Chapter XXII Nobody Home, Mr. Devil
The October night was clear, with a bite in the air which foretold sharp frosts and winter’s snows. There was no wind, only a great silence, as if all nature had tucked itself away for a long night’s rest.
On the eastern horizon, there was a dull glow as if it were the reflections of a great conflagration. The light of it brightened, and slowly over the edge of things arose a golden streak, the curved top of the moon. In stately dignity, it ascended towards the zenith, its gold changing to silver and its beams bathing the world in a flood of gentle light. Over field and forest and plain the soft veil advanced, spreading its magic silvery sheen until all it touched became a mysterious fairyland.
In this delicate mantle were enfolded the huts of the poor and the palaces of the rich, the lonely dwelling and the massed houses of great cities. The thriving municipality of South Ridgefield was lighted by this mild illumination which painted with a gleaming brush the residence of Mrs. Henderson, and even tinged the bald head of that learned lawyer, Hezekiah Wilkins, who, seated upon the porch railing, gazed heavenward and told the widow, “It’s a beautiful moon, Mary. I have always admired the moon. It’s the friend of youth. Since the beginning of time it has been the one welcome third party at sentimental trysts. If the moon were a gossip what stories it could tell. What vows have been uttered in its presence and signed and sealed–”
“And broken, Hezekiah?” suggested Hennie.
“What if the moon should turn tattletale, Mary?”
“Don’t worry. It’s blind or it would blush red with shame for the fickleness of men,” Mrs. Henderson told him and then went on, “Forget the moon and tell me what you did for Virginia that worked this miracle?”
He chuckled. “It was so easy. I told Obadiah that he made me think of a fat hog. As usual he displayed–ahem–confidence in my judgment.”
She leaned towards him, her face filled with delight. “Hezekiah Wilkins,” she whispered excitedly, “I could hug you for those words.”
“I’ve been waiting a good many years for you to do that, Mary.”
She dropped her head. “It’s the moon, Hezekiah,” she warned him. “I forgot how to embrace any one years ago.”
In the mysterious light, it seemed to him that a smile played about her mouth. His arm slipped about her waist. He tipped her chin gently and looked down into the face which for so long had meant to him the one woman. “Is it true, Mary? You’ll marry me?”
A stray cloud passed in front of the moon, and when it passed, the beams lighted the porch of Aunt Kate’s house at Old Rock.
The door opened and Obadiah came out, while his sister drew a shawl closer to her shoulders and waited in the doorway. “It’s a beautiful night,” she said, “a perfect Fall night.”
“It’s chilly–it’s really cold,” he objected, shrugging his shoulders. He walked to the end of the porch and looked towards the apple tree where the hammock swung in lonesomeness. “Where is Virginia?” he asked.
“She went walking with Joe.”
“She’ll freeze,” he worried.
Humor glinted in Aunt Kate’s eyes. “Girls take moonlight walks on the coldest winter nights and I never heard of one freezing, Obadiah. Your blood is thin. Come in and I’ll build a fire of chips for you.”
“No,” protested Obadiah, “I’ll build one for you.”
The moonbeams bathed the meadow and the pond in their soft light. They silvered the great bowlder left by some glacier upon the edge of this inland water. On a depression in its side sat Joe, and Virginia was at his side. Before them stretched the shadowed mirror of the pond. Opposite loomed the tree clad hill in misty gloom. The moon clothed its summit in a mantle of light, reflected the tree-broken sky line in delicate tracery upon the water below, and pushed a shining pathway to their feet.
The spell of the night held the girl. It seemed wrong to speak aloud. “Listen, Joe,” she whispered, “the world is asleep.” From the hill came the sound of a cow bell sweetened by distance. Except for this and the crickets all was still. “It’s not a bit lonely,” she sighed.
“No, not nearly as lonely as South Ridgefield after you left,” he agreed.
“Did you miss me?” She was watching the pond.
He stole a glance at the curves of her face and the flash of her eyes. It seemed to him that never since the beginning of time could there have been such another. He had lured a spirit of the night to a seat beside him. “I nearly died of loneliness,” he answered.
“You poor boy.” Her voice was rich in tenderness. “Loneliness is dreadful, Joe. I don’t want you to feel that way.” Surely this was a nymph who had stolen forth to give him sympathy.
“I was miserable every moment after you left,” he told her pathetically.
She turned her face to him, wonderful in its mysterious moonlight beauty. “Joe,” she pleaded, “you must not be sad. Knowing me must not bring unhappiness to you.”
“You must never leave me again, Virginia. When I am away from you I can’t be happy.” Now the blue eyes were drawing a marvelous power of enchantment from the moonbeams, and the black eyes were reflecting the wonder of it. Under the charm of it, he dropped his cane.
With a little cry of tenderness she tried to catch it. Losing her balance she fell towards him. He caught her in his arms, and the only other cloud in all the heavens that night drifted before the moon and the world darkened. Yet, on this old rock, lips touched and love blazed and hearts whispered words of gladness.
The cloud passed on and the beams fell upon Serena, who had come forth upon the stoop of the Dale kitchen for a breath of fresh air. She raised her eyes to the great orb hanging high above her. Its light displayed a look of great happiness and contentment upon her black face as she whispered into the night, “Praise be! Ma honey chil’ is er comin’ home. De ole man done conquah de evil spi’it which to’ment ’im. Dat fool Ike done heard de warnin’ dat come lak er cry in de night, an’ join de chu’ch. Nobody home, Mr. Devil.”
The End