STRANGE EXPERIENCES
"Why doesn't he come back! Oh! what will my mother think of my staying
away like this? All the help she has now, too, and needing me so much.
I'll wait just five minutes longer, then I'll go home, anyway, whether
that 'witness' who's to tell me so much about myself and my real father
and mother comes or not. No father or mother could be as dear to me as
father John and mother Martha. I don't want any others. Let them keep
their old fortune the rest of the time, since they've kept it so long
and never sent for me," said Dorothy C. to herself, after she had waited
with what slight patience she could for Mr. Smith's return, and more
than an hour had already passed.
Hitherto she had not deemed it polite to explore her present quarters,
but now began to do so in an idle sort of way. If her "lawyer" left her
so long alone he couldn't blame her if she amused herself in some
manner; and first she examined the few books which were tossed in a heap
on the untidy desk. They did not look like law-books, many of them,
though one or two were bound in dirty calf-skin and showed much
handling. In any case none of them interested her.
Next she tried to open the window, that gave upon the hall from one side
of the room as the door by which she had entered did upon another, but
found it fast.
"Why, that's funny! What would anybody want to nail an inside window
tight for? Oh! maybe because this is an apartment house, he said, and
other people might come in. My father says he wouldn't like to live in a
flat, it's so mixed up with different families. He'd rather have a tiny
house like ours and have it separate. Well! if I can't open the window,
I reckon I can that door which must go into a back room."
Immediately she proceeded to try this second door, which was opposite
the nailed window, and, to her delight, found that it yielded easily to
her touch. But the room thus disclosed was almost as dark as the
"office" she had just quitted, although it had two windows at the back.
The upper sashes of these had been lowered as far as possible, but
behind them were wooden shutters and these were also nailed, or spiked
fast. There were crescent-shaped holes in the tops of the shutters and
through these a little air and light penetrated into the gloom of what,
now that her eyes had become accustomed to the dimness, she perceived
was a bedroom. From one side of this opened a bathroom, whose window was
secured like those of the bedroom, but where was the cheerful sound of
running water.
Now terribly frightened by her strange surroundings, Dorothy's throat
grew so dry and parched that she hastened to get a drink from the
faucet, beneath which hung a rusty tin cup. Then she thought:
"Maybe I can get out into the hall by this bathroom door!"
It could not be opened, and now half-frantic with fear, the imprisoned
girl ran from one door to another, only to find that while she had the
freedom of the three apartments, every exit from these into the hall was
securely bolted, or locked, upon the outside, and realized that it was
with some evil intention she had been brought to this place.
For hours she worked over doors, then windows, and back again to the
doors--testing her puny strength against them, only to fail each time.
The heat was intolerable in the rooms, for it was the top story of a
small house with the sun beating against the roof. Even below, in the
street, people mopped their faces and groaned beneath this unseasonable
temperature. As for poor Dorothy, she felt herself growing faint, and
remembered that she, as well as her mother, had taken but a light
breakfast; but her eyes had now grown accustomed to the dim light of the
rooms and the gas jet still flickered in the "office," so that, after a
time, she threw herself on the bed, worn out with her efforts and hoping
a few moments' rest might help her "to think a way out" of her prison.
How long she slept, she never knew, for it was that of utter
exhaustion, but she was suddenly roused by the sound of a bolt shot in
its lock, and the opening of the "office" door. It was Mr. Smith
returning, profuse with apologies which Dorothy scarcely heard and
wholly disdained, as, darting past him, she made for the entrance with
all her speed.
"Why, Miss Chester! Don't, I beg, don't treat me so suspiciously.
Indeed, it is quite as I tell you. I was--was detained against my will.
I have only just now been able to come back here, and you must
imagine--for I cannot describe them--what my sufferings have been on
your account. I know that you'll think hardly of me, but, indeed, I mean
you nothing but good. Wait, please; wait just a moment and taste these
sandwiches I've brought and this bottle of milk. You must be famished.
You can't? You won't? Why, my dear young lady, how am I ever to do you
any good if you mistrust me so on such slight grounds?"
"Slight grounds!" almost screamed Dorothy, struggling to free herself
from the man's grasp, which, apparently gentle, was still far too firm
for her to resist.
At once, also, he began again to talk, so fast, so plausibly, that his
words fairly tripped each other up, and still pressing upon her
acceptance a paper of very dainty sandwiches and a glass of most
innocent appearing milk.
