I woke up before he came into the room. The blankets around me were so soft. The room was dim, the only light was a thin stream of lamplight from the hallway.
Beautiful, I thought in a daze. The painting in this room across from my bed was lit slightly by the hallway light. It was a pastoral scene, one of the old masters. Lambs on a hillside. They reminded me of the farm back in Iowa.
A hand pushed the door open and I blinked again sleepily. It was Knox in the doorway. Knox, who’d fed me pancakes this morning. I smiled.
He was holding something, and as he came closer to the bed I saw what it was. A dress, a long evening dress. It was blue and silken, flowing over his arms like a waterfall.
“Waterfalls are white,” I mumbled. That was something I’d learned while painting. The water isn’t
