Lasher (62 page)

As I went down the front steps, and had the boys help me up into the car, Stella clambered into my lap, nearly castrating and killing me simultaneously. And then out of the shadows beneath the oaks came Carlotta.

“Will you help her?”

“Of course I will,” said I. “I will take her out of there. Horrible, horrible thing. Why didn’t you come to me sooner?”

“I don’t know,” Carlotta said, and her face was stricken and
her head was bowed. “The things she said she saw were terrible.”

“You don’t listen to the right people. Now, Richard, drive!”

And off we went, with Richard steering wildly up St. Charles Avenue, splattering mud and gravel, and finally running right up on the curb in his careless, amateurish way, on the corner of St. Charles and Amelia.

“This I have to see for myself, this child in the attic,” I mumbled. I was in a rage. “And I will throttle Cortland when next he dares to come into my presence.”

Stella helped me down from the car and then started jumping up and down with excitement. This was one of her more endearing or irritating habits, all depending on how one felt at the moment.

“Look, Julien, darling,” she cried. “Up there in the attic window.”

Now you have no doubt seen this house. It stands today as solid as First Street.

And of course I had seen it too, as I have said, but I never set foot in it. I was not even sure how many Mayfairs lived there. It was, for my money, a pompous Italianate house, very proud yet very beautiful. It was all wood, yet designed to look as if it were stone, like our house. It had columns on the front, Doric down and Corinthian up, and a great alcoved door, and further back octagonal wings jutting out on both sides, and throughout rounded Italian-style windows. It was massive and bulky yet graceful. Not such a bad house, though not pure and old as ours was.

And immediately I spied, as Stella pointed, the attic window.

It was a double dormer, in the very center over the porch, and I swear I could feel the pulse of the girl who peered through the glass at me. A wan bit of face up there, a streak of hair. And then nothing but the sun flashing in the glass.

“Oh, there she is, poor, darling Rapunzel,” Stella cried and waved vigorously though the girl had disappeared. “Oh Evie, we have come to save you.”

Then out upon the porch came storming Tobias and his son Oliver, the younger brother of Walker, and a blithering fool if ever there was one. It was almost impossible to tell on sight which was which, and which was more feeble.

“Why have you locked that child in the attic?” said I. “And
is this Cortland’s girl, or is that some baseless lie you dreamed up to rattle and disconcert my family?”

“You miserable scoundrel,” Tobias declared, stepping forward and nearly losing his balance at the top of the steps. “Don’t you come near my door. Get off my property. You spawn of Satan. Yes, it was Cortland who ruined my Barbara Ann. She died in my arms. And it was Cortland, Cortland who did it. That child is a witch such as you’ll never see, and as long as I have breath in my body, she’ll make no more witches out of herself and out of you and out of all that went before you.”

That was twice as much as I needed to hear. I went straight up the steps, and both old fools rushed at me. I stopped and raised my voice:

“Come now, my Lasher,” I cried. “Make the way for me.”

Both men fell back in terror. Stella gave a gasp of amazement. But the wind did come, as it always had, when I needed it most, when my wounded old soul and pride needed it most, and when I was most unsure of it. It came gusting over the garden and up the porch, forcing back the door with a powerful clatter.

“Thank you, spirit,” I whispered. “That you have saved face for me.”

I love you, Julien. But it is my wish you leave this house and all those in it
.

“That I cannot do,” I said. I entered the house, a long cool dark hallway, lying between rows of doors, with Stella scampering on the boards beside me. The old men came behind, screaming to rouse the women, and out of the long row of doors came numerous Mayfairs—a regular Parliament of Fowls—screeching and screaming. Behind me the wind lashed the oaks. A great scattering of leaves gusted down the hallway before me.

Some of these faces I had seen; all I knew in one fashion or another. As the others peeped out, Tobias sought again to stop me.

“Get out of my way,” I said and planted myself at the foot of the dark oak stairs and then began to climb them.

It was a huge staircase, to one side of the hall, and turning midway, with a broad landing and grim stained glass which made me pause for a moment. For as the light came through the glass, as it passed through the yellow and red panes, I
thought of the Cathedral and “remembered” it as I had not in years, not since I’d left Scotland.

