CHAPTER VI
ELLEN ENCOUNTERS AN ENIGMA
Nevertheless, in spite of this bellicose admonition, Lucy had noopportunity during the next few weeks to deliver to the Howes her aunt'smessage, for Ellen, feeling that she was now blessed with an ableassistant whose time must not be wasted, seized upon the mild May weatherto deluge her home from top to bottom with soapsuds, sapolio, and freshpaint. From morning until night Lucy worked, scrubbing and scouring,brushing and beating.
As she toiled up the stairs, carrying pails of steaming water, she caughtthrough the windows glimpses of the valley, its verdant depths threaded bythe river's silvery windings. The heavens had never been bluer. Everywheregladness was in the air, and the thrill of it filled the girl with longingto be in the heart of its magic.
Ellen, however, was entirely oblivious to the miracle taking place in theuniverse about her. The glory of the awakening season, with its hosts ofunfurling leaves and opening buds, was nothing to her. Had she not beendependent on the sun to make her garden grow, she would probably neverhave lifted her face to its golden rays. Only as nature furthered herprojects did she acknowledge its presence.
The Howes seemed, to some extent at least, to share this disregard for theout-of-door world, for like Ellen they, too, surrendered themselves to ahousehold upheaval quite as merciless as that of the Websters. No soonerwould Martin disappear with horse and plow in the direction of the gardenthan the three sisters could be seen feverishly dragging mattresses on tothe piazza roof for a sunning; shaking blankets; and beating rugs.
Now and then, when the sound of their measured blows reached Ellen's ears,she would leap to close the windows on the side of the house where therewas danger of the Howe germs drifting in and polluting the Webster Laresand Penates.
It was one day after being thus impelled that Lucy was surprised to seeher linger and stare intently.
"What are them women a-doin'?" she exclaimed at last. "Do come here,Lucy."
Discarding her mop, the girl crossed the room.
Through the gaps in the trees Mary, Eliza, and Jane Howe were plainlyvisible. They had shovels in their hands and were struggling with the turfat the foot of the big linden tree beside the house.
"They seem to be digging a hole," Lucy said, after watching a moment.
"What for, do you suppose?"
Ellen fidgeted at the casement for a short time and then disappeared, onlyto return with an old pair of field glasses. Adjusting them to her eyes,she stared at her neighbors with unconcealed curiosity.
"They _are_ diggin' a hole," she declared presently. "A good deep one;whatever can they be settin' out to do?"
For an interval she looked on with interest. Then suddenly she exclaimedin an excited voice:
"They're goin' to bury somethin'! My land! What do you s'pose it is?Somethin' all done up in a bag!" She forced the binoculars into Lucy'shand. "You look and see if you can't make out."
Lucy scanned the scene with mild inquisitiveness.
"They have a canvas sack," she said, "and evidently they are trying tobury it."
She handed the glass back to Ellen.
"They act as if they were in an almighty hurry," observed Ellen, as shelooked. "They keep watchin' to see if anybody's comin'. Likely they'reafraid Martin will catch 'em. I wish he would. What do you reckon is inthat bag? I'd give worlds to know."
"I can't imagine."
Lucy had returned to her cleaning and was busy wringing out the mop. Thedoings of the women next door failed to interest her. But not so Ellenwho, tense with speculation, hovered at the casement.
"They've got the hole dug," she announced triumphantly, "an' they'relowerin' the bag into it. It must be heavy 'cause they seem to be havin' ahard time lettin' it down in. They act as if they were afraid to touch thething. What can it be?" she repeated for the twentieth time.
"I don't know," Lucy replied wearily.
She was tired and hungry and wished Ellen would abandon spying on herneighbors and give her a helping hand.
"Yes," commented Ellen from the window, "those women handle that bag as ifthey had a chiny image in it. I can't for the life of me figger out whatcan be in it."
For an interval there was silence. Lucy set the mop and pail out in thehall and began to clean the paint.
"They've started to cover it up," chronicled Ellen, after a pause."They're shovelin' in the dirt--at least Mary and Jane are; Eliza'sstopped helpin' 'em an' gone to see if anybody's comin'. There's somethin'dretful queer about it all. Don't you think so?"
"I don't know," answered Lucy a trifle impatiently.
Again Ellen studied the distance.
"Look!" she cried an instant later. "Look! 'Liza's callin' an' motionin'to 'em. They're droppin' their shovels and runnin' for the house like alot of scared sheep. Probably Martin's comin', an' they don't want him tocatch 'em. There! What did I tell you? It _is_ Martin. I can see himdrivin' over the hill. Watch 'em skitter!"
Lured more by the desire to see Martin than to observe his panic-strickensisters, Lucy went to the window. It was even as Ellen had said. Therewere the retreating forms of the three female Howes disappearing in at theside door; and there was Martin, his tall figure looming in sight at theheels of his bay mare.
"He's a fine looking man, isn't he?" Lucy remarked with thoughtlessimpulsiveness.
"What!"
"I say he is fine looking," repeated the girl. "What broad shoulders hehas, and how magnificently he carries his head!"
"You call that fine looking, do you?" sniffed her aunt.
"Yes. Don't you?"
"Martin Howe ain't my style of man."
"But he's so strong and splendid!"
"I never saw a splendid Howe yet," was Ellen's icy retort.
She turned from the window, took up a cloth, and went to scrubbing thepaint viciously.
Lucy, realizing the tactlessness of her observation, tried by light,good-humored chatter to efface its memory; but all attempts to blot itfrom her aunt's mind were useless, and the relations between the twowomen remained strained for the rest of the day. So strained anduncomfortable were they that Lucy, wearied out by her hard work, was onlytoo glad to bid Ellen good night and seek her own room early.
