by Lee Smith
“They is a boy out front wanting to see Miss Molly Petree,” Primus said in his raspy voice. “He has been there nearabout all night long, far as anybody can tell, and he say he won’t go away till he see her.”
“Well, what sort of a boy is he?” I asked, quite amazed, for as far as I know, Molly Petree has never had a visitor in all her time at this Academy.
This, then, was a mystery.
“He is a boy that don’t have no business around here,” Primus said unequivocally.
“I suppose I’d best talk to him myself then.” I sighed and grabbed my jacket off the hook and headed for the front door, my steps dogged by Primus who was utterly determined to come too.
Upon the porch, I found an ill-dressed country boy, sixteen years old perhaps, leaning against a post smoking a cigarette. “Good morning,” I said crisply. “I am Agnes Rutherford, a teacher here at Gatewood Academy, where, I have to tell you, we do not allow smoking.”
Without a word he took another long pull on the cigarette before tossing it right out into the wet flower bed, staring at me insolently all the while. He exhaled smoke into the chill misty air. This was a thick-set, unattractive boy, Mariah, with not one shred of manners. No wonder he had alarmed Primus.
“And you are—” I began.
He stared at me uncomprehending.
“What is your name?”
He shook his head, causing his long thick yellow hair to flop upon his low forehead. “That don’t matter. I need to see Molly Petree just for a minute,” he said.
“Miss Petree is in class,” I said. “Perhaps you can tell me what business you have with her?”
“No ma’am,” he said, obstinate as a post.
I was still attempting to get to the bottom of it when classes changed and of all things, here came Molly herself walking around the side of the building. I was never so dismayed to see anyone.
“Godfrey!” she shrieked, dropping her books. “Godfrey, what are you doing here?”
Too late I recognized him as one of the “ghost children” at Agate Hill Plantation—to which Molly has never returned, following Mr. Black’s express instructions—nor has she ever, to my knowledge, asked to do so.
“Spence is dead,” the boy said bluntly. “We come over here to tell you, then we going on.”
Molly sank down upon the wooden steps, her cloak slipping off her head and shoulders, her face upturned to the thin cold rain which now began in earnest. “Dead?” she said slowly, wonderingly. “Why what happened? Was he sick? Did he get sick, Godfrey?”
“Shot,” Godfrey said with no expression on his flat pasty face. “What happened was, Rom went in that country store out by Big Pine to buy some hoop cheese and crackers”—Molly nodded, she seemed to know the place— “and there was some men in there that didn’t like the way Rom spoke to the girl behind the counter, this was a white girl, married to the son of one of them, and they said something to Rom and he said something back to them”—Molly nodded, biting her fist, apparently she understood this recital better than I did— “and so when he went back outside with the hoop cheese, they was three of them that follered him and jumped on him and started beating him upside the head with a ax handle because they didn’t like the way he had spoke to that white girl—” Here Molly waved her hand impatiently, but the boy went on: “Spence was out there waiting to get some hoop cheese for lunch, and when he saw what they were doing, he gave that kind of yell he does, and waded right in among them, and was laying them all out right and left when another man from the store come up with a shotgun and shot him in the back of the head. Four or five times,” he added unnecessarily. “They wasn’t much left by the end of it.”
Toward the end of this horrible recital, I attempted to hug Molly, but by then she had covered her ears with her hands, sobbing.
The boy, on the other hand, betrayed no emotion at all. “He said for me to tell you,” he said, looking out toward the gate where for the first time I saw the Negro on the horse there waiting. I don’t know if he had been there all along or not, Mariah. It was like he had just taken shape from the rain and the icy fog. Something about the way he sat his horse frightened me, though I could not even see his face for the weather and the hat he wore. I elected to ask no further questions. Moving closer to Molly, I said, “Thank you very much for coming by to tell her. And now I know you will want to be on your way.”
Without a word he stepped off the porch and crossed the yard.
Molly looked up. “Rom!” she cried.
The Negro touched his hat as the boy jumped up behind him. For an instant then I saw his face, as hard and scary as any face I have ever seen, Negro or white.
