Katie

  Philo’s brow furrowed. Her mistrust and dislike of Katie grew by the minute, but she was reluctant to offend any of the Slapes.

  “Take a cup of coffee,” said Katie, pointing to the pot that was keeping warm in the embers of the fire.

  The day was dwindling, and the sun at that moment fell behind the dismal line of cedars at the edge of the great swamp. The kitchen became suddenly darker, and as Philo reached down for the pot of coffee, the embers seemed to spring to fire before her – glowing like molten rubies. She filled a cup up to the chip in its rim, and would have brought it to the table, but Katie commanded, “Drink it off!”

  Philo swallowed the coffee quickly, the liquid being little more than lukewarm.

  Katie reached out and greedily took the cup. She set it on the table and, placing one finger against the handle, turned it gently round and round. She tilted the cup and poured off a few remaining drops of liquid, then turned the cup three times more, muttering beneath her breath words which Philo could not make out.

  “This is superstition,” said Philo, seating herself in the chair next to Katie’s at the side of the table. But fascinated, she peered into the cup and saw that the grounds of coffee had settled them­selves into a pattern of spirals. Katie looked at it, looked at Philo, looked back at the cup and smiled.

  Then suddenly, she shoved the cup aside. It spun across the table and over the edge. Philo lurched to save it, but the cup smashed on the stone floor.

  “I don’t need such,” said Katie, frowning. She looked hard at Philo. “There was nothing in there I don’t see in your face.”

  Philo made no reply. She really feared the girl, feared the knowledge she saw in Katie Slape’s eyes. “What is my fortune then?” Philo asked bravely.

  All at once Katie’s hard black eyes appeared to glaze. The whites became a milky, striated gray, and Philo drew back in alarm. Katie looked away and then answered in a voice that was soft and hollow and not her own, “I see a mound of gravel and I see a grave.”

  “What does that signify?” demanded Philo.

  “I see that in your cheeks and in your eyes,” replied Katie without looking at Philo. “I see a woman holding a bloody needle, and a girl on a staircase slipping in blood, and a woman opening a case that’s brimming with blood. I see them all tangled in your hair.” Still she did not turn. “You open your mouth and I see—”

  “You see what?” cried Philo when she would not finish.

  The girl seemed in a trance. She would not respond, she would not turn to look at Philo. Philo took her by the shoulders and shook her. Katie looked round at last, and her face was filled with fear. She drew in her breath sharply, and her head snapped back on her neck. She murmured inarticulately, and Philo demanded again: “What did you see when you looked in my mouth?” She opened it wide in the girl’s face.

  Katie jerked away her gaze. After a moment she appeared to recover herself. “You’ll marry a limping fiddler,” she said at last with a malicious smile. “And your first child will be born an idiot.”

  Philo burned to know what Katie had really seen.

  The fricasseed chicken was a celebratory indulgence for the Slapes, and they were lively and merry throughout the meal, making many jesting references to the money they should soon have through the generosity of the old man upstairs. Philo – who was allowed to reserve a wing for her own supper – affected not to understand the obvious references to the fortune that was rightfully hers and her mother’s. She was instructed to carry to the old man upstairs another plate of the rabbit stew, but warned at the same time not even to taste it herself. “Specially for him, Mary, hear?” Hannah cautioned. Philo sought permission to take her meal in her grandfather’s chamber, saying she had just as soon keep the old man company for half an hour. To this Hannah assented with a nod, but behind Philo’s back she ex­changed a knowing glance with her stepdaughter.

  When Philo brought Richard Parrock his supper he was rather more ill than he had been in the morning, and she assured him that they would leave Parrock House as soon as he was well enough to travel.

  “We must not wait, Philo,” he advised her. “I will never be well again until I have left this house – and that family – behind me. We should leave this very night.”

  “It is true,” said Philo seriously, “we cannot be here long. The Slapes do not entirely trust me, I think. Katie told my fortune earlier, and it seemed to anger her. She is very queer.”

