LITMIR.BIZ

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living room. But he didn’t stop. “Coming, Lucy.”

      Her bedroom door was directly across from his in the modest single-story house. Butterfly night-lights were plugged into outlets in the hall and in Lucy’s room. They’d helped some, but she continued to wake during the night, frightened of dreams, of shadows, of trees, of thunderstorms, of being alone.

      Lucy was a small, huddled shape in the bed. Tears glistened in her eyes. Although Evan’s heart went out to her, he kept his tone matter-of-fact. “What’s up, honey? You’re supposed to be sleeping.”

      “There’s a m-m-monster in the corner.”

      And in the closet. Under the bed. At the window.

      “You know monsters aren’t real. Why didn’t you turn on your lamp to see?”

      Lucy drew in a shuddery breath. “I was too scared to move. The monster would eat me.”

      “Go ahead and do it now.” According to the book he’d found in the library, Comforting the Timid Child, he should try to get Lucy to take her own proactive steps to combat the fears.

      Reassured by his presence, she pushed aside her covers and leaned over to reach the bedside lamp. He’d bought her a new one recently, easy to turn on by a switch in the base.

      Click. Light flooded the room.

      “See there?” Evan said. “It’s just a lump on the chair from the extra blanket and your jacket. Hey, little girl! Weren’t you supposed to hang that up?” Lucy was usually orderly. Too much so, he thought. He’d like to see her noisy and laughing, barreling around the house, even breaking things.

      But that was how he’d grown up, with three brothers and parents who only threw up their hands in cheerful surrender as they rounded up their sons like bumptious sheep. Raising a little girl like Lucy was a different matter. There were times he felt that he’d never get it right.

      “I’ll do it just this once,” he said heartily, taking the jacket to her closet. Lucy watched with big eyes, probably thinking a witch would jump out when he opened the door.

      As Evan put the jacket onto a hanger, he felt something in the pocket. He pulled out a piece of stiff paper. “What’s this?”

      Lucy held out her hands, suddenly smiling and happy. “My picture!”

      He glanced at the small painting, finding it innocuous enough. Yet it had made Lucy forget her fears, at least for the moment.

      “Rose gave it to me. She painted it.”

      “Ah.” Evan approached the bed, studying the picture more closely in the lamplight. He’d have expected Rose’s artwork to be bold and graphic. This was soft, romantic. She’d painted a stone house, covered with climbing vines and pink flowers, surrounded by trees.

      Lucy took the painting. “It’s a fairy-tale house.”

      “Did Rose tell you that?”

      “I just knowed.”

      Evan sat on the bed beside Lucy, putting an arm around her. “And does a princess live there?”

      She nodded. “Uh-huh. Tell me a story about her, Daddy.”

      He could have handled swashbuckling pirates or even a talking skunk that wore a beret, but princesses and other girly things? He didn’t have that much imagination.

      “You tell me,” he urged. “What’s the princess’s name?”

      After some thought, Lucy said, “Princess Kristina,” and Evan’s heart gave a thump. The choice, so close to her mother’s name, had to hold significance, even if it was only a subconscious wish.

      Lucy went on, unperturbed. “A wicked fairy godmother put a spell on her.”

      “What kind of spell?”

      “Princess Kristina has to live in the enchanted forest forever. Or a big ogre will chop her head off.”

      “Ouch.”

      “He’s twenty-ten feet tall. He’s green all over and he has stinky breath.” Lucy giggled. “Like me when I kiss you good morning.”

      “Pee-ew! That’s bad.”

      “Really bad.”

      “Is the princess scared of the ogre?” Lucy’s favorite movie was Shrek, so the story might go the other way.

      “Oh, yeah. Really scared. ’Cause he’s gonna chop her head off, ’member?”

      “Right. But maybe the ogre is a nice guy inside.”

      “No, Dad. He’s mean. Very, very, very mean.” Lucy made a growling noise. “He scares the princess so much she has to stay in her house all the time. She never gets to go home to see the king and queen.”

      “They must miss her a lot.”

      Lucy nodded over the painting.

      Evan decided it was time to quit. The story wasn’t heading in a direction conducive to sleep. “There has to be a way to break the spell. Do you think that maybe a prince will come to defeat the ogre?” No, better to encourage her by having the princess rescue herself. “Or maybe the princess will find a way to become the ogre’s friend. But for now, the princess is safe inside her house.” He took the picture and propped it up on Lucy’s table lamp. “You can tell me more of the story tomorrow night, Luce. I want you to get some sleep.”

      She breathed a quiet sigh. “Okay.”

      “Slide down.”

      She burrowed deeper under the covers and he gave her a snuggle before rising from the bed. He checked the curtains—they had to overlap so no monsters could peek in—and went around to peck Lucy’s forehead before shutting off the lamp.

      Her voice stopped him at the door. “Daddy?”

      “Yes?”

      “I like Rose. She can draw real good and—and—”

      Evan waited. Lucy’s fingers clutched the edge of the blanket. Her pale hair lay across the pillow, as fine as any princess’s. His heart swelled, and he vowed once again to protect her from as many ogres as he could.

      “Rose isn’t afraid of the woods,” she said.

      “No, she certainly isn’t.” He thought of Wild Rose Robbin, lurking in the forest shadows. An ogre or a princess? Time to find out for sure, with his daughter’s interest so captured.

      “We were going to color in the leafs…” Lucy’s voice was fading.

      “Shh, now.” Evan left the door halfway open. “Sweet dreams.”

      ROSE CLOSED the Buck Stop at midnight, exiting through the back door where she’d left her bike against the tar-paper wall. Although she used her mother’s car during the winter and bad weather, the bike was her favorite transportation. The autumn months were particularly precious for her, with the crisp air and falling leaves and the need to hold on to each day for as long as possible. She was old enough to regret how often she’d wished her life away. Particularly a certain nine-month span of time…

      In retrospect, it was hurtful to remember how slowly she’d believed the days of her pregnancy had passed, and how fiercely she’d longed for it to be over and done with so she could escape her pain. She’d had no clue.

      But she’d been barely seventeen. So confused, and raw with the horror of what had happened to her. She hadn’t known how her perceptions would be altered by the baby boy she was sure she didn’t want.

      Rose wheeled the bike past the rutted gravel of the convenience store parking lot, onto the paved road. There wasn’t much traffic at this time of night. She had a headlamp and reflector patches, so she was safe to ride on the road, even in the dark. In fact, she preferred it. She was never as free as when she coasted along in the darkness with no

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