‘We can share a bed.’ Charlotte squeezed Brenda’s hand with hers and tried to suppress a happy smile. This will be far better than the lodge, she was thinking. She hoped Brenda was thinking the same. This didn’t seem to faze Mrs. Maston one bit. She turned to the couple. And the young lady broke out in deeper sobs. ‘There, there, dear,’ Mrs. Maston cooed. ‘let’s get these wet coats off and come into the dining room for a cup of tea. And tell me what saddens you so.’ In the dining room, the young man spoke for the two of them while they all sipped the most delicious tea Charlotte had ever tasted. ‘We are set to be married up at the lodge tomorrow,’ he explained. ‘I’ve got orders to ship out of Boston for Afghanistan on the morning of the 27th, and we had to rush to get the license and arrangements set up for the shortest honeymoon on record.’ ‘Oh, dear, dear, we must see what we can do about that. Stanley.’ Mrs. Maston was looking above their heads to her husband who had been hovering. He was dead. I couldn't kill him again.I'm not sure how Whitney managed to get me from the silo to the master bedroom. She was still using one crutch to get around on. Somehow she'd found where I had gone. She'd helped gather my clothes, lock the silo, and make our painful way back to the house. Most of the clan was still on campus, so I guess I didn't raise much of an eyebrow walking naked across the yard in ten degree weather, leaving bloody footprints behind me.I was beyond tears. The water stung the bloody scrapes and gashes from beating on the railroad tie. My hands would be a bloody swollen mess when I did my show on Saturday. But what the hell. That's why I wore gloves on the show. I sat silently while Whitney pulled splinters from my hands and feet with a pair of tweezers, then dumped iodine over them. She wrapped my hands and feet in gauze. Not exactly the kind of professional job Dawn would do, but it stopped the bleeding. When she was sure I was no longer leaving tracks,.
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