matron. “Though from my place I can see the top of the hill. Sometimes I
run out, when the sun is high, thinking to catch a glimpse of her. The
trees must have grown up about the hut. Every day, I remember, the year
of the drought, I could see her standing there, waving her cane with one
hand, and the other held to her brow, looking out over the valley.”
“The river, you mean,” put in Wise Olaf, carefully tying a package with
his knotted hands.
A tremor passed over the crowd.
“I doubt not it was the river,” said Olga, rebuked. The men, some
standing, others seated on chairs, placed conveniently about, puffed
more heavily at their long corn-cob pipes.
“Sometimes,” Olga continued shamefacedly, “she looked so lonely standing
there. Just as if she were turned to a statue of grief. I wanted to run
up and comfort her. But I never dared. Besides, Sven would not permit
me. And there is no road, only this path, leading down to the river.”
“A good thing for you that you didn’t go,” said the gnarled old man,
trying to speak lightly. “Silent Sven would have been left a widower.”
The men laughed relievedly, and the shy young giant standing beside the
counter flushed to the roots of his yellow hair.
“Oh, I don’t know,” finished Olga, weakly. “I--I am sorry for her, poor
old soul!”
“Some say she was seen the day Black Eric left,” Kaisa’s shrill voice
broke in. “She stepped in front of him on the road, and the horses
stopped dead. She cursed him as usual. ‘So you are going away,’ she
screamed; ‘but I will follow you--I will follow you!’ He struck at her
with his whip, but she avoided him. ‘I hope you die!’ he shouted at her,
and she screamed back, ‘Ay, though I were dead a thousand years, my hate
for you would bring me back!’”
“_Ja, käre Gud!_” sighed a wrinkled old crone. “Let us stop talking of
this and finish our buying.” She turned to cross the store; nobody
heeded her, and, as though reluctant to miss anything, she stayed.
“Perhaps Black Eric took her with him”--the man who spoke laughed
hollowly--“for not once since, as near as I can figure, has she been
seen.”
“That’s likely!” retorted Wise Olaf. “She’s the only thing he was ever
afraid of.”
“I didn’t think he’d stay away this long,” said the old man, “He loved
his power over us too much. And now he’s gone since last November.”
“Oh, he’ll be back soon enough,” answered Wise Olaf. “I saw Young Eric
the other day. He’s expecting him any time.”
“I was having a good time,” grumbled the old crone, puffing away at her
pipe, “and you’ve made me ill with your talk!”
“Always in the winters before,” continued Kaisa, “I have seen her coming
down the path on her skis. At night, thinking no one would see her.
There she’d come, swiftly, her skirts flying behind her, and straight
down she would go, over the bank, and out to the spot where her daughter
was drowned. You should have heard her moaning, and wringing her hands!
And she would cry something terrible. Many times I’ve asked Olaf to
build us a house elsewhere, and not live here in the store like heathen
folk, where we had to see such a sight and listen to such things. ’Tis
not good for the children.”
“I’ve heard,” said Olga, her voice soft and pitying, “that she was just
like other people before she lost the girl. That they were very happy,
even though they were so poor, with their little garden and their hut.
Perhaps she is like others still, only we are afraid of her, and that
makes her queer. Perhaps we should go up and see if anything has
happened to her?” She looked around questioningly, her blue eyes
pleading.
“I’ve often said so to Kaisa,” answered Wise Olaf. “It’s you women, I
said, should go----”
“How can you expect us to go,” asked Kaisa angrily, “when you men are
afraid?”
“And with good reason,” cackled the old man, his toothless gums still
busy with the coffee bean. “I’m old here, and I know. I was with those
that went up, shortly after we’d found the daughter, and Witch Mary had
had her brought up there, and buried beside the hut----”
“Beside the hut--think of that! That was no Christian thing to do. You
must have known then there was something wrong.”
“Why, no. We thought that natural enough, crazed with grief as she was.
Never shall I forget when we found the body and carried it home. One of
us could have carried her easily, so light she was. And beautiful, even
when dead. Like an angel that’s been caught asleep.” His voice took on a
dreamy, far-away tone. “Her hair was loose, and so long it swept the
ground. It looked _alive_, and we dared not touch it, so we carried her
high----”
The room was silent. Outside rang the voices of children playing among
the willows.
“And the water fell from her hair, like great tears, all along the
path----”
In the heavy silence the women stood motionless, eyes downcast. The men
held their bodies rigidly. A burst of wind entered, passed through with
a long, drawn-out sigh. It died with a moan. They started up
apprehensively.
