Romance Classics (30 page)

“Of course I do, Bert,” Lynn answered, and followed as he went plunging through the woods, brushing aside the underbrush with his big feet, using his shoulders to push past the low-growing branches that whipped back at Lynn, his hands cradling the small, furry gray body.

Lynn followed him, well back so that she could avoid the whipping branches, and came out into a small clearing at the far edge of the woods. Through the trees she could glimpse an old farmhouse, surrounded by ancient, dilapidated buildings. But here in this small clearing, there was a quiet untouched by any sound from the farmstead.

Bert laid the squirrel down very tenderly, and from behind a huge live-oak brought out an old shovel. She watched as his powerful shoulders and huge hands plunged the spade deep into the ground and uncovered a hole that would accept the small body. He knelt beside it, lifted the small body and very gently laid it in the hole. Then before he filled the hole, he got up, walked across to a low-growing bush and plucked a handful of leaves. He came back and covered the squirrel with the leaves and then filled in the hole. He knelt beside it for a moment, looking down at it, tears once more sliding down his dark face.

When at last he stood up, he glanced at Lynn and said awkwardly, “Thank you for comin’ to his funeral; he would have ‘predated that.”

“Thank you for letting me, Bert,” said Lynn gently.

“I got to go get him a little stone, and Maw’ll give me something to put flowers in,” he told her over his shoulder. “You can come with me, if you want.”

“Of course I will, Bert,” answered Lynn, and walked behind him out of the woods and along a path across a small pasture that led to the house.

It was a typical tenant-farmer’s house, built of raw green lumber that had warped in the summer rains and the mild winter’s cold and that had never known the touch of paint. Its boards had weathered to a dark silver, and it had a touch of homely beauty because of the dooryard that was ablaze with snapdragons and tulips and daffodils.

As Bert went up the steps of the back porch, a woman appeared in the kitchen doorway, calling, “That you, son? Supper’s near ‘bout ready.” And then her eyes fell on Lynn, and Lynn saw her face go white and her eyes widen with fear. “Get in the house, son,
and stay there
!” she ordered.

“Maw, this here’s my friend, Lynn. Her Paw’s Judge Carter,” Bert said innocently. “Me and her’s been buryin’ Nutsy. Somebody shot him.”

Lynn heard the overtone of heartbroken grief in his voice as he spoke the last words and the woman hurried him into the house. Lynn waited, and a little later the woman came back out and across to where Lynn stood.

“Hello, Mrs. Estes,” said Lynn quietly.

“What you doing with my boy, Miss Carter? You nor nobody else is goin’ to have him locked up. He ain’t no danger to nobody, and there ain’t a mite o’ harm in him.”

Lynn put out her hand and laid it on the work-worn, twisting hands that were locked tight against the woman’s gaunt middle.

“Of course there isn’t, Mrs. Estes,” Lynn told her gently. “I happened to see him in the woods just after he’d found the dead squirrel. I was sorry for him, and when he said he was going to bury it and asked me to the funeral, of course I accepted.”

Mrs. Estes studied her with sharp suspicion.

“You’re Judge Carter’s daughter?” she asked warily. “I thought she was off to Atlanta.”

“I’ve come home for the summer, Mrs. Estes.”

Mrs. Estes glanced uneasily over her shoulder toward the house, and then back at Lynn.

“Wasn’t you afeared of Bert when you seen him?” she asked, as though the question had to be put.

Lynn’s eyes widened in honest amazement.

“Afraid of him? Mrs. Estes, how could anybody be afraid of him? Why, he was crying like a baby because the squirrel was dead …”

“Most folks is afeared of him, ‘cause he ain’t well, like other folks,” Mrs. Estes insisted stubbornly.

“Well, I’m not, Mrs. Estes — I couldn’t ever be!” Lynn said swiftly, and added, “How long has he been like this?”

“Since he was borned,” Mrs. Estes answered somberly. “And he’s near’ twenty year’ old. A
man,
in everything, ‘ceptin’ his mind.”

“And nothing can be done?”

“You think we ain’t tried, Paw and me? Doctors say only thing we can do is shut him up somewheres with other folks like him. And that we ain’t never goin’ to do, not so long as we live and breathe!”

