Chapter 4 - The Shadow at the Kitchen Window
The back door remained bolted, but the single pane of glass set into its top half reflected nothing but the black expanse of the rain-drenched field. Sarah held Ruth against her side, feeling the girl’s rapid heartbeat hammering like an injured sparrow against her ribs. The footsteps paused just outside the door. A gloved hand rose against the glass, wiping away a circle of condensation with a slow, deliberate squeak of wet leather.
Sarah reached quietly toward the butcher block beside the sink, her fingers closing around the worn wooden handle of a heavy carving knife. She stepped between the kitchen island and the door, shielding Ruth from view. The silhouette outside leaned closer, pressing its face near the glass. In the dim glow of the woodstove embers, Sarah caught the gleam of a rain slicker and the heavy outline of a man’s shoulders.
The doorknob rattled once, testing the brass deadbolt. Sarah tightened her grip on the knife, ready to scream, ready to drive the steel forward if the wood splintered. But then the figure stopped. A low, hoarse cough sounded from the porch, followed by the wet squelch of boots stepping down from the wooden deck back onto the muddy gravel.
Through the rain-streaked window, Sarah watched the lone beam of light move away from the house, heading not back toward the orchard road, but straight toward the rusted iron cellar doors embedded in the stone foundation below the pantry.
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Sarah felt Ruth’s fingers dig desperately into her jeans. "He has the key," the girl whispered, terror draining the last color from her face. "He took it from under the porch stone."
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