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| The Wonder of
Winter's Darkness Part Three by Marcy Wilson-Cales |
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Barnabas
waited, his heart beating anxious warmth and life
against the killing cold, while on the other side
of the thick oak doors, soft footsteps were
quickly approaching. They sounded like Julia's
would; direct and brisk, and his heart beat
harder in the hope that his miserable walk had
not been in vain; the steps stopped, pausing
behind the door. A lock clicked, softly, and the door released a flood of yellow light and warmth to a man who had nearly forgotten how to feel it. Julia stood, astonished, against the cold that crept impolitely around the blockade of his body. He stood, equally frozen, each taking in the other. She was dressed in a long, ankle-length dress of heavy blue knit, the fabric hugging her skin. A scarf the color of a violet sunset against the snow looped loosely around her slim throat, held with a God's Eye of red Welsh gold. The scarf's twin fashioned her belt and was tied on the side. Her hair had been brushed to one side, and had darkened to a deep henna, away from the bleaching effect of the summer sun that had now shyly retreated. He had been watching her hair lose that gold-red streaking for months, but the separation of these few days struck the difference to him abruptly-- Her eyes were wide. "Barnabas...!" She said it as if she couldn't believe her eyes. "What...are you DOING here?" "I had to come." He hesitated, tried to form frozen lips into a smile. She stepped aside and let him in as he spoke. "Carolyn...has been trying to get in contact with you..." Not just Carolyn; I was too-- Her frown deepened, quick to leap into a subject, quick to drive forming words out of his mind. "Carolyn?" She shut the door hurriedly. "Get out of that. You're freezing!" He obeyed without a word, stiff and clumsy from the cold that seemed to have settled its frost inside his blood--tales from his mother of a cold-blued fairy that caused frost by striking with a staff seemed quite apt just now. He felt bruised and battered all over, and for the first time, realized just how lucky he was that Julia HAD been here to receive him. She helped him, with quick, warm hands, to remove his coat and hand it up on the thin rack behind the door. Snow, having collected and frozen, fell in brittle and broken chips of milk at his feet, leaving the wool dry. He found himself in a strange house. A dark, sorghum-colored floor with irregular planks spoke of not only age, but the ponderous weight of it. The walls were dark amber, but not comforting. Sober and pretentious, the living room was a cave fashioned of wood. Barnabas was, barely thirty seconds into his first encounter with this house, amazed that so much care had gone into making this semi-mausoleum. The windows, he realized, were far too small and stingy, and light came in weak and halfway spent. A few wall pictures hung, chained inside heavy frames. Save for an ugly lump of a brown sofa, a long table and two chairs, the living room was utterly barren. It had not been lived in, he realized almost at once. This was the kind of home that sheltered either no one...or the wrong kind of person. Julia had her arms around her. "It's warmer in the kitchen." She pointed, Julia-like, with a jerk of her head. "Come one." Without a word he stopped and pulled his arms around her, wanting to do this before he gave his message, because he hadn't come through all of this just to be a carrier. She was quick to lean her head against his chest, but... ...she was also quick to leave it. "Come on." She said again, shivering. He followed. To Be Continued |