The Bellringer

by William Timothy Murray

  "There," she said. "That will do until we get back to the cottage and can change them properly."

  "Iamsorryyouarehurt, Robby," Ibin said. "Ihope, Ihope, Ihopeyou'llbeabletocomebackwithus."

  "Oh, no worries about that!" Robby smiled. "My legs are good, and I'm ready to go whenever we can."

  They chatted on for a little longer, Robby now uncomfortably distracted by Sheila, though she only sat and said very little. Whether it was how the breeze tugged at her light brown hair, the angle of the light on the curve of her waist, or the way she sat with her legs tucked beneath her, leaning on one arm while twirling a dandelion in her other hand—whatever it was, she looked a vision to Robby. He struggled to pay attention to Billy's prattle. The sun angled farther over to the west, a cool breeze gained strength and drove away the warmth from the rocks.

  "O-o!" Billy shivered. "Whar did that come from?"

  "Ashlord said it would turn cool today," Robby remembered aloud.

  "It's probably time we got back, anyway," Sheila put forward, pulling on her blouse.

  They all agreed and soon were dressed and on their way back to the cottage. To their pleasant surprise, Ashlord had a fine meal ready for them when they arrived. After they had eaten, he carefully checked and cleaned Robby's wounds, and he applied cooling salve and new bandages, too. Satisfied that Robby was mending, the entire group took chairs outside to watch the sunset and the stars come out. Ashlord seemed to know all about the stars, and he enjoyed sharing some of his knowledge, their names and the constellations, and why they were named as they were.

  Pointing almost directly overhead, Robby asked, "Is that one called The Swan?"

  "Yes, that is The Swan," he confirmed.

  "Probably the only one I'll ever see," Robby chuckled. "My dad taught me just a little about the constellations."

  "Ye wouldn't happen to have another one of them pipes that ye could spare?" Billy interrupted as Ashlord tamped some Westleaf down into his bowl.

  Ibin's eyebrows rose with anticipation.

  "Certainly do!" Ashlord rose and went into and back out of the cottage, bringing with him a pipe and a pouch.

  "It's barely been used," he said, handing it to Billy.

  "Oh, it's for Ibin," Billy said, handing them to his friend. "I knew he wouldn't ask."

  "Thankyou, Mr. Ashlord," Ibin said, grinning and already filling the bowl. "Mineisinmysaddlebag. Iforgot, Iforgot, Iforgot, IforgottogetitoutwhenweleftBucky."

  "Bucky's one of the ponies we had to leave behind halfway here," Billy explained. "An' he had some gear on him that Ibin brought along. I have no idear what all else Ibin had in that bag. I bet most of it was sausage an' cheese."

  "Apples, Ihadapples, too," Ibin said. "ForBucky."

  "Ah, right. Apples."

  So Ibin and Ashlord puffed while the others fell silent as Lady Moon, growing shy behind her fan, gained her height. Every so often, Ibin would point up and ask, "What'sthat, what's, what'sthatone?" Ashlord would name the star and explain what he knew about it, saying something like "That is Mintar, one of the Wanderers. He'll be gone over the horizon by next full moon and will reappear in the spring." Or, "That is Carella, eye of the constellation called Brinathar, the Lion. He stands guard over Ererdid, over to the left, the Sleeping Queen. He goes before her, it is said, to make her way safe and her dreams peaceful."

  "And that one?"

  "That is the Great North Star, around which all the others wheel and turn."

  Billy, wrapped in a blanket, nodded a time or two, snapping his head, trying to pay attention, but failing miserably.

  "Well, I think you two boys must sleep on the floor tonight," Ashlord said, knocking the ashes out of his pipe. "I'll be sure there are enough blankets and a good fire."

  "Sheila can have her cot back, too," Robby offered. "I think I'm well enough for the floor."

  "No," Sheila said. "One more night in the back room won't hurt me and you're still sore, I'm sure. Besides, I'm already settled back there."

  "If that's the way you want it," Robby acquiesced.

  Ashlord stood up.

  "Tomorrow morning," he said, "we set out for Passdale by way of Boskland. With luck we'll have Billy and Ibin home before noon and Robby home by dark. It'll be a long walk. The long way around, for you Robby, so get a good night's sleep. That goes for all of you."

