Sleep in the Woods

by Dorothy Eden

  “Oh, no, Briar. Didn’t the children tell you? One of the ewes Mr. Whitmore gave Fred had twin lambs this morning. We’ve practically got a farm!”

  “Potatoes will be up soon,” called Fred from his seat in the dray. “Everything’s fine.”

  Somehow it all seemed too good to be true. Watching that wagon also jolt away, Briar told herself that there was no need to worry. Prudence was emerging from her crushed lifeless state and becoming a contented and self-respecting young woman, Jemima was better in health, and would almost certainly be producing a strong and healthy baby to take the place of fragile little Rose within the next year. Katie was looking forward with unashamed pleasure to the birth of her coffee-colored baby, and Sophie had gone home as the proud young matron with her first child.

  So why did she feel this cloud hanging over her, Briar wondered? Was she the only one who had made a dreadful mistake with her life?

  XXX

  THE TWO WOMEN sat alone at dinner. Katie served the meal as Briar had taught her to, carefully and quietly. The table was laid with a sparkling white linen cloth, and the well-polished silver that had been Uncle Hubert’s wedding present. Briar wore her buff-colored gown, and had her hair done in a careful arrangement of curls. She had obviously taken pains with her toilette in spite of the fact that they were just two women sitting down to dinner in the wilds.

  She was so determined, thought old Mrs. Whitmore ironically, to play the lady. The perplexing thing was that her appearance and manner did not seem assumed. They were perfectly natural. So either she was a brilliant actress, or there was, as one began to think, good blood in her ancestry. Katie, from a similar situation in life, could never have acquired that cool poise. With her tumbling red hair and her pert grin she was forever a maidservant.

  But this daughter-in-law, with her polite conversation about politics or the classics, was a permanent puzzle. Those downcast eyes beneath the beautifully marked brows hid a world of secrets.

  “Tell me,” she said abruptly, interrupting Briar’s remark about the sad lack of books in this country as yet, “What do you really want out of life?”

  “Why—something more than my poor mother had.”

  “Your mother might have had love, brief though it was.”

  Briar’s eyelids lifted to disclose a sudden unwary look, almost like pain. Then they fell again and she said composedly, “Then you think I do not have love?”

  “You must give it, to receive it. Or did you think your face and figure was sufficient? Perhaps you really thought that was enough to trade for this house and your position.”

  “Isn’t that for my husband to judge, Mrs. Whitmore?”

  “From his point of view, yes. But you surely have a point of view yourself. Of course, you might think this emptiness sufficient.”

  “Emptiness?”

  Mrs. Whitmore waved her narrow yellow hand. “Don’t these rooms seem empty to you? Hollow? Well, love them if you must, but I always thought one required human beings to love. I’m afraid you’ll come to learn that Saul thinks the same way.”

  Briar’s head was bent over her plate. “If this is an oblique way of reminding me once more that I must have children, that also is mine and my husband’s business. I thought we had agreed not to speak of it again.”

  The cool voice seemed more insolent and hurtful than a blow, especially when one had even begun to have serious doubts about the accuracy of one’s early judgment of this girl. But now; in a gust of anger and disappointment, Mrs. Whitmore lifted herself from her chair. The sudden movement made the candles flicker, and her face was all shadows, gaunt and ravaged.

  “You selfish little adventuress!” she cried. “If that’s how you feel, you have no right in this house! Why don’t you go back to where you belong?”

  She should not have sprung up so quickly. The pain struck in her chest again and she could scarcely breathe. She must get to her room and be alone, away from this cool disdainful girl.…

  “Where do I belong, Mrs. Whitmore?”

  If the pain had not blurred her senses she might have noticed a note of lostness and perplexity in the girl’s voice. As it was, she could only think it was one more act of defiance.

  “How do I know? With your pots and pans, perhaps. If you will excuse me—I am not hungry—rather tired …”

  Briar was at her side, one strong young arm around her shoulders. “Mrs. Whitmore, you’re ill. I had thought for some time that you were. Sit down. Let me get you some brandy.”