“Of course not,” Lynn agreed with her so swiftly that the woman looked startled. “Why, it would be the most cruel, barbaric thing in the world to shut him up — away from the woods and the fields and his ‘little folks.’ ”

The wariness had vanished from Mrs. Estes’ tired, work-worn face, and her hands were no longer twisting themselves together in an agony of fear.

“That’s a mighty kind thing for you to say, Miss Carter,” she all but whispered, tears in her eyes. “It’s what your Paw said, and it’s the onliest way we be’n able to live here where folks is so afeared o’ him.”

“But I don’t understand why people should be afraid of him, Mrs. Estes,” Lynn said frankly. “Does he fly into rages or do anything to frighten them?”

“Nary a thing,” answered Mrs. Estes bitterly, “not even when hunters kill his ‘little folks.’ He just grieves and wonders why a body would do a thing like that.”

“As he did this afternoon, the poor soul,” Lynn said gently.

Mrs. Estes wiped her eyes on her apron.

“He was almighty fond o’ that squirrel he called Nutsy,” she said wearily. “He’s got names for near’ ‘bout all o’ the critters. Seems like he knows ‘em by name and they know him. Spends all his time ramblin’ and talkin’ to ‘em. And it near ‘bout breaks his heart when hunters get one of ‘em. Not enough game left in the woods to make real hunters want to go there.”

A man was coming up the path across the back yard from the direction of the barn, a tall, gaunt man in work-stained overalls and a ragged shirt, a battered hat drawn down over his head. As he saw Lynn his eyes narrowed and his thin-lipped mouth set hard, as he accelerated his pace.

“If you’re from the Welfare,” he began as he reached them, his tone harsh and rasping.

“Now, Paw, this here’s Judge Carter’s girl, Miss Lynn. Her and Bert’s friends,” protested Mrs. Estes quickly.

The man’s lean, worn face softened, and he took off his hat and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm.

“Reckon I’m sorry, miss. Thought mebbe you might be one o’ them that’s allus tryin’ to git us to put Bert away,” he said roughly.

“I’m not, Mr. Estes. I think it would be a terrible thing to do to a gentle, harmless creature like Bert,” Lynn told him quietly.

“I’m thankin’ you, miss, for seein’ he
is
harmelss,” said Jed Estes. “Most folks seem to think jest because he ain’t quite like other folks, they got to be scared of him and lock him up somewheres. Hadn’t been for Miss Stella and your Paw, reckon they’d a done it, too.”

“Well, they’re not going to as long as Dad has anything to say about it,” Lynn assured him rashly.

“Well, now, that’s mighty comfortin’ to hear,” said Jed, and his wife chimed in. “Supper’s ‘bout ready, miss. We’d be mighty proud if you’d stay and eat with us.”

“Thank you, but my family will be worrying about me, so I’d better take a rain check on that,” said Lynn, and added smoothly, as she saw they were slightly puzzled by the expression, “Will you ask me again sometime?”

“Any time, miss, any time at all,” Jed assured her warmly. “Maw’s a mighty fine cook, and we raise all our own vittles, just about. So they’s allus enough for company, such as it is; and mighty good, what they is of it.”

She bade them good-bye and turned to walk back across the meadow and through the woods home.

Lynn said nothing to her mother, as they prepared the evening meal and put it on the table. But when they had all settled down to a hearty enjoyment of its savory goodness, she looked at her father.

“Dad, who owns the woods between here and the Estes place?” she asked.

Judge Carter looked up at her, surprised.

“Why, I thought everybody knew that, honey. It’s part of the McCullers estate. Three hundred acres surrounding Inspiration Hill that old Mr. McCullers wouldn’t sell, because he said he didn’t like to be hemmed in by neighbors. The Estes are tenant-farmers of the McCullers estate. Why do you want to know?”

“It’s not posted against hunting or trespassing then?” Lynn pursued.

“I don’t imagine the present owner would be bothered no matter who hunted there, or trespassed,” Judge Carter answered. “There’s very little game there, anyway; nothing that would tempt sportsmen, except during dove-hunting season. And the creek is about fished out. So there’s really not much reason for it to be posted, is there?”

“I think there is,” said Lynn, and told them of her meeting with Bert and what had happened. “I think he was the most pathetic creature I’ve ever seen, sitting there crying about the squirrel. And whoever killed it did it for no reason on earth unless it was just to hurt him. And why should anyone be that cruel?”

