The Quilt by Rochelle Carlton Read Free Book Online Page B

winter evening Allan hovered around the raging fire watching his mother pok e yet another unnecessary log into its open mouth.  Mary felt nervous and was making every effort to hide the dread that threatened to turn to panic. 
    S he rushed back and forth to the kitchen redoing dishes and looking anxiously through the window into the dead of night.  Light snow scattered and melted on the blank glass.  The men did not seem concerned that James had not returned from checking equipment on the ridge at the back of the farm. She looked out again into the darkness.  Where was he?  A sick, nervous premonition settled in the pit of her stomach.
    “Do you think James should have been in by now?” 
    Mary glanced at Anne. Her eyes were dark with concern.
    “Yes I do, the weat her is set to turn nasty and it’s already snowing.” 
    Anne swallowed hard and stared at the blank cold glass.   Her hand was resting protectively on the tiny pregnancy bulge just visible under her white and red checked apron.  Silently, she prayed. She was not a religious person but the unexplained panic that enveloped her and held her paralysed at the black glass had no logic.   He had been this late before.  Why was fear ringing in her ears and tensing every fibre of her body?  In desperation she reached in prayer to the only thing she thought might be more powerful than any human. 
    “ Allan, you should go and check up on James.” 
    Allan was irritated by his mother’s fussing. He scoffed at the old lady and glared at his wife who stood frozen at the window holding her stomach and the brat that grew in it. He cursed and slammed his fist hard on the timber of the table. No one seemed to notice. No one had even commented when he had poured a large glass of whiskey into the tumbler. 
    He took a long swig out of the glass that sat in front of him.  The liquid felt familiar and soothing.  The bitches were still staring out of the window.  Why did they fuss so much?  Why wouldn’t they shut up?  Allan stood abruptly sending his chair across the floor.  No one even flinched at the commotion he caused.  He had gone soft after that incident with James.  The whole family needed a reminder that he was the head of the household.  He threw his glass hard against the far wall.  Shards of glass scattered across the floor and still neither woman flinched.
    Bitches. They would all get a lesson about respect.  Muttering under his breath Allan pulled on a woollen hat, oilskin and gumboots before moodily stomping out.
     
    Allan had a fair idea where James would be.  They had been clearing a patch of scrub and bush on the boundary ridge for almost a month now.  The progress had been slow and both brothers were impatient to get the job done before winter completely set in and halted their access to the higher areas of the farm.
    What the hell was he thinking going up there at this hour of the night and in conditions like these?  Allan cursed the stupidity as he wound his way up the well-worn, muddy, access road.  Light flakes of snow danced in the harsh glare of the headlight settling on the ground for only a few seconds before melting on the sodden earth.
    The ridge was littered with felled trees and deep tracks from the heavy machinery.  They crisscrossed like a moonscape in front of the bike illuminated under the harsh glare of the head light.
    He turned off the bike.  The flakes of snow were no longer melting and had settled to form a white carpet across the ground.  A dark eerie silence enveloped Allan.  Light flakes dancing and floating effortlessly around him in the beam of the torch were the only movement in a sleeping land. 
    The farm l androver sat where it had been routinely parked that morning.  Allan put his hand on the bonnet; it was cold to the touch.  An unfamiliar feeling of mortality and isolation surrounded him like a stranger. A shudder travelled down his spine.   He needed a drink to calm his nerves but that