With

by Donald Harington

  She also took her mind off of thinking too much by playing with her paper dolls in her paper town of Stay More. The problem was that her paper dolls talked to her. Oh, of course it was probably just her own voice, but the paper dolls, those old country people of Stay More named Ingledew and Swain and Whitter and Duckworth and Coe and Dinsmore and Chism and so on, seemed to be talking to her in voices that weren’t her own, that she couldn’t even imitate, because they were country voices, like Adam’s. They told her stories that she couldn’t possibly have made up by herself, stories about floods and droughts and periods of darkness and periods of light, and an Unforgettable Picnic and the organization of a Masonic lodge—surely she couldn’t have been making all of this up in play. But she distinctly heard their voices.

  “Hreapha, can’t you hear them too?” she asked, but her adorable dog just cocked her head to one side as if she were trying to listen, without acknowledging the voices.

  For the longest time she had persuaded herself that the voice of the ghost Adam Madewell was just something she was imagining, although she couldn’t imagine how she would have been able to know the particular way he talked and some of the words he used. But how could she explain his finding those two books for her? Did she just have a hunch to see what was beyond that little door in the ceiling of the kitchen and go up there with her flashlight and find those two books? Well, it wasn’t impossible, but she was pretty well convinced that there really was a ghost named Adam who sometimes talked to her. And what about that business of singing the “Farther Along” hymn? She had heard Sugrue make some references to it, but he’d never sung it, so how did she learn the words and tune, unless she learned them from Adam?

  She loved that song, and every day she sang it; she even sang it in bed at night when she was trying to go to sleep. She understood that “Farther Along” was a funeral hymn and ought to be reserved for funerals, but day by day the people in her paper town of Stay More began to die, of natural causes or illnesses or whatever people died of, including murder, and while she didn’t actually try to bury the paper dolls she had a little memorial service for those who died and sang “Farther Along.”

  And when she got to that lovely verse which said, “When we see Jesus coming in glory, When He comes from his home in the sky; Then we will meet Him in that bright mansion, We’ll understand it all by and by,” she always began to wonder if this old house in which she lived might possibly be That Bright Mansion. She had never seen a mansion; Harrison had some fancy houses but not any mansions, which she knew were supposed to be very large and very imposing, neither of which this old house was. Still, she began to think that perhaps when Jesus came to meet her in this house, the house would be transformed into a mansion, just as pumpkins could be transformed into coaches in “Cinderella.”

  Robin was ready for Jesus. She took the Bible and, avoiding all those stories about unpronounceable names like Zelophehad, Ahinoam, Zedekiah, and Athaliah, began at the beginning of the New Testament and read the four gospels. It took her a week to read each one, but by then according to the Ouija Board it was Christmas, appropriately, because she could celebrate the first Christmas in her life in which the meaning of the day had real significance as the birthday of the nice interesting kind man named Jesus, who was called the Christ.

  She had got out the Ouija Board again and with Hreapha’s help determined that Christmas this year was only three days away. She took the axe and cut down a little cedar tree behind the house, and figured out a way to make it stand up in the living room, “planting” it in one of the wooden bails from the cooper’s shed. “Adam, do you mind if I borrow this?” she asked, but got no answer. She decorated her Christmas tree with stars that she cut out of toilet paper tubes (although she never used the outhouse any more, she still used toilet paper) and colored with her crayons, which were in danger of being used up. Searching through the storeroom for the possibility that Sugrue might have bought more than one big box of crayons, she came upon a paper sack she’d overlooked before. In it were a half dozen ears of dried up yellow corn, and there was a note, hand-lettered on a piece of brown paper, which said, “THESE HERE IS POPCORN, FOR YOU TO POP ON THE STOVE AND EAT OR MAYBE MAKE YOU SOME STRINGS FOR YOUR CHRISTMAS TREE. SORRY THERE’S NOT NO ORANGES TO PUT IN YOUR STOCKING BUT I GOT YOU SOME RIBBON CANDY SOMEWHERE AROUND IN HERE. MERRY CHRISTMAS AND LOVE, SUGRUE.” Before she shelled the kernels from the ears and attempted to pop them, she had to spend just a little time crying. Then when her tears were dry, she put some of the popcorn in a pot and popped it, and spent the rest of the day stringing it on coarse cotton thread (although Sugrue had never thought to have bought some scissors, he’d stocked a supply of other sewing things, like needles and thread). Thus her Christmas tree was garlanded with white fluffy strings of popcorn. It was the prettiest Christmas tree she’d ever had. She had a bit of trouble keeping Robert from climbing the tree, but she scolded him about it, and he left it alone, although when he thought she wasn’t looking he took a swat or two at one of the dangling stars.