  “Beware that child,” said Richard Parrock weakly. “If that child ever prays, it is for my death. Philomela, we will leave this house tonight. We will take one of the wagons.”

  “But,” said Philo hesitantly, “does that not belong to the Slapes?”

  Richard Parrock managed a small smile for his granddaugh­ter’s scruple. “Philomela, they have taken from me the entire farm. Do you think they have the right to object to the lending of a wagon for a few hours? In Goshen we will hire a boy to drive it back.”

  Philo must be satisfied. “But won’t they hear us? And if they hear us, they are hardly likely to let us get away.”

  “They sleep sound,” replied Richard Parrock. “The last girl employed here told me that. The stable is on the other side of the house from their chambers. If we are quiet about our busi­ness, they won’t know till the morning that we’ve gone.”

  “Won’t they know our destination?”

  “Perhaps,” replied the old man. “But once we are on our way, I shall feel safe. It is only in this house, behind their locked doors with John Slape and that terrible gun of his, that I feel myself weak and defenseless. But once outside, I know I shall feel free and protected. Protected, Philomela, because you’re with me.”

  Philo smiled. She wasn’t convinced that they would be able to leave the farm without drawing the Slapes’ attention, but since she had no alternative to propose, she acquiesced to her grand­father’s plan. “The Slapes are certain to be asleep by midnight,” said Philo. “I’ll return to you then and help you to pack your things.”

  “No,” he replied. “There is no need of that. I leave everything behind. I am ashamed of the clothing in which Hannah Slape has kept me for the past two years. I shall declare myself inde­pendent of trunk-makers and carry my clothes upon my back. I’ll manage but one burden—”

  “What is that?”

  The old man, who seemed to be gaining in strength as he talked of his anticipated liberation from the Slapes, put a finger to his lips, drew himself painfully over to the edge of the bed and, pressing his hand under the sheet and between the mattresses, withdrew a thick sheaf of bank notes. Others, dislodged from the much larger cache there, fluttered to the floor. Richard Parrock smiled feebly and shook the money in his fist.

  “This is your future, Philo,” he said. “This is hard cash. This will get me out of this house, and this will protect you and me for the rest of our lives.”

  Philo hurried forward and gathered up the notes from the floor. She was fearful that one of the Slapes would enter the chamber and see that her grandfather had such a sum about him.

  “Why did you get it in bank notes, Grandfather?” she asked. “Your fortune was in bonds, I was told.”

  “Don’t trust bonds, didn’t want to carry bonds about with me. Oh, Philomela, you and I will show up at your mother’s door, and I’ll put this money in her hands and pray it begins to atone for my neglect of her.”

  “Mother would be happy to have you, Grandfather, if you came penniless.”

  “But I don’t come penniless. Philomela, how much money do you suppose is here, beneath this mattress?”

  “Five thousand dollars,” Philo guessed, wondering whether the sum could possibly be so high.

  “Twenty-nine thousand eight hundred and forty-five dollars!”

  Philo gasped. “Put it away! Hurry, Grandfather, what if one of the Slapes should come up?”

  He nodded, handed the notes to Philo, who quickly shoved them back between the feather mattresses.

&n
bsp; “How did you get it past them into the house?” Philo asked curiously.

  “Daniel Killip drove me to Cape May Court House one day – I let them think I might be going to alter my will in their favor – and I cashed in my bonds. These are bank notes, drawn on the Bank of Cape May Court House, where the Parrocks have done business for fifty years. They are solid as these walls. Philomela, my dear daughter’s daughter, this is hard cash. I brought it back hidden in the pockets of my greatcoat. It is yours now – yours and your mother’s. You and Mary have had a hard time of it these twenty-three years, have you not, Philomela?”

  “We have,” said Philo soberly.

  “Do you blame me?”

  “I blame no one,” Philo replied. “I’ve learnt many hard lessons, Grandfather. And sometimes it seems that the first premise is always: The Draxes are poor, the Draxes have no money, therefore . . .”

  “You should blame me, Philo. I have always had the money and I’ve done nothing to help you.”

