The Outlander Read Online Free Page A

a spectre at the feast, and tongues fell silent. Even
     the tiny, humpbacked minister gaped rudely and adjusted his pince-nez. Pigeons clapped
     overhead like angels gleeful at such a sight: a pretty girl done up in rags, a
     ridiculous creature in her black curtain-cloth and haggy hair, a child’s dress-up
     of a witch, hurrying down the stairs and out across the yard toward the dry dirt street.
     Though she understood the effect she had produced, the widow stepped lightly, leavened
     and rested.
Sins endure, yet we see the place of their atonement.
    It was a windless, humid day, the sun rising as the widow walked. As carts
     and carriages passed, she was obliged to leave the road and step over to where earth had
     been scraped and piled to grade the thoroughfare. Grasses grew on the heaped soil like
     hair on a bee-stung dog, and the widow struggled along from clot to tuft. She saw houses
     far away by the river and shining between them the sparkle of the water. She saw hen
     houses, wooden seats of swings roped to high tree limbs and hanging motionless, flat
     stones laid out to form paths and walkways, rail fences, wells and pumps set in stone
     rings upon uneven, sprouted lawns.
    Presently, she came upon a clutch of little stores. Dry goods, apothecary,
     photographer. Each establishment was closed and dark, its front stoop recently swept.
     The widow stepped beneath an awning and puffed in the heat. Above her, bats clung like
     seed pods to folds in the awning. Andthen, in near silence, a tiny,
     opulent carriage glided slowly past, its occupant hidden. The widow lingered in the
     shade a while, her eyes closed, a smile on her lips.
    When she started on again, she soon found the tiny carriage stopped at the
     side of the road with two admirable horses waiting and the door swung open. The carriage
     presented a bizarre, relic air — it was a filigreed old thing with brass handles
     and cracking paint. And within this sarcophagus sat the bird lady from church, now
     wearing a veil.
    â€œWill you come with me,” the raspy voice said. It was not a
     question. The old lady extended her gloved hand into the sunlight and gestured for the
     widow to get in.
    The widow stayed where she was.
    â€œJeffrey,” the voice said. “Compel her to come
     here.”
    Weight shifted above the carriage and a large man stepped down beside the
     horses. He was screwing his cap into his back pocket. The widow stepped away from him,
     which caused him to stop and raise his hands in acquiescence.
    â€œMadam,” he said, pointing at the open door, “will you
     come?”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œOh, why not,” the voice came from within. “What else
     have you got planned?”
    The widow held her shawl out in front of her like a decoy, but finally she
     let her arms drop to her sides and licked her dry lips.
    â€œGet in,” came the voice.
    â€œI have to be home soon.”
    â€œLie to me in here where it’s cool, can’t
     you?”
    She could run, but where would she go? And what was the point? She stood
     uncertainly, until she saw Jeffrey’s eyestake on a different
     expression, one she recognized.
Compel her to come here.
The widow hurried
     forward and got in. The door slammed behind her.
    And there was the bird lady again, even smaller than she had looked in
     church. The little eminence sat on its hard bench and regarded the widow as
     Jeffrey’s bulk clambered aboard. Slowly, without a sound, the lacquered box swung
     on its oiled springs and jollied out into the road again. The two women sat in silence.
     A gentle breeze played about them.
    â€œYou do know,” said the old lady, “that you appeared to
     those pious people back there to be mad?”
    The widow looked at the woman’s wasted cheeks and quilted lip. She
     nodded her head. Indeed, she knew.
    â€œWhat do you think? Are you mad?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œGlad to hear it. I can’t help a