The White Lady Read online

  Meantime, Norah had quickly doffed her black garments and arrayed herself in gingham, covered by a big apron. Fortunately, there was running water in the house. The two women did not know, when they fretted over the poor old-fashioned plumbing, how much better it was than an old reluctant pump, which might have been their lot.

  Jimmy was back in a short time with the broom and bucket, followed by a boy with a load of kindling wood and a bushel of coal. Jimmy had confided somewhat in his brother, though he had not revealed his own intimate connection with the matter. The brother knew only that there were some new folks moving into the old haunted house and that they had asked Jimmy to run errands for them. He was curious, of course, to see what kind of people would take the haunted house, and everyone in the sleepy little store was on the alert to serve, for there was a rival store at the other end of town. Therefore, the young clerk came himself with his order book and went away in a tumult of pleasure that the pretty girl had come back to town, but he sealed his lips closed about the matter. He had no mind to have her first visit to the store recalled by any of the old loungers.

  Constance, mindful of her first difficulties in finding anything to eat in Rushville, had allowed Sa’Ran to put up for her a bountiful lunch, and Sa’Ran always put up about five times as much for a lunch as any reasonable being could possibly eat, so there was plenty for Norah as well as a goodly share for Jimmy, who didn’t go home the rest of that day. It was two o’clock when Norah arrived, and by three the fire was under way and the three sat down on the bench on the veranda for a hasty lunch. Like magic did Sa’Ran’s puffy raised biscuit, pressed chicken, damson plum preserves, and doughnuts disappear, and yet there was enough left for supper, besides fruitcake and gingerbread. The air, though decidedly springy, was still chilly, and they found it necessary to stir about if they would not take cold; so as soon as the lunch box was closed again they all set to work. Norah would not permit Constance to soil her white hands by putting them into the water.

  “There’s no sinse in it at all,” she said. “Oi’m able to do all as is necessary this night, an’ there’s plenty fer the loikes av yez. Just ye git down to the railroad, an’ till that man to brang up the foorniture. We’ll be all clane fer tonight. Oi’ll just wash aff the sink here, an’ a bit about the floor, an’ then Oi’ll make ye a bedroom fit fer a quane, ef soap an’ water kin do it.” And she went vigorously to work.

  So Constance and Jimmy went to find the inert drayman, who was not intending to get any of the goods from the freight car moved that afternoon, in spite of his many promises to Jimmy. He had other things that pleased him more to attend to, and if he moved the furniture this afternoon, it would be necessary for him to put a shoulder to work. This he did not like, preferring rather to sit in his office with his feet high above his head and converse with whomever might drop in, while he steadily chewed tobacco.

  But the sight of Constance, and her insistence, finally moved him to bestir himself, and a little before six o’clock a meager one-horse load struggled through the gateway into the yard and wound its way to the back door. It was not to be expected that affairs would go just as they ought, and it was like the perversity of such things that some of the articles that were brought in this first load should be a box of bric-a-brac and several fine old paintings in their crates.

  “Now how convenient!” said Norah, peering between the slats of a picture crate and discovering two large lazy cows grazing on a meadow bank. “It was noice av the man to brang thot. We can’t ate it, nor slape in it, but we moight milk the cows.”

  Constance sat down on a packing box and laughed until she cried. There were phases about this new life that were refreshing. She could not remember laughing like that since she was a little girl in school. There was a pleasant comradeship in these two, this uncultured girl and wild little boy, that made her forget all she had left behind her. With that laugh, she seemed to drop her old life and throw herself with zest into the new one.

  The load was not all painted cows. There was a kitchen table and a box of sheets, a barrel of dishes, a leather couch, three or four chairs, and a mattress.

  Norah scrubbed and kept up a stream of Irish wit, and Jimmy was everywhere, with eyes and hands and feet alert. Constance sat down upon the leather couch, which Norah had elected should be her bed for that night, and which was placed in the center of an island of cleanliness where she had scrubbed carefully. A piece of carpet that Constance recognized as belonging to the back upper hall in the old home was spread out in front of the couch, and a chair was drawn conveniently near for a dressing table. It was all exceedingly primitive and inconvenient, and the girl wondered, as she looked upon it, why she felt such intense satisfaction in it all when it was so marked a contrast to her old luxurious room with its elegant appointments.

  She unpacked her little handbag, laid brushes and combs upon the chair, threw her bathrobe over the back of it, then lay back for one moment upon the couch and closed her eyes. She felt thankful to somebody or something, she did not quite know what.

  Then she bestirred herself once more. There must be a carpenter brought to fix the window so it would lock. Jimmy must get one. She went downstairs to call him and to tell Norah to bring her own mattress, upon which she was to sleep, up into her room, so that they might be company for each other. Everything seemed to be going delightfully. Jimmy ran off for the carpenter, and Constance opened a trunk that had just been brought from the station. She was searching for one or two things that she wanted to use, and in doing so came across a little white dress, an old one, but a favorite of hers, a soft white flannel, simply made. It struck her that it would be a relief to get off her traveling dress and get into this. If she had had more practical training, a white flannel would hardly have seemed to her the correct thing to don on the night of her arrival in an old dusty house that called for much work. But to her, used to dressing for dinner, the little white flannel was as plain as plain could be. So, hastily pulling it out, she put it on and went down to spread out the remainder of the contents of the lunch box.

