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She
mounted
the
porch
steps
and
opened
the
screen
door
,
meaning
to
use
the
old-fashioned
bell
on
the
front
door
.
She
had
been
charmed
by
that
bell
the
first
time
she
and
Louis
came
over
together
;
you
twisted
it
clockwise
,
and
it
uttered
a
loud
but
musical
cry
that
was
anachronistic
and
delightful
.
She
reached
for
it
now
,
then
glanced
down
at
the
porch
floor
and
frowned
.
There
were
muddy
tracks
on
the
mat
.
Looking
around
,
she
saw
that
they
led
from
the
screen
door
to
this
one
.
Very
small
tracks
.
A
child
's
tracks
,
by
the
look
of
them
.
But
she
had
been
driving
all
night
,
and
there
had
been
no
rain
.
Wind
,
but
no
rain
.
She
looked
at
the
tracks
for
a
long
time
--
too
long
,
really
--
and
discovered
she
had
to
force
her
hand
back
to
the
turn
bell
.
She
grasped
it
...
and
then
her
hand
fell
away
again
.
I
'm
anticipating
,
that
's
all
.
Anticipating
the
sound
of
that
bell
in
this
stillness
.
He
's
probably
gone
to
sleep
after
all
and
it
will
startle
him
awake
...
But
that
was
n't
what
she
was
afraid
of
.
She
had
been
nervous
,
scared
in
some
deep
and
diffuse
way
ever
since
she
had
found
it
so
hard
to
stay
awake
,
but
this
sharp
fear
was
something
new
,
something
which
had
solely
to
do
with
those
small
tracks
.
Tracks
that
were
the
size
--
Her
mind
tried
to
block
this
thought
,
but
it
was
too
tired
,
too
slow
.
--
of
Gage
's
feet
.
Oh
stop
it
,
ca
n't
you
stop
it
?
She
reached
out
and
twisted
the
bell
.
Its
sound
was
even
louder
than
she
remembered
,
but
not
so
musical
--
it
was
a
harsh
,
choked
scream
in
the
stillness
.
Rachel
jumped
back
,
uttering
a
nervous
little
laugh
that
had
absolutely
no
humor
in
it
at
all
.
She
waited
for
Jud
's
footsteps
,
but
his
footsteps
did
not
come
.
There
was
silence
,
and
more
silence
,
and
she
was
beginning
to
debate
in
her
own
mind
whether
or
not
she
could
bring
herself
to
twist
that
iron-butterfly
shape
again
,
when
a
sound
did
come
from
behind
the
door
,
a
sound
she
would
not
have
expected
in
her
wildest
surmises
.
