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Authors: Billie Sue Mosiman
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got stuck in the lock, and after three unsuccessful tries to loosen it, he opened his mouth to call Daley. That’s when he heard a high-pitched feminine squeal of delight float down from an upstairs window. Nick held the key tightly and listened, afraid to hear it again. Why would a woman’s voice be…?
"Ohhh, Daley, please! Don't tickle me, please don’t.”
It was true. His brother had a woman in the house and he had brought her home because...because of their morning quarrel? Because he preferred a woman's company to his brother's?
Nick’s fist hit the key in the door and it turned sharply.
He was shocked into sobriety. He stepped into the black foyer listening for any noises coming from Daley’s room. He slammed the door with such force the glass panes rattled.
"Nick? Is that you?" Daley called from the second floor.
Nick grimaced and felt a childish urge to stomp his feet. Rage boiled inside him.
"Nick...?" Daley called again.
"Who else?" Nick shouted, giving in to his anger, as he stomped to his bedroom.
The rain started immediately, beating against the windows with each new gust of wind.
#
Daley lay in bed propped up on pillows while the worst of the storm raged. It was near midnight. He watched Madra Halsworthy as she slept. The lightning streaking across the bedroom windows illuminated Madra's young, naked body. It was still astounding to find her in his bed. He had tried to approach her all semester. Three months of closing in and backing away. She was not someone to be easily captured.
Unlike the other students, she dressed eccentrically in long, ground-sweeping skirts and soft flat shoes. But it was the ankle-length black velvet cape lined in lush crimson satin that really set her apart. The cape had a stiff six-inch collar that stood up around her neck, serving to shield her profile from view. When she leaned forward, her face peeked out like a slice of pale moon from behind a night cloud.
Finally Nick had cornered her in the hallway. She had backed up against the wall, her dark eyes burning with indignation because he had made her drop her books.
“Look what you've done!”
"This was the only way I could hope to catch you," he had said.
"What do you want?" Her voice was a whisper and her eyes stared at the center of his chest. She reminded him of a helpless trapped rabbit.
"I'm sorry," he said, retrieving her books and papers from the floor. She had not moved. Her eyes were glazed and distant. "Madra?" It was obvious she did not hear him. "Madra?" She finally blinked. "Are you an alright? I only wanted to meet you. I didn't mean to scare you."
When she spoke it was poetry, but the words were so soft he could hardly understand her. Emily Dickinson, she told him later as they sat in a dark student hangout getting to know one another. Emmy was a passion of hers and she knew two dozen of her poems by heart. Eighteenth century history was another passion, as was red wine, small English sports cars, and shocking lesser mortals by living just exactly the way she wished. In two hours he knew most everything there was to know about Madra Halsworthy, and he was damned intrigued. Two hours later she moved her few clothes and possessions into the Ringer household.
They were a couple.
Thunder boomed outside the window and Daley felt a chill. He covered Madra and himself. He slipped down on the pillows, fitted his face into the fragrant place between her warm neck and shoulder.
How was he going to explain this to Nick? Daley wondered. His brother would be angry enough there was a woman in the house. But what would be do when he found out she was living there?
Chapter 8
SIX MONTHS LATER a distraught man walked in a small, forgotten, overgrown cemetery searching for a link to his youth. He longed for peace, but it was nowhere to be found. There was a woman named Madra living in his house in Houston. Her name meant hell and trouble. Her coming signaled death in the man's stony heart.
He walked the
"Ohhh, Daley, please! Don't tickle me, please don’t.”
It was true. His brother had a woman in the house and he had brought her home because...because of their morning quarrel? Because he preferred a woman's company to his brother's?
Nick’s fist hit the key in the door and it turned sharply.
He was shocked into sobriety. He stepped into the black foyer listening for any noises coming from Daley’s room. He slammed the door with such force the glass panes rattled.
"Nick? Is that you?" Daley called from the second floor.
Nick grimaced and felt a childish urge to stomp his feet. Rage boiled inside him.
"Nick...?" Daley called again.
"Who else?" Nick shouted, giving in to his anger, as he stomped to his bedroom.
The rain started immediately, beating against the windows with each new gust of wind.
#
Daley lay in bed propped up on pillows while the worst of the storm raged. It was near midnight. He watched Madra Halsworthy as she slept. The lightning streaking across the bedroom windows illuminated Madra's young, naked body. It was still astounding to find her in his bed. He had tried to approach her all semester. Three months of closing in and backing away. She was not someone to be easily captured.
Unlike the other students, she dressed eccentrically in long, ground-sweeping skirts and soft flat shoes. But it was the ankle-length black velvet cape lined in lush crimson satin that really set her apart. The cape had a stiff six-inch collar that stood up around her neck, serving to shield her profile from view. When she leaned forward, her face peeked out like a slice of pale moon from behind a night cloud.
Finally Nick had cornered her in the hallway. She had backed up against the wall, her dark eyes burning with indignation because he had made her drop her books.
“Look what you've done!”
"This was the only way I could hope to catch you," he had said.
"What do you want?" Her voice was a whisper and her eyes stared at the center of his chest. She reminded him of a helpless trapped rabbit.
"I'm sorry," he said, retrieving her books and papers from the floor. She had not moved. Her eyes were glazed and distant. "Madra?" It was obvious she did not hear him. "Madra?" She finally blinked. "Are you an alright? I only wanted to meet you. I didn't mean to scare you."
When she spoke it was poetry, but the words were so soft he could hardly understand her. Emily Dickinson, she told him later as they sat in a dark student hangout getting to know one another. Emmy was a passion of hers and she knew two dozen of her poems by heart. Eighteenth century history was another passion, as was red wine, small English sports cars, and shocking lesser mortals by living just exactly the way she wished. In two hours he knew most everything there was to know about Madra Halsworthy, and he was damned intrigued. Two hours later she moved her few clothes and possessions into the Ringer household.
They were a couple.
Thunder boomed outside the window and Daley felt a chill. He covered Madra and himself. He slipped down on the pillows, fitted his face into the fragrant place between her warm neck and shoulder.
How was he going to explain this to Nick? Daley wondered. His brother would be angry enough there was a woman in the house. But what would be do when he found out she was living there?
Chapter 8
SIX MONTHS LATER a distraught man walked in a small, forgotten, overgrown cemetery searching for a link to his youth. He longed for peace, but it was nowhere to be found. There was a woman named Madra living in his house in Houston. Her name meant hell and trouble. Her coming signaled death in the man's stony heart.
He walked the
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