Chapter 4 - The Door Arthur Never Opened
The storm trapped them together for four more days.
Something changed after the night with Ghost.
Arthur began speaking.
Not much.
But enough.
He told Leanne which cattle were troublesome.
He explained where the creek froze first.
He warned her that the kitchen window stuck when temperatures dropped.
Small things.
Safe things.
Leanne accepted each one without making them larger than they were.
On the fourth afternoon, Arthur returned from the barn and found her sitting on the hallway floor.
His heart stopped.
The forbidden bedroom door was open.
Arthur crossed the hall so quickly Leanne barely had time to stand.
“What did you do?”
“I didn’t open it.”
“You promised me!”
“I did not open it.”
“Then how—”
“The wind.”
Arthur looked.
A warped section near the latch had cracked.
The door must have blown open when the pressure changed.
Inside, dust floated through pale sunlight.
A small bed stood against the wall.
Blue quilt.
Wooden horse.
Tiny boots.
Arthur could not breathe.
Leanne stepped away.
“I’ll close it.”
“No.”
The word surprised them both.
Arthur entered.
His boots sounded impossibly loud.
He touched the bed.
“My son.”
Leanne remained outside.
“His name was Samuel.”
Arthur picked up the wooden horse.
“He was seven.”
Leanne said nothing.
Arthur looked toward the window.
“My wife was Anna.”
His voice broke on her name.
“They died in the fire.”
Leanne lowered her eyes.
Arthur sat on the bed.
“I was supposed to be there.”
And then, after three years of silence, Arthur began telling the story.
But what he told Leanne was not the story the valley knew.
The fire had not started accidentally.
Arthur had always known that.
What he did not know was who had started it.
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And somewhere beneath the ruins of the old barn, Arthur believed there was still proof.
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