I could feel the spirit collected around me. I pushed on, out of breath till I reached the upper hall. “Where is the attic stairs?”

“There, there,” cried Stella, leading me through the double doors to the rear hall, and there was the lesser staircase in a narrow well, and the door at the top of it.

“Evelyn, come down, my child!” I cried. “Evelyn, come down. I cannot come up this long climb. Come down, my girl, I’m your grandfather come to get you.”

There was silence in the house. All the others crowded in the hallway door, staring, so many white oval faces, mouths agape, eyes large and hollow.

“She will not listen to you,” cried one of the women. “She has never listened to anyone.”

“She cannot hear,” cried another.

“Or speak!”

“Look, Julien, the door is locked from this side,” cried Stella, “and the key is in it.”

“Oh, you evil old fools!” I shouted. And I closed my eyes and collected all my strength and was about to command this door to open. I did not know if I could do such a thing, for something like that is never certain. And I could feel Lasher hovering near, and feel his distress and confusion. He did not like this house, these Mayfairs.

Aye, they are not mine, these
.

But before I could answer Lasher or persuade him, or make the door move, it opened! The key fell from the lock by some power other than mine, and the door sprang back, letting the sunlight fall into the dusty stairwell.

I knew it was not my power, and so did Lasher! For he collected around me close as if he too were actually fearful.

Calm yourself now, spirit, you are most dangerous when you are afraid. Behave. It is all well and good. The girl herself opened the door. Be silent
.

But then he gave me to know the truth. It was the girl who frightened him! Of course. I assured him she was no menace to the likes of us, and please do my bidding.

The sunlight brightened the swirling dust. And then there came a tall thin shadow—a girl of great beauty, with full glossy hair, and still eyes staring down at me. She seemed frightfully tall and thin, even starved perhaps.

“Come down to me, my child,” said I. “You see yourself you need not be a prisoner of anyone.”

She understood my words and as she came down, silently, step by step with her soft leather shoes, I saw her eyes move above me and to the left and to the right of me, and over Stella, and again as she beheld the invisible thing clustered about us. She saw “the man,” as they say, she saw him invisible and made no secret.

When she reached the foot of the stairs, she turned, beheld the others, and shrank trembling! I have never seen fear so expressed by one without a sound. I snatched up her hand.

“Come with me, darling. You and you alone shall decide whether you wish to live in an attic.”

I pulled her to me; she gave no resistance, and no cooperation either. How strange she seemed, how pale, how accustomed to the darkness. Her neck was long and thin, and she had small ears with no lobes to them, and then I saw on her hand the mark of the witch! She had on her left hand the sixth finger! Just as they had told me. I was amazed.

But they had seen me see it. A great squabble broke out. The girl’s uncles had come, Ragnar and Felix Mayfair, young men famous about the town, and known to be suspicious of us. They started to block my way.

But in an instant the wind had gathered. All could feel it stealing along the floor, icy and strong. It whipped those who blocked the way, until they stepped back, and then I took the girl by the hand and led her back into the front hall and down the main staircase. Stella crept at my side.

“Oh, Oncle Julien,” Stella said as breathlessly as some village girl to a great prince. “I adore you.”

And with us walked this pale swan of a girl, with her shimmering hair and her sticks for arms and sticks for legs, and pitiful dress made from a flowered feed sack. I don’t know if you have ever seen such clothing, poorest of the poor. Women used this cloth to line their everyday quilts and she had it for a frock, this cheap flowered cotton. And her shoes, they were scarcely shoes at all, rather leather socks of some sort, laced, like booties of a baby!

I took her through the hall, the wind rattling and swinging the doors, and going before us, stirring the oaks outside, and brushing the many cars and carriages and carts that passed on the Avenue.

No one moved to stop me as I handed her up to Richard to
be placed in the car. And then, sitting close beside her, with Stella again on my knee, I gave the order for Richard to go, and the girl turned round and stared at the house, and at the high window, and at the collection of people on the porch in astonishment.

We had not gone five feet when they all began to scream. “Murderer, murderer! He’s taken Evelyn!” and to cry to one another to do something about it. Young Ragnar ran out and cried that he would proceed against me in a court of law.