Through its windows long shafts of moonlight fell across the floor,flecking it with jagged, grotesque images of the trees outside. Oncealone, she did not immediately start to undress, but lingered thoughtfullylooking out into the night. Every muscle in her body ached, and in herheart was a sinking loneliness. For the first time since her arrival atSefton Falls she surrendered herself to the distaste she felt toward heraunt and her surroundings. Could she stay, she asked herself. Thenarrowness of the environment raised an issue vital enough; nevertheless,grave as it was, it sank into insignificance when weighed against thevastly more potent factor of Ellen's personality. The girl had come eastwith the intention of nursing and caring for her father's sister. She felthe would have wished her to come; and casting every other inclinationaside, she had obeyed what seemed to her the voice of duty. But she hadbeen misled, disappointed. None of her father's kindliness lurked in thisembittered, malicious-matured woman, toward whom, although bound by tiesof blood, she felt neither respect nor affection. Nor did her aunt needher. After all, was it her duty to remain and waste her youth to nopurpose? Could she face the horror of a stretch of years that held in themno human sympathy? What should she do? What ought she to do? Should she goor stay?
As she lingered in the darkness, her weary head heavy against the windowframe, she wrestled with the future and conscientiously tried to reachsome conclusion. She was eager to do what was right. Had Ellen been sickor feeble, as she had been led to suppose, she would not have questionedleaving her, querulous and tyrannical though she was. But this woman wasall-sufficient and needed no one. Why should she bury her life in thiscruel, rancorous atmosphere? Would her own sweetness survive the dailycompanionship of such a person; rather, dominated by Ellen's powerfulcharacter, might she not become inoculated b
y its poison and herselfharden into a being as merciless and self-centered? So deep was herreverie that she did not hear the tap upon the door. A second afterwardthe knob turned softly and her aunt entered.
"You ain't in bed?" she inquired in a high-pitched whisper.
"No."
"That's lucky, I hoped you wouldn't be. Come in my room quick. I want youshould see what the Howes are doin'. They're out fussin' again over thatthing they buried this afternoon." Ellen was obviously excited.
Sure enough! From the window that looked toward the Howe farm, threefigures could be seen in the silvery light, grouped together beneath theold linden. They were armed, as before, with shovels, and all of them weredigging.
"It doesn't look as if they were filling in the hole," Lucy remarked,interested in spite of herself. "They seem to be digging up what theyburied."
"That's just what I thought," responded Ellen.
"Yes, they are shoveling the dirt out again," declared the girl.
For quite a while the two stood watching the frenzied movements of theirneighbors.
Then Ellen gave a cry.
"See! See!" she ejaculated. "They're histin' the bag out. Did you ever seesuch doin's? I'd give my soul to know what they're up to. Nothin' good,you may be sure of that--or they wouldn't take the dead of night to do it.There, they've got the thing out now, and two of 'em are tugging it offbetween 'em. The other one's fillin' in the hole and trampin' down theearth. Seem's if I'd simply have to go over there an' find out what it'sall about!"
Lucy smiled at her aunt's exasperated tone.
"Why don't you?" she asked mischievously.
Ellen gave a short laugh.
"The only way the Howes will ever get me on their land will be tochloroform me," said she grimly. "But I should like to know before I go tobed what they've been doin'. I s'pose it's no use to set up any longer,though, tryin' to figure it out. We'd both better go to sleep. Goodnight."
"Good night," Lucy returned.
Only too glad to escape, she hurried back to her own room, slipped out ofher clothes, and was soon lost in heavy, dreamless slumber.
The day had been a strenuous one, and she was very tired, so tired thatshe might not have been awakened promptly had she not stirred in hersleep and become dimly conscious of a flood of radiance upon her pillow.The morning sunshine was brilliant in the chamber, and standing in itscircle of gold she beheld Ellen.
"It's six o'clock," she announced breathlessly, "an' I want you should getright up. Martin Howe's gone off to the village in his wagon, an' I can'thelp a-thinkin' that now he's out of the way them sisters of his willstart doin' somethin' more with that bag."
"What bag?" yawned Lucy sleepily.
"Why, the bag they were buryin' last night."
"Oh, yes."
Slowly the girl's latent faculties aroused themselves.
"You hurry up and dress while I go and watch," panted Ellen. "Be quick'syou can, or we may miss somethin'."
She went out, closing the door; but in a few moments her niece heard hershrill call:
"They're comin' out with it! What'd I tell you? Two of 'em have got it,carryin' it across the lawn. Ain't you 'most dressed?"
"Yes, I'm coming."
Fastening her belt as she went, Lucy hurried to her aunt's side.
Amid the sparkling, dew-kissed glory of early morning, she could plainlysee the three Howes making their way through the wet grass in thedirection of their pasture.
"Bless me! if they don't mean to sink it in the brook!" whispered Ellen."Oh, I never can stand this. I've got to foller 'em an' find out whatthey're doin'."
"You wouldn't!" exclaimed Lucy in dismay.
"Indeed I would," her aunt retorted. "I'd go to any length to see what'sin that bag. If they were younger----" she broke off abruptly. "Anyhow,it's somethin' they're ashamed of, I'm certain of that. They couldn't 'a'murdered anybody, I s'pose. Bad's I hate 'em, I'd hardly think they'rethat wicked. Still what can it be?"
"I can't imagine."
"Well, I'm goin' to track 'em down, anyhow," Ellen announced. "Ain't youcomin'?"
"No."
To spy on the actions of others did not appeal to the younger woman'shonest mind.
"You can get breakfast while I'm gone then," Ellen said, catching up hercoat, "and if I don't come back pretty soon, you go ahead and eat yours.I'd a thousand times rather ferret out what those Howes are tryin' to burythan eat. I'd be willin' to starve to do it."