"Just take these first. I should be distressed beyond measure to have
you return to your home in this condition. I have a carriage at the door
to carry you there and we'll start immediately after you have eaten, or
at least drank something. You needn't be so alarmed. Your mother
received your note only a few moments after you sent it, with the
envelope enclosed. She is now most anxious for you to hear all that my
witness--witnesses, in fact--have to disclose as to your real parentage
and possessions. It is such a grand thing for her and her husband, now
that he has lost his health. Just five minutes, to keep yourself from
fainting, then we'll be off. Indeed, I'm far more anxious to be on the
road than you are, I so deeply regret this misadventure."
At that moment there was the ring of sincerity in his words, and also
just then there was the sound of footsteps on the stairs, followed by
the appearance at the door of a hack-driver in the attire of his class.
"Time's erbout up, suh, 't I was hired for, an' soon's you-all's ready,
suh, I----"
"All right, Jehu. I'll pay for overtime, but can't hurry a young lady,
you know. Especially one that's been shut up by accident almost all day
in my office." Then turning to Dorothy, who still refrained from
touching the sandwiches which, however, began to look irresistibly
tempting, he begged: "At least drink the milk. This good fellow seems to
be in haste, though it's only a few minutes' drive to Brown Street and
you can nibble the sandwiches in the carriage."
She was not worldly-wise, she was very hungry, and the man seemed
profoundly distressed that she had suffered such treatment at his hands.
Moreover, it appeared that the shortest way to liberty was to obey him.
She would drink the milk, she was fairly famishing for it, but once
upon the street she would enter no carriage of his providing but trust
rather to her own nimble feet to reach her home, and, if need be, to the
protection of the first policeman she could summon.
Wrapping the sandwiches once more in their paper, she hastily drank the
milk and again started to leave. This time she was not prevented nor as
they left the "office" did its proprietor use the precaution of the bolt
which anybody from outside could unfasten--none from within! But he did
turn out the gas, with a noteworthy prudence, and still retained his
courteous support of Dorothy's arm.
Released at last from the imprisonment which had so terrified her she
was strangely dizzy. Her head felt very much as it had done when she had
been knocked down by Mrs. Cecil's big dogs, and it was now of her own
accord that she clutched Mr. Smith's arm, fearing she would fall.
How far, far away sounded the hackman's footsteps, retreating before
them to the street! How queerly her feet jogged up and down on the
stairs, which seemed to spring upward into her very face as she
descended! In all her life she had never, never felt so tired and
curiously weak as now, when all the power to move her limbs seemed
suddenly to leave her.
"Ah! the carriage!" She could dimly see it, in the glare of an electric
light, and now she welcomed it most eagerly. If ever she were to reach
that blessed haven of home she would have to be carried there. So she
made no remonstrance when she was bodily lifted into the coupé and
placed upon its cushions, where, at once, she went to sleep.
* * * * *
"Here girl. Time you woke up and took your breakfast."
After that strange dizziness in descending the stairs of the house in
Howard Street, Dorothy's first sensation was one of languid surprise. A
big, coarse-looking woman stood beside the bed on which she lay, holding
a plate in one hand, a cup in the other. Broad beams of sunlight
streamed through an uncurtained window near, and a fresh breeze blew in
from the fields beyond.
"Why--the country! Have we come to it so soon and I not knowing? Mother!
Where is my mother?" she asked, gaining in strength and rising upon her
elbow. Then she saw that she had lain down without undressing and
cautiously stepped to the floor, which was bare and not wholly clean.
Her head felt light and dizzy still, so that she suddenly again sat down
on the bed's edge to recover herself. Thereupon the woman dragged a
wooden chair forward and, placing the breakfast on it, said:
"I can't bother no more. Eat it or leave it. I've got my fruit to pick."
Then she turned away, but Dorothy reached forward, caught the blue denim
skirt, and demanded:
"Tell me where my mother is? I want her. I want her right away."
"Like enough. I don't know. I'm goin'. I'll be in to get your dinner.
You can lie down again or do what you want, only stay inside. Orders."
Dorothy was very hungry. The hunger of yesterday was nothing compared to
the craving she felt now and, postponing all further questions till
that was satisfied, she fell to eating the contents of the great plate
with greed. Then she drank the bowl of coffee and, still strangely
drowsy, lay back upon the pillow and again instantly dropped asleep.
The clatter of dishes in the room beyond that one where she lay was what
next roused her and her head was now nearly normal. Only a dull pain
remained and her wits were clearing of the mist that had enveloped them.
Memories of strange stories came to her, and she thought:
"Something has happened to me, more than I dreamed. I've been kidnapped!
