The Quicksilver Pool

by Whitney, Phyllis A. ;

  “I don’t see why she should be,” Lora said gently, remaining where she was. Then she went on, not waiting for further objection. “That portrait over the mantel must be of your grandfather. Do you remember him, Jemmy?”

  Jemmy stared at the picture and shook his head. “He died when Papa was only ten. And you know what—he was thrown from a runaway horse he was riding when he’d had too much to drink.”

  There was a certain relish for the lurid in Jemmy’s tone and Lora dropped the subject hastily. Nevertheless, a sense of astonishment remained with her. It was doubly difficult to imagine Mrs. Tyler married to this handsome, reckless husband. But then, it was difficult to imagine Mrs. Tyler in the role of a young woman at all.

  “Aren’t you afraid of her?” he asked.

  “Your grandmother? Why should I be?”

  “My mother was afraid of her. Sometimes I had to protect Mama from Grandmother.”

  “There’s no reason to be afraid,” Lora told him. “We have to remember that your grandmother has had considerable trouble in her life.” She glanced briefly at the portrait. “And that she can’t move around like other people. Perhaps we’d be irritable sometimes too if we had to sit in a chair all day long and couldn’t leave the house.”

  “I think she could leave it if she wanted to,” Jemmy whispered, glancing cautiously behind him. “I heard the doctor tell her one time that there wasn’t anything wrong with her that her own will couldn’t cure. But she got so angry she sent him away and she won’t have a doctor in the house any more.”

  Again this was not a subject to be discussed with Jemmy, but as they left the room and mounted the stairs together she thought about his words. The stifling, dominating spirit of Amanda Tyler was almost a tangible thing permeating the house. Could it be that a woman in a wheel chair was in some ways stronger than a woman who could walk?

  I’ll ask Doc about it, she thought before the pang of realization once more engulfed her, the knowledge that she could never ask him anything again.

  Sunday came all too quickly, and with it a sense of restraint that made past solemnity seem almost frivolous. Sunday, as at once became evident, was a time for prayers and Bible reading and nothing else. The whole house was kept dark and voices low.

  As Jemmy had prophesied, they spent the entire morning in the parler. Shutters and draperies were not opened, but at least a lamp and candles pierced the gloom and a fire in the grate pushed back the chill air for a small radius. Mrs. Tyler’s chair was placed at the center table on which rested the huge Bible and she read with keen eyes that needed no glasses the words of her vengeful God.

  Lora sat on the slippery hair sofa beside Wade, her hands folded tightly in her lap, trying not to fidget. Mrs. Tyler’s God was one whom she had not met before, and she wasn’t in the least sure she believed in Him. To her father, God had been a close friend and confidant. One revered and respected Him, but with a feeling of love, not fear. He was a God who came into one’s conversations frequently and in friendly terms. When Doc’s hands and brain had done what they could for a patient, the whole thing was put up to Doc’s good Friend. All higher decisions were accepted as just and proper, despite the pain they might bring to those who had not the wisdom to understand the mysterious purpose behind them. But this purpose was never regarded as vengeful punishment for past sins.

  Mrs. Tyler’s God came with fiery sword and merciless judgment. He had no sympathy or forgiveness for human frailty. The old lady bowed her head and prayed to him in a ringing voice.

  “Thank you, Lord, for smiting down the enemies of our beloved Union. Deal just death and destruction on the wicked Confederacy. Bring victory soon to our forces and let the evil ones go down in helpless defeat!”

  Her voice was grim as the voice of doom in the quiet room and Wade bowed his head with her. But Lora would not pray for the angel of death to destroy the South. She was not at all sure that the North was entirely right, any more than she was sure the South was right. These were brothers fighting one another and the death of one must eventually bring anguish to the heart of the other. Both were wrong, both were foolish.

  She stole a look at Jemmy and saw that instead of praying he was watching her curiously. When she smiled at him he looked shocked and bowed his head, squeezing his eyes tightly shut.

  The prayer was very long and once or twice Lora could not help the squeaking of the sofa beneath her. When it finally ended she released a sigh of relief without realizing it, and Mrs. Tyler looked at her sharply.