  “No, no. I’ll go to my room. Just get me a light.”

  In a moment the candle, snatched from the dining table, was held out to her, but her trembling hands refused to hold it steady. Grease spilled, and Briar took it back from her.

  “I’ll carry it. Come.” At the door she paused to call, “Katie! Fill a hot water bottle quickly. Bring it up to Mrs. Whitmore’s room. Now—can you climb the stairs?”

  “Of course I can climb the stairs!”

  “I believe you are as stubborn as I.” The voice seemed merely a whisper in her ear. Foolish to think it was like a little frost melting, and that secretly one had longed for that frost to melt. Foolish to think at all, for it required all her strength and will to climb the fine staircase that Saul had so ambitiously built in his house.

  When she reached her room she was speechless, her eyes black caverns in her face.

  “Just lie down,” said Briar. “Later I’ll help you undress. Then I shall go for Doctor MacTavish.”

  In a little while, propped by pillows, and with the hot water bottle at her feet, Mrs. Whitmore recovered.

  She said quite strongly, and with all her old decisiveness, “There’s no need for the doctor. I know exactly what is the matter with me, and it’s nothing he can cure. Rest is all that is necessary. Just leave me.”

  Katie, white-faced and alarmed, obeyed automatically. She was the genuine maidservant, trained to obey. But this other one, this slim figure so poised and elegant in her silk gown, said, “I shall sit beside you until you fall asleep.”

  “I prefer to be alone.”

  “You prefer to be arrogant and critical, just like your son. But I expect you have a heart, too—if one can find it …”

  Mrs. Whitmore opened her eyes to the face bending over her. In the candlelight it looked soft and vulnerable. Almost pleading. But that must be an illusion of the flickering light.

  “Then sit!” she said in her dry harsh voice. “If you must stay. How can I sleep with you hanging over me?”

  When at last Mrs. Whitmore seemed to be asleep Briar left her. She tiptoed out to find Katie lurking at the door in tears.

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Oh, ma’am, is she going to die?”

  “Of course not. She’s only tired. She’s asleep now. Don’t be such a baby, Katie. Dry your tears and go down and help Mabel with the dishes.”

  “They’re done, and Mabel’s got the willies.”

  “Mabel, tool” said Briar impatiently. “I’d better come down.”

  In the big kitchen, lit by the oil lamp on the table, Mabel squatted on the floor in her favorite position, her clay pipe unlit hanging between her broad lips. Her loose fitting cotton dress seemed suddenly too big for her, and her eyes were huge, and showing their whites.

  “Now what’s this nonsense, Mabel?” Briar demanded sharply. “Are you going to behave like this every time someone is ill?”

  Mabel rolled her eyes. “Bad things are coming, missus. I feel them.”

  “What sort of things? If you, too, think Mrs. Whitmore is going to die—”

  “It’s not the old one, missus. She’s ready to die, anyway. It’s other things.” She puffed deeply on her unlit pipe and said obscurely, “The owls are calling.”

  Briar’s heart missed a beat. “The owls always call.”

  “Not so loud, missus.”

  “That’s only because the house is quiet, now our guests have gone. You’re not used to this strange quiet.�
� Instinctively Briar looked at the dark window pane. Then she said decisively, “Get my shawl, Katie. I’ll just go and have a word with the shepherds. They’ll have noticed if there’s anything unusual.”

  She took a lantern and stepped out into the cool dark night. The owls were not calling now. It was very quiet. The lantern light made a moony patch on the gravel. Nothing stirred about the stables or in the cleared fields beyond. Although did that tree stump move? Was it a tree stump?

  Briar covered the remainder of the yard rather quickly, holding up her skirts from the mud and rapped on the door of the shepherds’ hut.

  One of the men opened the door at once. “Something wrong, Mrs. Whitmore?”

  “My mother-in-law is ill. Later someone may have to go for the doctor, but I think she’ll be all right until morning.”

  “We’ll be here, ma’am. Just give us a call.”

  One of the men was elderly, grizzled and stooped, but with the toughness of the wanderer. The other was a mere boy.