  To this Philo had no reply. It was as if she could forgive the man but not the deed.

  “Once we are away from this place, Philomela, we will be very happy! I am very eager to see my daughter again!”

  Philo thought of the fortune secreted between the mattresses beneath her grandfather’s enfeebled form. It seemed impossible that she could see and hold in her hands that which would keep her and her mother free from want and worry for the rest of their lives. Money itself wasn’t happiness – of that Philo was cer­tain, even if it was only from the example of the Varleys; but the lack of money was certainly unhappiness – that she knew from her own experience.

  “Grandfather,” she said at last, “I have been too long here. The Slapes will wonder what keeps me. Drink your soup quickly – if it is not already too cold – and let me go down to the kitchen again.”

  “Philomela, no,” he replied, “I have no appetite. And we must work quickly. Have you a bag with you, or a case?”

  “I have my carpetbag.”

  “Bring it up here and put the money in it, then take it down­stairs with you and keep it there. If the Slapes become alerted to our flight, they would doubtless attempt to stop us. And though they would certainly find a way of searching through my belongings, if I were to carry any, they would never bother going through those of a hired girl.”

  “Grandfather, I hope they don’t see us!”

  “No more do I,” sighed Richard Parrock. “But that young woman . . .”

  Chapter 10

  KATIE AT THE DOOR

  The Slapes remained at the table an hour after Philo came down­stairs, drinking more beer, talking of money, and offering gratuitous insults to their new servant. Philo cleared the table, washed the dishes, and prepared the kitchen for the morning, though she was confident it would not be she who made breakfast for the Slapes. Then, with a little speech expressing the hope that she had proved satisfactory on her first day of employment, Philo retired to her room.

  She closed the door of her little chamber, which communicated directly with the kitchen, and, kneeling behind it, peered through the keyhole. She soon had the satisfaction of seeing the Slapes yawn and hearing them tell their readiness for bed. At ten o’clock – John Slape reading the time aloud from his pocket watch – they left the kitchen, taking with them the candles. Noiselessly Philo crept up to Richard Parrock’s room with her carpetbag. She opened the door, signified for her grandfather to remain silent. He rolled over to the far edge of the bed, and Philo quickly removed the bank notes from between the mattresses, stuffing them carelessly into the bag. Then, after deciding with him that they should not attempt to leave the house for another few hours, when it was certain that the Slapes would be fast asleep, Philo crept downstairs again. She sat on the edge of her bed and, by the light of the moon through her window, neatly stacked the bank notes and tied them with string so that they would take up the least room in her bag. She was careful but quick in her task, though she trembled every few moments when she counted out, say, thirty fifty-dollar notes – which sum, in her hands, would have paid off the mortgage on her mother’s house. When she was done, she packed her clothing atop the cash, then watched for a passage of time that by the rising of the moon she judged to be about two hours.

  She knew that the Slapes had chosen their chambers at the greatest distance possible from her grandfather, so as not to be disturbed by him in case he should call in the night. Tonight this cruelty would be made to work against them. They would be much less likely to hear her exertions in getting Richard Parrock downstairs. Though Philo was by no means weak, she could not be certain that she would be able to lift him from his bed, carry him downstairs, and out to the stable. Very probably the best maneuver would be to take him a few rods at a time, perhaps on her back with his arms clasped about her neck – first from the bed to the hallway, where he could rest in a chair for a few moments, then down the stairs (that most difficult of all), then across the kitchen and into the dooryard. From there, she would take him just round the corner of the house and leave him there while she fetched the wagon. This was, indeed, the only plan which suggested itself to Philo. So, no longer admitting trepidation and second thoughts, Philo decided to make a few preparations before she went up to her grandfather’s room.

