Andrew had shut the door but they could hear him, trying to talk quietly. He was talking, indeed, very quietly, close to the mouthpiece with his hand around it; even so, Mary and Hannah could hear most of what he said. They did not want to listen, but they couldn’t help it.

He said, “I want to make a long-distance call, please,” and the quietness of his voice made them listen the more carefully. It was full of covered danger.

“Hello? Hello, is this long distance? Long distance I want to call Ralph Follet, Ralph, Follet, F, O, L, L, E, T, no, Central, F, as in father—F, O,—have you got that?—L, L, ET. FOLLET. At LaFollette, Tennessee. No, I haven’t. Thank you. I said, thank you.”

“I don’t see how his mother’s going to bear it,” Mary said, in a subdued voice. “I said I just don’t see how Jay’s mother is going to bear it,” she told her mother.

“Her own husband right at death’s door,” she said to Hannah, “and now this. He was just the apple of her eye, that’s all.”

“Hello?”

“She has a world of grit,” Hannah said.

“Ralph? Is this Ralph Follet?”

“If she hadn’t she wouldn’t be alive today,” Mary said.

“Ralph, this is Andrew Lynch.” They sat very still and made no pretense of not listening.

“Yes. Andrew. Ralph, I have to tell you about Jay.” Hannah and Mary looked at each other. With everything that Andrew said, from then on, they realized in a sense which they had failed to before, that it had really happened and that it was final.

“Jay died tonight, Ralph.

“He’s dead.

“He died in an auto accident, on the way home, out near Powell’s Station. He was instantly killed.”

Mary looked down into the whiskey and began to tremble.

“Instantly. I have a doctor’s word for it. He couldn’t even have known what hit him.

“It was concussion of the brain, Ralph. Concussion—of the brain. Just so hard a shock to the brain that it killed him instantly.”

“They mustn’t tell his father,” Mary said suddenly. “It’ll just kill his father.”

“I don’t see how they can avoid it,” Hannah said. “Mary says they mustn’t tell his, Jay’s, father,” Hannah told her brother. “In his condition the news might kill him. I told her I simply don’t see how they can avoid it. They’ll have to account for coming away to the funeral, after all.”

“Just tell him he’s hurt,” Joel said.

Mary hurried into the hall. “Andrew,” she whispered loudly. With a contortion of the face which terrified her he slapped his hand through the air at her as if she had been a mosquito. “Just that one place, on the point of the chin,” he was saying. He turned to Mary, but the voice held him and he turned away. “He may have driven for miles that way. They don’t know. They looked all around and quite a distance up the road—yes, of course with flashlights—and they couldn’t find it.” Again she heard the voice, squirming like a wire. “No, they haven’t any idea. Except that there are some very rough stretches in those roads and Jay was driving very fast. Just a minute, Ralph.” He covered the mouthpiece. “What is it, Mary?”

She could hear the distraught and squirming voice. Like a worm on a hook, she thought. Poor nasty fat thing! “Tell Ralph not to tell his father,” she whispered. “In his condition it might kill him. If they have to say anything, about—coming down—tell him he’s hurt.” Andrew nodded.

“Ralph,” he said. “Go away,” he whispered, for she was lingering. “We just want to remind you, it might be very dangerous to your father” (by now Mary heard him through the door; she took her seat) “if he heard this now. Of course you and your mother’ll know best but in case you have to explain, when you come away to the funeral, it might be better just to say that Jay’s been hurt; not in danger. Don’t you think?

“What did you say?

“Why no, we …

“He’s at Roberts’. I came in with him tonight.

“Why I’d suppose that …”

“Oh heavens!” Mary said, loudly enough that her father jumped. “Ralph’s an undertaker!”

“Of course, I see your point, Ralph.

“No. Not yet.

“Well the saving of money is not a question in this ...

“Look here, Ralph, will you just ...

“Will you just hold the phone a minute, please? I really think we should leave this up to Mary, don’t you?

“Of course she does. You too. I ...

“I don’t doubt it at all.

“No, I appreciate it very deeply, Ralph, and I know Mary will, but just let me consult her wishes on it, please. Just wait.”

They heard his rapid walk and he thrust his infuriated face into the room.

“Ralph,” he announced, “is an undertaker. I imagine you know what he wants. I told him it was up to you to decide.”

“Good—God!” Joel exclaimed.

“Andrew, you’ll have to tell him—I—just simply can’t.”

“He’s blaming himself for Jay’s ... He wants to try to make up for it.”

“How on earth can he blame himself!”

“For phoning Jay in the first place.”

“What nonsense,” Hannah said.

“But Jay’s already at Ro ...”

“Ralph says that’s easily arranged. He can come down first thing tomorrow.”

“Well, then we just can’t. We just won’t, no matter what. Tell him how very very much I appreciate it and thank him, but I just can’t. Tell him I’m prostrated. I don’t care what you tell him, you handle it, Andrew.”

