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“No need for condoms. I can’t get more pregnant.”
A slow grin blossomed on Justin’s face and he pounced.
Justin was looking for something. Carly could see it in his eyes as he studied every farmhouse they passed. They would stop, he would look around, and then they would continue down the road while he muttered under his breath. Carly wasn’t in the mood to interrogate him. She was tired; she was tired all the time. She knew it was a phase; her friend Michelle had experienced the same exhaustion early in her pregnancy.
What made things worse was Justin had found another pharmacy and brought back a big pharmacist’s supply bottle of prenatal vitamins, which Carly was certain had been designed solely to torment pregnant women. She took them at night, as was recommended to keep down the side effects, but in the morning, the metallic nausea made her curse the pill makers.
On the third day of Justin’s mysterious search, they came upon a brick farmhouse. It was a simple, rectangular building with flat sandstone sills at the top and bottom of the windows and an unadorned facade. A porch had been built onto the front and side of the house, relieving some of the stark look with jigsaw decoration in the woodwork. Each end had a chimney poking out of the roof, almost as if the house had horns, Carly thought. On the back there was a clapboard addition. On the far side of the yard stood a small, red painted barn, and a windmill turned in the backyard.
Justin’s eyes had sharpened when he saw the house, and he brought Carly up onto the little porch on the addition and laid one of the sleeping bags and a pillow on the swing for her. It was a lovely place to nap. Sam lay down on the porch floor beside her, dozing, but still alert to every sound.
There was an apple tree in the front yard where Shadowfax parked herself, chomping the fallen apples with apparent delight. Sam trotted over to see what was so delicious and returned disappointed. Carly smiled as he lay down with a “Hmph!” and she drifted off to sleep.
Justin couldn’t believe his luck. The house was ideal. Had he been asked to design the perfect winter home, he couldn’t have come up with anything better. He cast a glance up at the sky and fleetingly wondered if there might be something to Carly’s belief in fate after all.
The house had a simple four-up/four-down floor plan with a hallway and staircase set in the middle. The walls were a foot thick, brick covered with plaster. Justin entered through the backdoor into the kitchen. Wood cabinets, dark with age, lined the walls. The floors were bare wood—wide boards battered and scuffed by a century of wear. They creaked as Justin made his way through the room, something he would have to fix. His instinct for stealth, honed by his time in The Unit, made a squeaky floor unbearable.
An old-fashioned cast-iron stove sat in front of a brick fireplace, the only stove in the kitchen, which meant it had actually been what the residents used for cooking. The top had round plates that could be lifted with a detachable handle, and he peered inside to see wood ash on the grate. He grinned to himself. Carly was going to love this. She thought cooking on a modern stove was difficult enough, never mind a stove where the only way to control temperature was to close the damper or add more wood.
He turned on the tap and water poured out into the sink. He saw no sign that electricity had ever been installed in the house. He didn’t know if there were any Amish in North Dakota, but the residents of this house had lived as simply.
He passed from there into the dining room, which had an unvarnished oak table, pale with age, with a bench along each side for seating. A sideboard stood along one wall, and in the corner was a triangular cabinet with punched tin door panels.
The living room across the hall had a small grouping of four armchairs around a central table and one beneath the window. There were no family photographs or trophies—none of the little souvenirs of life a family home acquired. The mantle over the fireplace was empty save for a set of matching vases that adorned both ends. It was as impersonal as a hotel room, which Justin saw as a benefit. Carly wouldn’t be as uncomfortable living in a place that had little evidence of the previous owner’s personality.
Behind the living room was a small bathroom that appeared to have been installed in the 1920s or 1930s. It still had one of those toilets with the high, suspended tank that flushed by pulling a chain. He flushed it and was pleased to hear the tank refill. There was only a tub, no shower; he’d have to fix that for Carly.
Beside it was a bedroom. Judging from the home medical supplies, the occupant had been elderly or had a chronic illness. The body lay in the bed, wizened and nearly mummified. Justin went back to the kitchen door and peeked at Carly to ensure she was asleep before he bundled the body in the bedding and carried it from the house.
There was a small, fenced-in pasture beside the house with a creek bordering it, lined with trees. Justin carried his burden there, after a quick stop at the barn to grab a shovel. He dug quickly and lowered the body into the hole before replacing the soil. He turned to walk away, and a thought flitted through his mind of how Carly would react if she knew. He never intended to tell her, of course, but her way of thinking was influencing him more than he realized until moments like these. He laid the shovel down and went in search of what he needed: two straight limbs he fashioned into a cross using a strip of cloth ripped from his T-shirt.
Justin started to walk away again and paused. He felt like he ought to say something, even though part of him laughed at himself for such sentimentality. Carly’s influence again, he was sure of it.
“Requiescat in pace,” he murmured. “I... uh... Thanks. For your house, I mean. Carly’s going to love it. We’ll take care of it, I promise.” Feeling a little foolish but oddly relieved, Justin propped the shovel against his shoulder and headed back up to the house.
“Carly?”
“Mmph.”
“Carly, honey, wake up.”
She sat up woozily. “Are we leaving?”
“No, I think we’re staying, as long as you’re happy with it.”
“Happy with what?”
“The house. If you like it, we’ll stay here.”
“Oh.” She blinked. “I thought you wanted to keep going until we were out of North Dakota.”
Justin smiled faintly. “Plans have changed.”
He helped her to her feet and held onto her because every so often she grew dizzy after lying down for a while.
He led her through the house. To Carly, it looked like the set of a movie or a museum, not a home, but he was enthusiastic about its features. The stove in the kitchen and the working fireplaces should keep the house warm. Carly saw no evidence of another heating source—no vents or radiators. None of the windows had an air conditioner, either, but the cross breeze between them seemed like it would be enough to keep the house cool.
“Did you open the windows?” Carly asked.