  She opened the door of her chamber cautiously and stepped out into the kitchen. Despite the chill of the night, she went in her stockinged feet. She carefully closed and bolted the door of the passage leading to the Slapes’ wing. Then cautiously open­ing the outside door, she crept along in the shadows of the house and out to the stable. As quietly as possible, she opened the doors of the stable – which fortuitously faced away from the house – went inside, and harnessed the horse to the wagon. The animal seemed disposed to quietness and docility. Philo took a moment to stroke the horse and whisper words of encouragement and gratitude. She crept back to the house, wishing that the moon were not so near to full or that clouds would blow up to darken the landscape. The carpetbag which contained her grandfather’s fortune – her own future – she had placed in the back of the wagon. Now all that remained was to bring her grandfather down.

  She wedged open the outside door with a piece of kindling so that they might get out quickly. At the foot of the stairs she placed a chair so that the old man might rest there when they had gotten that far; a second chair she carried to the top of the stairs and placed just outside his door. The stair and hallway were perfectly dark. She had not dared light a candle or a lamp for fear that the Slapes – even if they heard nothing – would yet see the glow from their chambers.

  She tapped softly on the door of her grandfather’s room. There was no response. Possibly Richard Parrock was asleep, or his hearing was impaired, or he feared to call out. She tapped a little harder and lifted the latch.

  A single candle burned in a sconce beside the bed, but accustomed to the dark already, Philo could see Richard Parrock propped against his pillows.

  “Grandfather!” she whispered. “I’ve come now, I’ve come—”

  His face, she saw now, bore an unflinching expression of horror. She came closer but he did not move. “Grandfather!” she said again, this time more loudly. He was gaunt and still, and Philo was afraid.

  When she touched his hand that lay atop the soiled sheet that the Slapes had not changed in weeks, she knew that he was dead.

  The door of the chamber slammed shut behind her, and she heard the key turned in the lock. There was a loud cackle of laughter in the hallway.

  “Who is it?” Philo demanded, rushing to the door and trying the latch.

  “It’s me, Philomela Drax!” cried out Katie Slape. “You thought you had fooled us; you thought you could fool me!”

  Trembling, Philo knelt at the keyhole. A sharp whistle of wind blew suddenly through it and Philo fell back. Katie Slape was directly on the other side. She hissed through the keyhole.

  “I hate you!” she cried. “And I hated the old man. The old man is dead, and I wish you we
re dead too!”

  “You killed my grandfather!” cried Philo, glancing back at the bed and half surprised still that Richard Parrock did not speak to her.

  “I did kill him!” shrieked Katie, and there was a loud thumping at the bottom of the door as the girl banged the heels of her boots against it in a drum roll of triumph. “Mar let me, and I wanted to do it, and I did it!”

  “Open the door,” demanded Philo. She stood, beat upon the door herself, and called out loudly, “Mrs. Slape! Mr. Slape!”

  “Oh, they can’t hear you,” said Katie softly through the key­hole. The girl’s fingernails lightly scratched the panels of the door.

  “Why not?”

  “They’re outside, bringing round the wagon.”

  “Why?” cried Philo.

  “Oh, for we’re going away tonight. Now that we’ve got the old man’s money.”

  “No!”

  “We do. It’s in your satchel. I saw you put the money in there.”

  “You couldn’t have!”

  “I did,” cried Katie. “What don’t I see?”

  Philo made no reply, but she wondered at Katie’s powers.

  Down below, John Slape called his daughter.

  “You hear me?” hissed Katie through the keyhole.

  “I hear,” whispered Philo.

  “I have to go,” remarked Katie to her prisoner. “I wanted to kill you too, but Mar says you’re to stay here and be blamed.”

  “I won’t be blamed,” said Philo stoutly. “I’ll tell everyone that you did it. You did do it.”

  “No one’ll believe you,” said Katie. “Who’re you?”

  “I’m Philomela Drax, and it’s my grandfather you’ve mur­dered, and it’s my fortune you’re stealing.”

  “You and I – we’re cousins then,” laughed Katie.

  “No!”

  “You and I – we’ll meet again. When you’re out of jail. And then I’m going to beat you with a knotted clothesline until you bleed, and then I’m going to cut you in twenty pieces with a hatchet!”