The Lonely by Paul Gallico Read Free Book Online

much, eh, miss?”
    Patches replied: “Haven’t we all?”
    The two went away and left her alone with Jerry. She undressed him and put him to bed, and then remained sitting through the night, watching over his heavy breathing, holding his hand, and wiping the cold sweat from his forehead. Not until morning, when he relaxed and entered peaceful sleep, did she join him to rest herself.
    Later, when they awoke and went out to meet what the new bright day had to offer, neither spoke of the episode. It was as though it had never happened, and Jerry’s old ebullience manifested itself in the suggestion that they ride out three miles to the Pass of the Cattle and climb Ben Venue. But Patches thought she felt a new tenderness in Jerry towards her that had not been there before.
    It was on their return from Ben Venue, where they had lingered too long, that their little adventure befell them.
    It was just a small adventure, when they made a wrong turning and were overtaken by darkness and a bitter Highland storm that came roaring out of the north, drenching, blinding and chilling them.
    Soaking and freezing, they floundered along, walking their bicycles in the pitch blackness, until Patches’ continued silence alarmed Jerry, and he stopped and reached for her in the darkness, and alarm turned in him to fear. Patches was in trouble.
    He felt it from the way she clung to him. Her body, when he took her in his arms, was shaking with chill, and her teeth were chattering so she could not speak to him. She had been heated from the mountain climb and the subsequent ride, and now the light cycling-jacket she had worn over her thin blouse hung in soaked folds about her. Jerry knew it was imperative she be taken some place where it was dry and warm.
    Then his eyes saw a weak glimmer of light as of a dying fire flickering through a window, and he made out the shape of a small farm-house cottage.
    They felt around to the door, and Jerry pounded on it until a man’s voice shouted from within: “Who’s there? Go away . . .”
    Jerry called: “We’re lost. Can you let us in?”
    “No, I canna let ye in. We ha’ nothing to do wi’ strangers. Go aboot yer business.”
    Jerry shouted: “Strangers, hell! We’re allies—friends. There’s a girl with me who’s sick. Does that mean anything to you?”
    There was a moment of silence, and a woman’s voice was heard. “Get oop, Jock. Ye no can turn a mon frae th’ door who calls ye by the name of friend.”
    Candles flickered and the door opened, revealing a cottager, with a ruddy face and suspicious eyes, and a large woman behind him. She said: “Stand aside, Jock, and let them in. Do ye no see the puir lassie has a chill? Poke up the fire.”
    Jerry carried Patches across the threshold and into the kitchen. She was blue with cold and shaking beyond control. Jerry did not even look at the pair. He gave orders. “Get me a towel of some sort and a blanket.” He stripped the wet clothes from Patches in front of the peat-coal fire, wrapped her in a blanket, and rubbed her hard with the coarse towel the woman gave him.
    “Have you got any whisky?”
    The man hesitated. “Aye, I might have a drop. But it’s no got the Government stamp on it . . .”
    “To hell with the Government stamp! And I want some hot water.”
    He wrapped Patches in more of the woollen blankets they brought him, and fed her hot whisky and water until the shaking stopped and the color returned to her face.
    The farmer said: “Ye’ll best remove yer ain breeks, Yank. Ye’re welcome to spend the night by the fire. In the morning I’ll put ye on the right track.”
    The fire was giving out solid heat now and a flickering yellow hght. Jerry made a bed of the blanket on the floor and wrapped himself in another. The farmer and his wife retired. He took the bundle that was Patches in his arms and held her to him. She said: “Oh, Jerry, you’re sweet,” drowsily, and then leaned her head beneath his chin and went to