A Northern Light(88)

I thought of my word of the day, luciferous, as I picked up the broken pieces of the teapot. It means bringing light. It has the name Lucifer in it. I knew all about Lucifer, thanks to my good friend John Milton. Lucifer was a beautiful angel whom God chucked out of heaven for being rebellious. He found himself banished to hell, but instead of being sorry for angering God and trying to make amends, he set about agitating again. He went to the Garden of Eden and wheedled Eve into eating from the Tree of Knowledge and got the whole of mankind kicked out of paradise forever.

It was a dreadful thing that he did, and he is not to be admired for it, but right then I felt I understood why he did it. I even felt a little sorry for him. He probably just wanted some company, for it is very lonely knowing things.





Quietly, I get out of bed, dress, put up my hair, and gather my belongings. I'm not sure of the time, but I would guess about five o'clock, men I am ready, I count out my savings. Between the money I started out with, and my wages and tips, and the extra money I made walking Hamlet, and the five dollars Miss Wilcox gave me, I have thirty-one dollars and twenty-five cents.

I leave the attic, careful to make no noise, and walk down the main stairs. I am in Mr. Morrison's office, my mamma's old carpetbag in my hand, just as the sky is starting to lighten. I place Grace's letters on his desk, then write him a note on Glenmore stationery, explaining how I got them.

I write three more notes, address them, and put them in the mail basket. The first is to my father. It has two dollars in it, the balance of what he owes on Licorice, the mule, and a promise that I will write. The second is to Weaver's mamma. It has twelve dollars and seventy cents in it and a note telling her to use the money to pay off Emmie's taxes. The third one has a ring in it—a small, dull ring with an opal and two garnets. It is addressed to Royal Loomis and says to see if Tuttle's will take it back and that I'm sorry and that I hope he gets his cheese factory someday.

I pass the coat tree on my way out of the office, the one made of twisted branches and deer hooves. In the gloom of the foyer, it looks like a dark, malevolent fairytale tree and for a few seconds I feel that it wants to catch me in its gnarled limbs and hold me fast. There's a woman's boater hanging on it. It's worn at the edges; its black ribbon is frayed. Grace Brown put it there when she and Chester arrived. I lift the shabby little hat off its hook and fight down the urge to crush it. I carry it into the parlor and place it next to Grace's body.

I take her hand. It is smooth and cold. I know it is a bad thing to break a promise, but I think now that it is a worse thing to let a promise break you.

"I'm not going to do it, Grace," I whisper to her. "Haunt me if you want to, but I'm not going to do it."





IN THE BACK of the Glenmore, a little ways into the woods, is a cottage where the male help sleeps. It is quiet and dark. I pick up a handful of pebbles and toss one at a window on the second floor. Nothing happens; no one comes, so I toss a second and a third, and finally the window opens and Mike Bouchard sticks his sleepy face out.

"That you, Mattie? What's up?"

"Get Weaver, Mike. I need to see him."

Mike yawns. "Huh?"

"Weaver!" I hiss. "Go get Weaver!"

He nods. His head disappears, and a few seconds later, Weaver's pops out.

"What do you want?" he asks me, looking cross.

"I'm leaving."

"What?"

"I'm leaving, Weaver."

He pulls his head in and then barely a minute later, the cottage door opens and he's outside, shrugging his suspenders up over a half-buttoned shirt.

"Where are you going?"

I reach into my skirt pocket instead and press seven dollars into his hand. "What's this for?"

"For your train ticket to New York. Use the money you earn here to pay for a few months' room and board in the city. You'll have to get a job when it runs out, but it'll get you started."

Weaver shakes his head. "I don't want your money. I'm not taking it." He hands it back to me.

I throw it on the ground. "Better pick it up," I said. "Or someone else will."

"Mattie, it's not just train fare and rent. You know that. It's my mamma. You know I can't leave her."

"She'll be fine."

"No, she won't. She's got nowhere to go after Emmie's place is sold."

"Emmie's taxes have been paid. The auction's off Didn't you hear?"

Weaver gave me a long look. "No, I didn't," he said.

"You will."

"Mattie—"

"Good-bye, Weaver. I've got to go. Now. Before Cook gets up."

Weaver bends down and picks up the money. Then he takes hold of me and hugs me so hard, I think he'll break me right in two. I hug him back, my arms tight around his neck, trying to draw some of his strength and fearlessness into me.

"Why, Matt? Why are you going now?" he asks me.

I look at the Glenmore. I can see a light glowing softly in a window in a little bedroom off the parlor. "Because Grace Brown can't," I tell him.

We let go of each other. His eyes are welling.

"Don't, Weaver. If you do, I'll never make it. I'll run right back inside and put my apron on and that will be the end of it."