Kaisa rudely broke the silence. “But go on,” she said. “What happened
when you went up afterward? After the girl was buried? We’ve never heard
the real truth about that.”
“A week later, all in a friendly spirit, we went to her, thinking to buy
her trees. The rest of us were cleaning out our timber. And she had the
best trees of all, standing on the level stretch behind the hut, where
they could easily be rolled right down to the river and taken to the
mill. It would have relieved her poverty, and we thought that would
help. We didn’t look for her to take on so, seeing we came for that----”
“Well?” questioned Kaisa, her black eyes snapping with curiosity.
“Black Eric was with us,” the old man went on. “That was a mistake, I
suppose, seeing she blamed it all on him. Though I don’t know that he
was guilty. He said she jumped right out of the boat, and that he
couldn’t save her----”
“There are those,” said Olga, darkly, “that think he _wouldn’t_. That
he’d coaxed her into the boat against her will, and that she had no
choice. It was death--or something worse. _That_ was like him!” Her
breast heaved with excitement.
“What use to dig it up?” asked the old man gently. “No one really knows.
Anyway, Black Eric went along, though he acted queer. One of the men had
told him he daren’t. That’s how he came to go. Too much of a blusterer
to take a dare. Everything was quiet when we got there. We rapped at the
door, and no one answered. Then we went on to where the girl was buried,
near the hut between two large oaks. There lay Mary, with the cloth tied
around her head, and her red shawl around her shoulders, just as we’ve
seen her dressed ever since. Lying flat down on the grave. I thought at
first she was dead. So must the rest have thought, and Black Eric
shrieked out, ‘O God, she’s dead!’ Then we heard a dreadful weeping, and
she got up--no, I did not see her get up, but there she stood.
“In a few days she’d grown into an old woman, though she wasn’t young,
even when the girl was born. But such a face as she turned to us! Like
an old parchment containing saga lore. Wrinkled and mad with grief, but
with a _power_! Almost as if she could have swept us away with one hand.
Her eyes bored through us--they were like burnt-out cinders, dead, but
yet terribly alive. When she saw Black Eric she went wild. She shrieked
and whirled before us until I was dizzy. Some of the men were so afraid
they didn’t even _see_ her; she blinded them. She hurled her curses.
Never, never have I seen such a sight!”
“Oh, poor thing, poor thing!” choked Olga, thinking, no doubt, of her
own mother, lonely and bent with work in far-away Vermland.
“She drove us down the hill. Frightened as we all were, no one of us was
shaken with terror as Black Eric was. Never has any one ventured near
her since, though God knows how she lives. It’s not often we let a
neighbour go without food. That’s not our way. But what could we do?
There was a little clearing where she had her garden, and she and her
girl used to work in the old days, but she’s old now, and even if she
were able----”
“She has never so much as bought a pound of coffee here,” hastened
Kaisa. “Half starved she must be, and frozen in the winter.”
“I hope he never comes back!” cried Olga passionately.
“He? Who?” questioned Kaisa.
“Black Eric. He’s evil--he’s----”
“Oh, as for that,” said the old man, “no one knew if he was guilty or
not. There was no proof. And I’ve heard said he’s coming--soon. But one
should not blame him too much. He was young when this happened, and he
loved the girl----”
“Love? You call that love?” Olga’s tones were hot with wrath. She looked
at her husband, Silent Sven, and her face changed and softened. Her
little girl came running in through the open door, clasping a bunch of
purplish-blue flowers in her hand. She pushed through the crowd and
burrowed her golden head in her mother’s skirts.
“I am, afraid, Mamma; I am afraid,” she panted, trembling violently.
“There’s nothing to be afraid of, _lillä vannen_,” comforted her mother,
trying to steady her own voice. “We are right here where we can see you
through the windows.”
“Where did you get those flowers?” Kaisa’s tones were sharper than
usual. “Not on the river bank, surely.”
“Gerda and I--we went up--up the path a little ways just a little ways,”
said the girl, “to pick them.”
“That’s blue vervain!” screamed Kaisa, raising her arms in horror.
“Throw it away, child; it’s cursed!”
The little girl dropped the flowers.
“Pick it up and throw it out!” she ordered.
“Hush!” said Olga, stooping for the flowers. “Do not frighten the little
one. That’s but an old foolish superstition.”
She crossed to the door and flung the blossoms far. Coming back, she
asked Silent Sven if he had some candy for the children. He pulled a
bulky bag from his pocket.
“Do not go up the path again,” cautioned Olga. “Stay on the river bank.
Now run and play with the others. Mind you give some candy to the
rest!”
