The Wishing Moon

by Louise Elizabeth Dutton

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  "Get in, Judith."

  "I won't go. You can't make me."

  The boy did not answer or move. Boy and buggy and horse--Charlie Brady'sancient chestnut mare, not such a dignified creature by daylight, buthigh shouldered and mysterious now against the dark of the grove--mightall have been part of the surrounding dark, they were so still, andJudith's little white figure was motionless, too.

  Judith stood looking up at the boy for one long, silent minute. Suchminutes are really longer than other minutes, if you measure them byheartbeats, and how else are you to measure them? Strange, breathlessminutes, that settle grave questions irrevocably by the mere fact oftheir passing, whether you watch them pass with open eyes or arehelpless and young and vaguely afraid before them; helpless, but full ofthe untaught strength of youth, which works miracles without knowing howor why.

  "Get in," said the boy, very softly this time, so that his voice justmade itself heard through the dark; it was like part of the dark,caressing and hushed and secret, and not to be denied. With a softlittle laugh that was attuned to it, Judith yielded suddenly, andslipped into the carriage beside him, drawing the robe tight round her,and settling into her corner, all with one quick, nestling motion, likea bird perching.

  "Where are we going?" she said rather breathlessly, "Hurry. Let's go along, long way."

  "All right. Don't be frightened, Judith."

  "Frightened?"

  He did not answer. Charlie's horse, debarred from its destined career bybad driving, that broke its wind in its first race, but of sportingancestry and unable to forget it, especially when Charlie's adventuresin the Green River under-world cheated it of exercise too long, wasremembering it now, and bolting down the hilly little street, settled atlast into a jerky and tentative gait with the air of accepting theirguidance until it could arrange further plans, but remembering itsancestry still.

  "Splendid," Judith breathed. "Keep off Main Street."

  "Yes."

  The ancient vehicle, well oiled, but rattling faintly still, swungalarmingly close to one street corner lamp-post and then another. Judithnestled almost out of sight in her corner. Neil leaned forward,gripping the reins with an ungloved hand that whitened at the knuckles,his dark eyes looking straight ahead. His brooding eyes and quiet mouth,and even the whiteness of his face had something unfamiliar about them,something that did not all come from the unhealthy light of the streetlamps, something strange but unaccountably charming, too. Judith had noeyes for it just then.

  "This is silly. I ought not to have come. Who's that?"

  "Nobody. Just a tree. Sit still. We'll go under the railroad bridge andout over Grant's Hill. There won't be any more lights."

  "It looked like some one."

  "What do you care?"

  "It looked like your cousin Maggie."

  "She's at home in bed. She was tired to-night."

  "Oh. Well, it looked like her. It was silly to come. I never shall comeagain."

  As if this were not a new threat, or had for some reason lost it terrorsto-night, the boy did not contradict her. They had left track andrailroad bridge behind now, darker blots against the surrounding dark,with the lights of the station showing faintly far down the track. Theywere passing the last of the houses that straggled along theunfashionable quarter above the railroad track. Most of the houses herewere dark now. In the Nashs' windows the last light puffed suddenly outas they went by.

  Down in the town behind them other sleepy little lights were burningfaintly, or going out, but ahead of them the faintly moonlit road lookedwide-awake. It was an alluring road. It dipped into wooded hollows, itbroke suddenly into arbitrary curves and windings but found its way outagain, and kept on somehow, and gradually lifted itself higher andhigher toward the crest of the hill five miles away that you reachedwithout ever seeming to climb it, to be confronted all at once with theonly real view between Wells and Green River.

  "I used to think Grant's Hill was the end of the world," said Judithsoftly. "Maybe it is. It's funny I can say things like that to you, whenyou only laugh and won't answer. Listen. Isn't it still, so still italmost makes a noise."

  It was very still. You could feel the pulse of the night here. There wasa whisper and stir of life in the rustling trees when the road crossedsome belt of woods; there was a look of blind, creeping life about theclustering shadows in stretches of moonlight, and the low-hanging moonabove the dark fields they passed was a living thing, too, the mostalive of all. Judith stirred in her corner, and turned and looked atit.

  "It's sweet," she said. "And it's ours. It's still May. But we can'twish on the moon now; it's too late. And I don't want to wish, I'm socomfortable. Aren't you? Well, you needn't answer, then, and you needn'thold my hand." She had felt for a hand that avoided hers. With a sleepy,satisfied laugh, like a petted kitten purring, she settled herselfagain, with her head against an unresponsive shoulder, and pulled anunresponsive arm round her waist.