  “Have you heard anything strange tonight, Jed?”

  “No, ma’am. Can’t say I have.”

  “Mabel says the owls have been calling a lot.”

  “Always do, don’t they? There can’t be anything wrong or the dogs would bark. That’s one animal the Hauhaus can’t fool. Anyway, they’re not likely to get down this way at present. The rivers are too high and the fords are guarded.”

  “Yes, I expect that’s true,” said Briar with relief.

  “Give us a call, ma’am, if you’re worried. We’ll be off at dawn to go round the sheep. There are some early lambs. But we’ll be over to the house first. So if you’re still uneasy we’ll decide what’s to be done.”

  “Thank you, Jed. I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about.”

  She went back to the house and turned roundly on the two wide-eyed and apprehensive women. “There’s nothing to be shivering and trembling about. I don’t know what’s come over you. Everything’s quite peaceful, and no different from any other night. Now get off to bed, both of you, and prepare to be in a more cheerful state of mind in the morning.”

  Before going to bed herself she took another look at Mrs. Whitmore. The old lady did not seem to have stirred. She lay in the guttering candlelight, her high bony nose pointing to the ceiling, her breathing quiet. With some vague instinct about shutting out noise, Briar crossed to the window and softly closed it. Then she wondered why she had done so. Because if the dogs barked at something more than a creeping night beast, soon enough no closed window would keep out the ensuing sounds.

  When she reached her own room she was trembling as much as Katie and Mabel had been. It was utterly foolish to let herself become affected by Mabel’s superstitions, but the fact remained that before she had discovered Mabel’s state of mind, her own had been similar. She, too, was filled with an apprehension of something worse than the illness of Mrs. Whitmore.

  Why were they all so jittery tonight? Why could she not bring herself to undress lest that be unwise? It must be only that the house seemed so quiet and empty since the departure of Aunt Charity and Sophie and the little squalling baby, and Peter who had grown into a much louder, more voluble person since he had taken such a fancy to the rum bottle.

  Nevertheless, she could see no prospect of sleep if she did undress and get into bed. She drew the curtains, and lit extra candles, and sat down at the little table on which stood the fat family Bible of the Whitmores. She opened it at random, searching for Martha Peabody’s favorite text, but another one caught her eye … And they shall dwell safely in the wilderness and sleep in the woods…

  She read it again, with a strange sense of tranquility. Sleep in the woods. That was what she was doing, whether it were meant literally or not. For her life with Saul promised to be a long bewildered groping through dark places. Always supposing, of course, that he would allow her any more life with him.

  She turned to the inscription page and began reading the entries. The Bible must have been a wedding present to old Mrs. Whitmore and her husband, for the first entry recorded their marriage.

  “27th January, 1815 Capt. Reginald Whitmore to Oriane Marley, daughter of Robert Curtis Marley and Beatrice Marley.

  The next entry, of course, was:

  21st June, 1830 Born to Reginald and Oriane Whitmore a son, baptized Saul.

  And the last, one she had not known was there, it must have been written in the last few days. It made her heart give a curious leap, as if seeing the statement in black and white made it more real than the days and nights she had spent with Saul.

  3rd October, 1860 Married—Saul Whitmore to Briar Rose Johnson of England.

  That was all. Just the meager fact that she had come from England, the one fact in her life of which she was sure. Oriane Whitmore, the proud daughter of Robert and Beatrice Marley, must have found it bitter to make that entry.

  But supposing there were an entry to follow this one, the facts of it could be put down fully. To Saul and Briar Whitmore …

  Briar held up her fingers, and counted the days again, as she had done so often lately. How many now since that night which she still could not begin to forget …

  An owl called suddenly, very close, and Briar leaped to the window to draw back the curtain a cautious inch. She thought she caught a glimpse of a bird swooping towards the ngaio trees, but she could not be sure, and now all was still again.

  Not entirely still, however, for footsteps shuffled along the passage outside her bedroom.

  “Who’s there?” she cried.

  The door opened a timid inch. “It’s me, ma’am,” said Katie. “I can’t sleep. I’m so scared, I don’t know why.”