“I’ll handle it.” He went back to the phone. “Seems downright incestuous,” Joel said.

His sister laughed harshly.

“Nothing important, Mama,” Mary said. “Just—arrangements about the funeral.”

Nothing important! Joel thought. People can only get through these things by being blind at least half the time. No: she was just cutting a corner for Catherine.

“When will the ceremony be held?”

Hannah stifled a laugh and Joel did not. Mary’s face worked curiously with a smile as she told her mother, “We don’t know yet. This was a question of where. Here or LaFollette?”

“I would have supposed that his home was Knoxville.”

“We think so, too. That’s how it’s settled.”

“That seems as it should be.”

Andrew came in. “Well,” he said, “it was either Ralph or you and I chose you.”

“Oh, Andrew, you must have hurt him.”

“There wasn’t any way out He just wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

“He’s going to make an awful case of it to his mother.”

“Well he’ll just have to, then.”

“She’s got sense, Mary,” Hannah said.

“I’m going to have a drink,” Andrew said. “God!” he groaned. “Talking to that fool is like trying to put socks on an octopus!”

“Why, Andrew,” Mary laughed; she had never heard the expression. “I’m very grateful to you, dear,” she said. “You must be worn to a frazzle.”

“We all are,” Hannah said. “You most of all, Mary. We better think about getting some sleep.”

“I suppose we must, but I really don’t feel as if I could sleep. You-all better though.”

“We’re all right,” Andrew said. “Except maybe Mama. And Papa, you’d b ...”

“Never sleep before two in the morning,” Joel said. “You know that.”

“Let me fix you a good stiff hot toddy,” Hannah said. “It’ll help you sleep.”

“It all just seems to wake me up.”

“Hot.”

“Maybe just some hot milk. No I won’t, either,” she cried out, with sudden tears; they looked at her and looked away; she soon had control of herself.

“One of the last things Jay did for me,” she explained, “way early in the morning before he—went away. He fixed me some hot milk to help me sleep.” She began to cry again. “Bless his heart,” she said. “Bless his dear heart.”

“You know almost the last thing he said to me?

“He asked me to think what I wanted for my birthday.

“ ‘Within reason,’ he said. He was just joking.

“And he said not to wait supper, but he’d—he’d try to be back before the children were asleep, for sure.”

She’d feel better later on if she’d kept a few of these things to herself, Joel thought.

Or would she. I would. But I’m not Poll.

“Rufus just—wouldn’t give up. He just wouldn’t go to sleep. He was so proud of that cap, Aunt Hannah. He wanted so much to show it to his father.”

Hannah came over to her and leaned to her, an arm around her shoulder.

“Talk if you want to, Mary,” she said. “If you think it does you good. But try not to harp on these things.”

“And I was so mad at him, only a few hours ago, for not phoning all day, and because of Rufus. I had such a good supper ready, and I did wait it, and ...”

“It wasn’t his fault it was good,” Hannah said.

“Of course it isn’t his fault and I had no business waiting it but I did, and I was so angry with him—why I even—I even ...”

But this she found she would not tell them. I even thought he was drunk, she said to herself. And if he was, why what in the world of it. Let’s hope if he was he really loved being, God bless him always. Always.

And then a terrifying thought occurred to her, and she looked at Andrew. No, she thought, he wouldn’t lie to me if it were so. No, I won’t even ask it. I won’t even imagine it. I just don’t see how I could bear to live if that were so.

But there he was, all that day, with Ralph. He must have. Well he probably did. That was no part of the promise. But not really drunk. Not so he couldn’t—navigate. Drive well.

No.

Oh, no.

No I won’t even dishonor his dear memory by asking. Not even Andrew in secret. No, I won’t.

And she thought with such exactness and with such love of her husband’s face, and of his voice, and of his hands, and of his way of smiling so warmly even though his eyes almost never lost their sadness, that she succeeded in driving the other thought from her mind.

“Hark!” Hannah whispered.

“What is it?”

“Ssh! Listen.”

“What’s up?” Joel asked.

“Be quiet, Joel, please. There’s something.”

They listened most intently.

“I can’t hear anything,” Andrew whispered.

“Well I do,” Hannah said, in a low voice. “Hear it or feel it. There’s something.”

And again in silence they listened.

It began to seem to Mary, as to Hannah, that there was someone in the house other than themselves. She thought of the children; they might have waked up. Yet listening as intently as she could, she was not at all sure that there was any sound; and whoever or whatever it might be, she became sure that it was no child, for she felt in it a terrible forcefulness, and concern, and restiveness, which were no part of any child.

“There is something,” Andrew whispered

Whatever it might be, it was never for an instant at rest in one place. It was in the next room; it was in the kitchen; it was in the dining room.

“I’m going out to see,” Andrew said; he got up.

