It was a great day for Pat when the Wilcoxes moved to the Long House farm and for the first time in her recollection a light shone down from its windows that night. It gave Pat such delightful little thrills of comradeship to help Bets get settled. Mr. and Mrs. Wilcox were quiet folks who adored Bets and gave her her own way in everything. This might have spoiled some children but Bets was too sweet and wholesome by nature to be easily spoiled. She was allowed to pick the wallpaper for her own room and Pat went to Silverbridge with her to help choose it. They both liked the same one…a pale green with rose sprays on it. Pat could see it already on the walls of that long room, dim with fir shadows, which had been assigned to Bets.
“Oh, isn’t this house glad to have people living in it again,” she exulted. “It will always be the Long House but it won’t be lonely anymore.”
Judy was secretly well pleased that Pat had a girl friend of her own age at last. Judy had always felt worried over the fact that Pat had none. Winnie had half a dozen chums, but Pat, although she got on well enough with the girls at school, had never been closely drawn to any of them.
“Bets is the prettiest girl in school now,” she told Judy proudly. “May Binnie can’t hold a candle to her…and oh, doesn’t May hate her! But everyone else loves her. I love her dreadfully, Judy.”
“I wudn’t be after loving her too much,” warned Judy. “Not too much, Patsy dear.”
“As if anyone could be loved too much!” scoffed Pat.
But Judy shook her head.
“She’ll never comb gray hairs, that one. Sure and that liddle face av hers do be having a bloom that’s not av earth,” she muttered to herself, thinking of Bets’ too brilliant roses and the strange look that went and came in her eyes, as if she had some secret source of happiness no one else knew. Perhaps Bets’ charm lay in that look. For charm she had. Everyone felt it, old and young.
“Some of the girls in school are jealous because Bets is my chum,” Pat told Judy. “They’ve tried and tried to get her away. But Bets and I just hang together. We’re twins really, Judy. And every day I find out something new about her. Sometimes we call each other Gertrude and Margaret. We are so sorry for our middle names because they are never used. We think they feel bad about it. But that is one of our secrets. I like nice secrets. May Binnie told me a secret last week and it was a horrid one. Oh, Judy, aren’t you glad the Wilcoxes have come to the Long House?”
“I am that. It’s a trate to have good neighbors. And George Wilcox do be a quiet inoffensive man enough. But his dad, old Geordie, was a terror to snakes in his time. Whin he got in one av his fine rages I’ve seen him grab the pudding from the pot and throw it out av the door. And that stubborn he was. Whin they voted in church to set for prayers d’ye think me fine Geordie wud do it? Not be a jugful. Stiff as a ram-rod wud he stand up, wid his back to the minister, and his legs a yard apart and glare over the congregation. Oh, oh, he’s in heaven now, poor man, and I hope he lets the angels have a bit av their own way.”
“What funny things you do remember about people, Judy,” giggled Pat.
“Remimber, is it? Sure thin and it isn’t a funny thing I remember about Geordie’s cousin, Matt Wilcox. He was be way av having a rat or two in his garret. Thought he was haunted by a divil.”
“Haunted by a devil?” Pat had a real thrill.
“I’m telling ye. But his fam’ly didn’t be worrying much over until he tuk to liking to hear the cratur’s talk. Said its conversation was rale interesting. They tuk him to the asylum thin but sorra a bit did he care, for his divil went wid him. He lived there for years, rale happy and continted as long as they’d just let him sit quiet and listen. Thin one day they found him crying fit to break his heart. ‘Sure,’ sez he, ‘me divil has gone back to his own place and what I’m to do now for a bit av entertainment I don’t know.’ They tuk him home quite cured but he always said there niver was inny rale flavor in innything folks said to him the rist av his life. He said he missed the tang av…oh, oh, av a place I’ll not be mintioning to ye, Patsy dear.”
“I suppose you mean hell,” said Pat coolly, much to Judy’s horror. “I’m sure I hear it often enough. Uncle Tom’s man is always telling things to go there. Uncle Tom says he just can’t help it.”