“By all means do,” I cried back over the rumbling car, “ruin yourself in the process. I am father to the finest law firm in the city! Sue! I cannot wait.”

The car made its way awkwardly and noisily up St. Charles, yet faster than any horse-drawn carriage. And the girl sat still between Richard and me, under Stella’s curious eye, staring at everything as if she had never been out of doors before.

Mary Beth waited on the step.

“And what do you mean to do with her?”

“Richard,” I said, “I can’t walk any farther.”

“I’ll fetch the boys, Julien,” he cried, and off he ran, calling and clapping. Stella and the girl climbed down and Stella lifted both her hands to me.

“I’ve got you, darling. I won’t let you fall, my hero.”

The girl stood with her hands at her sides, staring at me, and then at Mary Beth, and then at the house, and at the servant boys who came running.

“What do you mean to do with her?” Mary Beth demanded again.

“Child, will you come into our house?” I said, looking at this lithe and lovely girl with pale shell-pink tender little mouth protruding beautifully on account of her hollow cheeks, and eyes the color of the gray sky in a rainstorm.

“Will you come into our house,” I said again, “and there safe beneath our roof decide if you want to spend your life a prisoner or not? Stella, if I die on the way upstairs, I charge you to save this girl, you hear me?”

“You won’t die,” said Richard, my lover, “come, I’ll help you.” But I could see the apprehension in his face. He was more worried about me than anyone.

Stella led the way. The girl followed, and then Richard came, all but carrying me in his exuberantly manly way, with his arm around me, hoisting me step by step so that I might keep what dignity I had.

At last we entered my room on the third floor of the house.

“Get the girl some food,” I said. “She looks as if she has never had a square meal.” I sent Stella off with Richard. I collapsed on the side of my bed, too exhausted to think for a moment.

Then I looked up and my soul was filled with despair. This beautiful fresh creature on the brink of life, and I so old, very soon to end it. I was so tired I might have said yes to death now, if this girl, if her case had not demanded my presence here.

“Can you understand me?” I asked. “Do you know who I am?”

“Yes, Julien,” she said in plain English effortlessly enough. “I know all about you. This is
your
attic, is it not?” she said in her little treble voice, and as she looked around at the beams, at the books, at the fireplace and the chair, at all my precious things, my Victrola and my piles of songs, she gave a soft trusting smile to me.

“Dear God,” I whispered. “What shall I do with you?”

T
HE PEOPLE WHO
lived in this bright little house were brown people. They had black hair and black eyes; their skin gleamed in the light above the table. They were small with highly visible bones, and they wore clothes in very bright red and blue and white, clothes that were tight around their plump arms. The woman, when she saw Emaleth, got up and came to the transparent door.

“Good heavens, child! Come inside here,” she said, looking up into Emaleth’s eyes. “Jerome, look at this. This child’s stark naked. Look at this girl. Oh, my Lord in heaven.”

“I’ve washed in the water,” said Emaleth. “Mother is sick under the tree. Mother can’t talk anymore.” Emaleth held out her hands. They were wet. Her hair hung wet on her breasts. She was slightly cold, but the air of the room was warm and still.

“Well, come in here,” said the woman, tugging her hand. She reached for a piece of cloth on a hook and began to wipe Emaleth’s long dripping hair. The water made a pool on the shiny floor. How clean things were here. How unnatural. How unlike the fragrant beating night outside, full of wings and racing shadows. This was a shelter against the night, against the insects that stung, and the things that had cut Emaleth’s naked feet, and scratched her naked arms.

The man stood still, staring up at Emaleth.

“Get her a towel, Jerome, don’t stand there. Get this girl a towel. Get her some clothes. Child, what happened to your clothes? Where are your clothes? Did something bad happen to you?”

Emaleth had never heard voices quite like these, of the brown people. They had a musical note in them that the other people’s voices didn’t have. They rose and fell in a distinctly different pattern. The whites of their eyes were not purely white, these people. They had a faint yellowish cast to them
that went better with their beautiful brown skin. Even Father did not have this kind of soft ringing quality to his words. Father had said, “You will be born knowing all you need to know. Do not let anything frighten you.”