Western Wind Read Online Free

of brushes, sticks of charcoal, tubes of paint, a palette, and a Polaroid camera. A small staircase, with a handrail made of rope, disappeared into shadows.
    The room was inviting without looking very comfortable. It appeared to have no secrets—like a person who tells you right away what she’s interested in. Yet some mystery remained. Perhaps it was because of the posts that were like temple columns, or because of the implements and materials of painting that covered the wide plank.
    Grace sped past Elizabeth, leaped on a ragged red sweater on the floor near the easel, and began to scratch one ear.
    â€œSand fleas,” observed Gran, who had come to the door.
    â€œWhere shall I put the groceries?”
    â€œOn the counter. Put the milk in the icebox.”
    â€œThe icebox?” Elizabeth asked politely, knowing it was the little chest.
    Gran was silent.
    Chagrined, Elizabeth opened the bottom door of the icebox and thrust the milk inside. A watery smell, edged with sourness, emanated from its dark interior. There was food on a shelf, but Elizabeth didn’t try to make out what it was.
    â€œWhat do you think?” Gran asked.
    â€œAbout what?”
    â€œWell—I hoped you would have a thought about this place,” Gran said.
    â€œIt doesn’t look like your apartment in Camden.”
    â€œNo, it doesn’t.”
    â€œIt’s really pretty there,” Elizabeth said, knowing how disagreeable she was being, unable to stop herself.
    â€œI suppose it is,” Gran said pleasantly.
    Elizabeth clamped her jaw shut and stared down at her old running shoes. How ugly they were! Carelessly tied, dirty, big as boats. She would have gotten new ones for the bicycle trip.
    â€œI’m so sorry you feel the way you seem to,” Gran said softly.
    Elizabeth’s throat tightened. Her eyes swam with sudden tears. She swallowed hard and looked over at Gran.
    â€œWalk around a bit,” Gran urged. “It’ll lighten your heart.” She went to the counter and began to put away the food she’d bought at Sadie’s.
    Elizabeth wandered toward the easel. She noticed that there were paintings hung on all the walls of the room. Some were washes of color. Others were recognizable—woods, the ridge that ran along the center of the island, rocks. Sketches of Grace covered a sheet of paper. One big canvas showed a group of people who looked like a family posing for a photographer on some special occasion. Everywhere, in oil or ink or charcoal, were drawings and paintings of a man’s head. Some were a few lines. Others were detailed. In one, a hat brim hid the man’s forehead and eyes so that only his falconlike nose and long narrow mouth showed.
    â€œThe good thing is I don’t have to clean very often,” Gran said. Elizabeth turned around and saw she was standing at the foot of the stairs.
    â€œCome and see your room,” Gran said.
    â€œWere there once lots of little rooms here?”
    â€œYes. I got a carpenter from Molytown to take down the walls after the owner said I could do whatever I wanted to. It was too dark before, too squeezed. The posts hold up the ceiling so he had to leave them. I like them, though.”
    Elizabeth, carrying her bag and pack, followed Gran up the stairs to a small landing. Gran opened one of the two doors that led off it. “I’d thought you’d like to be able to see the bay,” she said.
    The room ran the width of the house. A braided rug lay on the floor beside an iron bedstead that was covered with a blue and red quilt. Next to it stood a night table holding a candle in a saucer. Another candle and a jar full of wildflowers stood on the bureau. A small mirror in a hammered-tin frame hung from a nail on the wall above a straight-backed chair with a towel folded on it.
    â€œI put some hangers here on the back of the door, if you have anything you need to hang,” Gran said.
    Elizabeth thought of