I see it, understand it all now. But--why? _Why?_ An orphan foundling
like me--what should anybody steal me away from my home for? Father and
mother have no money to pay ransom--like that little boy father read
about in the paper--who was stolen and not given back till thousands of
dollars were sent. But I'm somewhere in the country now, and in a house
that's all open, every side. It's easy to get away from _here_. I'll go.
I'll go right away, soon as I wash my face and brush my hair--if I can
find a brush. I'll go into that other room and act just as if I wasn't
afraid and--that dinner smells good!"
The big woman, whose denim skirt and blouse suggested the overalls of a
day laborer, was bending over a small cooking stove whereon was frying
some bacon and eggs. A great pot of boiled potatoes waited on the
stove-hearth, and on an oilcloth-covered table were set out a few
dishes. A boy was just entering the kitchen from the lean-to beyond and
was carrying a wooden pail of water with a tin dipper. He was almost as
tall as the woman but bore no further resemblance to her, being
extremely thin and fair. Indeed, his hair was so nearly white that
Dorothy stared at it, and his eyes were very blue, while the woman
looked like a swarthy foreigner from some south country.
Mother Martha had a saying, when anybody about her was inclined to
sharpness of speech, that "you can catch more flies with molasses than
with vinegar," and, oddly enough, the adage came to Dorothy's mind at
that very instant. She had come into the kitchen prepared to demand her
liberty and to be directed home, but she now spoke as politely as she
would have done to the minister's wife:
"Please, madam, will you show me where I can wash and freshen myself a
little? I feel so dirty I'd like to do it before I eat my dinner or go
home."
The woman rose from above her frying pan with a face of astonishment.
She was so tanned and burned by the sun as well as by the heat of
cooking that the contrast between herself and her son--if he were her
son--made him look fairly ghostlike. Furthermore, as the inwardly
anxious, if outwardly suave, little girl perceived--her face was more
stupid than vicious.
Without the waste of a word the woman nodded over her shoulder toward
the lean-to and proceeded to dish up her bacon, now cooked to her
satisfaction. She placed it in the middle of a great yellow platter, the
eggs around it, and a row of potatoes around them. Then she set the
platter on the table, drew her own chair to it, filled a tin plate with
the mixture, and proceeded with her dinner. She made no remark when the
boy, also, sat down, and neither of them waited an instant for their
girl guest.
But Dorothy's spirit was now roused and she felt herself fully equal to
dealing with these rustics: and it was with all the dignity she could
summon that she drew a third chair to the table and herself sat down,
saying:
"Now, if you please, I wish to be told where I am and how I came here."
The hostess paid no more heed than if a fly had touched her, but the lad
paused in the act of shoveling food into his mouth and stared at
Dorothy, as he might have done at the same fly, could it have spoken.
Nor did he remove his gaze from her till she had repeated her question.
Then he shifted it to the woman's face, who waited awhile longer, then
said:
"I tell nothing. Drink your milk."
"Oh, indeed! Then I suppose I must find out for myself. I don't care for
the milk, thank you. I rarely drink it at home, but I'm fond of bacon
and eggs, and yours look nice. Please serve me some."
The woman made no answer. She had finished her own meal and left the
others to do the same. So, as the taciturn creature departed for the
open fields, with a hoe over her shoulder, Dorothy drew the platter
toward her, found a third empty tin plate, and helped herself.
She had noticed one thing that the others had, apparently, not known she
had: a sign of silence interchanged between the woman and the lanky lad.
He had been bidden to hold his tongue and been left to clear up the
dinner matters. He did this as deftly as a girl, though not after the
manner in which Dorothy had been trained: and casting a look of contempt
upon him, she finished her dinner, rose, and quietly left the room and
the house.
But she got no further than a few rods' distance when she felt a strong
hand on her arm, herself turned rudely about, and led back to the
cottage. There she was pushed upon the doorstep and a note thrust into
her hand by this abnormally silent woman, who had returned from the
field as suddenly as if she had sprung from the earth at the girl's very
feet.
The note was plainly enough written and to the point:
"Stay quiet where you are and you'll soon be set free. Try to run
away and you'll meet big trouble."
There was no signature and the handwriting was unknown: and Dorothy was
still blankly gazing at it when it was snatched from her hand, the woman
had again disappeared, and a huge mastiff had come around the corner of
the cottage, to seat himself upon the doorstep beside her. His
attentions might have been friendly; but Dorothy was afraid of dogs, and
shrank from this one into the smallest space possible, while there
fluttered down over her shoulder the note that had been seized. There
was now pinned to it a scrap of paper on which were scrawled three
words:
"Drink no milk."