  “Lora, I do not sense in you a proper reverence on the Lord’s day.”

  Lora kept her voice low and steady, but she could not help speaking her thoughts. “The thing I don’t understand is why your God is also smiting down the soldiers of the North.”

  Wade looked at her in distress and Jemmy wriggled on his hard chair.

  There was a blazing light in Mrs. Tyler’s eyes. “There is only one God and I will suffer no disrespect to Him in this house. Mortals like ourselves do not question any action of His. It is right that the wicked be punished.”

  “But I know many Southern people who believe in God too,” Lora went on gently. “They are praying to Him just as we are. They think He will help their cause because they are right.”

  Mrs. Tyler turned to her son. “Wade, we have finished our prayers. Will you help me back to my sitting room, please? Then I trust you will take your wife aside and explain to her the customs of this house. I do not feel strong enough at the moment.”

  To Lora, she had never seemed less weak, but Wade pulled his crutch into place and stood up. He did not glance Lora’s way again as he helped his mother wheel her chair into the hall. Lora stayed where she was, struggling against indignation which rose frighteningly within her.

  The moment his father and grandmother were out of sight, Jemmy came to stand before her. “You’re in disgrace,” he said. “If you don’t watch out she’ll send you to bed without any supper.”

  Lora caught his two thin hands in her own, surprised at the fragility of his small bones.

  “Jemmy,” she pleaded, “God isn’t like that. He is good and kind and forgiving. I don’t think He goes around with a flaming sword killing people because He thinks they’re wicked.”

  “You,” said Jemmy, “will go to hell.” And he twisted away from her and ran out of the room.

  Noonday dinner was served in the dining room and it was heavy with solid food. There was fried chicken and thick cream gravy, hot biscuits, baked beans, mashed potatoes, and shortening-rich apple pie. The grace before the meal was extra long and given by Mrs. Tyler, who seemed to be hinting that while Lora did not deserve to partake of this repast, God was going to let her eat—this time.

  Wade avoided Lora’s eyes, though he made a special effort to engage his mother in conversation. Jemmy was not expected to talk, and Lora kept her silent attention on her food, fighting down a sense of nausea at the mere sight of gravy swimming on her plate. As Jemmy had said, she was certainly in disgrace, even with Wade. She nibbled at a wishbone and when she had picked it dry she slipped it unnoticed into her pocket to save it for a wish with Jemmy. But the rest of her food she could hardly touch—and thus brought a lecture on waste from Mrs. Tyler.

  When the uncomfortable meal was over she attempted to draw Wade away by himself. She needed to talk to him, to make him understand that she meant no disrespect either to his mother or to God, but there were some things which she could not accept meekly. She had no opportunity, however, for Wade drove away from the house immediately after dinner.

  When Lora realized he had gone, she went into Mrs. Tyler’s sitting room, feeling that the quicker certain matters were cleared up the better. But Ellie was helping to make Mrs. Tyler comfortable for her nap and it was plain that the old lady meant to talk to no one. At least Lora managed a question about Wade.

  “I saw him drive away,” she said. “I wish he had taken me with him. I’d have loved a drive, and I imagine Jemmy would too. Do yo
u know where he has gone?”

  Mrs. Tyler looked up from slipping her arms into the sleeves of a lavender wrapper. “You would not have been welcome. My son has gone to visit his first wife’s grave. It would hardly be appropriate for you to accompany him.”

  “Why would it not?” Lora asked. “I have only the kindest feeling toward Virginia.” Ellie was helping Mrs. Tyler to the bed in the small adjoining room and Lora followed them to the doorway. But Mrs. Tyler did not answer until Ellie had gone scuttling off with a frightened backward glance for Lora. Then the old lady lay back upon her pillows and fixed Lora with a gaze in which there was nothing but open dislike.

  “I should think,” she said, “that it would be very plain to you that Wade is still in love with Virginia.”

  Lora swallowed against a dry throat before she spoke again. “I understood that when I married him. I have not fooled myself or Wade. But I will not believe that I mean nothing to him. I’m sure that he needs me now.”

