the　coffee　did　smell　good。　Same
with　the　burning　logs　and　the　pines　outside；　and　her　feet　did　feel；
albeit　smooth　sanded　oak　planks　rather　than　the　thick　carpeting　of　home。

Pushing　the　glasses　up　on　her　nose；　she　stared　at　the　biography；　but　it
wasn't　a　biography　kind　of　night。　Jumping　up；　she　returned　to　her　room
for　a　replacement。　Mystery　or　romance…the　choice　was　easy。　A　romance
might　appeal　to　her　later　in　the　week；　when　she　was　feeling　stronger。
She　took　the　mystery　and　set　off。

The　addition　of　several　logs　brightened　the　blaze　in　the　hearth。　Edging
her　chair　closer；　she　read　from　its　light；　and　the　book　drew　her　in。
Within　a　chapter；　she　was　the　heroine。　She　was　only　marginally　aware
that　the　rain　was　ing　harder；　beating　with　increased　force　against
rooftop；　windowpane；　and　clapboard。　It　was　a　fitting　backdrop　for　the
story　of　a　young　woman　stranded　in　the　deep　woods　in　a　cabin　not　unlike
her　oparison；　debated　switching　to
the　romance　after　all；　but　was　inexorably　drawn　back　to　the　tightly
written　piece。　Burrowing　deeper　into　the　chair；　she　gave　herself　up　to
the　plot。

She　read　for　two　hours；　pausing　only　for　more　coffee。　The　gold　watch　on
her　wrist　read　eleven；　but　she　was　wide　awake；　stimulated　by　caffeine；
her　new　surroundings；　and　the　riveting　edge　of　the　story。　As　Chapter
Four　became　Five　and　then　Six；　the　mystery　deepened。　Accidents　were
neither　accident　nor　coincidence。　Someone　was　after　the　heroine。　No；
something　was　after　her；　or　so　it　appeared　from　the　bizarre　markings
left　by　footprints；　paw　prints；　or　whatever　in　the　winter　snow。　Terror
slowly　mounted。　The　woman　was　trapped；　hunted；　doomed。　As　Chapter　Seven
ended　and　Eight　began；　she　hatched　her　escape　plan　against　seemingly
insurmountable　odds。　Then；　plicating　an　already　desperate　situation；
came　the　blizzard。　Gale　force　winds；　blinding　snows；　chilling
temperatures　conspired　to　keep　her　at　the　mercy　of　the　wild　beast　that
stalked　her。

With　a　thud；　Anne　put　the　book　facedown　onto　her　lap；　heart　pounding　in
vicarious　fright。　Mystery；　my　foot；　she　mused　with　regret；　this　book　is
sheer　horror！　It　wouldn't　have　been　so　bad　if　she'd　picked　it　up　last
night　or　last　week　in　New　York。　Here；　though；　she　was　alone；　isolated
from　the　familiar；　a　good　three　miles　from　a　shred　of　civilization。

Spooked；　it　took　her　a　minute　to　realize　that　what　she'd　assumed　to　be
the　thundering　of　her　pulse　was　the　thunder　outside。　Lightning　followed
quickly；　brightening　the　dark　side　of　the　room　for　a　shocking　instant；
its　blue…white　gleam　icy　in　parison　to　the　warm　orange　glow　of　the
fire。

Hastily　she　added　several　more　logs；　desperately　needing　to　put　the　book
down；　desperately　needing　to　read　on；　knowing　that　she　wouldn't　be　able
to　sleep　until　the　last　page　had　been　turned　and　the　mystery　solved。　She
raised　the　book　again　to　another　deafening　clap　of　thunder。　It　vibrated
through　the　house　along　with　tongued　bolts　of　lightening。

Anne's　nerves　prickled　then；　because；　in　the　thunder's　wake　came　another
noise。　This　one　was　more　human　and　threatening。　A　car　was　approaching；
ing　nearer；　loud　enough　to　be　heard　above　the　storm。　It　reached　her
front　door　and　stopped。

Huddled　in　the　chair；　she　held　her　breath。　It　was　twelve　thirty…five；
well　past　normal　calling　hours　even　in　the　city。　Perhaps　one　of　the
villagers　wanted　to　warn　her　about　the　storm。　Perhaps　someone　was　lost。
Perhaps　。。。　perhaps　　。。。　A　furious　pounding　came　at　the　door。　Had　it
been　a　gentle　knock；　Anne　might　have　dared　answer　it。　But　this　knock　was
angry；　clearly　no　neighbor　expressing　concern。　At　least　the　door　was
locked；　though　she　wished　fervently　for　the　dead　bolt　she　had　in　New
York。

〃Open　up！　It's　wet　out　here！〃　The　voice　was　deep；　gruff；　and　angry。
〃Open　the　damn　door！〃

Anne　didn't　budge。　This　was　her　cottage　for　the　week；　and　she　had　the
papers　to　prove　it。　She　didn't　have　to　open　the　door。

But　the　banging　went　on；　hard　knuckles　on　wood。　〃e　on；　whoever　you
are；　open　the　door！　I'm　getting　soaked　and　I　can't　reach　my　key。〃

His　key？　Was　this　a　mon　visiting　place？　Had　the　realtor　forgotten　to
tell　her　something？

Feeling　vaguely　guilty　at　being　warm　and　dry　while　someone　was　out　there
wet　and　cold；　she　approached　the　door。　〃Who　is　it？〃　she　yelled；　resting
her　forehead　against　the　smooth　oak。