On Agate Hill (21 page)

A. The Devil

Q. Who died to redeem you?

A. Jesus Christ

Q. Should you not love Jesus?

A. Yes, with all my heart

WYNKEN, BLYNKEN, AND NOD

Eugene Field

Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night

Sailed off in a wooden shoe,—

Sailed on a river of crystal light

Into a sea of dew.

“Where are you going, and what do you wish?”

The old moon asked the three.

“We have come to fish for the herring fish

That live in this beautiful sea;

Nets of silver and gold have we!”

Said Wynken,

Blynken,

And Nod.

The old moon laughed and sang a song,

As they rocked in the wooden shoe;

And the wind that sped them all night long

Ruffled the waves of dew.

The little stars were the herring fish

That lived in that beautiful sea—

“Now cast your nets wherever you wish,—

Never afread are we!”

So cried the stars to the fisherman three,

Wynken,

Blynken,

And Nod.

All night long their nets they threw

To the stars in the twinkling foam,—

Then down from the skies came the wooden shoe,

Bringing the fishermen home:

’Twas all so pretty a sail, it seemed

As if it could not be;

And some folk thought ’twas a dream they’d dreamed

Of sailing that beautiful sea;

But I shall name you the fishermen three:

Wynken,

Blynken,

And Nod.

Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes,

And Nod is a little head,

And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies

Is a wee one’s trundle-bed;

So shut your eyes while Mother sings

Of wonderful sights that be,

And you shall see the beautiful things

As you rock in the misty sea

Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three: —

Wynken,

Blynken,

And Nod.

THE FAIRIES

William Allingham

Up the airy mountain,

Down the rushy glen,

We daren’t go a-hunting,

For fear of little men;

Wee folk, good folk,

Trooping all together;

Green jacket, red cap,

And white owl’s feather!

Down along the rocky shore

Some make their home,

They live on crispy pancakes

Of yellow tide-foam;

Some in the reeds

Of the black mountain-lake,

With frogs for their watch-dogs,

All night awake.

T
USCANY
M
ILLER

30-B Peachtree Court Apts.

1900 Court Blvd.

Atlanta, GA 30039

Hi Dr. F
.,

What do you think so far?

Those poems are from Molly’s
big Treasury of Children’s
Verse which is just falling apart now. And as a matter of fact I think it is pretty depressing too with such scary poems as The Raven and that really sad one about the little toy soldier covered in dust but sturdy and staunch he stands. I would not even read that to a child, I will stick with Dora the Explorer myself if I have any
.

Now this section was not even in the box at all. Michael, Ava (Daddy,) and me found it when we went on a field trip up to Lynchburg, Va. looking for Gatewood Academy which is now a part of Liberty University, that is Jerry Falwell’s outfit, you know they are all right-wingers! We took a picnic and drove up there in Michael’s convertible. It was not far at all. Michael wore a sports jacket with his blue jeans while Daddy (Ava) and I wore a nice suit. This was Daddy’s idea because he said they are all big Christians up there. But they were real nice to us and they have saved everything, right down to the household records. Their Library has an entire Gatewood Collection including all of Mariah Snow’s papers which follow. (She was so weird.) On the way back, we stopped for the best picnic on a riverbank, brie cheese and French bread and cherries and champagne. Michael drinks only Dom Perignon
.

I have named the next section Paradise Lost, you will soon see why. Keep going, it gets weird now
.

Best Wishes from me
,
Tuscany

Paradise Lost

“First Impressions”

As duly recorded by Agnes Rutherford

To the attention of Mrs. Mariah Snow
,

Headmistress, Gatewood Academy

July 2, 1873

My Dear Sister,

I scarcely know how to start this record, so agitated am I by the events which transpired this morning when I accompanied Mister Simon Black to Agate Hill Plantation. O Mariah! I fear I am unworthy of this task! Better you had sent Olive Reid, as she is a strong practical soul who might better know what to do in such a situation. You said that Mister Black had requested a “tender-hearted chaperone for Molly Petree, as she will be in need of kindness,” and I do appreciate the compliment which you and Doctor Snow have paid me in entrusting her to my care; you know that I would do anything for you, Mariah; I hope I shall not fail you. But I cannot help wondering: Is Doctor Snow fully cognizant of the situation? And did you yourself understand the circumstances of this child’s life? If so, I find it hard to believe that Molly Petree has been accepted sight unseen. But pray do not misunderstand me; I should like for her to be admitted, as even in her present state of dejection and withdrawal I sense a sturdy spirit which may indeed resurrect itself with the best of care in benign circumstances. I shall do my best to befriend her. In fact I shall take her over as my special project thus saving you if possible from further worry in your already overburdened state.

But you must forgive me, my dear sister. As ever, my heart runs away with my pen. Let me go back a bit. I trust you can read this report and have already pardoned my uneven penmanship. The carriage jounces from rut to rut as I attempt to write, yet I do have a measure of privacy here, as Mister Black, ever solicitous of my own welfare and the delicate condition of my
charge, rides outside upon the seat beside his servant Henry (who at first sight appears to be Negro yet upon closer inspection proves to be some sort of aboriginal Indian, with filed teeth and a grossly distended lower lip). This Henry is remarkable in many other ways as well, including his apparent level of education. He is extremely well spoken and converses with Mister Black upon virtually equal terms. I hear their voices now though I cannot make out the import of their conversation. I shall miss my guess if they are not discussing the strange and disturbing scene which occurred this morning upon our arrival at Agate Hill Plantation.