“Oh, oh, maybe he can’t at that. He’s ould Andy Taylor’s grandson and ould Andy had a great gift av swearing. He was the only man in South Glen that ever did be swearing. Sure and nobody else had the heart to try whin they’d heard what ould Andy cud do. Swearing and laughing he always was, the ould scallywag. ‘As long as I can laugh at things I’ll get along widout God,’ sez he. ‘Whin I can’t laugh I’ll turn to him,’ sez he. Whin his own son died he laughed and sez, ‘Poor b’y he’s been saved a lot av trouble,’ sez he. Whin his wife died he sez, ‘There’s one mistake corrected,’ sez he. But whin ould Soapy John, that he’d hated and quarreled wid all his life, fell out av his buggy and bruk his neck he sez, ‘This is too funny to laugh at,’ sez he, ‘I’ll have to be going to church and getting religion,’ sez he. And niver a Sunday he missed from that to the day av his death.”
• • •
Pat had never had such a happy summer. It was lovely to have some one to walk to and from school with. Sid was drifting more and more to the companionship of the other boys, although he and Pat still had their beautiful hours of prowling in the fields or hunting eggs in the barn or looking for strayed turkeys in the dims.
Sometimes Bets would come down to Silver Bush where she and Pat had a playhouse among the birches. Time and again Judy let them have their suppers in it. It was so romantic and adventurous to have meals out of doors, finishing up with a dessert of ruby red currants eaten off a lettuce leaf. Or they sat in the moonlight at the kitchen door and listened to Judy’s stories of ghosts and fairies and ancestors and “gray people” that haunted apple orchards in the dusks of eve and morn. No wonder that Pat had to go clear up to the Long House with Bets afterwards. Pat was so pickled in Judy’s stories that they only gave her thrills. Bets had the thrills, too, but if her father and mother had known the extent of Judy’s repertoire they might not have been so complacent over Bets’ visits to Silver Bush.
They helped Judy make her cheeses…for the last time. The decree had gone forth that henceforth all the milk must be sent to the factory and the cheese bought there.
“Oh, Judy, I wish things didn’t have to change.”
“But they do, Patsy dear. That do be life. And yer dad nades all the money he can be getting for his milk. But there’ll niver be a bit av dacent flavored cheese at Silver Bush agin. Factory cheese indade!” sniffed Judy rebelliously.
Sometimes Pat would go up to the Long House…by a fascinating path up the hill fields…a path you always felt happy on, as if the fairies had traced it. She found something new to love every time she traversed it…some sunny fern corner or mossy log or baby tree. You went along the Whispering Lane and across the end of Uncle Tom’s garden and there was your path. The first outpost of this land of fairy was a big clump of spruce trees where Pat generally lingered to pick a “chew” of gum. Then there was a brook…a tiny thread of a brook that ran into Jordan…with a lady silver birch hanging over the log bridge. Beyond it a meadow cross-cut enticed you in daisies with an old pine at the top that always seemed to be waiting for something, Pat thought. Then it ran along an upland dyke where you could pick bouquets of long-stemmed strawberries in the crevices and look down far over the lowlands and groves to the sea. Sometimes Bets would come to meet her here…or again she would be waving at her from one of her windows as Pat came through the spruces on the hill. Then Silver Bush and the world Pat knew dropped out of sight and before them were the bush-dotted fields of the Long House farm and the shining loops of the Silverbridge river. And it was wonderful just to be alive.
The tragedy of that summer was Thursday’s death. Poor Thursday was missing for a couple of days and was found lyin
g stiff and stark on the well platform one morning, having dragged himself home to die.
“Judy, it’s dreadful that cats can’t live as long as we do,” sighed Pat. “You just have time to get so fond of them…and they die. Judy, do you think it hurt poor Thursday very much to die?”
Pat took it pretty hard but Thursday had been away a good deal all summer, sometimes for weeks at a time, and Pepper and Salt, two adorable kittens, one smoky gray, one gray and white, with a pansy face, had crept into Pat’s heart for her consolation. They had an affecting funeral at which Sid and Jingle were pallbearers and Salt and Pepper reluctant mourners with huge black bows around their necks. Pat and Bets made wreaths of wild flowers for the dead pussy. Pat wanted to bury him in the graveyard, between Weeping Willy and Wild Dick, because he seemed so much like one of the family. But Judy was horrified at the idea; so they buried Thursday in the little glade among the spruces where the other Silver Bush cats slept the sleep that knows no waking. Clever Bets wrote an epitaph in verse for him and Jingle burnt it on a board. Thursday’s funeral was always remembered in Silver Bush annals because Cuddles inadvertently sat down on a Scotch thistle after it and only Pat could comfort her. Cuddles always turned to Pat in her woes.
