yellowed envelope and its odd seal had brought him up short. Very gently, he placed the letter from his agent on the table and then stood silently and stared at the yellow envelope with a frown creasing his brow.
When he glanced up he saw that she'd been holding her breath and watching him watch the envelope. Abe shook his head and stepped back off the porch and into the light.
"What is it?" she asked.
He started to answer, stopped, glanced down at the envelope again, and then shook his head. "I don't know. It's from back home, but there's something …"
He seemed unable to finish the thought, so she did it for him. "Wrong. There's something wrong with it, Abe. I felt it too." He shook his head again, almost angrily, and yanked the flap of the envelope open. He drew out a small piece of paper and read it quickly. His face flushed, and his hand trembled. Kat saw that there was something large and dark at the bottom of the note, but she couldn't make out the words.
"What is it?" she repeated.
At first she thought he wouldn't tell her. He gripped the note so tightly his knuckles went white, and his arm shook. Then he took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and simply held the note out to her.
She hesitated, but only for a second. Stepping forward, she slipped the paper out of his hand and read quickly. It was written in neat, simple script. Very short.
"He's back, boy. Come home."
There was no signature. At the bottom of the page was a hideous black squiggle, surrounded by the solid lines of an equal-armed cross. Katrina gasped, stepped forward, and before Abe could pull back, she gripped the leather thong around his neck and slid the medallion from beneath his shirt. It glistened in the sunlight, wet with perspiration and warm to the touch.
Kat held the paper alongside it. The design was the same without the dark swirling mark beneath. She twisted her hand into the thong and pulled it tight, nearly choking him.
"What is it?" she asked. Her voice was tight now, fierce.
Abe gently broke free and tugged her hand from the medallion. He held her hand and then stared off over her shoulder for what seemed an eternity, gazing toward the mountains in the east. Then he spoke softly.
"It's from my mother," he said. "It's the first thing I've heard from her since I left the mountain."
Kat shivered. She wasn't sure if it was still the letter working its odd, discomforting spell, or the way he'd said "the mountain," making it somehow a place much further away than the miles she knew it to be. Worlds and centuries distant.
"Who is back?" she asked. "What does it mean?"
He shook his head. "It doesn't matter," he said. He took the paper from her hand and crumpled it with such sudden violence that Kat stepped back and cried out. He didn't glance up at her, but continued to stare at the paper twisted on the ground and catching in the same breeze that had blown the sand around Kat's ankles earlier. It slapped against the leg of his jeans and held.
He trembled, but did not move, and Kat saw a single tear squeeze free of the corner of his eye, sliding down his cheek and blending with the sweat from his run in the morning sun.
"It doesn't matter," he repeated. "I'll never go back."
The paper slipped free of his pants at last and skittered off toward the beach. They watched it go in silence, and then he put his arm around her back, grabbed the rest of the mail, and led her back inside. The sun had given way to clouds, and it looked like there would be a short squall before noon. By the time they had closed the door behind them, the note was rolling down the beach, lost in clouds of sand and soaked in the first heavy drops of rain.
SIX
The dream took Abraham the moment he was asleep. He soared far above the land and watched his shadow ripple across the ground beneath him, cast by the silver luminescence of the moon. Cold wind rippled through his hair and his clothing flapped about his arms and
When he glanced up he saw that she'd been holding her breath and watching him watch the envelope. Abe shook his head and stepped back off the porch and into the light.
"What is it?" she asked.
He started to answer, stopped, glanced down at the envelope again, and then shook his head. "I don't know. It's from back home, but there's something …"
He seemed unable to finish the thought, so she did it for him. "Wrong. There's something wrong with it, Abe. I felt it too." He shook his head again, almost angrily, and yanked the flap of the envelope open. He drew out a small piece of paper and read it quickly. His face flushed, and his hand trembled. Kat saw that there was something large and dark at the bottom of the note, but she couldn't make out the words.
"What is it?" she repeated.
At first she thought he wouldn't tell her. He gripped the note so tightly his knuckles went white, and his arm shook. Then he took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and simply held the note out to her.
She hesitated, but only for a second. Stepping forward, she slipped the paper out of his hand and read quickly. It was written in neat, simple script. Very short.
"He's back, boy. Come home."
There was no signature. At the bottom of the page was a hideous black squiggle, surrounded by the solid lines of an equal-armed cross. Katrina gasped, stepped forward, and before Abe could pull back, she gripped the leather thong around his neck and slid the medallion from beneath his shirt. It glistened in the sunlight, wet with perspiration and warm to the touch.
Kat held the paper alongside it. The design was the same without the dark swirling mark beneath. She twisted her hand into the thong and pulled it tight, nearly choking him.
"What is it?" she asked. Her voice was tight now, fierce.
Abe gently broke free and tugged her hand from the medallion. He held her hand and then stared off over her shoulder for what seemed an eternity, gazing toward the mountains in the east. Then he spoke softly.
"It's from my mother," he said. "It's the first thing I've heard from her since I left the mountain."
Kat shivered. She wasn't sure if it was still the letter working its odd, discomforting spell, or the way he'd said "the mountain," making it somehow a place much further away than the miles she knew it to be. Worlds and centuries distant.
"Who is back?" she asked. "What does it mean?"
He shook his head. "It doesn't matter," he said. He took the paper from her hand and crumpled it with such sudden violence that Kat stepped back and cried out. He didn't glance up at her, but continued to stare at the paper twisted on the ground and catching in the same breeze that had blown the sand around Kat's ankles earlier. It slapped against the leg of his jeans and held.
He trembled, but did not move, and Kat saw a single tear squeeze free of the corner of his eye, sliding down his cheek and blending with the sweat from his run in the morning sun.
"It doesn't matter," he repeated. "I'll never go back."
The paper slipped free of his pants at last and skittered off toward the beach. They watched it go in silence, and then he put his arm around her back, grabbed the rest of the mail, and led her back inside. The sun had given way to clouds, and it looked like there would be a short squall before noon. By the time they had closed the door behind them, the note was rolling down the beach, lost in clouds of sand and soaked in the first heavy drops of rain.
SIX
The dream took Abraham the moment he was asleep. He soared far above the land and watched his shadow ripple across the ground beneath him, cast by the silver luminescence of the moon. Cold wind rippled through his hair and his clothing flapped about his arms and
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