White Wind Blew Read Online Free PDF Page A

silently through the woods for a few minutes as the wind rustled the dead leaves and naked tree limbs. The sunlight penetrated the tree branches above, highlighting the forest floor in a pattern of striped shadows. Mostly Wolfgang kept his eyes ahead, but he could feel her occasional stare. Susannah lived in the nurses’ dormitory near the back of the Waverly Hills property, roughly fifty yards from Wolfgang’s cottage. They walked to work every morning. Silence was sometimes their best communication.
    “Do you have enemies I should know about?”
    He looked at her, confused.
    Susannah glanced at him. “Your broken window.”
    “A brick came flying through about two in the morning.”
    “What? Were you hurt?”
    He showed her the cut on his right palm but then quickly dropped his hand back to his side. “It’s nothing. Probably a few hoodlums from the KKK.”
    “Why would they bother us here on the hillside?”
    “I fear they live here now.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “They were patients. They must have sneaked out.”
    “You saw them?”
    “No.”
    “Then how do you know they were our patients?”
    “One of them coughed. I know a tuberculosis cough when I hear one.”
    They continued walking. The woods were full of deer, squirrels and rabbits, raccoons and chipmunks, stray cats and dogs, and at night the occasional possum would waddle across Wolfgang’s porch. But the pig that darted across their path just before they reached the top of the hill was a new wrinkle to the morning ritual. This one was extremely fat, crusted with mud and probably searching the woods for acorns.
    “Looks like the same beast I danced with last night,” said Wolfgang.
    The pig snorted, then faced them. Susannah squatted down and gave it a quick snort of her own. The pig scuttled back into the trees.
    Susannah stood and ironed out her dress with her hands. “Lincoln needs to learn how to keep those beasts locked up proper.”
    Wolfgang began walking again. “Suppose they don’t want to be cooked.”
    Just then Lincoln came running and huffing from the trees to their right. The letters WHS were stenciled in white above his left shirt pocket. He leaned over, hands against his thighs, breathing heavily. “I’m too busy in the morgue to deal with this every morning.”
    Susannah patted him on the back. “Keep ’em penned, Lincoln. Can’t have our dinner running the hillside.”
    Lincoln scratched his wispy hair. “Which way’d it go?” They both pointed toward the left side of the footpath. Lincoln took a flask from his pants pocket, downed a quick swig, and then offered it to Susannah. “Want a squirt?”
    “No, Lincoln. I don’t want a squirt.”
    “Wolf?”
    Wolfgang shook his head, glanced at his wounded hand, and then surveyed the woods. “Too early for illegal whiskey, Lincoln.”
    He screwed the top back on. “Suit yourself.” Lincoln disappeared into the trees.
    They had nearly reached the clearing where a grassy field rolled downward from the façade of the sanatorium. A hammering sound echoed from the nearby workshop, a single-level barn nestled in the trees. Wolfgang ducked his head inside and the smell of wood chips welcomed him.
    A dozen patients, those healthy enough to test their endurance, worked on various crafts. This workshop was a popular activity among the patients, because it allowed them to release tension. A giant farm boy named Jesse wore goggles and gloves while he repeatedly smashed a ball-peen hammer against a sheet of copper foil, denting it into some kind of shape. He took a break to wave and Wolfgang waved back. A young man in the back corner screwed wheels into a small wooden toy car. A bald man attached leather to the seat of a chair. A group of women sat behind wooden frames, working together weaving a colorful rug. One of them snickered at Wolfgang, who ducked back outside with Susannah.
    “What?” asked Susannah.
    “Nothing.” Wolfgang sniffed the air. “I smell