  Mrs. Tyler merely closed her eyes and there was nothing for Lora to do but go softly from the room. She had never felt so futilely helpless in her life. She longed to do something decisive, release herself in action.

  As she went down the hall she saw the library door closing just ahead of her and she pulled it open and walked in. Here too the shutters had been drawn and portiers swung across the windows to shut out any semblance of daylight. But at least a fire had been lighted and a lamp burned in the center of a table.

  Jemmy might well have been eavesdropping, for he looked guilty when he saw her face. He picked up a book and scurried to the red damask sofa before the hearth, where he curled up, pretending to bury himself in the story.

  Lora went straight to the portiers and flung them aside. Then she opened a window, thrust back the shutters and fastened them before closing it again. The outside world was bright with sunlight. Jemmy ceased his pretense of reading and came softly to stand beside her and look into the brilliant outdoors. A few sparrows hopped about the neglected garden and as he and Lora watched, a small rabbit scuttled across the drive and disappeared in a clump of bushes. Jemmy’s voice was no more than a whisper.

  “Don’t you suppose God is out there too, even on Sundays?” he asked.

  Lora looked down at him for a moment. Then she put her two hands on his shoulders, and this time he did not wriggle away.

  “Let’s go out there and see,” she said. “Let’s go right away and find out.”

  He looked at her with a mingling of fear and hope in his eyes. Then he nodded solemnly.

  V

  They put on their coats and went outside without a word to anyone. Jemmy wore a striped stocking cap, a red muffler and red mittens which brightened him up considerably. He had turned into a surprising dynamo of excitement and Lora tried to quiet him by making the adventure seem as natural as possible. She wanted him to have no sense of wrong-doing about this. They belonged outside on the bright day of grace that had been given them before full winter set in. She did not hold with any notion that respect to the Lord could only be shown through moping indoors.

  “Where shall we go?” Jemmy asked when they had left the driveway behind them.

  “You choose,” Lora said. “Isn’t there some special place you know that you’d like to show me?”

  He skipped along beside her, a bundle of nervous energy, and there was a look about him both speculative and purposeful. Already he had turned along Dogwood Lane in the direction she had taken yesterday.

  “I know a place,” he said. “A place up there in the woods.”

  When they had passed the ruins of the burned-down house and reached the narrow path cutting uphill, he turned onto it and Lora offered no objection. Since she was in full rebellion from unreasonable authority, she might as well add this to her score of disobedience. Wade’s request had seemed unreasonable at the time he had made it and she meant to talk the matter over with him sooner or later; make it clear to him that it was not fair to ask her to bow blindly to rulings she did not understand. In spite of her desire and first willingness to please Amanda Tyler, there were certain things at which her nature must surely balk. It would be as well to make this clear to Wade in the beginning, rather than to pretend to be what she was not.

  Here in the woods leaf mold lay thick upon the ground, making a soft carpet on the little-used path. Lora held her skirts away from snatching twigs as they climbed upward. Now there was an odd urgency about Jemmy, a kindling of some strange excitement that pulled him quickly on, despite the steepening grade of the hill.

  Remembering small boys she had known back home in Pineville, Lora suspected what he was up to, though why he should seem so tense and excited about it, she could not tell.

  “Is this a special place you’re going to show me?” she asked. “A secret place?”

  He glanced back at her over his shoulder in surprise at her understanding. “It used to be secret—sort of. But it’s not—any more.”

  Halfway up the hill and around a turn in the path they came unexpectedly upon a clearing. Here sloping banks of brown grass led down to a small lake. On the far side birches graced the edge of the still water, their reflection white and pencil-slim. Beyond was another opening where the path picked up again and wound uphill.

  With blue sky above and the sun high and golden, the surface of the little pool had a yellow shimmer which contrasted with drab surroundings like an amethyst set down upon a brown carpet.

  Jemmy ran to the edge of the water, studying its quiet surface with a gaze so intent that he seemed to forget her presence. The pond was an irregular oval in shape, curving to fit the sloping banks, and not far from where Jemmy stood natural stepping stones led to a larger mound of rock that rose dry and brown well out in the water.