  He picked up his chair and took it back inside and the rest did the same. Soon Sheila had distributed plenty of blankets to Ibin and Billy, and an extra one to Robby. Robby undid his shirt, watching Ashlord put more wood on the fire and extra logs beside the fireplace, then he blew out the candles on the mantel as the boys settled down.

  "Where do you sleep?" Robby asked softly as he passed by the alcove.

  "I do not sleep," Ashlord smiled. "I'll wake you early. Good dreams."

  "Good dreams."

  As he pulled the curtain around the alcove, he caught a glimpse of Ashlord taking the bundle of letters to the meal table to have another look at them under the light of the lamp. The crickets seemed especially active, and their droning lulled Robby into a kind of half-sleep. Flitter and Certina watched Robby toss and turn for a while and then moved off to check on the others. But Robby never reached the delicious sleep he longed for. His dreams were full of all that had happened and of memories of being with Sheila at Midsummer. His emotions were full of perplexity and wonder and sudden fits of anxiety as he remembered the wolves and the stone soldiers. He recalled Sheila's face when he was sick and out of his head, her look of concern and her tenderness as she stroked his hair from his forehead and placed a wet cloth there. Now, struggling to sleep, he realized how terribly he had missed her.

  And so the night went until at last he opened his eyes, giving up his effort to find sleep, and sat up on the cot.

  "Better to just get up for awhile," he thought, "than to wrestle so!"

  He wrapped a blanket around himself, stood, and peered into the main room. Ibin and Billy were fast asleep, each snoring lightly in front of the dying fire. The wooden floor was cool, and Robby tiptoed past the two and gently placed a couple of logs on the embers before retreating to the kitchen table. Ashlord was nowhere to be seen. The lamp was blown out, and the letters were gone. Looking toward the door that led to the back room, he thought about Sheila. Pulling out a chair, he turned it around to face the fireplace across the room, and sat down. Flitter was curled up into a tiny ball on Ibin's shoulder, and Certina sat still as a statue on a rafter overhead. One of the logs began burning, and long narrow tongues of flame flickered up, giving the room a shadow-dance aspect in the yellow light.

  "Robby."

  Robby fairly jumped, and turned to see Sheila emerging from the shadows at his side.

  "Why aren't you sleeping?" she asked in a soft whisper. She, too, had a blanket wrapped around her, and she wore furry slippers. Robby shrugged and shook his head.

  "Just a little restless, I suppose," he answered.

  "How are you feeling?"

  "Oh, I'm fine. A few little aches, here and there. Why aren't you asleep?"

  "I'm sleepy," Sheila said, putting a chair beside his and sitting down. "But all I do is toss and turn."

  "Me, too."

  They sat and watched the fire across the room. The logs were beginning to crackle and the flames jumped deliriously, sending yellow-gold light flashing across the room in variations that matched its rhythm.

  "I have missed you," Robby said at last.

  "I have missed you, too."

  "Why did you leave and come out here? I mean truly. Was it because of me?" Robby looked at Sheila.

  "I don't know if I can explain it to you so that you'll understand," she said.

  "Understand what?"

  "Oh, Robby," she shook her head. "The world is bigger than we are! And there is so much happening in it beyond our Barley and our Passdale. And yet," she looked at him earnestly, "I would not have left for all the world if only I could have stayed. There just wasn't anywhere else
I could go."

  "I don't know what you mean."

  "I'm not considered a respectable girl, Robby. You know that."

  Robby shook his head.

  "I would never be accepted in Passdale. You were the first person to give me any true attention for just me. You taught me to read, and about numbers. And you stood up for me at Midsummer's, and got pretty banged up because of me."

  "That wasn't about you!" Robby retorted.

  "Oh, Robby! I know it was because I heard what those boys said. I know what they think of me. I've heard it all before, and it is common knowledge how I am thought of both in Barley and in Passdale, and what I am called."

  Robby felt himself blush in shame for the truth of her words. He knew full well that she was called awful things. But he was more ashamed of how he kept his relationship with her a secret. Guessing his thoughts, she asked, "Do you remember when I asked you not to tell anyone about our friendship?"

  "Yes, I do."

  "That was two years ago."

  "A little more than two," Robby nodded.

  "Yes. And you kept that promise, too."

  "It hasn't been easy. And I am ashamed of making it because I value your friendship and am proud of it."

