The trouble at Pinelands A detective story

I smiled to myself, for the sweet, resigned voice had turned sharp, almost irritable. Plainly there were limits even to Aunt Mary’s patience. And from without the whistle of that miserable quail continued monotonously: “Bob_white_!” Three seconds, then: “Bob_white_!” Then I went on into the living room, selected a book and settled myself to wait for breakfast. It might have been an hour before I heard voices at the rear of the house; they came closer, sounded from the dining room, just behind me. I listened frankly, welcoming any signs of human companionship after my long vigil; for nothing is so lonely as a deserted sitting room in the early morning, when all but yourself are still in their rooms. “Yassum, Miss Dor’thy, thassall, ma’am. Them two gold-banded chiny cups done gone bust, an’ th’ sweet potato pie all et up.” “Oh, dear!” That was Dorothy’s voice. “I don’t mind the pie so much, but I do wish the ghost wouldn’t break my best dishes, Rosina.” The Poltergeist retained an appetite for material dainties, it seemed! For some reason that touch rendered it less formidable to my fancy; besides, it was now bright sunlight, and who fears ghosts in the daytime? I felt very courageous. But the cook was speaking again, in a rich, throaty drawl. “Yassum, Miss Dor’thy. Them ghosteses ain’t got no apershashun, is they? But, ma’am, I done got my satisfy of ghosteses, Miss Dor’thy. I’se standed ’em too long. Cain’t leave you-all ontwel th’ weddin’, a-course; but when you-all gits safe married, Fort House is th’ place I’se a-gwine t’ be anywheres else in No’th Ca’lina but! Yassum, Miss Dor’thy! You heahs me!” Dorothy sighed. “We’ll all be leaving then, I hope, Rosina. It is a spooky old place, I know, but Aunt Mary likes it here.” Rosina departed kitchenward, muttering something unintelligible which I fancied was less than complimentary to Miss McGregor; and Dorothy pushed aside the portière and saw me. “Why, good morning, Uncle George! You’re up early.” I rose rather stiffly, for this night had done my rheumatism no good, and bowed. “Good morning, Dorothy! Did you sleep well?” “Not very.” However she looked fresh as a rose, and her blue eyes shone. Her thick black hair was coiled simply about a shapely head; she wore some sort of filmy silk robe of a pale blue color, and ravishingly pretty she looked in it, too. “The Poltergeist upset my night,” she went on. “I got up early to see what damage he’d done this time. You’ll excuse me for coming out so informally?” She looked down at her negligee with a bright blush. “I’m going to skip right back upstairs and dress now--honest I am.” “You look very sweet, my dear.” I am old enough to say such things quite impersonally. “But tell me first about the ghost.” She blushed again. “Why--why, Uncle George, it seems so silly!” “Silly!” I repeated. “There was nothing silly about that scream in the night; it brought the goose flesh out all over me.” “Well,” she admitted. “But you see I’ve heard it so often, and it’s never done any harm.” “Often? You never mentioned it before.” Her color heightened further at my tone of reproach. She came closer and perched on the arm of my chair, smoothing my old bald head gently. “No, I never spoke of it. Even Lewis doesn’t know--except he’s heard Peter joking about it sometimes. Maybe I’ll tell him after we’re married; but I couldn’t bear to have him laugh at me. It’s bad enough to have your brother always making fun, without your--your fiancé, too. But the ghost--well, it’s come a dozen times or more. The first time was--let me see! It was about a year ago. I know it was after mother died, and Aunt Mary came here to live, because I remember how indignant she was. Just pooh-poohed and said it was all my imagination. But afterward she heard it, too; and then she began to read and study about spirits, until now she’s a confirmed spiritualist--uses the ouija board and everything. But she never wants the Poltergeist talked about outside the family. “What does it do? Why, little, mean tricks. It gets into the cupboards and steals things and breaks dishes; and it bangs the furniture about, and sometimes it screams like it did last night. Peter sat up to watch several times, but he never saw anything, though one night it pulled the chair out from under him. Peter claims he just went to sleep and fell over, but I know better. It was the Poltergeist! Aunt Mary claims you never can see them--they’re invisible. She says they never do any real harm, only these little tricks, like breaking dishes and all that. But it is kind of unsettling, Uncle George. I’ll be glad when Lewis and I are married, and we can leave this old house for good. Only think, Uncle George, three days more!” Then she jumped up with a cry. “My goodness, Lewis is coming over to breakfast, and here it is seven o’clock and after, and me not even dressed! I must run. Bother the Poltergeist! Aunt Mary’ll tell you all about it, if you can once get her started. She loves to talk about ghosts. I’ve often wondered how she refrained from telling Lewis. And say”--she darted back to my side and whispered--“say, Uncle George, be awful nice to her this morning; jolly her up a little, will you? She will be in a terrible temper, I’m afraid.” She dropped a swift kiss upon my bald spot and ran out. I settled back to wait for breakfast, rather impatiently, I must admit, for the night had tired me, and I craved hot coffee. But in twenty minutes Dorothy was back, demure and immaculate in a little blue-and-white gingham. “Come along,” she urged. “Let’s go in and get started. We won’t wait for Lewis; he’ll be along directly. I want everything fixed and ready before Aunt Mary comes out.” So she led the way into the dining room, and I followed gratefully. I sat down, and Dorothy began to hurry Rosina. “Quick, Rosina,” she