Thunder Heights

by Whitney, Phyllis A. ;

  Nora nodded. “It was after Althea had married and gone away. Hortense and Letty used to ride a good deal in those days. Orrin gave Letty a mare that had a maverick streak they weren’t aware of. Letty was thrown and dragged. The mare went half crazy, and in her kicking and stamping Letty’s arm was stepped on and broken. She might have been killed if Hortense hadn’t been riding with her that day. Hortense rescued her and got her home. But the arm never set properly, and the mark of the hoof left a scar she has carried ever since.”

  “The Judds have had bad luck with horses,” Ross said. “With two such accidents, it was no wonder that Mr. Judd would have no horses on the place.”

  Nora looked quickly at Camilla, almost with a question in her eyes. But before she could put it into words, one of her children came running in. He was a sturdy little boy, with his hair on end, and his face dirty.

  “I won! I won!” he shrieked, and flung himself in triumph upon his mother, croquet mallet and all.

  When she had applauded him, wiped his face, and sent him back to play, she did not return to the subject of Letty’s accident.

  “Where do you go riding?” Camilla asked as Nora refilled her teacup.

  “Today I followed the river,” Nora said. “But my favorite rides are back in the hills. I think I’m happiest when I can ride up through the woods and come out on top of Thunder Mountain.”

  “I’ve been thinking of getting a horse,” Camilla told her. “I loved riding as a child in the parks in New York. And it would be so much better here.”

  “In spite of the Thunder Heights jinx when it comes to horses?” Nora asked.

  “I don’t believe in jinxes,” Camilla said quickly.

  “In that case, you needn’t wait until you buy a horse. Borrow one of mine. I’d be glad to loan you Diamond. He was Ted’s horse, really, but I’ve trained him to the sidesaddle. You may have him tomorrow, if you like. I’m leaving with the children to visit my mother upriver for a few days. Ross can take one of the other horses and go with you. I often loan him a horse when he wants to ride.”

  Unable to hide her sudden pleasure at the thought of riding with Ross, Camilla glanced at him quickly and saw clear reluctance in his eyes. She rushed into words to hide her hurt.

  “Surely it’s not necessary for me to have an escort!”

  “Indeed it is,” Nora assured her. “We can’t have you going out in the hills alone until you know your way. It’s all wooded mountains back there, with trails crisscrossing. You can lose yourself easily when you get away from the river. You’ll take her, won’t you, Ross?”

  “I’m going down to New York in a day or two,” he said. “But perhaps I could manage it tomorrow.”

  His lack of enthusiasm was obvious, and Camilla would have refused his company if Nora had not settled the matter with the quiet assurance of a woman who knew that what she asked of a man would not be refused.

  She felt only relief when the tea hour passed and she could rise to go. She did not want to remain in Ross’s company a moment longer than she had to, now that she felt sure where his interest really lay. All her earlier happiness in the day, all her confidence in herself, was evaporating. She had not, after all, proved herself Althea’s daughter. Althea had been irresistible.

  On the way back to Thunder Heights, Ross continued to be silent and preoccupied. It was almost as if he had forgotten her presence, and she felt further piqued into calling him back.

  “Did you know,” she asked, “that Aunt Hortense’s purpose in going to New York was to try to break Grandfather’s will?”

  “I’m not surprised,” Ross said. “It was to be expected that she’d try. If I were you, I’d break it myself and pack Hortense and Booth out of the house straight off.”

  She brushed indignantly ahead of him, heedless of a briar that caught at her dress. “Even if no one else cares, I feel bound by what Grandfather wanted me to do. I’m not free to dispose of his property in any way I might wish.”

  “You’re being sentimental,” Ross said. “Why not give those two the money and let them go? You’d be better off in the long run. Orrin Judd was trying to bring back the past. He was trying to undo old mistakes and revenge himself on those he distrusted at the same time. You must live in the present—the future. Don’t be a fool.”