  "But, you see, I was afraid, Robby," she said. "Afraid that if your parents found out, or if your other friends found out, well, that—"

  "That they would come between us?"

  Sheila nodded.

  "So little do you know my parents or my friends!" Robby shot back at her. "Or me, for thinking I would let them stand between us."

  Her eyes were now great flame-filled pools looking back at him. When the tears let go of her eyes and streamed down across her face like golden glittering jewels, he felt his heart crack. He reached out and touched her face with the back of his fingers.

  "I am so sorry," he said, his own sight blurry. "I tried to find you."

  "You did?"

  "Yes. I went to the pond where we used to meet. And I went to other places, too. I went out to your house, your uncle's place, but that didn't work out so well."

  Sheila stiffened. "I bet he was drunk, as usual," she said scornfully.

  "No, Sheila," Robby said withdrawing his hand. "Don't you know?"

  "Know what?"

  "He's dead."

  "Dead?"

  "Yes, didn't you know?"

  "No."

  "Oh, my stars!" Robby dreaded telling her but knew he had to.

  "What happened?"

  "I hate that I am the one to tell you this news. My dad and I found him. I talked my dad into going with me by saying that I had to return a bracelet that you dropped at Midsummer's. Do you remember the bracelet with the silver charms?"

  Sheila nodded.

  "Well, I found it after the fight that I got into, right there in the grass. My hand somehow touched on it when I fell down. Well, alright. When I was knocked down. Anyway, you left in such a hurry from the store when you came by that I didn't have a chance to give it to you. But, as I was saying, I told my dad that it was yours and I wanted to return it to you. He wouldn't let me go out there by myself, the way your uncle was, and all. But I pestered him for days until he relented, so we hiked out to the place. The stench was awful in the yard, and my dad called and called into the house, and we heard the dogs barking inside. I was truly scared, but my dad pounded on the door, yelling your name and yelling your uncle's name, until he started trying to bang it open with his shoulder. I lent my own shoulder to it and the door gave right away and the dogs lit out of there like they were on fire. But we nearly fainted from the smell, and we could see him. He was hanging from the rafters by a chain around his neck, his feet chewed off by his own dogs that were locked up inside with him."

  Robby saw no reason to tell her the extent of the gore in the place, or the fact that the body was torn and shredded by the dogs and hardly a thing below the waist was left.

  "It was pretty awful," he went on, "and I hate to tell you these things. But if you don't hear it all from me, you'll sooner than later hear it from someone else. As soon as we were sure you weren't there, we left to fetch Sheriff Fivelpont."

  "Uncle Steggan," Sheila said, wiping her face. "Dead!"

  Robby noticed that her tears had quickly dried.

  "I can't say as I'm sorry," she said. "Not one bit. But for him to hang himself! That just doesn't seem like him."

  "That's what Fivelpont said," Robby went on. Robby also saw no point in relating all the other things the Sheriff had said about Sheila's uncle. He was of the opinion that Steggan was too mean and ornery and drunk to ever hang himself. "But he couldn't find any other explanation so he let it drop. I mean, the door was bolted on the inside. Still, a lot of questions were asked about you and your whereabouts, and while me and other folks were worried about you and what your uncle might have done to you, other folk were sort of thinking the opposite and wondering if you might have finally gotten even with him for treating you like he did. Everybody knows that he beat you."

  "That figures," Sheila said. "I can't say it didn't cross my mind more than once. And I should have. But if I had had the courage to do it, I wouldn't have done it that way, I don't think."

  "Well, as soon as I could, a few days later, I headed out to Boskland on the pretense of seeing Billy," Robby went on. "I knew that you and Mrs. Bosk were friends and that you'd go out there off and on to visit, so I thought that if you were in trouble maybe you'd go to her."

  "You were right," Sheila nodded. "I did go there first. But I guess by the time you got there, I had already left to come out here."

  Robby nodded and went on, "I asked her, and she said you'd gone to stay with a friend—she wouldn't tell me who or where—but only that you were safe and couldn't have had anything to do with your uncle's death. She told me that it was best to let you be and that I'd hear from you in good time. By then, Sheriff Fivelpont had already decided that you couldn't have done it, and were probably away hunting or such. He made arrangements for your uncle's body and had the place cleaned up and left a note for you in case you went back there. That's what my dad said anyway."

  "I haven't been back there."

