The Outlander Read Online Free Page B

lunatic. I am Mrs.
     Cawthra-Elliot.”
    â€œHow do you do.”
    The gnome chuckled at this preposterous attempt at civility. “Better
     than you, apparently. You must know that you are in a fetid condition. You are very much
     in need of a bath. All right, I have a bath. I also have food and any number of beds for
     you to sleep in. You can pick and choose. I have two women who are just dying to change
     sheets, and I never give them enough to do.”
    â€œThank you, that’s very kind, but . . . you see, I . .
     .” A likely excuse did not arrive.
    â€œBut what? Go on. What is it? You’d rather run about like an
     animal? You’re wallowing in grief?”
    â€œI’m sorry. It’s just that I have to be home
     soon.”
    â€œAbsurd. You have no home, no husband. Anyone can see that.
     You’re foolish even to pretend.”
    The widow forced a miserable, polite smile and wished herself back in
     church. Today hope had been with her for a brief time, but this woman snuffed it out
     with a knobby thumb.
    â€œIf you think I don’t know what you feel like, you’re
     wrong. I know exactly the state you’re in. It feels like the end, no matter what
     kind of marriage you had. I loved my husband well enough. Widowhood is not a choice;
     life forces it upon you. It is a burden to be alone, and a worse burden to be old and
     alone.”
    â€œPlease let me out.”
    This seemed to dumbfound the old woman. She sat in her dim corner,
     scowling, and then leaned back against the unyielding upholstery and cast her eyes about
     as if scouring the air for a way to deal with this rare, wild girl. “I’ve
     been rough with you. I can see that. But I really would like to help you. It is my
     Christian duty, I believe, to help you.” She was suddenly looking tired and
     elderly.
    The widow watched as fatigue and uncertainty took over. This is what
     awaits everyone, the widow thought: the body like a caved-in greenhouse, this struggle
     to do anything simple, to talk or plan or worry, the shallow, panting breath of anxiety
     and a worn heart.
    â€œWhat I would offer you is this: a place to sleep, some meals and
     exercise, a chance to get well. I believe that you are mistrustful, so I won’t
     frighten you by telling anyone that you are living with me. You can do whatever you like
     to occupy yourself. Feed the chickens. Polish windows. There’s not much to do
     around the place. It’s falling apart, and I don’tcare.
     Do whatever you like. Don’t agree to anything; I’ll let you see the place
     first. Who knows, you may bolt the second that door opens. I can’t stop
     you.” With this, the gnome looked down sadly for a time. She sighed weakly, the
     scrawny chest rising and falling. She said nothing more, and the carriage rolled on in
     the hot day. Soon, the papery eyelids closed and the hands composed themselves. The
     widow watched the frail old woman grow slack and unguarded with real sleep. It was a
     wonder how fast nature induced the thin lips to part and the hands to fall wide in a
     kind of supplication.
    Outside, the day began to bake. The widow gazed upon the slow scrolling of
     lawns, parched trees, and the bluish heap of foothills that came nearer with each mile.
     She gazed at those foothills and imagined the mountains beyond as a kind of heaven,
     devoid of people, silent, a place to stop and think.
    The widow put her face in her hands. Was it goodness the old lady shrouded
     with such bitter words? A fond person afraid to appear so? Christian charity ladled out
     upon the ground? The widow did not know where she was being taken. Perhaps to be kept as
     a kind of pet. Perhaps something worse. But she wasn’t afraid for her own safety.
     Far from it. In this equation, she was the unexpected, the sudden dark. This Samaritan
     had no idea what kind of criminal sat across from her as she slept, but slept on.
    THE