"You have fixed the Colonel," I laughed. "With that fence around the
grave, he cannot get the mare out for his ride tonight."
He looked at me with puzzled eyes.
"Massa's gwine ter ride. Just bound to ride till he marries Miss Belle.
Come sundown, Ise gwine to open the fence to let him and the mare out.
Warm tonight, and I'll sleep heyr. Massa may need me."
After talking to Miss Flowers, I told her that I was rather doubtful of
her obtaining the life insurance; after I listened to her lungs, I was
sure that she was a bad risk. A history of two yeaas in bed fighting
tuberculosis made me hesitate. She looked strong and as pretty as a
rose, but today, at the end of school, she had fever.
We talked it over outside the schoolhouse. We said goodbye twice.
Somehow it was difficult to say goodbye and leave her. To gain time, I
asked her about Sam. It seemed that Sam went insane when the Colonel
died. There was a long story about it. Eventually I said goodbye again
at her front gate and promised to call that night and hear the story.
There was a full moon that night.
She was waiting for me on the gallery, dressed in a riding habit of the
sixties, when ladies rode a side saddle.
"My Grandmother's," she explained laughingly. "Yes, you have guessed
it, especially if Sam talked to you. In 1860 Belle Flowers, pride of
western Kentucky was engaged to the Colonel. They rode together, each
on a white horse. She wore the dress I have on. I thought it would make
the story more real to you if I wore her dress tonight. The Colonel
went to war and Sam went with him. My Grandmother was fickle and
married her cousin, another Flowers, and when the Colonel came back
stone blind, it was too late. He swore that he would night-ride past
her house till she married him. Grandmother used to tell me what a
sight it was to see him go galloping by on his white mare, and no one
able to tell by the way he rode that he couldn't see. She died years
before he did, but he kept riding on, just as though he didn't know she
was dead. Then one night he and the white mare died, and that was the
end of the Colonel. Of course, Sam says he still rides."
"He does indeed, but of course that is just his insanity."
"Yes, just his insanity," Miss Flowers agreed. "I talked to him today
about the patchwork fence he built around the grave, but he explained
that he would take a piece down to let his Master out on the horse. In
summer, he sleeps up there; says he never can tell when the Colenel
will want him. It all seems so real to him."
She laughed, as though tense with suppressed excitement.
"It is good to have you call on me tonight," she whispered. "I hardly
ever see anyone except Father, and he is moody. Don't want me to leave
the house at night. Made me promise not to leave the gallery unless you
went too."
"He knows about me?"
"Oh, yes, everyone knows about the new doctor. Let's walk down to
the gate. In full moonlight, you can see the white of the Colonel's
tombstone."
Picking up the trail of her riding habit, she went before me, down
to the gate and opened it. She showed me a spot of white through the
trees. I took her hand. It was cold.
"Night-riders," she said suddenly. "Two of them! Hear them come
galloping down the road."