“Rom!” Molly screamed, running through the mud across the yard. The horse reared up and whinnied and blew out breath like clouds and they were gone.
Primus and I reached Molly at the same time. She would not get up out of the mud, nor would she stop screaming, so that soon a little crowd had gathered there around her in the yard, all of them getting soaking wet and more alarmed by the minute.
It was only with the aid of Lucius Bonnard and Primus that I was able to get Molly to my house where I have deposited her in my own room, as I did not wish to disturb the other girls more than they shall be disturbed in any case. Clearly I cannot return to classes this day. Molly cries intermittently and talks without cease, words tumbling out one over the other so fast it is hard to follow her thought, or to tell what is real and not real. I fear that this incident has brought back sad memories from her childhood which might have best been forgotten, I fear too that she is growing feverish. I have given her a sage infusion, with a little lemon juice and sugar, to no effect.
Sincerely Yours,
Agnes
FOR NO ONE’S EYES
November 9, 1876
This entire Academy has revolved around Molly Petree for days, absolutely Nothing can be accomplished. All one hears is “Molly this” & “Molly that” as one walks down the halls. In truth I did not know the extent of this obsession until it had already gotten truly out of hand, when I was finally forced to rise from my own Bed of Pain by the goodness of my heart, & Attend to her.
I made my way to Agnes’s little house where I found an astonishing scene. There lay Molly upon the bed like a carving upon a catafalque, surrounded by her worshippers who come tiptoeing in & out endlessly weeping and bearing little gifts: a poem, a bracelet, a pretty picture, a bit of holly from the woods, a piece of old lace, an owl feather. I have never seen anything like it. And Agnes was clearly in charge of it all, of course, finally in her true element at last, grim yet rosy-cheeked, on fire with Helpfulness & Sacrifice. But whoever thought that my own Sister would be sleeping on a pallet on the floor while a student of low degree lay in her bed? Education is all but suspended as everyone must come, students & faculty alike, to worship at this unlikely Shrine. The girls in particular have taken a terrible Fancy to it.
I asked Dr. Snow right out, I said, “What is the good of forbidding them to read terrible penny dreadful Novels when one has such a Novel going on under one’s very roof? I told you this girl would be Trouble,” I said as I stood there observing her so pale and still. “It would be just like her to die on us.”
In reply he grabbed my elbow sharply. “Woman, if you value this Academy & your position in this world,” he hissed at me, “you had better exert all your skills & cure her.”
Which I did, beginning with my famous cure for Ague which was quite difficult to administer, for she dribbled it out the corner of her slack mouth upon the bolster, to my Frustration.
“Here, Mrs. Snow,” said that sweet Emma Page, “let me hold her mouth like this, like so, & then you may try again . . . ,” forming up Molly’s thick red lips into a little cup, & then our Mission was accomplished, morning & night for two days, yet still she sleeps on.
Dr. Snow had already sent for the famous Dr. Grossbeck from Danville, our own Drs. Barney & Greene being not good enough for Molly Petree, tho
ugh we can ill afford the expense. “But I shall not communicate with Simon Black yet,” he said to me, frowning. “For therein disaster lies. Woman, do your work.”
Thus I have also tried Catnip Tea & Tansy, forcing her to take a bit of broth and water as well. Nothing. No result. The girls have formed a Prayer Chain, so there is someone praying for Molly Petree constantly, round the clock, as if God has time for this.
Mariah Rutherford Snow
Headmistress, Gatewood Academy
Hopewell, Virginia
FOR NO ONE’S EYES
November 11, 1876
The famous Dr. Grossbeck arrived by coach this morning. I must say he did not make a favorable initial Impression upon me, nor indeed any Impression upon me, being quite thin, small, & poorly dressed, with stains upon his shirt front & very rheumy, weak appearing Eyes. He looked like he would blow away in a good stiff Wind. He performed his Examination with myself, Agnes, Dr. Snow, & Frances Tuttle present. I had sent all the girls to their own rooms though they wept annoyingly.