  They were nearing the house now and she began to hurry. “If I’m a fool, I’ll be one in my own way. At least my conscience is my own. And—you needn’t trouble to ride with me tomorrow. Perhaps I can ask Booth—”

  He surprised her by reaching out to catch her by the wrist. She felt the medallions of her bracelet press into her flesh with the strength of his grasp.

  “I’ll ride with you,” he said, his gray eyes angry. “Don’t try to change your plans now.” Then he dropped her hand abruptly and strode away from her toward the house.

  What was the matter with him? She could not altogether suppress a sense of satisfaction that she had at least stirred him to anger.

  Very well, she would ride with him tomorrow. But she would go as the mistress of Thunder Heights, and she would keep him strictly in his place. She would show him, once and for all, how little he meant to her. Today she had not succeeded very well.

  When she went up to her room, she was shaken by a queer sort of fury in which disgust with herself mingled with her anger against Ross. Who was she? What was she? Today she had flung herself through a ridiculous gamut of emotions, from high hope and elation to a disappointment that was out of all proportion to the cause. Why? Because she cared more about Ross Granger than she was willing to admit, even to herself? And because she was beginning to feel that his affections were well occupied elsewhere?

  She sat down at Althea’s dressing table and looked into Althea’s mirror. A black-haired girl with dark eyes that were angry, and a soft mouth that was all too tremulous, looked back at her.

  “What would you have done?” she whispered, and her question was directed not to herself, but to a long ago image that had appeared in this mirror. But if the shadowy face of her mother looked over her shoulder, it did not speak, or counsel her. Only Nora’s words sounded again in her mind. “Why don’t you open up the house?”

  Perhaps she would do just that. Fling open the windows and doors, open them wide to a more normal life in which gaiety had some part. A life that would bring new faces, new friends to Thunder Heights. She would tell the others about her plan right after dinner tonight.

  SIXTEEN

  When dinner was over that night and Ross had gone back to his rooms above the coach house, the family gathered on the veranda to enjoy the evening air after a warm day. Behind them the parlor glowed with light, but here on the veranda they could sit in the semidarkness—a quiet, not very companionable group. Into the separate silences Camilla dropped her suggestion.

  “Let’s give a party,” she said.

  Letty looked surprised, but said nothing. Hortense murmured, “What for?” and Booth said, “Why not?” in lazy amusement.

  Camilla went on in a little rush, speaking more to Hortense than to the others. “Today Nora Redfern was telling me about the way it used to be at Thunder Heights. About the parties Grandfather used to give when you and Aunt Letty were young. We could at least make a beginning and wake the house up. This veranda must be big enough for dancing—”

  “It is,” Letty said quickly. “Many’s the time we used to dance out here in the summertime. Do you remember, Hortense?”

  “I want to forget,” Hortense said.

  “But I’ll need your help,” Camilla pointed out. “Don’t you think a party would be fun on a lovely summer evening?”

  “My mother adores parties,” Booth said dryly. “She’s told me a good many times how she used to shine at them. And how much she missed them.”

  Hortense gave him a look that was just a shade less doting than usual, but offered no objection.

  Camilla talked on about how they could set tables on the lawn, and hang Japanese lanterns—just as the
y’d done in the old days. And surely friends of the family, people who had known her mother and Letty and Hortense when they were young, could be invited, along with their grownup children. Thunder Heights was beginning to look so beautiful—they must show it off, gain it a new reputation for gaiety and hospitality.

  Someone came around the end of the house as she spoke, a dark shadow among the trees. As he reached the veranda steps, Camilla saw that it was Ross. He spoke to her directly.

  “What time do you wish to go riding tomorrow? I forgot to ask.”

  The silence that fell upon the veranda was like that of a breath being held. Camilla was aware of Letty’s faint gasp, of Hortense’s stillness, of Booth’s quick, intent look.

  “Will nine o’clock in the morning be convenient for you?” Camilla asked stiffly.

  “I’ll have the horses here at nine,” Ross said, and went away as he had come, through the grove of elms.

  “What horses?” Hortense demanded when he had gone.