The girl reached eagerly for the bag and started for the door, drying
her eyes with one hand. She ran off the board platform, darted between
the wagons hitched in front of the store, and on down to the river bank
where the children were swinging on the young willows.
“I do believe some one else is coming,” cried Olga, going to the window
and peering out. She uttered a dismayed cry, and the rest crowded behind
her.
Black Eric dashed up in a smart new buggy, to which were hitched two
slim, shining horses. A moment later, whip in hand, he entered the
store. He looked around, smiling at the group, and began shaking hands,
greeting each one jovially.
“And here’s Olga, too,” he cried, his black eyes snapping with delight
as he stepped up to her. The young woman’s face flushed hotly. Silent
Sven edged nearer.
“My name is Mrs. Nillson,” she said coldly, refusing to take his hand.
“Ven can I come for coffee and some of your good _äppelkaka_?” he
smirked, laughing at her dismay.
“Talk Swede so I can understand,” croaked the old woman puffing
viciously at her pipe, “and leave Olga alone. You needn’t put on airs,
for all you’ve been to the city.”
“Well, old sourface!” he answered good-naturedly. “Anything to please
such a beauty as you! _Ta’ mej fan_, but I’m glad to be back!” He looked
around from face to face, but saw no gleam of welcome. “What’s the
matter?” he asked abruptly. They shrank away, as if fearing the ring of
command in his voice.
Olga touched her husband’s arm. “Let’s go, dear,” she coaxed. “Let’s go
at once.”
“We’ll stay yet awhile,” answered Sven, flashing her a reassuring smile.
“He’ll get them all in his power,” she whispered. “Just as he had them
before. Every one of us. I can feel it in his voice.” She tugged at his
sleeve.
“I’m not in his power, and I said we’d stay awhile,” he answered
quietly.
“What brought you back, Eric?” asked Wise Olaf. “Love for Young Eric, I
suppose?” The crowd responded with a smothered laugh.
Black Eric chose not to take offence. “Why, as for that,” he said,
“perhaps I did want to see Young Eric. It’s natural enough for a father
to want to see his son, isn’t it? But that wasn’t the real reason. I
came because I couldn’t sleep. Night after night I lay awake, and always
I heard a curious sound, like a tapping, tapping, tapping. I thought if
I came back here I could rest again----”
“A tapping!” cried Olga. “Then you did take Witch Mary with you!”
Black Eric’s face, pale before, lost the last vestige of colour. He
wheeled upon her. “What do you mean?” he demanded.
“The tapping of her cane!” she answered. “She’s not been seen since you
left.”
“I hope to God she’s dead!” There was a note of defiant relief in Black
Eric’s voice. At the shout of protest that greeted his words he became
placating. “Well, she’s done us all harm, hasn’t she? She brought the
drought upon us with her curse. She cursed yet again, and the dam broke
up the river, and the flood came and drowned many of our cattle.
She----”
Swarming in through the door came the children, cutting short his
speech. They ran, terrified, to their mothers.
“I knew it!” sobbed Olga’s girl. “I knew something awful would come!”
“But what is it? What’s the matter?” cried the women, alarmed.
Kaisa’s boy, the oldest of the children, answered. “The Witch! Witch
Mary! She came down the path to the river. Didn’t you hear her clicking
her old cane? Didn’t you hear her curse?”
“Will she--will she--come in here, I wonder?” faltered one woman.
“She said the serpent of the river would get him! She cried it out! She
waved her cane and said that!”
“No,” protested another child, “she said she would kill him!”
“I could not see her--I was so--so scared!” a third added, with
chattering teeth.
Black Eric stood silent, his face pale and twitching. He was evidently
fighting for control.
“Where’d she go?” he asked.
“Down to the river!”
“No, she went back in the woods. She went fast, like the wind!”
They crowded to the windows, the children still clinging to their
mothers. Beyond the river bank stretched a sandbar, gleaming white in
the sun. The river coiled and twisted like sensuous green snakes
writhing together.
“There she is, Mamma! See her through the willows!” cried Kaisa’s boy
excitedly.
“O God, yes, there she is! Her clothes are frayed, they blow about her,
she waves her cane in the air!”
“Where, where?” pleaded a voice.
“Red shawl dragging on her shoulder, cloth around her head!”
“_Ja käre Gud!_” gasped one.
“Can’t you hear her, Mamma?” wailed the little girl. “She’s
muttering----”
A peculiar moaning broke upon them.
“‘Tis but the river, child,” soothed Olga. “Hush, _vännen_, do not cry
so!” Her own voice was wavering, full of a nameless fear.
“Muttering her curses, of course,” finished Black Eric, laughing
hideously.
