The Carriage House

Tess nodded. “I hope my scream didn’t wake her up.”

He saw she was more pale than he’d thought, and her clothes were streaked with dirt and cobwebs. He noticed a scrape on her left wrist, another on her jaw-line. And more cobwebs in her hair.

He stood at the bottom of the steps and touched her jaw next to the scrape. She had soft, smooth skin. “The cat do this?”

She shook her head. “No, no,” she said, her voice hoarse. Whatever had happened, she was stemming a shock reaction. Chattering teeth, trembling, rapid heartbeat. She looked as if she had every muscle in her body tensed to keep herself from jumping out of her skin. “I just fell. It was stupid. I heard the cat down in the cellar and went to investigate.”

“At night? You’re braver than I am. Old Tippy Tail would have been on her own if I’d heard her.”

“I was afraid she was having her kittens, and I could hear her through the floorboards. She sounded awful.” Tess pushed her hand through her short curls again, and for no reason he could think of, Andrew noticed her long, slender fingers. An artist’s hands. “It’s an old house. I can hear everything.”

“I understand.”

Her eyes lifted, focusing on him for the first time. Her smile, although still tentative, seemed genuine, her nerves less rattled. “I know about the house’s history. I refuse to be scared, let myself get creeped out. When I heard the cat, I went around to the bulkhead.” She pointed to the back of the house, as if to remind herself what she’d done, how it had made sense at the time. “There’s a trapdoor inside, but I’m not sure it’s safe.”

“I’ve seen that trapdoor. I wouldn’t want to go that way either.” Andrew sat on the step next to her; she smelled as if she’d been rolling around in a hundred-year-old dirt cellar. “I don’t imagine the bulkhead’s much better.”

She almost managed a laugh. “So I discovered. Tippy Tail had lodged herself way back in the old dirt cellar. I tripped over some junk and fell.”

“That’s when you yelled?”

She averted her eyes, and they took on a faraway look, as if she were back down in the cellar, falling in the dark. She blinked a couple of times, focused again on him and forced a smile. “Yes. I kept thinking about snakes. It was ridiculous.”

Not so ridiculous in an old dirt cellar, but Andrew decided Tess didn’t need him to confirm her worst suspicions. “Hurt yourself?”

“Not really. I’m afraid I scared off your cat, though. I have no idea where she is.”

“She hadn’t had her kittens?”

Tess shook her head. “No. Just as well. Next time I’ll leave her alone.”

“Tippy Tail’s a survivor. She’ll be fine.”

“I hope so.”

She started to her feet, calmer now, but there was little improvement in her color. She was still pale, shaken from her encounter with Tippy Tail. Andrew followed her up. As she started to turn to go inside, she winced suddenly and grabbed his arm, steadying herself.

“Sorry.” She still held on tight. Andrew didn’t move, let her gain her balance. “I forgot—I took a pretty good hit on my side.” Her grip relaxed slightly, but she didn’t let go. “I’m okay.”

“Maybe you should come back to my house.” Andrew’s voice was quiet, and he tried to sound sensible, not dictatorial. Tess Haviland didn’t seem the type to want anyone to swoop in to the rescue. “I can make you a cup of tea, and you can see if you discover any more aches and pains.”

“I really did take a tumble.” She smiled, but he could see the pain in her eyes. But she shook her head. “Thanks, but I’ve got chamomile tea inside. I’ll make myself a cup.”

“Okay, but I wouldn’t be much of a neighbor if I left you before you’re steady on your feet. Come on, I’ll fix you that chamomile tea.”

She released her grip on his arm, managed a quick nod. She seemed appreciative, not as if she’d given in. “That’d be nice.”