Dr. Grossbeck lifted her eyelids, first one then the other, & peered into her sightless blue eyes with a glass like a little telescope, muttering under his breath all the while. Then asking for Agnes’s aid, he pulled Molly around on the bed so that her white knobby knees hung over the edge, & to our surprise, rapped them both smartly with a little hammer which he produced from his bag. “Oh!” cried poor silly Agnes as Molly’s thin white legs flew up into the air. Dr. Snow frowned mightily, then helped the doctor place her aright again. Dr. Grossbeck said something inaudible.
And though Molly Petree has tried me sorely, I must say that I felt a wave of shock & pity when he motioned for Agnes to take down her shift, & placed his ear with its little horn against her sunken chest where all her ribs and clavicle stood out sharply. Agnes burst into tears.
“This girl has suffered Shock,” the little doctor almost whispered, so that we all had to bunch up & strain to hear him, “which has produced a sort of Nervous Catatonia, a reaction which though frightening to us, may be actually beneficial to her, as it allows a deep rest which will either repair and refresh her—“
“Oh, thank goodness,” murmured Agnes.
“Or kill her,” Dr. Grossbeck continued.
Dr. Snow swore under his breath.
“But I see some positive signs. Look at the eyelids.”
We all bent forward to do so, & sure enough, there was a fluttery movement beneath the shadowy lids. “You may continue the excellent care you have given her thus far—” here he nodded at Agnes, ignoring me altogether— “and let the Body do its Work. She has a young healthy body; she should come round directly.”
For this he charged us eight dollars, the equivalent of a hog! While here am I, wearing last year’s Blouse, walking around in last year’s Shoes.
“I shall return on Wednesday,” he said, which is two days time.
It was all I could do to contain my anger at that moment, but nevertheless it slipped out later this evening when I was sitting with Molly myself, having cleared the room & sent even Agnes over to Supper. God alone knows where Dr. Snow had disappeared to. It was only Molly & myself in that little chamber with its green ivy wallpaper & low eaves, the wintry gray afternoon fading beyond the little diamond-shaped panes of the window. Her breath came & went, her chest rose & fell shallowly in the oil lamp’s flickering light. Her eyelids moved again & she murmured something.
My heart leapt up, in the words of the poet. Immediately I crossed over to her. “What?” I asked sharply, so that she could hear me. “Molly, what is it?”
But she refused to answer, Sullen Girl.
Before I knew it, I had slapped her. The sound cracked out in the room.
No One could have been more surprised than I.
“Oh!” It was Agnes, prematurely returned from Supper, bearing a dish of Corn Pudding which she spilled all over the floor. “Mariah, how could you?” she wailed, rushing to Molly’s bedside where she knelt to kiss her cheek & smooth her brow.
But Lo! At that instant Molly opened her eyes, thus vindicating me entirely, as if anyone cared.
And as of today she remains well though somewhat Listless & Lackluster, thus making sure that she will remain the Center of Attention after all, as always, Forever & Ever, Amen.
Mariah Rutherford Snow
Headmistress, Gatewood Academy
Hopewell, Virginia
• • •
THE RUSKIN HOSPITAL
10 Mimosa Street
Montgomery, Alabama
November 17, 1876
Dear Molly,
This will be short for I am sick now. First I am so sorry that Spencer died and that you have been sick too but you do not sound like yourself and as for what you write about giving up and going to join your ghost family, Molly, I say this. Do you not remember how we wandered the woods at Agate Hill, how the river ran so cold on our feet and the sun gave us freckles out in the fields where we picked all those berries? Do you not remember how the clouds came in from the west and the thunder rolled and the lightning came down like a fork and hit the sycamore tree on the hill and we fell down and rolled over and over in the wet grass laughing? Or how we ran through the woods to Mama Marie and Aunt Mitty’s and drank from the spring and how the fairies came? I think about Agate Hill every day. So live for me, Molly. Get up from there and live for me. You are my best friend joined in blood and you have to do what I say.
