Lady (19 page)

It was then that I heard the trolley car stop, and a few moments later the doorbell rang. Lady put aside her work, patted Honey's head, and went into the hallway. Presently the sound of low voices rose from beyond the door. We all exchanged glances, then the front door closed, and Lady came back.

She ran her hand along her forehead and then onto her hair, saying, "Well, children, I'm a bit tired, and we have a big day tomorrow with Nonnie's party, so perhaps we'll say good night now. It's all right, Lew, I'll set the fire screen. You all just go along. Don't forget your stamps." Well, I thought, she sure was in a hurry to have us out of there.

Lew put down the poker with which he had begun pushing the logs apart, reset the screen, and we closed our albums and put on our things, each stepping up to kiss Lady's cheek. She led us into the hall and opened the front door for us. When Lady bent to me, her hand brushing my cheek, I glanced over her shoulder into the dining room and saw the dark figure of the man, half hidden behind the doorjamb. The front door closed and, suppressing a gasp, I hurried down the walk after the others as the trolley went by again, heading upstreet.

I waited until we had gotten to the Great Elm, then stopped everyone and looked back. The carriage lights had been turned off and the shades already pulled; I stood with one hand on Lew's arm, breathing hard.

"What's the matter?" he demanded.

"He's in there. He's come back."

"Who?" Ag said, "who's come back?"

"Mr. Ott!"

We all started whispering at once, deciding what to do. I was for returning and listening under the windows, but Ag said Ma wouldn't like it. I, who still didn't hold myself above the practice of eavesdropping, thought the circumstances called for it. "Damn it," Harry said, "why'd he have to come on Thursday? If Jesse was only here . . ." Then we remembered what Jesse had said in the woods: if Ott returned we were to tell him, keep the man here. . . .

Quickly we made a plan. Lew would go to the movie house and find Jesse. Harry and I would remain, and if Ott came out, we would somehow detain him. The trolley having already gone, Lew would have to hoof it up to Packard Lane and try to catch another streetcar there to take him to the city. He went off at a run and we leaned against the tree, puffing with excitement and exploring the situation in whispers.

At this point Nancy came to our door to answer the last of the Halloween callers, and seeing us she began hollering to come in before we catched our death, so we left the tree and followed her in, trying to act as if nothing had happened. When Ma wanted to know where Lew was, we lied and said he'd gone over to Jack Harrelson's for something -- hoping that she didn't plan on waiting up for him. She went to bed, Nancy bumped up to her room in the attic, and we sat huddled and hushed in the darkened sleeping porch where we could see every move that was made across the Green.

We had only a half-hour to wait for further developments, for when the next trolley came by, Elthea and Jesse got off -- without Lew. We didn't know what had happened, but plainly Lew hadn't connected. I raced down the stairs to tell Jesse the news, but before I got out our door he and Elthea had already gone in theirs. I went back up to the window again, where Harry and Aggie were whispering in the dark. Having heard the door open and close, Ma called, "That you, Lew?" I poked Harry, who, deepening his voice like Lew's, gave her an "Uh-huh."

"Come and kiss your mother good night, then."

Oh, cripes, I thought; then Harry called back in his own voice, "He's in the bathroom." Ag quick as a wink ran to turn on the water and flush the toilet. There was no further response from Ma. A few minutes later a car stopped on the far side of the Green and Lew got out. The car drove off toward Talcottville; Lew glanced over at Lady's house, and hurried up our walk. I signaled with my flashlight in the window to let him know where we were, then the front door opened and closed downstairs.

"Now who's
that
?" Ma called from her bedroom.

"It's me, Lew," he replied up the stairs.

"I thought you were in the bathroom --"

"Me? No. I was at the drugstore."

I dashed to the banister and gestured frantically that he'd been at Jack's. Ma was confused. "The drugstore? What time is it? Isn't the drugstore closed?"

I hurriedly whispered to Lew, who called heartily, "That was before, Ma. Then I went over to Jack's for a
National Geographic
."

"Then you
did
go to Jack's. Come and kiss your mother good night."

"Just a sec, I've got to go to the bathroom."

