He turned west and was compelled to open the window a few inches so that the windshield would clear. Rain soaked him anew. After a half mile he closed the window to within an inch of the top. The car sloshed along. There was no traffic either way.
He watched the speedometer and was able to make out Highway 14 when he came to it. It was a narrow macadam road, rough, spotted with chuckholes. He drove on it a mile and swore. The pavement had given out. Ahead it was gravel, a poorly kept up gravel road. There was a pool of water just ahead.
He hit the pool so hard that a spray of water came through the floorboards. The motor coughed. He nursed it and managed to get through the water.
The road turned slightly and started downhill. Alder groaned as he saw the torrent that rushed across the road at the lowest point. He came to it and stopped the car. Then, drawing a deep breath, he shifted into low and started into the torrent. He had to fight the wheel to keep the car turned straight. Water sloshed through the floorboards. In desperation, he gunned the motor. The car lunged forward stopped. The motor was dead — wet.
He turned, looked through the rear window. It was more than a mile to the highway from where he was, eight miles to Bismarck, seven to the Brule Lodge and Motel.
He shook his head, opened the car door and stepped out into the water up to his knees. It made no difference. He was as thoroughly wet inside of a moment as if he had immersed himself completely in the torrent. He worked his way to the higher incline of the road. He turned. A bank of water was sweeping against the car and even as Alder looked, the car was careened over onto its side and swept away.
He put his hands into his soggy pockets and started up the graveled road. By walking on the shoulder, which was grass and weeds, the walking was not too bad. Except that the cold rain seemed to penetrate to his very marrow.
There had to be a house or habitation soon. He trudged along, head bent. A half mile and his teeth were chattering from the cold. He stopped under a roadside tree. Rain seeped through the leafy branches. It was worse than out in the open. The cold penetrated when he stood still.
He was becoming numb.
He started walking again. A half mile, a mile. He could barely move and was hoping that he could again find a tree. The road turned slightly to the west and he suddenly saw, on the left, a building. A house.
He tried to run, tripped and stumbled flat on his face. He groaned as he picked himself up. He plunged forward, was barely aware that there was a car behind the building. His eyes were on the door.
He made the door, pounded on it with his fist. He tried the knob. It turned, but the door did not open. There was weight or pressure on the other side.
“Open up. I’ve got to come in!”
Chapter 24
The door was suddenly opened and he plunged into the house. He had one quick glimpse of the room — dilapidated, bare, dusty, unswept. He did not see the person who had opened the door for him. He pitched to the floor on his face.
He was vaguely aware that someone moved to his side. A soft voice said, “Tom,” but it was an instant until the hands touched his face, before the electric impulse shocked his brain. He half turned his face and saw her kneeling beside him.
“You,” he said.
“You’re freezing,” she said. “There’s no stove here, nothing I can make a fire with—”
“It’s all right,” he said, trying to keep his teeth from chattering. “Just wanted to get in — I’ll be all right.”
“You’re blue — chilled to the bone. You’re trembling.” She half turned him so that he was almost on his back.
“I’ve a coat here,” she said. “It’s dry — it’ll warm you.” She took it off. It was a powder blue spring coat, woolen, but lightweight.
To put it on his soaked clothing would quickly make it as wet as the clothing he already wore. It would be useless for him, for her.
She said, “You’ll have to undress, Tom. Dry yourself.”
He was shaking violently now, as if with the ague. He tried to sit up and she had to help him. Bracing him up with one hand, she worked his coat off one shoulder, then the other.
He tried to undo his necktie and could not manage it. She did it for him. She unbuttoned his shirt and peeled it off.
She stooped, stepped behind him and worked smoothly, efficiently for an instant. Soft, warm silk was applied to his scarred chest, to his back, his face and hair.
He could not stop shaking, but she dried him reasonably well.
“It’s not enough,” she said. “You’ll have to take off the rest of your clothes.”
She slipped off his shoes, his socks. And then she held her light coat over his shoulders. He worked off his trousers, his shorts. She handed him the already soggy silk and he tried to dry himself. He did not do a good job of it and she dropped the coat over his shoulders, took the wadded silk from his hands. She squeezed it out, then massaged his legs with it. She removed the excess moisture and then tried to wrap the coat about him. It was inadequate, covered him only partially.
She said, “You’ve got to get warm, Tom!”
He nodded dumbly. He had the coat tightly about him, had his arms crossed over the front of it. But he could not stop shaking.
She took off the jacket of her suit, knelt beside him.
“Lie down,” she ordered.
He did as she asked. She twisted the suit coat about his feet and legs. It covered him to his knees. Her light coat almost reached the knees.
She sat down beside him, took his hands and opened the coat. She stretched out beside him. “Put your arms around me.”
He opened up the coat and put his arms around her. She moved close to him, eased the coat down. Underneath it, her arms went around him. Her body tightened against his.
He managed to say, “I came, Nikki—”
“I know,” she replied, “but don’t talk now — unless you have to.”
“This... this is all right?”
“You came,” she replied, “so you know it is all right.”
He was icy cold against her, but the warmth of her body gradually won mastery over the cold. He shivered and at times he gasped from the anguish of it, but gradually his shivering became less violent.
She kept her body tightly against his, her face to his, her smooth soft cheek against his cold, unshaven jaw.
He did not speak again and she did not have to. Then, gradually, the tenseness seeped out of his body. His body grew less rigid, as the coldness decreased.
He slept.
His arms relaxed about her, but her own held him close. She felt his breath on her face, warm. She knew he was sleeping. After long minutes she moved her face gently. Her lips touched his, remained lightly on them for a long moment.
“Sleep,” she said so softly it did not disturb him.
She did not move away from him for more than an hour. His body was warm then, relaxed. It was still raining outside, but without the intensity of the early hours.
She put his arms tenderly inside the coat, pulled it together over him and got quietly to her feet. She removed her shoes so the noise of her movements would not disturb him.
She took his clothes, one piece at a time and twisted every possible drop of moisture from them. She stretched out each piece on the floor, worried out the wrinkles as well as she could.
The piece of silk she had taken to dry him was the last to receive her attention.
In her stocking feet she walked to the window then.
It was an old house and had been deserted for a long time. Several of the window panes were broken. Those that remained were so dusty it was hard to see through them.
The rain continued. There would be no travelers on the road until the rain subsided and some of the water had run off.