directed. “Bring in the coffeepot and those muffins. And get a fresh pat of butter; this looks mussy. I hear aunty.” The fat, motherly black cook gave one apprehensive glance at the doorway, smoothed her crisp apron and fled. I wondered briefly that her household should be in such patent fear of that sweet, heroic old lady, Miss Mary McGregor. Then I, too, heard the creak of her wheel chair, and presently Aunt Mary appeared in the door, riding in the invalid’s chair in which she spent all her waking hours. Miss Christie propelled it, looking fresh and wholesome enough, in her clean white uniform, but yawning still. She was a sleepy sort of girl, a very sleepy sort! Aunt Mary greeted us with her sad, patient smile, a smile to bring tears to your eyes, it was so obviously a struggle against despair. My heart went out to her for her pathetic bravery, poor, frail old lady! Her high-bred face beneath the crown of snow-white hair was pale and worn; she sighed deeply. “Good morning, all,” she quavered, her eyes bright with unshed tears; then she bit her lip and smiled again determinedly. “Good morning, aunty. Why, you’re looking quite bright, aren’t you? Wheel her right up here, Miss Christie; everything’s all ready. Here, aunty, here’s your orange juice, all iced. Drink it right down, there’s a dear. Rosina! A nice, hot cup of coffee for Aunty Mary--quick! I got up early, Aunt Mary, on purpose to make muffins for you: don’t they look nice and appetizing? I’ll butter one and just pop it into your mouth, shall I? I’m sure you’re hungry this morning; you look so rested. You must have had a very good night.” Breathlessly, with a sort of desperate gayety, Dorothy talked against time. Her aunt listened impatiently, still wearing that pathetic smile; with parted lips she evidently waited only an opportunity to interrupt. And now she found it. “A good night!” She sighed deeply, tragically. “My dear! As though my nights were ever restful. I’m used to wakeful nights, and you know I’m not one to complain of the afflictions the Lord has seen fit to visit upon me. I try to bear them patiently and to keep sweet. But last night was terrible! It was so sweet of you, my dear, to come to my door in the night. Dorothy is always so thoughtful of her poor old aunt, Mr. Uhlman. I hadn’t heard a sound; I was just beginning to doze off, and I thought to myself, ‘I do believe I’m going to rest an hour or two,’ when Dorothy knocked at the door. It was very kindly; Dorothy is inclined to be timid about the manifestations, Mr. Uhlman--the Poltergeist, you know. She hasn’t studied spiritism as deeply as I have, of course. She naturally thinks I am timid, too; and so, being the most unselfish of children, she comes to me at once. Bless her! I hope you had no trouble getting about, Mr. Uhlman; those stairs creak so, I’m always afraid some one may stumble. I heard you going back to your room. I’d been feeling so rested, but, after you two had gone, I had such a terrible palpitation, and my neck knotted very badly. You know, Mr. Uhlman, I have so much trouble with the back of my neck. I can’t think what brought it on. I was resting so nicely before you two came in, but afterward I had such a hard time!” She paused to heave a vast sigh and absorb an equally vast bite of buttered muffin. “But I mustn’t complain. I’m only thankful that the Lord sends me strength to bear my troubles patiently. I did get settled a trifle about daybreak, and then the birds began. Those quail, you know, bobwhites! I suppose it’s my condition and perfectly absurd, so, of course, I never complain about it; but those birds set my nerves on edge so I can feel it all down my spine and into my limbs. You’ve no idea. I bore it as long as I could, but finally I was simply compelled to call Miss Christie.” She paused to cough. “I’m rather hoarse, I’m afraid. Miss Christie sleeps so soundly, the poor dear!” Here she gave her nurse an affectionate smile. “I’m a dreadful trouble to you, am I not? Eventually I managed to wake her, and she threw a stick out of the window to drive the birds away. By that time my back was paining me so I couldn’t possibly rest.” Aunt Mary stopped, beamed upon us with that plaintive, angelic look and devoted herself to her muffins and coffee. Having succeeded so admirably in putting us all three in the wrong, apportioning justly to each his share in her discomforts of the night, all in the sweetest, most kindly fashion in the world, she appeared to feel rather better. We others looked at our plates. I, for one, felt my ears burn, and my appetite seemed to have left me. I began to realize that it is not always easy to live with the most sweetly patient of invalids. And yet Dorothy’s attitude seemed rather callous. Poor Aunt Mary! She had a great deal to bear, after all! I reproached myself for having added, however unwittingly, to her discomforts. Upon the little hush came the sound of the doorbell, and Dorothy flew to answer it, her face brightening beautifully. Presently she returned, clinging to the arm of my nephew, Doctor C. Lewis Parker. Tall and spare he towered above her, and his black eyes looked down adoringly into her blue ones. “Good morning, Aunt Mary!” He bowed over her frail hand with a stately courtesy that was not unbecoming. “Hello, Uncle George. Good morning, Miss Christie. Sorry to be late, honey. I had to make a call. Did you save me some coffee? Oh, good morning, Rosina! You didn’t forget me, did you?” The fat cook beamed at him, rolling admiring eyes. Servants are always fond of my nephew. “Nossuh, Mist’ Lewis--doctah, Ah means. Ah done fetched yuh a special cup, made strong, suh.” The doctor sat down and unfolded his napkin. “Well, honey, what were you talking about?” Dorothy smiled demurely, with a sly glance at me. “Why, about ghosts, Lewis--about our ancestral spook.”