But first a word as to the place itself. Here I found an old home of great distinction and dilapidation in the loveliest of settings, upon a high prospect of sweeping vistas and incomparable charm, yet surrounded by an air of loneliness and—how shall I put it? Defeat. Failure. Loss. Decay. And beyond that: wrongdoing, malfeasance. For something is wrong there, Mariah, dreadfully wrong. I know that you consider me fanciful and often chide me for having my “head in the clouds” and my “nose in a novel,” yet do not doubt me on this, dear sister.

First, no one awaited us. Nor appeared to expect our arrival, though eventually Mrs. Hall came out to stand silently upon the piazza, babe in arms, as we progressed up the long lane during which time she neither waved nor smiled nor openly acknowledged us in any way. It was all very disconcerting, and I became increasingly nervous as we approached. Weeds grew high along the road and about the outbuildings, many of these now fallen to ruin. Disheveled is too kind a word to describe Mrs. Hall’s appearance, Mariah, with her steely black stare, that messy hair, and blouse untucked.

Yet she walked forward with no embarrassment. “Simon,” she said clearly, to my surprise.

“Selena.” Mister Black went over to her and bowed in as gentlemanly a fashion as if he were at court and she were a lady. “I bring you greetings and condolences as well as congratulations upon the birth of your child.”

I have noticed, Mariah, that Mister Black speaks the English language as if he has just learned it, in a most formal and stilted manner.

Mrs. Hall bent her head in reply then straightened back up, perhaps unconsciously, carrying herself now with greater dignity, as if she had just remembered who she was. She loosened the child’s wrapping and thrust him forward toward Mister Black. “This is Solomon Junius Hall,” she said, “my own little Junius.”

“That is a very large name for such a small child,” Mister Black said.

“Yes, actually he is too small, as you see. I fear for his health.”

“I am sorry to hear that. But I am pleased to make his acquaintance nevertheless, and to see you again, as there are now some matters which we must discuss together.”

Mrs. Hall glanced up at him sharply as if to assess the situation. Her face changed before my very eyes; a certain (how shall I put it?) appraising friendliness appeared. For the first time, she smiled. She put her hand upon Mister Black’s arm. “Ah, is that so?” she asked.

I could not hear his reply, but he moved closer to her, appearing to have forgotten me altogether. Since I had not yet been introduced, I was forced to remain in the sweltering carriage in an awkward state of misgiving while the two of them stood at a distance talking together earnestly.

Thus was the state of affairs when from the corner of my eye I chanced to glimpse a sight so astonishing, so alarming, that I was struck dumb and could not say a single word of warning. Up the aforementioned lane at great speed appeared a giant, a huge straw-thatched farmer type of giant, taking long strides as if in a fairy tale, carrying a child in his arms and making a loud noise all the while, moaning and babbling, though his meaning remained obscure. At length he came close enough for me to see that his burden was not a child at all, but a girl, a young lady, albeit a pretty poor specimen at the time, being filthy dirty and most inappropriately dressed.

Simon Black had turned at the sound of this person’s approach; now he made his way back toward him with slow deliberate steps, hand held up in greeting, as if such an apparition were the most ordinary thing in the world. “Hello, Spencer,” he said. “I am Simon Black, your father’s old friend, perhaps you remember me.”

Then with no warning Mister Black suddenly crossed to the carriage and yanked the door open. I almost tumbled into the road, for I’d been leaning out the window, literally hanging on every word. Mister Black put out a hand to catch me, then helped me down the steps, a gentleman as always.

The giant stood holding the girl aloft in the sunshine. Beneath the tangled honey-colored hair, her eyes were as blue and as blank as the July sky above us. They gazed at me with no interest whatsoever; they chilled me to the bone.

With that exaggerated formality I alluded to earlier, Mister Black said, “Good morning, Molly Petree, allow me to introduce Miss Agnes Rutherford, a teacher at the Gatewood Academy which you will be attending immediately, as ordered by Judge Draper, for you are now a ward of the Court. I have the papers right here. It is all arranged.”

Not a trace of understanding or even awareness flickered in those eyes. Nevertheless I was determined to try, of course. I had just opened my mouth to greet her when (as if all that had transpired were not enough) out of the woods ran a yellow-haired, red-faced man (I shall not say “gentleman”) naked from the waist up. He ran right past us toward the house without a word; when he had passed, I saw that his entire bare back was covered in dripping blood. It was a horrid sight. At his approach, Mrs. Hall showed no sympathy for his evident plight but began to scream at him in the vilest language imaginable, dropping all pretense of ladylike behavior. She followed him toward the house screaming. Her poor baby began to wail. The gentle giant now set the girl down upon her feet before us with great care and tenderness. This accomplished, he stood up to his full height, took a huge breath and bellowed at the top of his lungs, taking out after the yellow-haired man who continued running past the big house then headed off into the woods. We watched until the green wall of trees had closed behind the two of them and even their cries could be heard no more. I felt as though they were strange animals that had disappeared into the forest.

I turned back to Molly Petree who opened her mouth as if to speak but did not, instead crumpling down onto the lane where she simply sat, head
bowed, until Mister Black himself picked her up and carried her inside the house, myself and Henry following. He placed her upon a settee in the wide hallway where she half-lay, half-sat while he engaged in an intense whispered conference with Mrs. Hall who had now reappeared sans baby at the far end of the hall. Once my eyes had adjusted to the dimness, I gazed about in astonishment. The interior of the house was so unkept as to appear ransacked. I did not attempt to speak to Molly Petree during this time, yet remained near her.

At length Simon Black and Mrs. Hall approached us, apparently united. Some sort of bargain appeared to have been struck. Mister Black spoke directly to Molly, telling her once again that she would be returning to Gate-wood Academy with me, that everyone feels she is a brilliant girl who will benefit from further schooling and enjoy the company of other girls.