by Van Reid
“Oh, yes,”she said. “I hadn’t thought.”
Daniel helped Charlotte wrap a blanket about her like a cloak, then took up one for himself. They had noticed several lights in the distance and with the lantern to guide them back to the road, they made steps northward, toward Gardiner, and toward the lights they deemed the closest.
“Where is he now?” asked Charlotte while they walked. “The little boy.”
“I am told he is with a family up in Veazie.”
“You were a friend to his people?” she said.
“I was their lawyer first, but yes, they were my friends.”
“Has he a bequest then?”
“Would you believe, if there is a bequest, it’s been hidden somewhere, and the boy may be the only one who can find it?”
“I don’t understand,” said Charlotte, intrigued. “How can a four-year old find it if no one else can?”
“I don’t know myself,” admitted Daniel. “It was something his grandfather said to me once. Then again, I may have misunderstood him. But it is certainly the reason he was kidnapped in the first place.”
Staying on the road was more difficult than they would have guessed; everything was so white, and the snow had drifted. The lights they were following disappeared for a while behind a rising bank, then appeared a good deal closer than they had expected. There was a house, but any driveway was invisible and they scrambled up a bank, deep with snow, to a wide front porch.
The house was a massive thing, couched in its bed of snow and surrounded by extraordinary trees; the house rose so loftily, with tall wings on either side, and the tree trunks were so wide, themselves like walls, that the house and the wooden giants seemed like one edifice, whether natural or man-made.
“If your story didn’t sound like something from a book,” said Charlotte, “we have certainly walked into one.”
There were lights in the lower windows on the right-hand side of the house and a dim glow through the panes on either side of the front door. The drifts on the porch were nearly as deep as in the road, and Daniel had to kick snow out of the way to open a heavy storm door. Beyond this was a proper Gothic portal, and he knocked at it three times.
He sensed Charlotte shivering beside him and thought how pleasant it would be had he the license, the privilege, to put an arm about her. It was perhaps not just the cold that made her shake; there was something a little eerie about standing on this strange porch with the great house looming over them. The night was dark, and they were distant from the general warmth of humanity. They would know no one.
No one came to the door at first, and Daniel knocked again. Then he started, for someone appeared and peeked from below the glass in the door, pulling the lace curtain aside to reveal a single eye. He heard a sound of surprise from Charlotte, even as he realized that the person was not a sneak but by nature short or stooped. It was a bright wide eye though marked by age. He raised the lantern so as to illuminate Charlotte, thinking that the face of a woman was bound to cause less apprehension on the other side of the door.
A second eye joined the first, every bit as wide and bright, and Daniel thought he caught the note of a voice. Another figure moved like a shadow behind the first, and soon two pairs of eyes were considering them. There was a definite discussion then and finally the sound of a key in the lock. The door was tugged at several times, and Daniel kept himself from giving it a good shove. Let them let us in, he thought.
“Haloo?” came a reedy voice from within when there was a crack in the door. “Is someone there?”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Daniel. “We’ve been stranded. Our sleigh foundered, and we need a place to sit and warm ourselves.”
“Oh, dear! Louella, help me here! I must rescue these persons!”
This time Daniel did lend a little weight to the struggle with the door and he stepped aside so that Charlotte could enter first. Relative warmth and the comfort and smells that accompany oiled floors, oriental carpets, and rooms crammed with furnshings greeted them like an overwhelming act of generosity. The two elderly women did their best to wrestle the door closed behind their unexpected guests, and Daniel offered his assistance.
“Allow me,” he said, his hat in hand, and having pulled shut the storm door, he closed the front door as well.
“Oh, my!” said the first woman. “How strong! Curier could never do that!”
“Curier shuts the door all the time, Lavona,” said Louella.
“Yes, I suppose he does! But in such a storm! Oh, my! How strong!” Lavona ted a sweet face to Daniel. “I was just saying how very strong you are!” Everything she said was at a pitch somewhat louder than normal and therefore had the sound of an exclamation.