  Norah smiled when she entered the kitchen, where everything was now in good order. This was not saying much, for there was very little to put in order; but the room itself was clean. So were the table and the old range, though lack of stove polish sorely tried Norah’s sense of the fitness of things. She had unearthed a pan and a teakettle and was attacking the barrel of dishes when Constance came in. Norah laid down the hatchet and clapped her hands with pleasure.

  “That’s just right, Miss Connie; ye dressed up fer dinner, now, didn’t ye? We’ll soon be in order, my dear, so don’t yez worry. Och, but ye looks swate in thet little white dress!”

  Jimmy appeared at the back door at that moment with a carpenter in his wake but stopped short when he saw Constance, and for a moment his eyes bulged with terror. He almost turned to flee away. He thought the white lady had appeared at last and was about to vent her wrath upon him at the goings on that he had been instigating.

  But the new flannel ghost smiled so sweetly at him and said pleasantly, “Oh Jimmy, you found the carpenter, didn’t you?” that he subsided and never told anyone, save Miss Constance herself a long time afterward, how much he had been frightened. And with that smile of Constance’s, Jimmy’s last personal dread of the white lady faded away.

  They ate their supper, Norah, Jimmy, and Constance, and finished the last crumb of Sa’Ran’s bountiful supply, for they were very hungry. Then Constance, thanking Jimmy, receiving his promise to be on hand early in the morning to do whatever she wanted, and laughingly refusing his earnest offers to sleep there as her protector or to get her someone else, sent him to his home. She never knew how many times during the evening he went to where he could see whether the candlelight was still flickering in the upper window or whether there were signs of alarm about the old place. And, as he stood there watching, he wished within his soul that he were a man, and brave, for he somehow felt that he could grow braver if he were given
time, though he realized that he was at heart a coward at present, a great thing for a boy to realize. He knew that if he were truly brave like the boys in the storybooks, he would go and throw himself across the door of the old house and sleep there to protect the lady inside, and that Jimmy knew he was not willing to do.

  The moon was full that night, and as they had realized at the last minute before Jimmy left them that candles were their only chance for light, Constance wandered outside for a few minutes in the brilliant moonlight. The kitchen, with its weird, flickering candlelight, was not a pleasant place to sit, and besides, Norah was making a clatter with the dishes from the barrel, which she insisted upon washing that night, and which she would not allow her young mistress to touch, so Constance felt that a breath of the evening would do her good. Her soul longed to get near the loveliness of the night and to see what she had in this strange old place that had been rented for a year. She walked slowly down the grass-grown path that led to the pond, noticing the trees and shrubs on either side, and now and then pausing to look up at the round, full brightness of the moon. How still and beautiful it was here, she thought. No whirring trolleys, no rumble of city life, no dust, no murmur of the thousand voices that fill the air of a city at night. Only the quiet stars like polished diamonds and the great full moon looking at her. A lovely place in which to walk if a spirit could walk this earth again. She wondered how much truth there might be as a foundation for Jimmy’s story about the lady who had killed herself. She hoped no one would tell Norah, for perhaps she might be superstitious and unhappy there. She must warn Jimmy about it. Dear, faithful, funny little Jimmy! How he seemed to have fitted right into her plans, like a little urchin angel dropped down from heaven just when she needed him! She must try to make his life happier in some way for the help he had been to her.

  Down by the water’s edge a pathway of silver stretched out before her into the soft deep darkness. It made the night look wide. She stood a long time watching the play of the ripples in the water, noticing the dark penciling of the rustic summerhouse on the little island against the moonlit sky, trying to realize that it was her new home, and wondering whether she would ever get accustomed to the change.

  Then she turned in the dewy path, her ears filled with the music of the frogs that made the summer seem near at hand, and suddenly before her in the way, but a few feet in front of her, stood a man!

  Chapter 9

  John Endicott’s train was nearing the station, and familiar objects presented themselves. He could see the old lumberyard, the icehouse off at the side, and one corner of the supply store steps, but a freight car hid the rest. He turned to the other side of the track, marveling at the advance of spring during his absence. It was growing dusk, but the moon had risen and was shining in glory over everything. It bathed the little pond and island behind the old haunted house and made the dark cedars stand out primly, like sentinels set to guard the place. He placed his face close to the windowpane and peered out to see whether he could tell if the grass was green. He lifted his suitcase, ready to get out. He had no need for such haste, save that he wished to get away from the loneliness that seemed to be threatening to overwhelm him. To come back to Rushville and to know that there would be no mother a hundred miles away praying for him, to whom he could write and who would write him long cheering letters asking about his work and planning for the time that would never come now, when she could be spared to leave her daughter and the baby and would come to make a real home for him, it was all hard. It was no wonder that John Endicott looked out of the window and tried to take an interest in the spring growth of grass. But now, as he looked, a strange object met his gaze. Out of the moonlit slope of grass, glistening with diamond drops, there appeared a patch of light. It seemed a kind of focusing of the white mist that was rising from the silvery pond, and it took the form of a girl, slender and white-robed.