  “Nora Redfern offered me a saddle horse to ride tomorrow, and Ross is going with me to show me some of the trails.”

  “Nora Redfern!” Hortense cried. “Have you no sense of propriety that you must strike up a friendship with this woman? How can you—”

  Letty slipped out of her chair and drifted across the veranda to Camilla’s side. “I know you said you wanted to wear Althea’s things, but I didn’t think you really meant it. Don’t go riding, dear. Please don’t go riding.”

  Camilla smiled at her reassuringly. “Aunt Letty, I know how you must feel about horses, but I think I’m a fairly good rider and I want to be a better one. Booth has promised to find me a saddle horse, and then I mean to go riding every day when the weather allows. And as for Nora Redfern, I enjoyed my visit with her this afternoon, and I hope we’ll be friends. I see no reason why I shouldn’t borrow one of her horses until I have my own.”

  Letty rested a hand that trembled on Camilla’s shoulder. “You don’t understand, dear. Papa said there was never to be a horse at Thunder Heights again. He made us all promise that we would give up riding forever.”

  She unhooked her right sleeve at the wrist and started to roll it up, but Camilla caught her hand, stopping her. “Don’t, Aunt Letty. I know. But just because there have been accidents before, doesn’t mean there will be another one. I love to ride, and it would be foolish not to enjoy it again.”

  “Bravo!” Booth applauded, clapping his hands together lightly. “I have no use for faint hearts. The riding habit suits you, Cousin. I say wear it and go riding tomorrow. And give your party. A little excitement about this place will be welcome. If we don’t have it, we may well—explode.”

  Letty went back to her chair and sat down without a sound. Camilla could not see her face in the dim light, but there was something unnerving about her stillness, as if she held some rush of shattering emotion in check. Hortense stood up and walked to one of the parlor doors.

  “Ride, then,” she said listlessly and went into the house.

  Booth yawned and held the back of his hand over his mouth. “These emotional scenes are wearing. That is, when the emotion is suppressed. I’d rather see tears, an outburst of temper, some flinging about in good feminine fashion.”

  Letty’s silence remained complete, her face expressionless.

  “At least, Cousin, you’ve won your point,” Booth said. “No one will lift a finger when you go riding tomorrow. I must say I find it generous of Mrs. Redfern to loan you her horse and even suggest that Granger go riding with you. She must be very sure of herself.”

  His meaning was clear. “A remark like that is uncalled for!” Camilla said sharply.

  “Is it?” The mockery had gone out of him. “Perhaps I want to see your eyes opened in time, Camilla.”

  “Mrs. Redfern’s husband has been dead hardly more than a year,” Camilla reminded him. “And Ross was his very good friend.”

  “All the more reason for what is happening,” Booth said. “A lonely, saddened woman, and a man who had a great affection for the man she loved. I don’t blame them. It’s natural enough. But I would hate to see you grow too interested in Granger.”

  “I can take care of myself,” Camilla said stiffly.

  Letty coughed gently, but said nothing, still lost in her remoteness. When Camilla rose to go inside, Booth stopped her, his hand light upon her arm, his voice unexpectedly tender.

  “I’m not sure you can take care of yourself, Cousin. But I’d like you to know that you can count me your friend.”

  She was moved in spite of her hurt, and she gave him an uncertain smile as she went into the house.

  That night Letty played her harp again.

  Camilla heard the eerie music stealing through the house as it had done on the night when Grandfather Orrin had died. Was this music perhaps the emotional release Letty needed—something to keep her from going to pieces when some inner strain became too great for her?

  Tonight no door opened, no footsteps sounded in the hall, no one stole upstairs to silence the music. After a time Camilla fell asleep, and when she wakened some hours later, the house was as still and hushed as if no mournful harp music had ever drifted through its corridors. But now, in spite of the silence, she had the feeling that something had changed in the very climate of the house. The harp music had saddened her, but there had been nothing truly frightening about it. In the hush that now lay upon the house—as if the very walls held themselves still to listen—there was something new, something fearful. Into this silence stirred a whisper of sound, as if someone moved in the hall nearby.