“Lavona is always pleased with strong men,” explained Louella.
“Oh, well,”said Daniel, a little abashed, “I’m afraid I won’t please her ver much.”
Louella’s face wrinkled into a beautiful smile, and she waved a hand at him. If Daniel hadn’t seen her face, he would have thought the laugh coming from her was a sob. He realized, then, that a third elderly woman was standing at the head of the broad stairs before them. She was saying something he couldn’t hear, but the first two women knew the problem. “She’s just gone upstairs!” said Lavona.
“Dear,” said Louella, “you’re shouting.”
“What’s that, dear?”
“You’re shouting!”
“I’m shouting?!”
“You are!!”
Lavona laid a hand on Daniel’s arm and shouted apologetically. “I do shout, I know!”
“Please, I didn’t notice.”
“Oh, dear, you’re cold,” said Louella to Charlotte. Charlotte had taken off her gloves, and her hands did look a little blue. Louella took one of Charlotte’s hands and rubbed it. “Dear, dear.”
“Bring them in!” said Lavona.
The third woman was halfway down the stairs, and Daniel gave her a smile and a nod as he and Charlotte were led into a brightly lit parlor, where they were made to stand before the fire. Two more elderly women sat near the hearth, and they were introduced to the unexpected guests.
“This is our sister, Larinda,” Louella was saying.
“Oh, my, what a terrible night,” Larinda intoned.
“And this is Lavilda.”
“Have you had supper?” wondered this person. “And here is our baby, Alvaid,” finished Louella when the woman from the stairs entered the room. “We are the Pettengills.”
“You’re all sisters?” wondered Charlotte. There were smiles all around for an answer, and Charlotte declared, “How marvelous!”
The pronouncement pleased the old ladies and even made them laugh a bit. “That’s Father and Mother,” said Louella, pointing to two intrepid-looking individuals caught in oil above the mantel.
“They’re magnificent!” said Charlotte, quite sincerely, and Daniel thought three or four years fell off the Pettengill sisters right then, they were so proud.
The marvel of it was there couldn’t have been a one of them less than eighty years old, and though they were of different stature (and Alvaid was not as thin as her older sisters), they were like distinct creations of the same hand, perhaps images of the same subject in different moods or light. They were fine, delicate-looking creatures, every one of them exquisite in the absolute honesty of her age.
“I think there’s pie in the kitchen,” said Larinda, the way a person might tease a child with sweets.
Daniel knew the way to these ladies’ hearts, and he went straight to it without compunction. “I will be honest with you, ladies, and tell you that we have survived a wrecked train and a ditched sleigh and as yet have had no supper tonight.”
Oh, the cries that went up! Every one of the women must rise from her seat or wring her hands in horror at such news, and as one they hurriedinly a shuffling manner-toward the hall and stopped only occasionally to draw Daniel and Charlotte along with them to the kitchen.
“I can see yo
u are a hand with the ladies,” said Charlotte with the sort of puckishness she had exhibited earlier.
Daniel, who had not expected such an immense response to his tactics, chuckled.
“I shall watch myself in future,” said Charlotte.
30. Advice Did Not Come Cheap
When Miss Burnbrake did not arrive at the Worster House by nightfall, her uncle began to fret, and when word did arrive that two trains had been stopped by a derailment south of Hallowell, the old man was beside himself and hired a sleigh that would take him to the scene of the accident. Before he was able to leave, however, a sequel to the story was broadcast over the wire, stating that no one had been injured in the accident and that the passengers from both trains had found quarters in nearby inns and private homes. With these assurances, Mr. Burnbrake was prevailed upon to stay at the Worster House and wait upon his niece’s arrival on the morrow. a practical man, having assuaged his fears, he went upstairs to take a nap before dinner.
He rose an hour later, dressed, and joined the Moosepath League and the Dash-It-All Boys in the dining room; it made for a jolly table, and Roderick Waverley himself stood from his seat with a glass of cider raised and declared, “Though we part, members of our separate societies-the Moosepath League and the Dash-It-All Boys-let us tonight think of ourselves as the Moose-Dashians!”