“At least I suppose I can put flowers on Thursday’s grave,” said Pat a little defiantly. She found it hard to forgive Judy for refusing Thursday the graveyard.
• • •
There was a terrible time one soft, golden end of a rainy day when Pepper fell into the well. Pepper had a knack of getting into trouble. It was only the preceding Sunday night that he had walked up Judy’s back and danced on her shoulders when they were all at family prayers in the Little Parlor. Sid had disgraced himself by laughing out and dad had been very angry.
Pepper was missing one evening when Pat put his saucer of milk on the well platform and when Pat called him lamentable shrieks were heard from somewhere. But from where? Pat and Bets hunted everywhere a cat could possibly be but no Pepper. Only those piteous cries that seemed to come now from the sky, now from the silver bush, now from the graveyard.
“Sure and the cratur’s bewitched,” cried Judy. “He can’t be far off but I’m bate to say where.”
Bets finally solved the mystery.
“He’s in the well,” she cried.
Pat ran to it with a shriek of despair. Nothing could be seen in the dim depths but there was no doubt that Pepper was down there somewhere. As they looked down the shrieks redoubled.
“The water’s calm as a clock,” said Judy. “Where has the baste got to? Oh, oh, I’m seeing. Look at the eyes av him blazing. He must have fell in the water but me brave Pepper has climbed out on that liddle shelf av rock between the stones and the water. Listen at him. He’ll split his throat. And well may he wail for I’m blist if I can be seeing how we’re to get him up, what wid yer dad and the b’ys away to the Bay Shore and not likely back till midnight. This do be a tommyshaw.”
“We can’t leave him there all night,” cried Pat in agony. She flew to the garret to set the signal light. If only Jingle would see it! Jingle had been spending most of his evenings grubbing young spruces out of a big field Mr. Gordon wanted to clean up, but he saw Pat’s light as he tramped home and in a few minutes he and McGinty were in the Silver Bush yard. McGinty, when he found out what was the trouble, sat down and howled antiphonally to Pepper’s yells. It was a doleful duet.
“Oh, Jingle, can’t you save Pepper?” implored Pat.
Jingle was a rather comical knight-errant, to be sure, with his frayed trousers and dark glasses and “raggedy hair,” but he came promptly and practically to the help of lady fair. The three of them, aided by Judy, dragged a ladder from the barn and contrived, goodness knew how, to get it down the well. Down went Jingle, while Pat and Bets prevented McGinty from a suicidal leap after him. Terrible moments of suspense. Up came Jingle, grasping a forlorn, dripping kitten who promptly expressed his gratitude by giving his rescuer a ferocious bite on the wrist.
“Oh, oh,” groaned Judy, “but I’m faling as if I’d been pulled through a key-hole. Its been the tarrible day, what wid Cuddles catching her liddle fingers in the wringer and Snicklefritz ating up one av yer dad’s boots and Siddy’s owl gone the Good Man Above only knows where. And now,” she concluded in a tone of despair, “well have to be dragging water up from yer Jordan till we can get the well cleaned. And nobody knowing how minny lizards we’ll have to be drinking in that same.”
“Lizards!”
“I’m telling ye. Didn’t ould Mr Adams’ grandfather swally a lizard one day whin he tuk a drink of the brook water? Sure and he was niver the same again…he wud always fale it wriggling about in his insides whin his stomach was impty.”
Pat reflected with a grue that she and Jingle had often drunk of Jordan water…though it was generally from the rock spring up in Happiness. She immediately felt something wrong with her stomach. But maybe that was only because it was empty. They shut Pepper up in the granary to dry off and went in to a supper of hot meat pie in Judy’s kitchen. After so much excitement one really needed a little nourishment….
But that night Pat had a dreadful dream that she had swallowed a frog!
