The Andre Norton Megapack - 15 Classic Novels and Short Stories

the empty house depressed her. It would be better to get right away. She took Margie’s quick exit into the alley and turned left to walk in the opposite direction from the town.
    Before long the alley road became a narrow track through a thick wood. Ancient trees reached up on either side to make a leafy screen from the hot afternoon sun. It was cooler in the deep shade but Fredericka was aware of a dank smell of decay as in the crypt of an old church. The air was heavy and after walking on for some time, Fredericka grew tired. In spite of herself, she was oppressed by the silence, and when she saw a break in the trees ahead where a granite boulder crouched like a sleeping elephant, she decided to climb its back and sit down to rest. She found a perch on the top that was reasonably comfortable and shaded by a clump of white birches that seemed to be growing out of the rock itself.
    Perhaps she could sleep here and make up for her broken night and busy morning. She tried to lie down but the rock which looked so like the soft unresisting back of an animal, proved a most resisting and uncomfortable mattress. She sat up again and hugged her knees. Now she could hear the muted forest sounds—birds chattering quietly in the branches overhead, the faint rustle made by some small animal pushing its way through the undergrowth and the gentle creaking of the trees. Even here, sitting still, the heat weighed down on her. It’s as bad as the subway in rush hour, she thought; oppressive like a physical presence. She put her forehead into the palms of her hands and sighed. There was no escape anywhere.
    Then she heard it—the sudden definite sound that could only be a human step. She sat up and listened. Yes. It came again—a heavy crunch, slow and unmistakable.
    Fredericka felt an unreasoning panic. Who could be here, walking like this, with stealthy purposeful steps? They seemed to be coming in her direction. If only she could find a place to hide—or bring herself to make a dash for it and run away. But she could not move and she knew herself to be exposed like a statue on her rock. She must already have been seen. In an agony of suspense she heard herself call out weakly: “Who’s that?”
    Silence.
    Again she called out, trying to keep the panic from her voice.
    Then someone said: “I’m sorry. I’ve frightened you.”
    Fredericka swung around and there, directly below her, through the trees, she saw Roger Sutton. She stared at him without speaking and he looked quickly away. She struggled to find words and finally managed to say: “It’s all right” and then, as if some explanation for her presence was needed, she added: “I—just wanted to get away—”
    “So did I,” he said quietly. Then, almost accusingly, “You found my rock.”
    “Your rock?”
    “I’m sorry. It isn’t mine, of course, but I’ve always
    come here to be by myself ever since I was a kid.”
    Fredericka, on a sudden impulse, said slowly, “Well,
    come and sit here now. I’m about to leave anyway.”
    “No. I’ll just go on.”
    “Please stay for a minute anyway,” Fredericka heard herself say, with some surprise. She felt suddenly sorry for this young man who, though he would never be lost in the woods of South Sutton, was so obviously lost in himself.
    Roger sat down at a lower level of the rock and turned his back to her. “Forgive me if I seem rude,” he said slowly. “It isn’t you. It’s just—I can’t bear being looked at.”
    “I know,” Fredericka answered him quickly. “You don’t happen to have a cigarette, do you?”
    Roger fished a crumpled packet from his pocket and started to toss it up to her. Then, relenting, he climbed up to hand it to her and stayed to light her cigarette and his own. She did not look at his face and, presently, he sat down near her. They smoked in silence for a moment and then Roger said, “Philippine says my next operation will be successful. Then, perhaps, I won’t be the object of pity—or disgust, any longer. Still, I don’t believe her.”
    “I expect Philippine does know though.”
    “Yes. But she might be trying to kid me. Oh hell, I don’t know—or care much any more. At any rate I don’t look a fright to Philippine. She’s seen plenty worse. She was right through the war in France, you know. Mostly in a concentration camp.”
    “Yes. I heard that.”
    “Already?”
    “It’s a small town. But as a matter of fact, she told me herself.” Fredericka laughed