  "You aren't as soft as the cushions--not nearly. You're pretty hard, butI like you. I was afraid to come, but now----"

  "Now what?"

  "There's nothing to be afraid of. I'm so happy. There's nobody in theworld but you and me. Neil, I'm going to sleep."

  "All right. Shut your eyes, then, and don't keep staring at me. Whatmakes your eyes so bright?"

  "'_Shut your eyes_'"]

  "You."

  "Shut your eyes."

  "All right. Nobody but you and me."

  They were really alone in the world now, alone in the heart of thenight. Their little murmur of talk, so low that they could just hear itthemselves, had been such a tiny trickle of sound that it did not quitebreak the silence, and now it had died away. Asleep or awake, thegirl was quite still, with her cheek pressed against the boy's shoulder,and her long-lashed eyes tight shut. The horse carried them over themoonlit road at a rate of speed that did not seem possible from itsstrange, loping gait. The effect of it was uncanny.

  Boy and girl and queer, high-shouldered horse, darkly silhouetted in themoonlight, lost to sight in the shadows of tall trees that looked tallerin the dark, and then coming silently into view again, were like dim,flitting shadows in the night; like peculiarly helpless andinsignificant shadows, restless and purposeless. The moon, soft and faraway and still, seemed more alive than they did, and more competent toadjust their affairs.

  They required adjusting. That was in the watching brightness of thegirl's eyes, fluttering open once or twice, only to close quickly again,in the tenseness of the boy's arm around her, in the set of hisshoulders and lift of his stubborn young chin, in the very air that hebreathed uneasily, the soft, disturbing air of the May night. It was nota boy and girl quarrel that was before them: it was something more. Itwas the strangest hour that had come to them in their secret treasury ofstrange hours that were touched with the glamour of black magic andswayed by laws they did not know. It might be the darkest hour. It wasthe test hour.

  There is no sure and easy way through such hours. If they faced theirsunprepared and afraid, so must the rest of the world, the part that isolder and counted wiser. But this could have been no comfort just thento the boy and girl in the antiquated buggy, under the untroubled gazeof the wishing moon.

  They were almost on the crest of the hill now. One long, upward slant ofroad led straight to it, bare of trees, and silvery in the moonlight. Atthe foot, and just at the edge of a thick belt of woods, the boy pulledup as if to rest his horse for the gradual ascent. At his left, hardlyvisible at all to-night unless you stopped your horse to look for it, anarrow and overgrown road led off through the trees. Tightening the armthat held her cautiously, the boy looked down at the face against hisshoulder, the faint, half-smile on the lips, and the lightly closedeyes.

  The girl did not move. Her cap had slipped off, and one small, bare handclutched the fuzzy white thing tight, as a sleeping child's hand mighthave closed on some favourite toy. Her hair showed silvery blond andsoft against his dark coat. With
a quick, hungry motion, the boy droppedhis head and kissed it lightly. Then, gripping the reins with afirmness that no present activity of the animal called for, he leftGreen River's only noteworthy view without a backward glance, and turnedhis horse into the road through the woods.

  For the next few minutes he had no attention to spare for Judith,suspiciously quiet in his arms. He could not see her face. It was blackdark under the trees, dark as if it had never been light. The track waswider than it looked, but also rougher. The trees grew close. Branchesthat he brushed aside sprinkled dew into his face. The buggy creaked outvain protests and useless warnings. Finally moonlight showed at the endof the black tunnel, and the horse, which had been encountering itsdifficulties in resourceful silence, made a faint, snorting commentwhich sounded relieved, and presently, with unexpected jauntiness, swunginto the road again.

  It was technically a road, and it was the wreck of a very good road, butit was not in much better shape than the track they had reached it by.Aspiring amateurs had sketched it and camera fiends haunted it in theirday. It was Colonel Everard's favourite bridle path, which naturallyprevented repairs upon it. But before the railroad went through it hadbeen Green River's only link with a wider world. Now a better built butmore circuitous road had replaced it, designed for motoring. No motorsever penetrated here, and few carriages. It was left to the ghosts ofancient traffic, if they ventured here. The glancing moonlight under theclose-growing trees might have been full of them to-night.