"I thought you just went to the bathroom."

She sounded exhausted, trying to keep up with it all. When we got back to the sleeping porch again, Aggie reported no further moves from across the Green. The four of us knelt, leaning on the sills and watching with all our might and main, while Lew recounted what had happened upstreet. He'd gotten to the movie house and told the manager there'd been an accident and he had to find Jesse, and he went poking along the rows, whispering "Jesse? Jesse?" in the dark. With Jesse's color, this wasn't easy, and he never located him at all. (As it turned out, they hadn't even gone to the movies, but had dinner in the Franklin Street Diner, then gone for a walk, after which they'd come straight home.)

The church bell rang ten o'clock, and another trolley came down the tracks and went to the end of the line. It was just after it had passed that the gun went off. We recognized immediately the blast of the shotgun, as we had heard it the day Lady shot at Mr. Sprague. It was only one barrel, but enough to wake the neighborhood.

"What's happened? What was that gun?" Ma called while we knelt frozen at the window. A light went on in Ruthie Sparrow's bedroom, then we headed for the stairs. Ma appeared in her nightgown at her door, and Nancy's footsteps came thundering down from the attic.

"Why ain't you kids in your pajamas?" she demanded, ignoring the drama of the moment, as we raced pell-mell down the stairs and out in front. Ruthie Sparrow was already on her porch with her Seiss-Altags, and on the other side Gert Flagler appeared wearing a flannel Indian bathrobe and galoshes, and clutching a broom, prepared for alarums and excursions.

"What the hell's going on? Who fired that gun?" These questions were demanded of the Green at large, but, seeing us, Gert came clumping off her steps, wanting to know if we'd been playing with firearms.

Then, over at Lady's, the lights went on, the door opened, and Elthea came out, laughing to beat the band. We hurried to her, meeting halfway across the Green, where she explained that Jesse had thought maybe he'd seen a prowler out behind the carriage house and had fired at it, but it turned out to be only a bush.

This explanation accepted, all retired to their respective houses, and the Green fell silent again. We went upstairs and, under Nancy's loud supervision, got into our pajamas. When she'd gone up to the attic and Lew had finally kissed Ma good night, Ag sneaked back into our room; we yanked off the covers and threw ourselves at the windows for further observation.

Shortly thereafter the trolley car was heard returning from Talcottville, and when it appeared down the tracks a brief glimmer of light showed at Lady's front door as it quickly opened and closed, and someone hurried down the walk. There was just time for the figure to catch the trolley, using both hands to climb aboard, and as the car passed we got a closer glimpse: the figure wore an overcoat with the collar turned up, and a wide-brimmed hat.

So much for the visit of the red-haired man.

Except for one thing: when I'd seen Mr. Ott in the dining room, he had been carrying a pair of gloves in his left hand and the briefcase in his right. But when he had gotten on the trolley his hands were empty.

Why, I wondered, would Mr. Ott leave his briefcase behind?

According to weather statistics, the nation never saw such violent extremes of temperatures as were recorded during those mid-thirties years. The country was beset with droughts and dust storms, the summers were dazzling in their heat, and the winters bitterly cold. The winter of 1935-36, as the local prophets had foreseen, was a humdinger. The first snow flew before Thanksgiving, always a robust sign, and it snowed off and on through the early part of December. But with all the snow there came no sleigh ride as promised, for Lady Harleigh did not appear. She had gone into "retirement" again. Jesse or Elthea came out with Honey and walked her around the Green, but of her mistress, not a sign. I supposed she had forgotten her promise to let us polish up the runners and bring the sleigh from the carriage house, and get No-Relation's horse. Each time the snow fell anew, I hoped that at last she would come out, but still there was no sign. When queried, Elthea and Jesse volunteered no more information as to Lady's state of health other than that she was "doing well."

