The Gun Fight

Chapter Twenty-four

Louisa stood at the head of the stairs, looking down, one hand pressed at the bosom of her dress, the other clamped tightly on the bannister railing.

They were still down there. They weren’t talking but Louisa knew they were there and knew she’d have to walk by the front room to get to the kitchen and the back door.

She lowered one foot nervously and shifted her weight to the first carpeted step with a cautious movement. The stair creaked a little and Julia stiffened, her eyes fastened to the doorway below that led to the front room.

There was no sound. Julia brought the other foot down and stood on the top step, legs cold and trembling. Suddenly, she became conscious of the ticking clock and she glanced over at it, her throat moving.

Twenty minutes to one. There was so little time.

She moved down another step silently. I should tell Aunt Agatha, the thought oppressed her, Aunt Agatha could stop it.

But the idea of telling her aunt made Louisa’s stomach turn. She couldn’t do it, she just couldn’t, she’d rather tell anyone else.

Besides, she rationalized weakly, Aunt Agatha had said it was out of her hands. No, she’d have to tell someone else.

But who?

Louisa moved down another step, her lips twitching as the wood crackled in strain beneath her. I should have taken my shoes off! the thought burst in her mind. What if they heard her? What if they came out in the hall and saw her on the stairs? What would she tell Aunt Agatha; what could she tell her?

Louisa stood fixed to the step, heart thudding in heavy, irregular beats. She bit her trembling lip. No, I have to do it! she told herself, fighting off the instinct to rush back to her room and hide. I have to, I just have to!

She swallowed the obstruction in her throat and moved down another step, her hand sliding noiselessly along the bannister railing, then clamping tightly as she lowered herself. Another step; another.

She froze involuntarily. Down in the front room, her aunt was clearing her throat.

“Are we having dinner?” she heard Aunt Agatha say.

“If you . . . want some,” the pale voice of her mother replied. “I’m . . . not hungry, myself.”

“I am,” said Aunt Agatha.

Louisa shuddered and stood there rooted, expecting at any moment to see her aunt come walking out of the front room.

But there was only silence below. Louisa thought she heard the clicking of knitting needles but she wasn’t sure. I have to get out! she thought desperately.

She moved down another step, lowering her foot cautiously, testing her weight on the carpeted wood. Another step. She stopped and tightened as a horse galloped by in front of the house and she thought it was going to stop. She closed her eyes a moment and drew in a heavy, nervous breath. Why wasn’t there a back stairway?

“The nerve of that woman,” she heard Aunt Agatha say.

“She’s just—” her mother started and then said no more.

“Defending him like that,” said Agatha Winston in an insulted voice. “The very idea; after what he did.”

No, no, I mustn’t cry, I mustn’t—Louisa begged herself, reaching up hastily to brush aside the tears. Why did she ever tell Robby that story—why? She drew in a rasping breath and then cut it off sharply, her eyes widening in fright.

No sound in the front room. She moved down another step and it creaked beneath her.

“Louisa?”

She felt a bolt of panic stun her heart as her aunt’s voice probed up at her. She stood there mutely, shivering without control as her aunt came out of the front room, carrying her knitting.

“What is it you want?” her aunt asked.

“I . . .” Louisa stared down dumbly at her.

“Well?”

Louisa tried to speak but there was no sound.

“Speak up, child!”

“I’m hungry.” Louisa heard herself blurt out the words.

Her aunt looked up at her suspiciously a moment, then said grumpily, “Oh.”

Turning, Aunt Agatha went back into the front room. Now! Louisa thought frantically and she ran down the steps on trembling legs.

“You can’t be that hungry,” Agatha Winston said, coming back into the hall, this time without her knitting.

Louisa felt a sudden cold sinking in her stomach and her legs were numb under her as she walked toward the kitchen, Aunt Agatha following behind her, saying, “Elizabeth? Come along, it’s dinner time,” and her mother answering, weakly, “Yes . . . Agatha.”