"Did your husband hurt you from the beginning?" Cynthia asked as Edith paused in her narration. Edith began to cry, but once again wouldn't answer. Cynthia put her arms about the woman. Rocking back and forth, head bowed, Edith began to touch herself, her cheek, her arms, her body, again and again, as if indicating where she had been struck but unable to utter the painful words.
"God," whispered Cynthia, looking up to her husband.
"You have to tell the authorities," Dean said. "This guy doesn't deserve to walk the streets. No wife beater does." He rose and crossed to the fireplace and began to bank the fire as the hall clock struck eleven times. The two women remained huddled together on the sofa.
"I just want to be away from him," Edith said in a muffled voice.
"There must be someone you can call," Dean offered.
"I'm not sure. I just don't know."
"Don't decide anything tonight. Just rest. We'll talk about it in the morning. You've had a terrible day." Cynthia spoke in a consoling tone as both women rose.
"I think we can all use a good night's sleep," Dean said. Cynthia gave their guest a hug and retreated down the hall to the Dean's quarters while Edith climbed the stairs. Dean remained in the room long enough to turn out the parlor lights and finish banking the fire. As he was closing the drapes, he glanced outside. Light snow had begun to fall-tiny crystals hardly visible in the light of the lamp across the street. The flakes drifted directly down, undisturbed in their descent by any hint of a breeze in the still night air.
As Dean was setting the hall night-light, the phone rang. As he answered the late night call, he glanced up the staircase to see Edith in the hall above, a specter in her antique dress, a look of alarm on her face. She had loosened her hair and her long tresses fell in a wave, over her shoulder and across her small breasts. Standing there, silhouetted against the upstairs light, he was once again reminded of his prior night's dream. He picked up the phone.
"Is this place called Bird Song?" asked a male voice. Dean answered affirmatively and smiled up at Edith Shipton, giving an all-is-well wave. She disappeared.
"I realize it's late out there but I'm verifying one of your guests. I don't want to disturb her...just make sure she's staying there. Edith Shipton?"
Dean heart sank. Shit! While he had dismissed in his mind, Edith's fears that she might be traced by her credit card charge as irrational, here was evidence that, in fact, her concerns were well founded.