School let out for Christmas and we went sledding or tobogganing on the second nine at the golf course, and bought or made presents and wrapped them. Remembering Ruthie Sparrow's story of Edward Harleigh courting Lady, I came up with an idea I thought foolproof in effecting her reappearance, and on Christmas Eve we carried our box of presents across the Green to her front door and rang. Elthea came to answer, and accepted the box, setting the gifts one by one on the table and ohing with Jesse over the wrappings, but throwing anxious glances up the stairway. When she got to the bottom of the box she presented us with the holiday basket that Lady had taken to sending over to our house. It was heavy, which meant lots of homemade jellies and relishes. Elthea kissed us (from the Missus, she whispered) and Jesse solemnly shook hands all around, and we went out with the basket, the door closing gently but firmly behind us.

Then we gathered on the stoop, I raised my hand, and together we began singing "Good Night, Ladies," but changing the word to fit Lady, just as the carolers had when Edward had asked Lady to marry him:

"
Good night, Lady, Good night, Lady,
Good night, Lady, we're going
To leave you now ...
"

But I knew it was not we who were leaving her, but she who had left us, and though the carriage lamps stayed on, there were no holiday candles at the windows, no colored lights on the trees, and if the wind sang old songs I did not hear them, for Lady would not come out.

It was a sad Christmas that year.

In January there was a thaw, the river started rising, and people were talking about the dikes not holding if there were a flood. But before there was further talk of flood, there was much talk of snowstorms, for when the temperature dropped and it snowed again it did not take long for everyone to realize that this was no ordinary snowfall. It continued day after day, and those old enough to remember were comparing it to the blizzard of '66 or the one of '08.

It seemed impossible that it could snow so much, as if the sky had been storing it up to dump on us all at once. By the end of the first afternoon we were brought indoors for good, and spent hours watching from the windows of the sleeping porch, unable to see even the Great Elm, so dense was the snowfall. The wind rampaged through the town, eddying and whirling, driving man, beast, and vehicle from sight. Soon the telephone service was interrupted because of downed lines, and the radio told us to use as little water and electricity as possible; this was an Emergency.

But not to us. With the schools closed, it became another lark, and seldom had we found ourselves all in the house at the same time. It was impossible to get to the woodpile, and after we had burned the load that had been brought into the cellar at Christmas we were forced to rely solely on the coal supply, carefully rationing each shovelful, with all of us wearing sweaters and our heaviest clothing indoors, and sleeping under extra blankets at night.

Lying there on the sleeping porch under the slippery comforter that Ma had tucked over me and I had untucked, I thought of Lady, and the mystery surrounding her. I went back in my mind, recalling each circumstance that veered at all from the norm, hoping to discover some answer, some clue. I went over what I had come to call "the difficult times," adding up again the total of her furtive looks, her snatches of talking to herself, all those curious manifestations of erratic behavior; but the result was only the same old total -- zero. I tried to imagine what it was like for her, living over there, alone except for two servants, and seeing ghosts -- or, more precisely, one ghost -- Edward's.

At the end of the fourth day the snow stopped. We awoke to the strangest sight we had ever beheld. From our windows in all directions, we saw the earth lying buried under a giant cloak of whiteness, thick, deep, astonishing. Familiar roofs of farm buildings were not even to be seen, small trees whose heights we knew well were girdled higher than we were tall. In places the wind had drifted the snow up to the eaves of houses, lending them an unfamiliar, muffled look, while all the chimneys had tall white caps on them. The only way we could guess where the roads were was from the telephone and light poles.

By the time the town had dug out and school reopened, things had returned more or less to their humdrum pace. Still the weather continued bitter, not only because of the lashing wind that got down your collar and up your coat, and the snow that grew stale and boring, but bitter mostly because of never seeing Lady through all those long months. In February we spent hours making valentines for her, going to Miss Jocelyn-Marie's for packets of winged-cherub stickers and cutting the edges of doilies to decorate hearts scissored from red construction paper, and when these were properly fashioned and bore suitable sentiments, I collected them from Lew and Harry and Aggie, and adding my own, I brought them around the Green to Lady's house.

I dropped the envelopes in the box, rang the bell, ran down the walk, and hid behind a snowdrift. Jesse appeared in a wool sweater and picked out the cards. He wiped his feet on the mat, and I saw that he was wearing the red-and-black slippers with the gold designs on the toes that Lady had needlepointed him for Christmas.