• • •
Pat found a new delight in life…going up to stay all night with Bets. The first time was in early December when Judy was glad to pack her off to the Long House as soon as she came from school, because Long Alec was killing the pigs and Pat was neither to hold nor bind when they killed the pigs. Not, as Judy sarcastically pointed out to her, that it prevented her later on from enjoying the sausages and fried ham that were among the products of the late lamented.
Pat went up to the Long House over a silver road of new-fallen snow. Every time she turned to look down on home the world was a little whiter. Bets, who had not been in school that day, was waiting for her under the pine. Just above them the Long House, amid its fir trees, was like a little dark island in a sea of snow.
There was something about the long, low-eaved house, with the dormer windows in its roof, that pleased Pat. And Bets’ room was a delightful one with two dormers along its side and one at each end. It was very grand, Pat told Judy, with a real “set of furniture” and a long mirror in which the delighted girls could see themselves from top to toe. The west window was covered with vines, leafless now but a green dappled curtain in summer, and the east looked right out into a big apple tree. Pat and Bets sat by the little stove and ate apples until any one might have expected them to burst. Then they crept into bed and cuddled down for one of those talks dear to the hearts of small school-girls from time immemorial.
“It’s so much easier to be confidential in the dark,” Pat had told Judy. “I can tell Bets everything then.”
“Oh, oh, I wudn’t tell iverything to innybody,” warned Judy. “Not iverything, me jewel.”
“Not to anybody but Bets,” agreed Pat. “Bets is different.”
“Too different,” sighed Judy. But she did not let Pat hear it.
To lie there, with the soft swish of the fir trees sounding just outside, and talk “secrets” with Bets…lovely secrets, not like May Binnie’s…was delightful. Bets had recently been to some wedding in the Wilcox clan and Pat had to hear all about it…the mysterious pearl-white bride, the bridesmaids’ lovely dresses, the flowers, the feast.
“Do you suppose we will ever get married?” whispered Bets.
“I won’t,” said Pat. “I couldn’t ever go away from Silver Bush.”
“But you wouldn’t like to be an old maid, would you?” said Bets. “Besides, you could get him to come and live with you at Silver Bush, couldn’t you?”
This was a new idea for Pat. It seemed quite attractive. Somehow, when you were with Bets, everything seemed possible. Perhaps that was another part of her charm.
“We were born on the same day,” went on Bets, “so if we’re ever married we must
try to be married the same day.”
“And die the same day. Oh, wouldn’t that be romantic?” breathed Pat in ecstasy.
Pat woke in the night with just a little pang of homesickness. Was Silver Bush all right? She slipped out of bed and stole across to the nearest dormer window. She breathed on its frosty stars until she had made clear a space to peer through…then caught her breath with delight. The snow had ceased and a big moon was shining down on the cold, snowy hills. The powdered fir trees seemed to be covered with flowers spun from moonshine, the apple trees seemed picked out in silver filigree. The open space of the lawn was sparkling with enormous diamonds. How beautiful Silver Bush looked when you gazed down on it on a moonlit winter night! Was darling Cuddles covered up warm? She did kick the clothes off so. Was mother’s headache better? Away over beyond Silver Bush was the poor, lean, ugly Gordon house which nobody had ever loved. Jingle would be sleeping in his kitchen loft now. All summer he had slept in the hay-mow with McGinty. Poor Jingle, whose mother never wrote to him! How could a mother be like that? Pat almost hated to go back to sleep again and lose so much beauty. It had always seemed a shame to sleep through a moonlit night. Somehow those far hills looked so different in moonlight. A verse she and Bets had learned “off by heart,” in school that day came to her mind:
“Come, for the night is cold,
And the frosty moonlight fills
Hollow and rift and fold
Of the eerie Ardise hills.”
She repeated it to herself with a strange, deep exquisite thrill of delight, such as she had never felt before…something that went deeper than body or brain and touched some inner sanctum of being of which the child had never been conscious. Perhaps that moment was for Patricia Gardiner the “soul’s awakening” of the old picture. All her life she was to look back to it as a sort of milestone…that brief, silvery vigil at the dormer window of the Long House.
Pat of Silver Bush Page 14