  The next day she took the shotgun and the turkey caller and went off with Hreapha (she had to shut Robert in the house to keep him from going too, commanding him to stay off the Christmas tree) to find a turkey for Christmas dinner, although she’d eaten so many leftovers from Thanksgiving that she was really tired of turkey and didn’t care whether she found one or not. The Cyclopædia had a great recipe for roast partridge and another recipe for a bread sauce for partridges, but she had no idea what a partridge was, apart from the “Twelve Days of Christmas” song. There was a pear tree up in the old orchard (which hadn’t borne any fruit this year), and she looked there first for the partridge. “Hreapha, do you know what a partridge looks like?” she asked. Poor Hreapha looked very sorrowful not to be able to help, but Robin assumed that one bird was the same as the next to her.

  The snow in the woods was deep in places, and they couldn’t go very far. Robin didn’t even bother with the turkey caller. She decided just to serve ham for Christmas and turned around and headed back toward the house. Suddenly a large bird of some kind flew up out of the leaves and landed on the limb of an oak, and she loaded the shotgun with one shell and aimed it and fired, and the bird was hit. She didn’t know if it was a partridge or maybe a prairie chicken or grouse or quail or what.

  But she plucked all the feathers off and washed it and stuffed it and prepared to cook it according to the Cyclopædia’s recipe for partridge. Christmas morning they woke early because of the brightness: it had snowed during the night and the sunlight was reflecting off the snow and brightening up everything (“In that bright mansion,” she sang.) Still entertaining a shred of hope that Santa might somehow have found her house, she ran to the Christmas tree, but could only stand there pretending, “Oh look! A bicycle!” She realized there really wasn’t any place she could ride a bicycle in this weedy wilderness. “Oh look! Skis!” she exclaimed and sat down to try them on. Hreapha and Robert observed her oddly. “Merry Christmas, Hreapha!” she said. “Here’s a sweater I knitted for you!” and she pretended to put the play-like sweater on Hreapha. She noticed that Hreapha’s belly was really swollen. “Merry Christmas, Robert!” she said. “Here’s a toy mouse I got for you to chase!” and she wound up the make-believe toy mouse and set it free, but Robert wouldn’t chase it. She was sorry that animals couldn’t make-believe. She had gift-wrapped just a few of the presents that Sugrue had intended to give her, which were real, not make-believe, and she slowly opened them and thanked him for each one.

  She could not help wondering what she might actually have received at Christmas from her mother (and maybe even her father too). She wondered how much her mother missed her, and thought that possibly her mother had even gone ahead and wrapped gifts for her even though she wasn’t there. But she was proud of herself for putting together such a good Christmas without any help from her mother.

  She’d left three of Sugrue’s long socks (which she’d laundered) tacked to the wall
beside the stove, and filled them with ribbon candy and popcorn balls made with sugar syrup. Hreapha’s stocking also had in it some of the Purina dog chow (which was running low), and Robert’s stocking had a can of tuna-fish, and the animals were really able to appreciate the edible contents of their stockings, except the ribbon candy, which they wouldn’t eat.