  But the boy was not looking for ghosts or interested in the history ofthe road or its charm, as he hurried his high-shouldered horse along it,still responding jauntily. He squared his chin more stubbornly thanever, and muttered encouragingly to the horse, and reached for hisbattered whip. Round this corner, beyond this milestone, the stagedrivers used to make up time when the mail was late. A generous mile ofalmost level road curved ahead of Neil into the moonlight, a fairlyclean bit of going even now. Judith and Neil were on the old coachingroad to Wells.

  Neil reached for his whip, but did not take it out of the socket. Asmall hand closed over his. The head on his shoulder did not move, butdark eyes, watchful and deliberate, opened and looked up at him quietly.

  "Now," said a cool little voice, "you can take me home."

  "You're awake?"

  "Of course."

  "Then why----"

  "I waited to see where you were going, and what you were going to do,"explained Judith simply. They were covering the banner stretch of roadat a rate the old stage drivers had never emulated. Judith pushed Neil'sarm away, and sat straight and looked at him. Her cheeks were gloriouslyflushed with the quick motion, and her soft, tumbled hair had brokeninto baby curls round her forehead, but her eyes were a woman's dark,unforgiving eyes. Neil gave her one furtive glance, and looked away.

  "I told you to take me home," she said.

  He made a muttered reply, inarticulate, so that it would have been hardto tell whether it was really addressed to Judith or the horse, and bentforward over the reins.

  The colour deepened in Judith's cheeks, her soft lips tightened into astraight line that was like her mother's mouth. Her cool, unhurriedvoice was like her mother's, too: "I knew when we started out I'd havetrouble with you. Now I don't intend to have any more. I don't want tohave to tell you again. Take me home."

  She had adopted the tone which Green River's self-made gentlewomen likeMrs. Theodore Burr mistakenly believed to be effective with servants.The boy beside her gave no sign that it was effective with him. He spokesoftly to the horse again, and flicked at it coaxingly with the whip.

  "Neil, I am sorry for you," Judith stated presently, with no sympathywhatever in her judicial young voice. "I have been awfully good to you."

  "Good!"

  "Yes, good. I--had to be. Because I knew we didn't have much time. Iknew--this--would have to stop some day. I knew it and you knew it, too.You always knew it. Well, I've been trying to tell you for a long timethat it had got to stop. I tried, but you wouldn't let me. We're bothgetting older, too old for this, and I'm going away next year. And somethings have happened to me, just lately--last week--that made me think.I've got to be careful. I've got to take care of myself. This has got tostop now--to-night. I wanted to tell you so. That's why I came;because----"

  "I know why you came."

  "Don't be cross. Be good, and turn round now, and take me home. Neil,I'm not sorry, you know, for--anything. Ever since that first night atthe dance you've been so sweet to me. I'm not sorry. Are you?"

  "No."

  "How funny your voice sounds. Why don't you turn round?"

  He had no explanation to offer. The buggy plunged faster through thedark, and Judith braced herself in her corner.

  "Neil, turn round. Don't you hear me?"

  He gave no sign of hearing. The horse swung gallantly into a bit of roadwhere the stage drivers had never been in the habit of hurrying, atricky bit of road, with overhanging rocks jutting out just where youmight graze them at sudden turns, and with abrupt dips into precipitoushollows. One stretched dark ahead of them now. Judith caught her breathas they plunged into it, and clutched Neil's arm. He laughed shortly,and did not shake off her hand. She pulled at his wrist and shook it.

  "Upset us if you want to. We'd go together," he urged, with a logic notto be questioned. "Together, and that suits me, Judy."

  "Neil, turn round. Neil!" Judith's voice was shrill with sudden terrorrepressed too long, but she struggled to make it steady and cold again,in one last effort at control.

  "Who do you think you are, Neil Donovan? I tell you to take me home."

  He did not even turn to look at her. He was getting the horse down therocky slant of dimly lit road with a patience and concentration whichthere was nobody to appreciate just then. Judith collapsed into hercorner. There was a faint sound of helpless crying from her, thensilence as she choked back the tears; silence, and an erect, stubbornfigure showing oppressively big and dark between Judith and the moon.

  "Neil, I'm sorry.... Neil, I can't stand this," came a muffled voice."Please speak to me."

  They were on level ground again, and the horse was disposed to make themost of it. The boy pulled her into a jolting walk which was not themost successful of her gaits, but represented a triumph for him justnow, and then he turned abruptly to Judith, gathering both her handsinto his free hand and gripping them tight.

  "I'll talk to you now," he said. "It's time I told you. Judith, you andI are not going back."