In the Night

The air was heavy that night, hot and humid, making Rose restless and cross. The open window did nothing to cool the tiny room, as the night was completely still, without even a hint of breeze to move the stuffy air. Rose kept tossing and turning on her narrow bed, making the ancient springs creak. She tried to keep still, as she knew there would be hell to pay if she woke her mother or her little sister, but the mattress would invariably heat to unbearable levels, and she would have to move again.

What Rose wanted right now, apart from sleep, was a nice, cool shower. She imagined the cold spray landing on her skin, washing away the sweat and the dust. She pictured herself plunging her head under the water spray, feeling it drip onto her shoulder. Bliss. And impossible. There was no shower in this house, just an old pump in the yard that never produced more than a trickle. And since the water tank was in the full sun, the water was always hot, even in the middle of the night. The lack of a shower was what Rose hated the most about the new house. The old house had had a shower, why couldn’t they have stayed there?

Rose rolled over onto her side, causing another groan of protest from the bed base, and kicked the blanket away. It felt as if the air was too thick to breathe, as if she was trying to inhale treacle. Every breath was an effort, the heat suffocating. Another thing she hated about this house. The heat. The dust. The isolation. The smallness. They had been here for a couple of months now, and still she couldn’t get used to it. She hated the desert. She wanted to go back to civilisation. Back to a city, back to a place where there were friends and shops and buses and where you should sleep at night.

The sound of footsteps outside made Rose jerk awake. She strained her ears. Two sets of footsteps, to be precise, one set precise and rhythmic, probably her father, the other erratic, with irregular stretches of time between each clamp of boots, probably her older brother. It was not uncommon for them to return in the middle of the night, though out here it happened more often than before. What they did of an evening, Rose had no idea, the world of men was a mist-clad mystery to her, and she knew there was no point in asking. It was men’s business, her mother would say, and Rose should stay out of it.

Seconds later, the wooden stairs inside the house creaked under Rose’s mother’s weight as she hurried down the stairs. It had always amazed Rose the way her mother would hit the roof if Rose dared to make any noise at night, but she seemed to welcome it when it was Rose’s father.   

“Corran, what’s going on?” Rose’s mother was whispering, but her voice carried upstairs as clearly as if she had been standing next door.

“Go back to bed, Feylin,” Corran snapped. The sound of water running into the sink blocked out Feylin’s next words, but suddenly Corran’s next words rung out loud and clear.

“Be quiet, woman,” he snarled. “And keep your voice down; you’ll wake Rosemira and Elsbet.”

Too late, Rose thought as she slipped out of bed and went to crouch by the curtain that closed her room. Rose didn’t really have a room, just an alcove at the top of the stairs that had probably been a linen cupboard at some point. She pushed the curtain open an itch and peered through. From her vantage point, she could see her father’s back as he stood by the sink, her mother’s left shoulder and the back of her head where she was sitting at the table.

“What does this mean?” Feylin said. “Have they found us, do we have to leave?”

“Let’s not panic just yet,” Corran said. He turned around to face his wife and Rose gasped and rocked backwards, almost falling over. Her father’s arms were stained with blood up to the elbows, and there were several spots on his chest as well. “It has been dealt with, at least for now. We just have to be on our guard.”

“I thought we were safe. You said we’d be safe here. That they’d leave us alone.” Feylin’s voice rose by several octaves. Corran shushed her again.

“You’ll wake the children,” he spat.

“Isn’t about time they found out anyway?” This was Delmont, Rose’s older brother. His words were laboured and slurred, as if it was an effort to say them. “Rose especially. She’s going to start asking questions soon.”

“You are not telling the girls!” Feylin spat, jumping to her feet. “This is your business. Keep them out of it.”

“You can’t protect them forever, Fey.” Corran turned back to the sink.

“Watch me.” She readjusted her dressing gown and turned around. “I’m going to bed.”

Rose stole back to her bed and slid into as carefully as possible, but still the bed base gave out a loud creak. Feylin’s steps paused.

“Rose?” she called. Rose hastily pulled up the blanket and closed her eyes. Feylin reached the top of the stairs and poked her head into Rose’s alcove. Rose opened her eyes.

“What’s going on?” she murmured in what she hoped was a sleepy whisper.

“Nothing, darling, go back to sleep.” 

“Is Dad home yet?”

“Not yet, but he’ll be here soon.” Feylin backed away.

Rose lay in darkness, listening. She heard her mother stop and open the door to Elsbeth’s room. She heard her sister’s soft snores. She heard her mother get back into bed and toss and turn for a few moments. She heard the sound of her brother’s footsteps as he staggered up the stairs and into his room. She heard the sound of the front door opening and her father descending the steps outside, then the sounds of his feet crunching on the dirt outside.

She wondered what he was doing. She waited for him to come back.

She waited. And waited.

The little house on the edge of the desert faded to a distant memory, melting into the jumbled, collective recollection of all the houses they had lived in over the years, and Rose almost forgot why she stayed awake at night, but she never stopped waiting.