  Robin put the partridge (if that’s what it was) in the oven to bake. The sun was so bright they went out to play in the snow for a while, and Robin decided to see if they could go as far as the beaver pond, to wish a merry Christmas to their beaver friends. She had to carry Robert because the snow was too deep for him, but it wasn’t too deep for Hreapha, who managed to sort of leap in and out of it. They reached the pond to find it covered with ice, but there was an opening through the ice near the beaver’s lodge, and when Robin called “Merry Christmas!” a few times the family of beaver came up through that hole in the ice and even attempted to walk on the ice, which was too slippery for them. But Hreapha barked her “Hreapha!” and Robert mewed his “WOO! WOO!” and they were all one big happy family for a little while until Robin began to get very cold, and they just barely made it back to the house before freezing to death.

  She had to warm up and dry off at the stove for a long time before she could resume preparing the Christmas dinner. When it was ready, just as she had done at Thanksgiving, she sat Hreapha and Robert at the table and tied little napkins around their necks. She said a kind of grace, “Dear Jesus, I have got to know you pretty well by reading about you, and I do believe you’re here with us on your birthday, aren’t you? Thank you for being here, Jesus, and thank you for all this food and for keeping us warm and safe. If there was anything I could ask for, it would be that you would let Adam be here too. Happy birthday, Jesus, and Merry Christmas. Amen.”

  She waited just a few moments, and then called, “Adam? Adam! Don’t you want to eat Christmas dinner with us?” There was no answer. She said, “Well, I’m being silly, because ghosts don’t eat anything. Do they?”

  And his voice replied! I aint no ghost, you dizzy gal. Ghosts is dead people, I aint never been dead, though I’d felt close to it sometimes.

  “Merry Christmas, Adam!” she said.

  Merry Christmas to you, Miss Robin. You’ve sure been doing it up proud the way my maw would’ve done, with them popcorn balls and all.

  “I’m sorry you can’t eat with us, but I’ll set a plate out for you anyhow.”

  Thank ye kindly. Howsomever, that aint no partridge. It’s jist a big fat bobwhite. I’ll bet it tastes real good anyhow.

  They had a nice fine dinner and everybody was happy and after dinner there was just one more thing Robin wanted to do for Christmas. She took a shovel and found the spot under the porch where Sugrue had said he’d buried the money box. She started digging it up. Hreapha stepped in and helped and was a faster digger than Robin, although her swollen belly hampered her and tired her out. They dug up the box and took it into the house, and Robin used the key which Sugrue had given her to try to bribe her into shooting him.

  Just for the fun of it, and with nothing better to do for a couple of hours, she counted all the money, which was mostly in hundred dollar bills, four thousand and twenty of them. She might not ever be able to spend any of it. But it sure was nice to have that much, almost half a million.

  “Thank you, Sugrue,” she said. “Merry Christmas.”

  Chapter twenty-seven

  Too bad the dinner was so meager. Robert got one drumstick and she got the other one, and Robin ate most of the rest. It hadn’t been a very large bird to begin with. She had eaten all of the doggy nuggets that had been in her Christmas stocking, understanding full well that the supply of that particular kind of food was running out, and that the time would come when Robin might no longer be able to feed her.

  But remembering the huge bird they’d had at Thanksgiving, she had looked forward to a similar feast for Christmas, and was disappointed and restless and famished. She wasn’t simply eating for two now. She was eating for perhaps four or five or even six. For several days now, her appetite had been doubled, at least. There was no way she could tell Robin to please put twice as much Purina chow in her bowl. She could only whine and linger expectantly over the bowl, but Robin didn’t get the hint.

  There were times when she seriously considered eating Robert. It would not only furnish her with much-needed calories and proteins and all that but it would also rid the premises of a nuisance. The bigger Robert had grown, the friskier he had become, and he was constantly in motion, practically bouncing off the walls, and it got on her nerves, especially when she was trying to rest. She didn’t care whether or not Robert or Robin understood that she was pregnant, but she had to get them to understand that she needed more rest and peace and quiet than usual. She liked to curl up beside the stove and sleep for hours, but Robert had other ideas: he wanted to play, he wanted to chew on her, he wanted to chase her tail (alas, he had none of his own to chase), he wanted to climb up to the back of the davenport, pretending it was a tree limb and he a mountain lion, and then leap upon his prey, her, and knock the wind out of her. She honestly could not understand the reason for the affection she felt for him, which kept her from eating him. Or maybe it was simply that she understood he wouldn’t be very tasty.