“Wait, Andrew, don’t, not yet,” Mary whispered “No; no”; now it’s going upstairs, she thought; it’s along the—it’s in the children’s room. It’s in our room.

“Has somebody come into the house?” Catherine inquired in her clear voice.

Andrew felt the flesh go cold along his spine. He bent near her. “What made you think so, Mama?” he asked quietly.

“It’s right here in the room with us,” Mary said in a cold voice.

“Why, how very stupid of me, I thought I heard. Footsteps.” She gave her short, tinkling laugh. “I must be getting old and dippy.” She laughed again.

“Sshh!”

“It’s Jay,” Mary whispered. “I know it now. I was so wrapped up in wondering what on earth ... Jay. Darling. Dear heart, can you hear me?

“Can you tell me if you hear me, dearest?

“Can you?

“Can’t you?

“Oh try your best, my dear. Try your very hardest to let me know.

“You can’t, can you? You can’t, no matter how hard.

“But O, do hear me, Jay. I do pray God with all my heart you can hear me, I want so to assure you.

“Don’t be troubled, dear one. Don’t you worry. Stay near us if you can. All you can. But let not your heart be troubled. They’re all right, my sweetheart, my husband. I’m going to be all right. Don’t you worry. We’ll make out. Rest, my dear. Just rest. Just rest, my heart. Don’t ever be troubled again. Never again, darling. Never, never again.”

“May the souls of the faithful through the mercy of God rest in peace,” Hannah whispered. “Blessed are the dead.”

“Mary!” her brother whispered. He was crying.

“He’s not here any more now,” she said. “We can talk.”

“Mary, in God’s name what was it?”

“It was Jay, Andrew.”

“It was something. I haven’t any doubt of that, but—good God, Mary.”

“It was Jay, all right. I know! Who else would be coming here tonight, so terribly worried, so terribly concerned for us, and restless! Besides, Andrew, it—it simply felt like Jay.”

“You mean ...”

“I just mean it felt like his presence.”

“To me, too,” Hannah said.

“I don’t like to interrupt,” Joel said, “but would you mind telling me, please, what’s going on here?”

“You felt it too, Papa?” Mary asked eagerly.

“Felt what?”

“You remember when Aunt Hannah said there was something around, someone or something in the house?”

“Yes, and she told me to shut up, so I did.”

“I simply asked you please to be quiet, Joel, because we were trying to hear.”

“Well, what did you hear?”

“I don’t know’s I heard anything, Joel. I’m not a bit sure. I don’t think I did. But I felt something, very distinctly. So did Andrew.”

“Yes I did, Papa.”

“And Mary.”

“Oh, very much so.”

“What do you mean you felt something?”

“Then you didn’t, Papa?”

“I got a feeling there was some kind of a strain in the room, something or other was up among you; Mary looking as if she’d seen a ghost; all of you ...”

“She did,” Andrew said. “That is, she didn’t actually see anything, but she felt it. She knew something was there. She says it was Jay.”

“Hahh?”

“Jay. Aunt Hannah thinks so too.”

“Hannah?”

“Yes I do, Joel. I’m not as sure as Mary, but it did seem like him.”

“What’s ‘it’?”

“The thing, Papa, whatever it was. The thing we all felt.”

“What did it feel like?”

“Just a ...”

“You think it was Jay?”

“No, I had no idea what it was. But I know it was something. Mama felt it too.”

“Catherine?”

“Yes. And it couldn’t have been through us because she didn’t even know what we were doing. All of a sudden she said, ‘Has somebody come into the house?’ and when I asked her why she thought so she said she thought she’d heard footsteps.”

“Could be thought transference.”

“None of the rest of us thought we heard footsteps.”

“All the same. It can’t be what you think.”

“I don’t know what it was, Papa, but there are four of us here independently who are sure there was something.”

“Joel, I know that God in a wheelbarrow wouldn’t convince you,” his sister said. “We aren’t even trying to convince you. But while you’re being so rational, why at least please be rational enough to realize that we experienced what we experienced.”

“The least I can do is accept the fact that three people had a hallucination, and honor their belief in it. That I can do, too, I guess. I believe you, for yourself, Hannah. All of you. I’d have to have the same hallucination myself to be convinced. And even then I’d have my doubts.”

“What on earth do you mean, doubts, Papa, if you had it yourself?”

“I’d suspect it was just a hallucination.”

“Oh, good Lord! You’ve got it going and coming, haven’t you!”

“Is this a dagger that I see before me? Wasn’t, you know. But you could never convince Macbeth it wasn’t.”

