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Show The Chimney 105 inspection. He could see l i t t l e as he walked inside. The windows were draped in heavy lace. No lamp had been l i t. The two men stood only feet apart in the diminutive room, yet neither spoke or acknowledged the other. Langley tried not to gape at the bower of nosegays that hung from the entire ceiling and tried to contain himself, for the sake of manners, from staring at his host who anxiously fingered the objects in the room as i f they were b r a i l l e . His hands groped each vase of flowers, the slat-backed rocking chair, the lace curtain that divided the living room from his sleeping quarters and outlined the shadow of a single bed behind i t , the f i r e - stone on the top of his wood stove. Neither his posture or his face relaxed until his hands caressed a statue of a Grecian woman, approximately three feet high. Then he folded his arms and rocked to repose on his heels. "Was fourteen years ago I come from Sweden," he said. "Fourteen years ago I listen to missionaries who t e l l me about Jesus' church in Zion." "So you're one of those Mormons, I presume? Where is your string of wives?" The Swede's eyes focused on his visitor for a moment--"Mormon, yah, that's true"-then drifted back to the statue with the ceramic cloth draping her shoulder, a cluster of grapes in her hand, and an urn balancing on her head. He gripped the statue's arm, fished into the urn with a broad-nailed finger, and pulled out a lock of hair tied with a pink ribbon. "Anna," he said. "This belong to Anna." Langley pulled off his gloves and put them in his hat. "You have an Anna too?" he asked. "What a coincidence. My fiancee's name was Anne." "Anna, yes. This belong to Anna. She is my bride." |