  Lora went to stand beside him. “What a heavenly quiet spot. It must be beautiful in spring when the woods are in leaf and the grass is green. It’s so still and lonely and secret. A lovely place to dream.”

  For some reason Jemmy shivered. “It’s awfully deep,” he said. “Higher even than my father’s head. But when there’s a breeze the water’s not like glass the way it is now. You should see it when there are little moving crinkles all across it. Mama said it looked like quicksilver then.”

  “Did you come here often with your mama?” she asked gently.

  He did not look at her. “We came here most every day when the weather was fine. We used to sit out on that big rock and sometimes she’d read to me and sometimes I’d read to her. About King Arthur and Ivanhoe and Rip Van Winkle and others.”

  “Perhaps we can do that again when good weather comes,” Lora said.

  Jemmy shook his head despairingly and she knew she had said the wrong thing. “No, never!” he cried. “Not ever at all!”

  Of course, she thought, this place belonged to his memories of his mother. She should not have tried to usurp them. Perhaps she and Jemmy could find another outdoor reading place when warm weather came.

  Moving quietly, with the strange tenseness upon him, he edged along the left bank of the pool to where the stepping stones began, his attention fixed upon the big rock.

  “Sometimes turtles come out on the rocks in the sun and you can catch them. All my turtles came from here.”

  There was so strained a note in his voice that Lora glanced at him anxiously. Perhaps he should not come here where he had been happy with his mother. She wished she could find some way to comfort him, and knew helplessly that there was no way. Like herself, Jemmy could only wait for the healing of time.

  He turned suddenly toward her and she saw how pale he was and how the blue of his eyes had darkened. His lips trembled and he had to tighten them fiercely before he could speak.

  “Do you think I killed my mother?” he demanded.

  Lora gasped and stared at him, shocked into silence.

  “She couldn’t swim,” he said, looking back at the water. “She fell into this pool and was drowned. And maybe it was my fault. Maybe I killed
her.”

  Lora found her voice with an effort. “Of course you didn’t, Jemmy! Why should you ever think such a foolish thing?”

  “I got my feet wet when I shouldn’t have,” he went on, his tone dull. “I catch cold real easy, so Mama put me to bed and she stayed with me reading most all day. But in the afternoon she wanted to go for a walk so she said she would come up here and see if she could find me a new turtle. Because King Arthur had died and I thought Guinevere was lonely. But when the wind blows and those rocks get wet and mucky from the pond, they can be awfully slippery. So that’s what must have happened. She was trying to reach for a turtle when she fell off the big rock into the deep part. She never came home. And after a while Papa went to look for her.”

  He stopped desolately and Lora dropped to her knees and caught him to her, muffling his words against her breast. “Don’t,” she whispered. “Jemmy dear, you mustn’t ever, ever think such a terrible thing again. If she slipped, then it was the slippery rock that was to blame—not anything way back like your cold, or even your wanting a turtle.”

  He pushed away from her, but not fiercely as he had once before. Now he wanted only to search her face, perhaps to find in it something that would free him from secret torture, make him believe. But even as she looked at him she thought in pity of Wade coming up through these woods to find Virginia … No wonder he had not wanted Lora to come here.

  On the far side of the pond a twig broke sharply beneath a foot and Lora looked up, startled. At the place where the path opened again on the uphill side stood a figure that seemed outlandishly strange in a Staten Island setting. Half shielded by the trunk of a tree, a young colored girl of no more than eighteen years stood peering out at them with wide, liquid dark eyes. She might have seemed a wild thing herself in that verdant background, had it not been for her flamboyant costume.

  She wore a full, bright-flowered cotton skirt with blossoms of crimson and green strewn against a yellow ground. A fringed red wool shawl was flung about her shoulders and a red bandanna had been tied in a jaunty bow atop her head. From her ears swung huge gold loops, shining now in the sunlight. She was strikingly lovely with her warm brown coloring and great watchful eyes. She did not smile or speak, but simply stared for a long moment. Then, before Lora could recover from her surprise, she turned and fled back up the path in the direction from which she must have come, disappearing among the trees.