  Camilla sat up and reached for the matches and candle beside her bed. The candle flared and smoked in a draft from the balcony’s open door, then settled to a pale, steady flame. Her attention was fixed upon the corridor door to her room. With a cold washing of fear through her body, she wondered if she had really locked that door tonight.

  As she watched, she saw the cloisonné doorknob move almost imperceptibly. An unseen hand turned it softly and carefully as far as it would go, but the lock held and the door did not open. Slowly, softly, as Camilla stared in fascination, it turned back to its original position. The faintest sound of a sigh reached her from outside the door, followed by silence.

  Camilla slipped out of bed and into a wrapper. For a long moment she stood with her ear against the panel, listening with all her being, but there was no sound of a footfall to disturb the stillness of the house. Whoever had turned the knob might well be standing just outside the door, waiting. If she opened it, the unseen intruder might spring quickly inside.

  But the silence seemed not to be a breathing silence. She had the feeling that whoever had stood there had moved so stealthily away that the hall carpet had hidden any retreat. Her own fingers could not move so secretly. There was a click as she unlocked the door and pulled it open a crack.

  No one stood in the hall outside her room, but now she heard the sound of a creaking step on the stairs above. She looked boldly into the hall and was in time to see the white of a flounced nightgown moved out of sight up the stairway.

  She did not hesitate, but ran barefooted toward the stairs and up them to the floor above. Letty was there, drifting smoothly ahead of her down the corridor toward the attic stairs. In one hand she carried a candle, and as Camilla watched she opened the door to the stairs and vanished up them.

  Troubled, Camilla hurried after. Aunt Letty was not to be feared, and clearly she was sleepwalking again. She must be stopped and brought back to her own bed, but she must not be startled awake. This must be done gently.

  Letty had climbed to the attic by now, and she did not turn as Camilla came up the stairs behind her. She seemed to know exactly what she wanted here, and went at once to the small rear room where Althea’s saddle rested over a beam. There she set the candleholder upon a shelf and took the shining stirrup into her hands. Though her eyes were wide open, Letty felt blindly along the stirrup leather until she came to the saddle itself
, and her hands followed it to the jutting silver horn. She seemed to be touching all these things, searching them out, as if her hands found some reassurance in contact with them.

  Camilla stood silently watching her, wondering what she must do. She wished now that she had called Hortense, who knew how to handle these sleepwalking spells. Before she could decide whether to speak to her aunt, or touch her arm to lead her back to bed, Letty picked up her candle again, went past Camilla without seeing her, and started downstairs.

  Softly Camilla followed, and Letty returned to her own room without further exploration and closed her door. In all probability she had gone safely back to bed. Shaken and mystified, Camilla went to her room, and when she had locked the door, she stepped out upon the balcony. The night air was cool and fresh to her hot cheeks, and there was no tinge of horror there.

  What hidden thoughts and sorrows roused Letty to make her walk in her sleep? And why would she go to the attic and seek out Althea’s saddle? A remembrance of Grandfather Orrin’s words once more returned sharply to her mind. “Watch Letty,” he had said.

  Below the balcony Camilla heard the rustling sound of something moving. Was there someone else abroad on this strange night? But the sound, she decided, was no more than an elm branch brushing the side of the house. Starlight dusted a silver patina over Thunder Heights and shimmered on the surface of the river.

  The thought of her ride tomorrow returned, and with it all the things she wanted to shut away. In particular the words Booth had spoken about Nora and Ross. She had been angry with him at first, but his words had only strengthened her own conviction of the affection that lay between those two.

  Booth had been right—she must not let herself be hurt. Her wayward feelings must be turned back from the path of disaster.

  She went to bed and lay awake for a long while.

  In spite of her disturbed night, she was awake early the next morning. The sun, rising brightly in a golden sky across the Hudson, carried out the prophecy of the night. It was a beautiful morning for riding, and she felt eager to be away from the house and out in the hills.