“She’ll bring some awful thing upon us, even now, with our harvests
full!” sobbed the old crone. Her pipe fell unheeded to the floor.
“_Ta’ mej fan_ if she will!” cried Black Eric, suddenly straightening
his shoulders and throwing back his head. “It’s a good thing I came back
just in time. What are you, a parcel of weaklings, to let her bring you
bad luck with her curses?”
“She has done no harm,” ventured Olga, but her words sounded feeble.
“Done no harm!” shrieked Black Eric, cracking his whip. “There was the
time when the spring was well on the way. The grain was already up from
the ground. The wheat was doing bravely, and the rye was a foot tall.
She hadn’t been seen for some time----”
“You’d been gone, then, too, I remember,” accused Olga. “You’d been
gone, and we hadn’t seen her, and when you returned she----”
“That’s nothing to do with it!” he snapped. “She appeared, and cursed
us----”
“She cursed _you_, you mean.” Olga hid behind her husband, peering out
at Black Eric with hate in her eyes. “She has never troubled us----”
“The bad luck fell upon all alike, didn’t it? With the grain as green as
could be, and no crows to speak of. Everything pointed to a good summer.
And what happened, I ask you?” His tones rang out clearly now, swept
over them with hypnotic spell.
“Come, Sven, before he gets us in his power,” she whispered.
“The rains came down and washed it all away. We had to sow the second
time, and then it was too late, and we lost everything, even the seed.
And the rains washed away much of our land, dragged it into the
ravines----”
“That is true!” sighed the old man, looking even older and more
wrinkled.
The faces of the men lengthened, became sad and thoughtful. Memories of
long, hard years of heart-breaking toil lingered with them. Many were
bent and broken in the struggle, their joints swollen and knotted with
rheumatism from the cruel winters. Ah, it had taken years to win their
small farms from the hold of the forests, here on the hilly slopes of
Wisconsin. They had given their lives to it.
“It might have happened anyway,” pleaded Olga, gazing fearfully around
upon the altered faces of the men. “We can’t expect all the years to be
good as this one. Farmers everywhere have some bad years----”
“And there was the time,” Black Eric, his eyes gleaming evilly, went on,
paying no attention to her interruption, “that the children were coming
home from school. They had made wreaths of poison-ivy and hung them
around their necks. Witch Mary met them, and told them they would die at
sundown. Did they not nearly die?” he demanded, this time addressing the
women.
“What are you saying?” cried Olga, drawing the little girl closer. “I
have never heard of that.”
“We thought best not to speak of it, lest the children get too
frightened,” said Kaisa. “Young Eric nearly died, as it was. And
certain it is they would all have died if they had not come home in time
for us to treat them.”
Olga stooped to lift the little girl, passionately folding her close.
“Each time she has cursed us it has been something more terrible,” Black
Eric’s voice rang out. “God knows what it will be this time! And always
it has happened when our crops were doing nicely and our hopes were
high----”
“That is true; yes, yes, that is true!”
“So now, with your barns so full of hay it sticks out for yards at the
open sides and your grain ready to harvest, now--she comes cursing
again! And you men are weak enough to let her rob you of this! And you
women! What are you, that you will let her curse your children? Such
mothers! Bah! Even a dog will protect its young! Yes, like as not it
will fall upon the children this time----”
“No, no, no!” The women shrank from him. Some staggered as though they
would have fallen, and sat weakly down. A brutal look was dawning in the
faces of the men. Silent Sven alone was not moved; his arms were folded
in front, his head thrown back.
“Even in the old days,” Black Eric went on, “before people were
civilized, they destroyed the witches that brought them harm. They drove
them out! They burned them at the stake!”
“No, no!” Olga found her voice with a choking effort. “You will not be
so cruel--you will not burn her!”
Black Eric’s eyes gleamed savagely. He towered above them, triumphantly.
“I shouldn’t advise that,” he agreed, “but--to drive her out----”
“Who is to do this?” quavered a voice.
“Look, Mamma,” cried the little girl. “She is running back to the
woods!”
“Running back to the hut,” shrilled Kaisa, peering out, “with her plaid
shawl hanging over her bones!”
“Now is the time!” cried Black Eric. “Now, when you can catch her in the
hut! Go quickly, you men!”
“And what about _you_?” Silent Sven addressed Black Eric for the first
time.
“Me?” cringed Black Eric. “It--would not--do for me----”
“Oh, you _daren’t_!” Silent Sven flung the challenge at him.
“_Daren’t!_ You can’t say that word to me! Come on, all of you! I will
lead you! I will show you if I dare!” He started for the door, the men
preparing to follow him.