Ephram, Eagleton, and Thump were so moved that they rose as one and cried out, “Moxie!” This was completely inexplicable to the Dash-It-All Boys but did not discourage them from taking part. Durwood, in particular, derived some pleasure from declaring, “Moxie,” at odd intervals throughout the meal.
Neither Moxie nor young cider, however, interested the Dash-It-All Boys very much, though Brink did find some medicinal tonic in a pocket, and the addition of this to the mugs of the Dashians greatly elevated their level of energy. Ephram, Eagleton, and Thump admired Durwood, Waverley, and Brink’s animation; Mr. Burnbrake was pretty sure they were tight.
After dinner the Dash-It-All Boys bade good evening and wandered into the lobby in search of their hats and coats. It was here that Durwood found on the manager’s desk a short stack of card stock that was meant to be used for messages and addresses. “How is your hand?” he asked of a young housemaid who walked past him at that moment.
“I beg your pardon,” she said.
Waverley and Brink took interest in the question and gathered around him. Durwood waggled his hand in the air, as if he were writing something. “Do you have a nice hand?” he said.
“It looks very nice to me,” expressed Waverley.
“Go away,” suggested Durwood.
“Both of them, in fact,” added Brink.
“It is nice enough, I suppose,” said the young woman.
Durwood snatched up one of the blank cards and laid it beside the register pen. “Would you do me the favor of demonstrating?” he inquired.
Though the request was unusual, the young woman was accustomed to obliging the hotel’s patrons; she stepped up to the desk and dipped the pen.
“Would you please write ‘Mrs. Dorothea Roberto’?” asked Durwood.
A pair of eyebrows lifted, one each on the faces of Waverley and Brink. They joined Durwood in leaning close to the work as it was accomplished. The young woman had a very nice, formal hand, and feminine; the requested name was expressed in many fine loops and curls, and one might have thought that something of the actual Mrs. Roberto had been discovered in those letters.
“Marvelous!” said Durwood, and he answered the young woman’s obliging nature with a generous gratuity. She looked back as she continued on her errand but soon forgot the business. Durwood fanned the card in the air till the ink was dry.
“And what is that toward?” wondered Brink.
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Durwood. “The woman was on my mind, and I thought I would like to have some remembrance of her.” This seemed logical enough (for the time being), and Waverley and Brink led the way from the lobby. “And she never lived on the waterfront,” said Durwood with great finality.
So they left the Worster house for some unnamed establishment, though the storm had not abated, and they did not return till well after their Moosepathian counterparts had retired.
Whiling the remainder of their evening in the parlors of the Worster House with Ezra Bumbrake, Ephram, Eagleton, and Thump began to wonder if they were prepared to lead forces into battle.
The shank of night passed in swift fashion; the dinner had been excellent, and there had been enough of it, Mr. Burnbrake was amiable, if quiet, company, and the sitting rooms at the hotel were handsomely accoutred and filled with many interesting people. Between pronouncements concerning the weather, time, and tide, however, the subject of discourse eventually did turn upon the appointed snowball fight, and it was Thump in fact (or rather the obvious depth of his musing after dinner) who raised to light the concern so universal among them.
“You appear very thoughtful, Thump,” said Ephram.
“I am mindful of tomorrow’s contest,” said Thump, after the moment it took to rise from his reverie.
“Ah!” returned Ephram, and his relief was plain, for it was clear to him now that Thump had been applying his significant aptitude to the stratagems and tactics necessary to their martial responsibilities. But they waited in vain for some pronouncement or plan from their bearded associate: Thump only blinked back at them as if confused by the sudden attention.
“The snowball fight,” said Eagleton finally.
“Was there?” wondered Mr. Burnbrake, and he was wide-eyed and amused as they explained the details of their conscription.
“Good heavens,” said the old man, “I used to join in some awful campaigns when I was a lad.”