  For just an instant his heart stood still, and his mind experienced great wonder and doubt. It seemed, in very truth, that he must be looking upon a disembodied spirit, the spirit of the woman who had lived in the old house and was walking the earth again. Then his strong New England common sense, sturdy through the years of poverty and hardship, rose. At once he rejected the feeling. There was some explanation, of course, and he would find it out. He would sift this superstition to its depth and rid the village of a troublesome tradition.

  The train had already started to move and in a moment more would be past these grounds and on its way to the station. There was no time to be lost. Gripping the suitcase, he strode from the car, his eyes fixed upon the white object still visible through the car windows. The train was moving faster when he swung himself from the back platform, and without waiting to pick his way, he set out at once for the object of his coming. Over the fence, suitcase and all, he went, and through the dewy grass. Silently and swiftly he moved lest he should disturb this seeming wraith, if living it was and not some odd arrangement of tangible things upon which the moon brought a peculiar light. His speculation was at work, but he could suggest nothing that should give such lifelike form to the old story of the village. He was conscious of a satisfaction that here at last was something real to lay a foundation for so ridiculous a story that held a whole village in fear. Then he came nearer, his eyes still fixed upon the luminous white object, and out of the evening the form grew more distinct as he drew nearer, until a girl, fair and lovely, stood before him in the moonlight. He could see the perfect profile now, with a dark cedar for background, a wave of hair outlining one delicate ear, the exquisitely molded hand holding back the soft white drapery, and over all the unearthly light.

  He paused and caught his breath. Almost he could believe she was a spirit, so ethereal did she seem, so motionless and beautiful, as she stood looking out over that silver sheet of water, with dewy sparkles all about her feet and an early firefly over her head, matching its little light against the moon. It did not seem as if she could be ordinary flesh and blood.

  Then he came a step nearer, and she turned and faced him.

  He looked at her and saw that she was a real woman, alive and lovely. What could it mean? Did some insane person secretly live in the old house and come out at night, haunting the place? Or was she a poor creature that had fled from something terrible in her life and was taking refuge here from the world? Not from sin she had committed, surely, for the face into which he was looking was pure and true. But he must know what it meant.

  His voice was stern and commanding when he spoke at last.

  “Who are you? What are you doing here?” he asked, and to himself it seemed that he had spoken almost harshly.

  But the girl was not frightened, apparently, nor did she scream and turn to run away, nor fade like a wraith. Instead she turned quickly and faced him.

  “I might ask the same of you,” she said coolly. “I happen to be on my own premises.”

  Puzzled, wondering, abashed by her manner, John Endicott paused. She had made him feel that he was the intruder, not she. And yet what had he gained, and how could he go away without sifting the mystery further? What had she said that would not make matters more sure to the believers in the walking lady? Nothing. She talked as any reasonable ghost might be expected to talk, provided she had killed herself in this house and had chosen to return and walk within its grounds.

  No, if he went away now, it would have been better that he had not come. He would not dare mention the occurrence, for it would only confirm the stories that had been going about, and the fear of the poor old house would grow. He must find out what this meant. She was a woman, of course, as real and alive as himself, and she did not look like a maniac. She must be made to explain herself and make it plain why she chose to walk these lonely grounds alone at night and frighten a whole village of harmless people. If she had a secret, he would guard it, but she must explain.

  “I beg your pardon,” he said courteously but firmly. “I must understand your presence here. You have asked me who I am. I am t
he minister of the church, and for the good of this community, I have come here to find out this mystery. Why do you walk about in this strange way and frighten a whole community?”

  “You may be a minister,” she laughed, “but I fail to understand why that gives you a right to question me on my own premises. I walk here because I choose to do so. As for frightening a whole community, there does not seem to be anybody frightened but yourself.”

  She turned toward the house.

  “But—” he said. “I—”

  She was gone. A slight rustle; a breath of faint, almost imperceptible perfume; a bending of the grasses; that was all. He stood dismayed, worsted, humiliated, out there in the moonlight. He watched her as she went up the path and into the house. As she stood on the low porch for an instant, her hand on the door latch, he caught the gleam of a diamond flashing on her finger.

  He stood still, dazed for a moment. Then he looked up at the old house and saw a candlelight flicker through the windows. Was he perhaps “seeing things,” too, like the rest of the village? Had his recent sorrow and loss of sleep unstrung his nerves?

  But he could not stand there, a tall shadow in the moonlight, for some passerby to see and construct another ghostly story about. He must go home. It went strongly against the grain to leave, however, without knowing more about the matter. He was inclined to walk boldly up to the door and knock.

  He had never been in quite such a situation before, chasing ghosts through property that did not belong to him, merely for the sake of proving to the community that there were no ghosts. He told himself that he should have minded his own affairs and then there would have been no trouble.

  Altogether, his spirits were much depressed as he wended his way to Mrs. Bartlett’s little brown house, and a sharp pang of sorrow went through him as he thought that the person to whom he would like to have told this strange adventure was gone from the earth.