Mary White Worthington
FOR NO ONE’S EYES
December 23, 1876
So now thanks entirely to myself Molly Petree is recovered with a vengeance, she has resumed all school activities & is again the World’s Darling. She does not seem to realize her pitiable situation in the least—& why should she—as for instance she is the guest of Eliza Valiant this Christmas time riding off in a coach with a Servant and two of Eliza’s brothers down from their Virginia schools & no chaperone. I argued but had to let them go as per the Valiants’ instructions. They disappeared through the gate with laughter floating back on the chilly air & bells jingling, while here we have positively no money to buy candy or toys for our own boys, according to Dr. Snow. Of course Dr. Snow is like an errant wind blowing first hot then cold, I never know what to think or expect from him, nor do the boys, who have gone skating on the pond just now, at least there is that, & hunting deer, & shooting down mistletoe. Perhaps they will shoot their father by mistake. Oh I am vile, vile, I do not deserve them, any of them, I shall put gravel in my boots as a constant reminder of my Blessings this Christmas O Lord, my Strength & my Redeemer, Amen.
Mariah Rutherford Snow
Headmistress, Gatewood Academy
Hopewell, Virginia
Molly Petree
Gatewood Academy
Hopewell, Virginia
January 8, 1877
Oh Mary White,
Why don’t you write me back? I will hold on to this letter until I hear from you. When I think of you, I feel like a flame is running through my body like a fire across a field and I wonder if this is what it is like to be purified by suffering? And do you feel this way all the time, Mary White? But now I have been to the Valiants’ house in Charleston with Eliza for Christmas, a very long journey, I will tell you all about it.
First imagine a huge white house with columns across the front all hung in greenery and Spanish moss, then a grand Christmas tree which reaches to the ceiling hung with wax lights and all manner of gilt things and presents underneath for the little children, and a midnight supper on Christmas Eve with crab cakes and candles and mistletoe under which Eliza’s brother Ben snuck up behind me and kissed me or that is, he kissed the air near my head, he is so shy. I liked it too. Eliza says he is sweet on me, and she is sweet on her cousin Daniel Butterworth. They will become engaged after her commencement. Danny is a dark haired boy with a big grin, he is very good looking.
“But Eliza,” I said, “don’t you want to do anything else, before you marry?” For Eliz
a is very good at art, she has won all the prizes. You should see her pen sketch, “Vine Gatherer’s Daughter.”
“Why, heavens no,” she said. “What would I do? All I want is Danny,” which seems to be true. All the girls want to get married except me. Oh Mary White, I want so much, this has always been the trouble with me, and it is still true. I don’t even know what I want. But I will not fall in love yet for then it is all over. Sometimes I think of it as a big lake, like Moon Lake, that I might fall into, and you know I cannot swim. So I will not give all my heart to anybody.
Early on Christmas morning we were awakened by a negro fiddler named Prince who went upstairs and all through the house playing and singing, soon followed by the little boys who ran outside with their negro playmates and shot off firecrackers. We dressed as fast as we could and went down to find Eliza’s father in an apron making the eggnog in the pantry, great bowls of it, which we all drank for breakfast! We had hot coffee and raisin cake too. I got tipsy, I swear it, I started laughing and could not stop. Then there was the opening of the presents with a wild commotion throughout the house. The children rode tricycles over the carpets. I received a beautiful moonstone necklace from Eliza and a silver letter opener from her parents and a cunning little glass globe with a snow scene in it from her brother Ben. If you turn the globe upside down then right it, snow falls softly upon an entire tiny village.
Ben is tall and fair like Eliza, he could be her twin though he is not, being three years older. His eyes in their gold spectacles follow me everywhere and I have to say, I like this. It gives me a pins and needles feeling throughout my body, like when your foot has gone to sleep and is waking back up. Ben has finished school but still lives at home and works at the Cotton Exchange. He has asked if he can write to me and I have said Yes. He has also said he will see me at our commencement!
I am trying to tell you, Mary White. I am trying to do what you said.
