Section 3/A/A variation A

Barry follows me into the house, which makes me more than a little bit nervous.  "I can't ask you to come with me," I tell him. "My mother doesn't like us to bring anyone into her medicine room."  Which is true as far as it goes. She doesn't want anyone playing in there, and she keeps the door locked to prevent mixups with the medicines, but there isn't a rule about not allowing friends to go in there.

There is now.

I wish that I had thought of bringing a lumilamp. The small light around my neck casts too many shadows. Of course as you're walking, you think that you see something out of the corner of your eye. But sometimes I wonder if I really do. I wonder if my house is haunted with the soul of some murdered woman who can't rest. Or maybe there are gremlins--they are supposed to only be stories, but you still get people who will chant the prayer of protection when they are walking alone at night.

The floorboards creak. Floorboards always creek. I reach to bring the key from its hiding place on top of the door frame. I never like this particular door. It's not like the others. It has a wide ledge on top, and I always imagine that when I reach up, I will feel a mouse or a spider under my fingers.

I feel something soft brush my arm, and I half shriek as I turn around.

"Kestrel," Barry says. He's standing too close, and I have to back up against the door.

"I'm sorry, but I can't stand to sit calmly in the kitchen and wait. I keep thinking about what could be happening to him right now. Where are the medicines?"  He leans forward eagerly, and I'm wondering if I should hit him and run when he finally takes a step back.

"I just have to unlock the door," I say.

"Okay."

Now I have to turn my back to him. I hurry to get the key in the lock and because of it, I fumble and drop it. He dives to grab the key and runs into me. We both end up sprawled on the floor. He grabs my knee, and before I can think about it, my elbow strikes hard.

"Ooof." He drops back. I feel something under my knee and stand up. The key.

My hand covers my mouth. "Sorry," I say past my fingers.

He gasps out something about it being okay, but it's hard to understand because he can't breathe properly yet.

"I'll go get the medicines."

I finally unlock the room, and I search quickly for the right bottles. I tuck them into the little wool bags that my mother makes us sew on snowy evenings so that she has a stack of them. She is very adamant that her remedies won't spill because the glass bottles were jostled by a clumsy driver over a road filled with holes and ruts.

I handed the little collection of draw-string bags to Barry. "There are instructions written on them.  For pain, fever, to prevent infection, that kind of thing."

He looks down sadly at his hand. "It won't be enough," he says. "Are you sure that you won't come with me. How can you live with a man's death on your conscience?"

1) I recoil at that. Would I have to spend the rest of my life with his death on my conscience? I won't know until it's too late. Maybe I should reconsider. After all, if I can cause that much pain with just an elbow, then maybe I don't have anything to worry about.

(This needs a bit of transition work--possibly an alternate version of the same section.)
http://kestrelbook.blogspot.com/2012/04/new-chapter-1bb.html

2) There is something about his tone that still makes me suspicious. After all, why would I be the one person in the whole area who can save someone's life. My mother is practically a greenwoman, and he won't let me get her. He's just preying on my fears to get me to change my mind. Did I really hurt him,  or was it a clever way to make me feel that there was nothing to worry about.

 http://kestrelbook.blogspot.com/2012/04/chapter-1aa-variation-end.html