  "I know. There's more," Robby said. "Nobody knew of any other next of kin, so your uncle's property was rightfully yours. Except, the thing is, he ran up a lot of debt. That responsibility would fall on you. But since you couldn't be found, a magistrate's council was called, and it was decided to give you a month to claim the property and to make settlements. If you didn't show up, then your uncle's place would be sold at auction. After debts were taken care of, the leftovers would belong to you. My dad was appointed to be the trustee of your share. The auction was held about two weeks ago."

  "I don't know what to say," Sheila managed. "I don't care about any of his money. I'm just glad I don't have to see him any more!" She got up suddenly and dashed back to her room. Robby stood and took a few steps after her, but stopped. He could hear her sobbing, and although he wanted to comfort her, he did not think that he could, and he did not understand why she was so sad about a man that he knew she hated. It seemed to Robby that with her uncle dead, Sheila would be better off, and should be relieved. As he stood there, perplexed, he felt a breeze and turned to see Ashlord entering the front door. He nodded at Robby and leaned his stick against the wall as he closed the door.

  "You cannot sleep," he said as he slung off a shoulder bag and hung it on a peg. "And you've been talking to Sheila."

  "That's right," Robby replied a bit more defensively than he intended. "We talked."

  Ashlord walked over to the fire, gently stepping over the sleeping figures lying before it, and warmed his hands for a moment before turning around to let his back warm. Robby sat down as Ashlord's shadow and his hidden gaze fell across him. Against the glare of the fire, Robby could not discern Ashlord's expression. After a moment, he came over and sat where Sheila had been, putting his hands on his knees and gazing, as Robby did, at the fire.

  "I hope you tol
d her about her uncle."

  "Yes. I did."

  "I have wanted her to know," Ashlord sighed. "But Mrs. Bosk insisted that I protect her from any news of Barley or Passdale until such a time as she could send a message to me. Mrs. Bosk told me about the uncle, you see. I was reluctant to take Sheila in. Her showing up here took me completely by surprise. So I went to Boskland. Sheila stayed here and was not privy to the conversation I had with Mrs. Bosk. As I said, Mrs. Bosk told me about Sheila's uncle and about Sheila. She was worried that Sheila would be blamed for her uncle's death, even though Sheila couldn't have done the deed."

  Ashlord paused and looked hard at Robby.

  "I can see that you do not know," Ashlord said to him, "that her uncle beat her nearly to death and raped her."

  Robby's heart thudded as the words sank in, and his breath became shallow as he gaped at Ashlord.

  "When she showed up here, she was still terribly hurt. Mrs. Bosk told me that she was nearly dead when she was found at their door. Sheila escaped her uncle and crawled halfway across Barley at night and in the rain to get to Boskland, to people who might help and protect her. I honestly don't know how she made it that far alive," he said, casting a look back at her door. "But she is a remarkable girl! And her resilience is exceptional."

  Robby could feel himself pale as dark anger churned in his chest and hot tears stung his eyes.

  "When?" he hoarsely demanded. "When did that happen?"

  "It was a fortnight and two days after Midsummer's when she showed up here. She stayed two weeks at Boskland before that. I don't think Frizella, that is, Mrs. Bosk told anyone about Sheila's presence there, not even Billy."

  "She came to see me. Sheila did, that is. I think it must have been the day she left," Robby said. "At the store. I think she may have already had it in her head to go away somewhere, and I think she was trying to say goodbye."

  "Perhaps so. And perhaps it was Steggan's discovery of her plan to leave that set him off, unleashing his violent rage against her," Ashlord said. "I learned that Mrs. Bosk tried to talk Sheila into coming out here on several occasions, so perhaps Sheila was already considering it. I have not asked Sheila about any of these things. Frizella Bosk is a wise woman in many ways, in spite of her rough edges. When I went to see her, she explained the situation to me, and she convinced me to take the girl in and to offer what protection and instruction that I could. I also agreed not to question Sheila about these things or to impart any news to her. She has always been free to come and go, if ever she wanted. But she stayed and quickly became one of the best pupils I have ever had. Still, she does not talk to me in the way that she might talk to you. She has mentioned you only twice, and then only in passing. Otherwise, she rarely speaks of Barley or Passdale. I have kept her busy, and I think she has recovered as much as one might in such a short time. Better than most would, I daresay. And I hope I have been a good teacher. Still, it has been hard on her to be without her friends."