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She opened her eyes to a vacuous stillness. The dawn peeked through the cracks around the window shutter. Ellen got up and got dressed. She listened with her ear against the heavy wooden door for any sound from outside, but she didn’t hear anything. What did she think she would hear? Laird breathing against the door? There was nothing.
Then in the distance, she heard the deep bellow of a cow. The sound came from the barn. Those poor cows! They would be in pain from not being milked the night before. Ellen had to get out there soon to relieve them.
She went to the window and threw open the shutter. Her eyes tingled in the light, and then she looked around the yard. Sure enough, there was Laird. He sat in the same spot by the barnyard fence where she’d seen him the night before. Had he moved at all? He blinked at her, but didn’t move.
Ellen shuddered at the sight of him. He looked perfectly normal now. Was his strange behavior yesterday a transient fit? She went to the door and shot back the bolt. She would just dash out to the woodpile and grab a few sticks of kindling to get the fire going. She swung the door open and stepped out onto the doorstep.
The instant her foot crossed the threshold, Laird leapt at her, his jaws snapping and saliva flying from his mouth. She saw him coming and turned back, but her foot rolled on a stone and she stumbled. His jaws closed on her leg just as she pulled it back. One of his razor-sharp fangs gashed her leg open just above the ankle.
Ellen never moved so fast in her life. She never knew afterward how she got her footing, but she shot back into the house and landed on her hands and knees just inside the doorway. Laird came after her again, and she spun around just in time to kick the door shut. The supernatural strength of her fear sent the door flying closed, and it slammed into his muzzle. He yelped and fell back. Ellen rolled up on her knees and bolted the door on him again.
She collapsed back onto the floor, gasping for breath through her tears. The vision of his teeth and bristly lips just inches away from her faces haunted her. She closed her eyes and tears streaked down her cheeks, but the horrible image of the rabid wolf hung always before her eyes. She would carry that image seared into her mind for the rest of her life.
She didn’t feel the blood soaking through her stockings and running down her leg into her shoes. Only the memory of Laird biting her reminded her to check to wound. She found her stockings in tatters and the lining of her shoe hopelessly stained.
She put the torn hem of her dress back down and got to her feet. She walked over to the fireplace. Her leg didn’t hurt. Her brain refused to acknowledge the injury. The state of the firewood basket concerned her much more. Only a few scraps of bark remained in the bottom of it.
She passed her hand over the coals in the bottom of the fireplace. Not much heat came up out of their bed of ash to warm her hand. Yet there was nothing she could do to build the fire up again. Now what was she going to do? Elliot would be angry if she let it go out, but she wouldn’t go outside again, not with Laird out there.
She looked around the room. It was filthy. All her morning chores stood undone around her on every side. Dirty dishes sat on the table. The bed remained unaired. Her water buckets sat empty by the door. And there was nothing she could do about any of it. She never let any house she lived in stay as messy as this without cleaning it up.
At least she could make the bed. She straightened the covers and tucked them in. She collected the dirty dishes and put them in a bucket, ready to fill with water for washing just as soon as....what? When would Elliot get home? He might stay out hunting another day or two. He would assume she was safe at home with Laird, milking the cows and keeping the home fires burning.
Ellen collapsed into a chair, her head hanging dejected on her chest. And she and Elliot were just getting to like each other. She just started to have pleasant hopes for their life together—and then this had to happen. Ellen cursed Laird in the secret corners of her heart. She wouldn’t let Elliot keep that scourge of a dog around after this. What if they had children and Laird attacked one of them?
She sat there, staring into the dead fire. There was nothing to do. She could get out her knitting, or her mending, but for some reason she couldn’t budge from her chair. Knitting and mending were contented activities. They showed that a woman was comfortable and satisfied with her surroundings. They weren’t appropriate for a catastrophe like this.
She sat through the day, and at every hour, she told herself Elliot couldn’t be far away. He would straighten out Laird, and then she could straighten out the rest of her life. Not long to wait now.
Another hour or two passed, and she told herself the same thing. Morning turned to afternoon, and still she sat. Her throat ached from thirst, and her stomach gnawed from hunger. Then, from beyond the protection of the door, she heard the strained moaning of the cows. They weren’t just uncomfortable anymore. They sounded like they were dying.
What if Elliot came back and his milk cows were dead? He would never forgive her. A milk cow was a treasure not to be squandered. How long had he worked, how much had he paid, to get them? She had to get out to the barn, even if only to try to milk without Laird’s help.
She looked out the window to find out where Laird was, but she didn’t see him anywhere in the yard. Maybe he was gone. Maybe he’d run off, leaving her hiding in the house. She picked up her milking buckets and shot the bolt of the door.