Steve was watching her curiously across the table, seeing the brightness of her eyes, the flush of anger that rose in her face as she recounted what had happened. Suddenly she looked up and met his eyes, and her chin came up a little.

“All right, so I’m madly sentimental and you probably think I’m silly to get so worked up,” she flashed defiantly at him. And then her face warmed into a smile.

“I don’t think anything of the kind,” Steve defended himself. “I was thinking that you really must meet Stella. She gets just as worked up about the way people treat Bert and the Estes family.” He smiled at her.

“But can’t something be done to protect them?” Lynn asked.

“Honey, we are doing all we can,” said the Judge. “If we were not, he’d have been railroaded to an institution a long time ago. He went to school until he was ten and learned to read and write; but the other children bullied and teased him until his folks wouldn’t allow him to go any more. So he’s just been turned loose to ramble at will. He never leaves the woods and stays right on the farm, and there’s nothing the townspeople can do — unless and until he flares up and does something they can call dangerous.”

“Meanwhile, they are shooting the ‘little people’ and making his life miserable, just because they know he won’t fight back!” raged Lynn.

“Now, honey, don’t let it worry you,” pleaded Ruth anxiously.

“Well, why shouldn’t it worry me? Why shouldn’t it worry anybody with an ounce of compassion and humanity?” Lynn answered hotly.

“Because, honey, mankind has never been known for its kindness and consideration for the misfits in it’s ranks, and changing mankind is a task a little too much for one girl — smart as she is,” Judge Carter told her gently.

Lynn was silent for a long moment, and then she drew a long breath and managed a faint, taut smile.

“I suppose you’re right, Dad,” she agreed. “But it’s a rotten, filthy
shame.
”

“Of course it is, honey, but Stella and Steve and I are going to look after him the best we know how,” soothed the Judge. “We’ll see to it he’s not locked up, at least not while we are around.”

Lynn sat beside her window that night long after the house had settled down for sleep. She could see, far away across the woods and the fields, the big, ugly old house that was known as Spook Hill. All she could see were the lighted windows against the star-sprinkled sky, but the fact that the house was lighted from top to bottom told her that there must be a party going on there. And bitterness shook her at the thought of Wayde McCullers entertaining his imported guests, having a wonderful time and completely unaware and uncaring what happened to such lowly people as the tenant-farmers on his property.

The thought was with her all night, and the next day she reached a decision. Ruth had invited her to a club meeting, but Lynn excused herself.

“I’ll chauffeur you there, though, and pick you up when the meeting is over, if you’ll let me use your car while you are busy,” she offered. “I’d like to make some calls.”

Ruth looked at her in swift delight.

“Oh, of course, darling. Do go and see some of your old friends,” she urged. “I know they will be delighted.”

“I hope so,” Lynn smiled.

She dressed so carefully that when she came downstairs in a yellow-printed silk dress, white gloves and bag in hand, Ruth eyed her curiously.

“You’ll probably make them hate you for looking so beautiful,” she smiled. “You’ll probably find them washing diapers or struggling with washing machines or housework.”

“Oh, well, next time I go visiting I’ll wear a housedress or pants,” Lynn retorted. “But this being my first official round of calls, I thought I’d dress for it.”

“You look lovely, dear,” Ruth told her happily as they went out to the car.

Lynn dropped her off at the home of the club member whose day it was to have the club meeting and drove back through town and out toward Spook Hill.

She studied the ugly old house as she drove up the hill that lifted it above the level of the town. The road wound up, and there were greening trees that shaded the road; the house was built of gray stone and just barely missed having turrets and battlements. The house was planted on the very top of the hill, and nested deep in shrubbery; but the shrubs were evergreens that lent no charm to the gray stone. The house was big, expensive; she supposed there were some who would consider it handsome. But it gave her the shudders, because it looked so bleak and grim and unfriendly.

There were several sleek, expensive cars parked along the drive, and her heart sank. Could it be that Wayde was “entertaining”? But she stiffened her chin and marched up to the big oaken door with its massive knocker. For a moment she thought there might be a bell, but she could find none, so she lifted the knocker and let it fall, with a thump that made her jump a little.

And then the big door swung open and a thin, very tall man with snow-white hair and a pair of the coldest gray eyes she had ever seen stood there, eyeing her without warmth.

“The service entrance …” he began loftily.