  Fortunately, but embarrassingly, ever since the man had ceased existing and thus had ceased eating many eggs, there was a great surplus of eggs, more than Robin could ever possibly use and more than the hens themselves wanted to sit upon and hatch, and thus, in the interests of self-preservation and to keep her stomach from growling at her (often she had awakened from sleep at full alert, thinking another dog was in the room), she had gone to the henhouse and sucked an egg or two. She was now regrettably a dyed-in-the-wool chronic egg-sucking dog, but she was almost tired of eggs. You really couldn’t sink your teeth into their contents, so while they might be nourishing they weren’t much fun to eat.

  Shortly after Christmas the weather turned so terribly cold that none of them wanted to go outside, and the poor poultry were in danger of freezing. On one of the warmer days before Christmas, Robin had gone out to the woodpile and laboriously brought in all the wood she could carry and stacked it right in the living room. Then when the weather got so cold, she closed the kitchen door, letting the kitchen stove go cold, and did what little cooking she had to do on the living room stove. Eventually she had to close off the other two rooms, putting the feather mattress on the living room floor, so they lived entirely in that one room, going out only when they had to do their business, and making their business as speedy as possible. Although Robert had been what Robin called “housebroken” for some time now, meaning he didn’t want to get scolded for doing his business in the house, there were a few days that winter when it was so hideously freezing outside that he stubbornly refused to go out for his business and did it under the davenport. Robin not only screamed at him but rubbed his nose in it, and Hreapha said “HREAPHA!” meaning, “Just say the word, and I’ll gladly eat him.”

  One day, when Robin opened the door to the storeroom to get some food, Hreapha dashed into the room and with her nose nudged one of the empty cardboard boxes toward the door.

  Robin got the hint. “You want a box, Hreapha?” she asked, and picked up the empty box and set it in the living room. Hreapha nudged it closer to the stove, but not too close. Then she leaped up and pulled a pair of the man’s trousers from a peg on the wall, and deposited them in the box. Then she likewise pulled the man’s overalls off their wall-peg and put them in the box.

  “Golly gee, Hreapha,” Robin said. “Are you trying to pack up his things to send away or just get them out of sight? Maybe that’s a good idea. I’m tired of seeing them.”

  Hreapha also got some of the man’s underthings and stockings into the box, and then, when she had the “nest” thoroughly padded, she climbed into the box and curled up into a comfortable position, cushioned by the man’s clothing. She hoped Robin woul
d understand that she had built herself a nest.

  And possibly Robin did. “Oh,” she said, looking down at Hreapha. “Is this where you’re going to have your babies?”

  “Hreapha,” said Hreapha.

  But when the time came, she found that she couldn’t remain in the box. Staying curled up in the box made her think too much and worry too much. She fully understood that what she was about to do was natural and part of her job. She did not worry a lot about whether she would be a good mother or not. But she couldn’t help worrying about how all those babies were going to get out of her, and whether it would hurt her a lot. She got up. She sat down. She got up. She sat down. She couldn’t decide which was better.

  She paced the room. There wasn’t really enough room to pace properly, but she had to pace and she walked constantly from wall to wall. “You don’t want to go out, do you?” Robin asked, and held the door open for just a moment, but the wintry blast that blew into the room made her quickly close it.

  What Hreapha really wanted to do was dig, yes. She wanted to get out into the snow and dig and dig and dig down into the earth. She didn’t know why. Was she expecting the babies to be stillborn and wanted to have holes to bury them in? It scared her. She paced, and couldn’t stop.