“Andrew,” Mary broke in, “tell Mama. She’s just dying to know what we’re ...” she trailed off. I must be out of my mind, she said to herself. Dying! And she began to think with astonishment and disgust of the way they had all been talking—herself most of all. How can we bear to chatter along in normal tones of voice! she thought; how can we even use ordinary words, or say words at all! And now, picking his poor troubled soul to pieces, like so many hens squabbling over—she thought of a worm, and covered her face in sickness. She heard her mother say, “Why, Andrew, how perfectly extraordinary!” and then she heard Andrew question her, had she had any special feeling about what kind of a person or thing it was, that is, was it quiet or active, or young or old, or disturbed or calm, or was it anything: and her mother answered that she had had no particular impression except that there was someone in the house besides themselves, not the children either, somebody mature, some sort of intruder; but that when nobody had troubled to investigate, she had decided that it must be an hallucination—all the more so because, as she’d said, she thought she’d actually heard someone, whereas with her poor old ears (she laughed gracefully) that was simply out of the question, of course. Oh, I do wish they’d leave him in peace, she said to herself. A thing so wonderful. Such a proof! Why can’t we just keep a reverent silence! But Andrew was asking his mother, had she, a little later than that, still felt even so that there was somebody? or not. And she said that indeed she had had such an impression. Where? Why she couldn’t say where, except that the impression was even stronger than before, but, of course, by then she realized it was an hallucination. But they felt it too! Why how perfectly uncanny!

“Mary thinks it was Jay,” Andrew told her.

“Why, I ...”

“So does Aunt Hannah.”

“Why how—how perfectly extraordinary, Andrew!”

“She thinks he was worried about ...”

“Oh, Andrew!” Mary cried. “Andrew Please let’s don’t talk about it any more! Do you mind?”

He looked at her as if he had been slapped. “Why, Mary, of course not!” He explained to his mother: “Mary’d rather we didn’t discuss it any more.”

“Oh, it’s not that, Andrew. It just—means so much more than anything we can say about it or even think about it. I’d give anything just to sit quiet and think about it a little while! Don’t you see? It’s as if we were driving him away when he wants so much to be here among us, with us, and can’t.”

“I’m awfully sorry, Mary. Just awfully sorry. Yes, of course I do see. It’s a kind of sacrilege.”

So they sat quietly and in the silence they began to listen again. At first there was nothing, but after a few minutes Hannah whispered, “He’s there,” and Andrew whispered, “Where?” and Mary said quietly, “With the children,” and quietly and quickly left the room.

When she came through the door of the children’s room she could feel his presence as strongly throughout the room as if she had opened a furnace door: the presence of his strength, of virility, of helplessness, and of pure calm. She fell down on her knees in the middle of the floor and whispered, “Jay. My dear. My dear one. You’re all right now, darling. You’re not troubled any more, are you, my darling? Not any more. Not ever any more, dearest. I can feel how it is with you. I know, my dearest. It’s terrible to go. You don’t want to. Of course you don’t. But you’ve got to. And you know they’re going to be all right. Everything is going to be all right, my darling. God take you. God keep you, my own beloved. God make His light shine upon you.” And even while she whispered, his presence became faint, and in a moment of terrible dread she cried out “Jay!” and hurried to her daughter’s crib. “Stay with me one minute,” she whispered, “just one minute, my dearest”; and in some force he did return; she felt him with her, watching his child. Catherine was sleeping with all her might and her thumb was deep in her mouth; she was scowling fiercely. “Mercy, child,” Mary whispered, smiling, and touched her hot forehead to smooth it, and she growled. “God bless you, God keep you,” her mother whispered, and came silently to her son’s bed. There was the cap in its tissue paper, beside him on the floor; he slept less deeply than his sister, with his chin lifted, and his forehead flung back; he looked grave, serene and expectant.

“Be with us all you can,” she whispered. “This is good-bye.” And again she went to her knees. Good-bye, she said again, within herself; but she was unable to feel much of anything. “God help me to realize it,” she whispered, and clasped her hands before her face: but she could realize only that he was fading, and that it was indeed good-bye, and that she was at that moment unable to be particularly sensitive to the fact.

And now he was gone entirely from the room, from the house, and from this world.

“Soon, Jay. Soon, dear,” she whispered; but she knew that it would not be soon. She knew that a long life lay ahead of her, for the children were to be brought up, and God alone could know what change and chance might work upon them all, before they met once more. She felt at once calm and annihilating emptiness, and a cold and overwhelming fullness.

“God help us all,” she whispered. “May God in His loving mercy keep us all.”

She signed herself with the Cross and left the room.

 

She looks as she does when she has just received, Hannah thought as she came in and took her old place on the sofa; for Mary was trying, successfully, to hide her desolation; and as she sat among them in their quietness it was somewhat diminished. After all, she told herself, he was there. More strongly even than when he was here in the room with me. Anyhow. And she was grateful for their silence.

Finally Andrew said, “Aunt Hannah has an idea about it, Mary.?

“Maybe you’d prefer not to talk about it,” Hannah said.

“No; it’s all............