The Wind in the Rose-Bush | Page 9

last night. There wasn't a
soul there. They've been sent for to Lincoln."
"Did you see anybody to ask?" asked Mrs. Dent with thinly concealed
anxiety.

"I asked the woman that lives on the turn of the road. She's stone deaf. I
suppose you know. She listened while I screamed at her to know where
the Slocums were, and then she said, 'Mrs. Smith don't live here.' I
didn't see anybody on the road, and that's the only house. What do you
suppose it means?"
"I don't suppose it means much of anything," replied Mrs. Dent coolly.
"Mr. Slocum is conductor on the railroad, and he'd be away anyway,
and Mrs. Slocum often goes early when he does, to spend the day with
her sister in Porter's Falls. She'd be more likely to go away than Addie."
"And you don't think anything has happened?" Rebecca asked with
diminishing distrust before the reasonableness of it.
"Land, no!"
Rebecca went upstairs to lay aside her coat and bonnet. But she came
hurrying back with them still on.
"Who's been in my room?" she gasped. Her face was pale as ashes.
Mrs. Dent also paled as she regarded her.
"What do you mean?" she asked slowly.
"I found when I went upstairs that--little nightgown of--Agnes's on--the
bed, laid out. It was--LAID OUT. The sleeves were folded across the
bosom, and there was that little red rose between them. Emeline, what
is it? Emeline, what's the matter? Oh!"
Mrs. Dent was struggling for breath in great, choking gasps. She clung
to the back of a chair. Rebecca, trembling herself so she could scarcely
keep on her feet, got her some water.
As soon as she recovered herself Mrs. Dent regarded her with eyes full
of the strangest mixture of fear and horror and hostility.
"What do you mean talking so?" she said in a hard voice.

"It IS THERE."
"Nonsense. You threw it down and it fell that way."
"It was folded in my bureau drawer."
"It couldn't have been."
"Who picked that red rose?"
"Look on the bush," Mrs. Dent replied shortly.
Rebecca looked at her; her mouth gaped. She hurried out of the room.
When she came back her eyes seemed to protrude. (She had in the
meantime hastened upstairs, and come down with tottering steps,
clinging to the banisters.)
"Now I want to know what all this means?" she demanded.
"What what means?"
"The rose is on the bush, and it's gone from the bed in my room! Is this
house haunted, or what?"
"I don't know anything about a house being haunted. I don't believe in
such things. Be you crazy?" Mrs. Dent spoke with gathering force. The
colour flashed back to her cheeks.
"No," said Rebecca shortly. "I ain't crazy yet, but I shall be if this keeps
on much longer. I'm going to find out where that girl is before night."
Mrs. Dent eyed her.
"What be you going to do?"
"I'm going to Lincoln."
A faint triumphant smile overspread Mrs. Dent's large face.

"You can't," said she; "there ain't any train."
"No train?"
"No; there ain't any afternoon train from the Falls to Lincoln."
"Then I'm going over to the Slocums' again to-night."
However, Rebecca did not go; such a rain came up as deterred even her
resolution, and she had only her best dresses with her. Then in the
evening came the letter from the Michigan village which she had left
nearly a week ago. It was from her cousin, a single woman, who had
come to keep her house while she was away. It was a pleasant
unexciting letter enough, all the first of it, and related mostly how she
missed Rebecca; how she hoped she was having pleasant weather and
kept her health; and how her friend, Mrs. Greenaway, had come to stay
with her since she had felt lonesome the first night in the house; how
she hoped Rebecca would have no objections to this, although nothing
had been said about it, since she had not realized that she might be
nervous alone. The cousin was painfully conscientious, hence the letter.
Rebecca smiled in spite of her disturbed mind as she read it, then her
eye caught the postscript. That was in a different hand, purporting to be
written by the friend, Mrs. Hannah Greenaway, informing her that the
cousin had fallen down the cellar stairs and broken her hip, and was in
a dangerous condition, and begging Rebecca to return at once, as she
herself was rheumatic and unable to nurse her properly, and no one else
could be obtained.
Rebecca looked at Mrs. Dent, who had come to her room with the letter
quite late; it was half-past nine, and she had gone upstairs for the night.
"Where did this come from?" she asked.