“Did you really?” said Eagleton, who couldn’t imagine such a thing.
“Oh, certainly,” said the old man. “I was hiding behind the stoop at my home in Concord one day-I couldn’t have been more than eight or nine waiting for my best friend, Harmon Oldgate, to walk past. I saw a shadow preceding someone up the sidewalk and let fly with as tightly packed a snowball as I ever threw. Hit a constable.” The memory made Mr. Burnbrake laugh, but the members of the club were stunned to tn of it.
“My word,” said Eagleton, who searched in his pockets for his journal and pen.
“Did the constable know?” wondered Ephram.
“I should say he did!”
“But what did you do?”
“Ran like fire!” And Mr. Burnbrake laughed some more-from retrospective relief, Thump guessed.
“We must watch for constables,” suggested Ephram solemnly. Mr. Burnbrake’s tale awakened them to the true and chancy nature of battle.
“Perhaps you could give us some advice regarding tactics,” said Eagleton.
“That’s a very good idea, Eagleton.”
“Thank you, Ephram.”
“Load quickly and fire at will!” declared Mr. Bum brake with another laugh. “Perhaps you should ask old Colonel Barkoddel. He’s fought the real thing.”
“Colonel Barkoddel?” said Eagleton. He glanced around the room.
“There. By the fire,” said Mr. Burnbrake. He indicated with a nod of the head a man sitting at the other end of the room, who was more elderly than himself.
“Do you think?” wondered Thump.
Mr. Burnbrake reminded them of their chairman then, his laughter had such a Waltonian quality about it; there was both humor and kindness in his voice. “The poor colonel hasn’t been with himself as of late, I’m afraid. His mind is on those other battlefields.”
And the conversation was allowed to drift to other matters till Mr.
Burnbrake retired. a soon as the older man was gone, however, having assured them that he was quite able to climb the stairs on his own, Ephram, Eagleton, and Thump began to wonder if approaching Colonel Barkoddel with questions regarding the expected dispute might encourage some advice from the elderly fellow.
Having discussed this at some circuitou
s length, the Moosepathians moved in concert to the hearth, which glowed with great cheer and vigor. Colonel Barkoddel, as it happened, was nodding in the warmth of the fire, and they stood for several minutes looking at him before considering it beyond the gravity of the situation to wake him.
They had just settled upon this last point when the old man’s eyes snapped open, and he cast his rheumy sight upon the three friends. “Have you their position?” he demanded in a rather sharp tone.
“I beg your pardon?” said Ephram, to whom, in the absence of their chairman, the capacity of spokesman often fell.
“They’ll show soon enough, I daresay,” growled the man. “Though I’d rather know from what quarter, and I wonder that you hazard to return without anything but a ‘beg your pardon.’”
“There’s to be a contest tomorrow,” ventured Eagleton.
“I’ll say there’ll be a contest!” declared the fellow, the volume and the emphatic nature of his words drawing attention from several other people in the parlor. “I daresay some of you won’t see the end of it!” he added, in what seemed a dire prediction. The Moosepathians were attempting to take a graceful and courteous leave, but the old man followed their ever movement with a glaring eye. “What is it then?” he said. “You didn’t come here to ask me what you already know!”
“We would like to know the best way to lead our boys,” spoke up Thump, much to the surprise and admiration of his friends.
“What?” said the colonel.
Thump had read some books on military affairs, and apparently the terms therein had adhered to his mind more completely than he had realized. “Whether to take advantage of the terrain,” he added, “and make the sneak attack or to press forward with a bold charge.”
“Load quickly and fire at will, I say!” said Colonel Barkoddel. “What? Up to it again, are they?” he continued, seemingly in another conversation altogether. His eyes took on a new light. “The devil!”
“Oh, my!” said Ephram. He knew that military men had the reputation for startling oaths and was sorry to have occasioned this one by their discourse. The three friends looked to one another with profound misgivings. “Seven past eight,” declared Ephram, and he checked a second watch to be sure of this.