“I will go, too!” cried Olga. “You shall not burn her; I can at least
see to that!”
“I would burn her,” retorted Kaisa. “I would help light the fagots!
Olaf, you stay in the store.”
“Is that so?” said Olaf, with gleaming eyes. “I shall be needed, like as
not. ’Tis a woman’s place to stay at home.”
“I’m not going to be cheated of this!” Kaisa turned to the old crone.
“You stay,” she coaxed. “You couldn’t climb the hill, anyway. It’s a
long hill.”
“I can climb the hill,” quavered the old woman. “I can climb it as well
as anybody. I shall go with the others. See, everyone is going. I shall
not stay behind.”
“I will give you a pound of coffee, the best in the store. I will give
you two yards of cloth for an apron.”
The old woman’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Five pounds of coffee,” she
wheedled, “and five yards of your best goods, or I go with the rest!”
“Five pounds! No, that I will never----”
“And some tobacco! Yes, I think I must have some tobacco!”
“Oh, give it to her!” cried Wise Olaf. “Give it her, and let us be on!”
Cautioning the children to play on the bank until their return, they
formed in a group at the base of the hill, where the path led up to
Witch Mary’s hut. Black Eric cracked his whip. The men picked up long
sticks, all except Silent Sven. Viking cruelty shone in their faces. The
women would have clung to their arms, but the men shook them off and
started ahead, Black Eric leading.
It was a tangled path, knotted across by roots of trees and shrubs. The
branches of the trees interlaced above, forming a shady arch. All along,
beside the way, slender spires of blue vervain lifted their purple
blossoms to the random sun.
“See,” said Kaisa, awed by the luxuriant growth. “See how thick it is.
And witches have always used it in their caldrons. No wonder it grows
here!”
“But the vervain,” protested Olga, “the vervain grew on Mount Calvary,
and it has the power of healing.”
“You will say next, I suppose,” Kaisa retorted, “that it has been
watered by the old witch’s tears!”
“Come on, you women!” called Wise Olaf. “Do not lag behind!”
The women became silent, not stopping again to take note of the flowers
beside the way. They panted after the men, who were climbing rapidly.
“Can you see the hut?” called Kaisa, pausing to get her breath.
“No, the trees have grown up about it. And don’t _talk_--she’ll hear
us.”
“I’d no idea it was such a hard hill.” Kaisa’s face was red; her eyes
were wildly excited.
“Do you think they will kill her?” whispered Olga. “Even Sven looked
fierce.”
“‘Twould serve her right.”
As they neared the top the women too picked up stout sticks. “Just to
help us climb,” suggested one, as if ashamed.
“I want no stick,” said Olga, but she stopped for a moment with the
others. “Oh, look! You can see the river from here--just the place, I
believe, where the girl was drowned!”
The men called them again, and by the time they had caught up, the top
of the hill was reached. They paused a moment at the edge of the
clearing. Young trees had grown so high that they overshadowed the hut.
The wind rattled through the leaves in hollow whispers. They saw the hut
at last, sagging between the branches. The stovepipe had fallen, but
still clung to the rotted shingles. The one window overlooking the river
was broken and had not been repaired.
“It was a poor hut, at best,” said the old man. “Let us not be too hard
on her.”
“Ho!” blustered Eric, swinging around to face the speaker savagely. “You
are already weakening, are you?”
A debating silence followed, then the old man decided. “No, she must be
driven out.”
They made their difficult way through tangled weeds and shrubs to the
door, which faced the woods behind.
“You rap,” said Black Eric. “One of you, any one.”
“Not I.” Wise Olaf shook his head. The others shrank back.
“What about _you_?” Silent Sven again challenged the leader. “You--you
are afraid to!”
“I am afraid, am I?” he sputtered. He walked unsteadily to the door, his
face haggard with fear.
“Everything is silent--silent as the grave,” whispered Olga, clinging to
her husband’s arm, openly afraid.
“What’s that?” a startled voice cut in. “Sobbing? Was that sobbing?” A
wailing note swept through the trees.
“Hush!”
Black Eric raised his hand. The knob was rusty, the door sunken in. He
rapped, feebly at first, his hands trembling like aspen-leaves. Getting
no response but an empty echo from within, he struck his fist heavily
against the door. It almost gave way.
“Open the door, Witch!” he cried. “You can’t hide from us!”
“Don’t be so harsh,” begged Olga, her voice the wraith of a whisper.
“You will frighten her to death!”
Goaded to desperation, he raised his fist, and gave the door a terrific
blow. It fell with a soft thud, the rotted wood crumbling on the floor.
He stepped in, the rest following.