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Tess's hand froze inches from the knob. Frowning, she turned around and walked slowly toward the living room. "But there aren't any other doors."
"That's right. Not in the house, there aren't. There's the chamber pot in your room. Or, if you're feeling braver than usual, you can go?"
No. Don't say it, don't say the toilet is?
"?outside."
"Outside," she repeated dully. "Of course."
Hugging her cramping abdomen, she felt her way along the sofa and shuffled painfully into the kitchen. At the front door, she hesitated. The thought of putting her bare backside down on some shadowy pit toilet made her stomach writhe in revolt. But she didn't much feel like squatting over a porcelain pot in her bedroom, either.
She glanced back at the living room, searching the shadows for Jack. He was still standing by the window; she could see the outline of his torso against the pale curtains. "If I'm not back in ten minutes, call 911."
"What?"
She opened the door and went outside. Cold night air, thick with the scent of the sea, splashed her face and slid along her exposed neck. She clutched the robe tighter to her throat and stepped cautiously forward. Tired, whitewashed boards creaked beneath her feet.
She hobbled down the wide, covered porch that stretched along the front of the house. At the top step, she paused, waiting for the pain to melt once again into something she could manage.
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She glanced around. Midnight blue shadows and black shapes surrounded her, all of them wreathed by ghostly split-rail fences. A huge, opalescent moon hung in the star-spangled sky. Below it, the Straits glittered like an endless. sheet of hammered steel, its surface rippled with moonlight. A row of shadowed, farmy-looking sheds led the way to a rickety, isolated old building that had to be the outhouse.
She clutched the wobbly handrail and slowly descended the few steps. By the final step, she was breathing heavily again. Pausing, she wiped the sheen of sweat from her brow and walked stiffly up the yard's grassy incline.
With each step, her stomach sank a little bit more. Wincing, trying not to breathe, she reached for the drawstring latch and opened the door. It swung on squeaky hinges and smacked hard against the wooden wall. The whole structure shuddered at the impact.
She peered inside, but couldn't see anything except a shower-sized, jet-black opening.
Cautiously she inched her way into the darkened stall. Night air immediately closed around her like black velvet. The expected odors curled around her throat, turned thick and ugly.
Clamping her lips together to keep from breathing, she lifted her nightgown and planted her bare behind on the cold wooden rim.
Suddenly the door banged shut, plunging her into tomblike darkness. Her imagination ran riot. She saw bugs and snakes and all kinds of nameless wild things creeping under the door and slithering toward her. Animal and night noises that any other time might sound whimsical and exciting, sounded ominous.
1873, she realized then, was not for sissies.
* * *
40
&n
bsp; Savannah huddled under the thick blanket, her whole body shaking. She had a long-forgotten urge to suck her thumb again. She fisted her hand tightly and pressed it to her stomach. The unmistakable sounds of a parental fight crept beneath her door and hovered like a bad odor in the cramped room.
"Vannah? How come Daddy always yells about Johnny?"
Savannah shrugged in the darkness. Her throat was too thick with unshed tears to say anything. But Katie didn't expect a response. They'd lived through this same scene too many times to expect much of anything from anyone.
"You think Daddy's okay?"
Savannah swallowed. "Yeah." The word slipped out on a tired breath, with no conviction.
Katie crawled out of bed. Her bare feet thumped on the hard wooden floor. "I'm gonna go peek."
Savannah shoved her coverlet back and swung her stockinged feet out of bed. " 'Mere, Katie."
Katie shuffled toward her sister and took her hand. Together they crept cautiously toward the door and eased it open.