  “Come in here,” Briar ordered, and the girl, in her high-necked flannel nightgown, with her red hair tumbling childishly stood shamefaced and forlorn.

  “Aren’t you feeling well?” Briar asked.

  The freckles stood out on Katie’s pale face. “A bit squeamish, ma’am, but only because I’m scared. I keep thinking I hear things. Creeping in bushes, and whispers.”

  Briar licked her dry lips and managed to say, “You weren’t scared when it was Rangi coming to your window.”

  “I know. But it isn’t Rangi tonight.”

  The ready tears were slipping down her cheeks again. She looked no more than twelve years old, and it seemed impossible that her body was already swelling with a child.

  “Now look, Katie, you’ve just caught Mabel’s superstitions. I’m going to be very angry with her tomorrow for upsetting everyone.”

  “But aren’t you scared, ma’am? You’re not undressed and in bed, and it’s after midnight.”

  “I wasn’t tired. But now you’re here you might as well help me to undress. Unbutton my gown. Ugh! Good gracious, child, your fingers are as cold as ice.”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am. Don’t be angry with me.”

  “I’m not angry with you. No one can help, in this wilderness, being a little afraid.” She was trembling herself as she stood in her petticoats, the air like cold water on her bare arms. “When Mr. Whitmore comes back—” Involuntarily her gaze strayed to the big bed, so smooth and empty. It was after midnight, certainly, but there were still seven hours till daylight. Seven hours to lie alone, thinking and listening.

  “You’ll catch your death of cold, running about in your nightgown like that,” she said crisply to the shivering Katie. “You’d better get into bed. We’ll keep each other company.”

  Katie’s eyes widened. “In your bed! Do you mean it?”

  “You heard me. I can’t afford to have you ill, too. Besides—” Her eyelids drooped tiredly. What were they after all but two girls, both frightened and unhappy, one having no more defenses than the other in time of danger? “Besides, I confess I’d like your company,” she added simply.

  In the morning Katie awoke and sat up with a little shriek. She had forgotten where she was, and in full daylight was overawed to find herself in the mistress’s bed. Then irrepressi
bly she began to giggle.

  Briar straightened her own mouth severely. “There’s no need to sit there giggling. Go back to your room and dress. I imagine now that it’s daylight you won’t be too afraid.”

  “Oh, no, ma’am. I feel fine now.” Katie scrambled out of bed and drew back the curtains to disclose a clear sky with the first pale sunlight brightening the trees. “Look, the sun’s shining!”

  Briar stretched lazily, relief filling her. The night was over, and nothing had happened. All their strange fears had been unjustified. It was after seven-thirty, she saw, so the shepherds must have had breakfast and gone on their rounds of the sheep and the first early lambs. They had promised to let her know if anything alarmed them, so all must be well. Just wait until she got downstairs and told that lazy superstitious Mabel what she thought of her for frightening them all.

  “As soon as you’re dressed, Katie, bring my tea. I’m going to see how Mrs. Whitmore is. She will have tea in bed, too.”

  Hitherto Mrs. Whitmore had refused such luxuries, but she would not be allowed to do so this morning. As soon as Katie had scampered off, all her carefully learned dignity lost while she remained with bare feet and in her nightgown, Briar dressed and went to Mrs. Whitmore’s room.

  At the door she had a sudden fright, for the old lady lay so still. But as she went up to the bed she saw the dark hollowed eyes watching her.

  “How are you this morning, Mrs. Whitmore? Did you sleep well?”

  “Well enough. The night was quiet.”

  So she, too, must have caught this strange apprehension, and lain listening.

  “Are you feeling better?”

  “A little weak, perhaps. I may stay in bed for an hour or two.”

  Again Briar felt premonition. This was the first time the old lady had admitted to any feeling of illness, or indeed had been willing to remain in bed. Was she very ill? Doctor MacTavish must be sent for, secretly if necessary.

  “Katie’s going to bring you some tea. That silly Mabel gave us all a fright last night, saying she was nervous about the owls calling, but you see it’s a beautiful morning, and all’s—”