[Oxrun Station] The Last Call of Mourning Read Online Free Page A

action around this place is watching the beasts get ready for winter."
    He rose and slipped into his coat, belted it and stood by her side until it was evident she wasn't going to join him. "You're too hard on the place, Cyd. And after today I would think you'd had enough action to last you a year."
    The Greybeast bearing down . . . windshield glaring the last of the sun ... a face, a wavering shadow behind the wheel ...
    "The least he could have done was stop," she said over her glass.
    "He was probably drunk and too scared when he saw what he'd done. I'll ask around."
    "Thanks," she said. "Meanwhile, if you don't mind, I'm going to stay right here for a while and count my blessings. See you at the party tomorrow? I guess Evan's called you already."
    He grinned as he buttoned his coat to the neck. "Maybe. I'll have to check the bank to see how many safe deposit boxes were called for today."
    She shook her head. "It's not that kind of thing this time. Lots of people, no fancies. Dad's on a new kick this year."
    "Ah, the peasants again."
    The word had no sting, but she felt it anyway, her smile tightening for a fraction of a second before she nodded and he left, one hand brushing over the round of her shoulder. A moment later her own hand reached up to touch it, softly, return to cup the glass. If she had known she was, going to see Ed, she wouldn't have worn the cashmere—it clung too softly, revealing without exposing, and there was nothing she needed less now than Ed's friendship turning hungry. The peasants, she thought with a silent laugh. They had been kidding each other about peasants and lords since the day they'd met nearly three years before; and at the time she'd taken umbrage, thinking him some sort of reverse snob before she understood there was no covetousness there . . . only a trace of wistful envy bound in realistic resignation. And in thinking about it she amazed herself in realizing that this, too, was part of Oxrun's existence—the rich, and the middle class, and an unspoken rule that no lines were ever to be drawn. Those who did—on either side of the fence—were soon enough ostracized to practice their snobbery, or martyrdom, elsewhere.
    Which explained, in part, her own excitement now, and glad for her mother's excuse to get out of the house.
    The store.
    Yarrow's Yesterdays, or Yarrow's Yard, or Yarrow's anydamnthing was going to be hers.
    Excuse.
    She slapped a hand on the table, remembering her errand. She checked her watch and saw with a frown that Bradford's would already be closed. Not that it made any difference. Her mother could just as easily wait until morning, then fetch the bracelet herself.
    If only she wouldn't keep losing the fool things!
    Another glass of wine. Gazing blindly at the wallprint. Trying still to shake off the shroud of discontent that had settled over her more strongly when she'd visited the shack that afternoon. The Greybeast had already faded to a macabre joke she would tell her brothers with appropriate gestures and histrionic interpretation; but now she was back in the gloom November had fed her. And she knew what it was. She knew, and she wondered, and hoped there was a cure.
    It wasn't Europe; she had traveled before.
    It wasn't Ed; she'd had lovers near and distant before, too.
    But she was the only girl of three, and her father had not wanted her. He loved her, to be sure, and protected her as fiercely as anyone had done—but there were still those occasional glances, those sideways looks when he thought she wasn't watching. It had been plain enough he wanted no part of her growing; it confused him because she'd taken her mother's role, accepting his yelling and his threats with patient, knowing smiles. She suspected he was trying to bring to life the blustering patriarch of Clarance Day's novel—be harsh outside and marshmallow in, all in orchestration of paternal love. The trouble with Barton Yarrow's interpretation was, Cynthia had begun to believe in the