Chapter Thirty-Eight

Eventually, Hannah and Jemima’s incivility wore down Jonas and Mariah.  Jonas was desperate to talk with Mariah alone, and she felt the same, but the girls clung to Mariah’s skirts as they walked through the house.  Jonas was quite proud of the work they had accomplished and was confident that the house would be ready for occupancy by the end of August.  Thanks to the zeal of the townsfolk and their extraordinary skills, Jonas told Mariah, the house would be finished ahead of schedule.  He now needed to travel to the city and advertise it.

Mariah agreed with him but with hesitation, while Hannah and Jemima suddenly smiled up at him and asked to hear more about his plans.  For the moment, they entertained the hope that he would go to the city and not come back.  They knew anything could happen in the city or on the way there or on the way back.  Mariah noticed the girls’ uplift in spirits as did Jonas.  They shared a look of concern, and then Mariah said they had to take their leave of Jonas.  He watched them until they disappeared into the wood, and then turned back to the house.

Three men had returned to putting the finishing touches on the master bedroom closet that Jonas had converted to a small bathroom. He had had the closets in the other bedrooms converted into baths as well.  The house had been confused by these renovations but trusted Jonas in his decisions.  If it made someone want to live in it again, the house would accept it.  It already felt much younger and more vital.

And as it watched Mariah and Jonas fall in love, it began to suggest to Jonas that perhaps he should live in the house . . . with Mariah.  Jonas had pretended to ignore these hints, but the house knew—it had come to know him well—that he heard and that he was receptive.  After all he had done, could he really expect himself to give up the house to some strangers, no matter how good their reputation?

But the house was also troubled by Hannah and Jemima’s behavior.  It sensed their animosity toward Jonas and worried over their apparent desire to separate Jonas and Mariah.  The house could not let them do that.  For it to feel complete, it needed Jonas and Mariah to marry and live in it.  They had to have children, at least five, hopefully three boys and two girls.  They had to be like the Kindfellows.

They had to, in a sense, become the Kindfellows. And the house could not let Hannah and Jemima interfere.  It would not make the same mistake again.  First, allowing the best and dearest friend of Mr. Kindfellow to enter the house and then slaughter the family.  And then Its failure to protect Shelley Windsprite.

It had been planning to either frighten or harm the callow youth who had squatted in it.  And during its planning it had turned a cold ear to the cries of the young woman, assuming that the debauchery was consensual.  It had made an assumption that it would later regret.  Its sentient spirit had a human aspect—it made mistakes.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

As Mariah and her young chaperones exited the wood, they were struck with wonder at the house’s transformation.  Where once had stood a gray, weather-beaten, and obviously vacant old house, now stood a home with brilliant white siding, a flower box of cherry red impatiens at each window, sky blue trim, a newly placed slate walkway, windows wide open and lace curtains fluttering in the breeze.  Even the outhouse had been salvaged, standing as a miniature replicant of its “mother,” the main house.  Hannah and Jemima forgot for a moment their antipathy toward Jonas and marveled at his achievements for the house.

“Surely,” Hannah said breathlessly, turning to Mariah as she spoke, “surely it is much more beautiful now when it was when it was first built.”

“Oh, yes!” Jemima agreed.

Mariah laughed with delight.  “Perhaps it is, Hannah!  It is difficult to imagine that any house could be more beautiful that the one before us.”  She clasped each of the girls’ hands and together they walked up to the house, all of them eager to see Jonas and express their sentiments.  Mr. Reynolds came out of the house and, seeing them on the walkway, shouted to them in his deep Irish brogue.

“Hello, young lassies,” he said with much cheer.  “By the looks of your faces, you must be admiring the house.  Fine work we’ve done here, don’t you agree?”  Of course they did, and for a few minutes, Mariah and the girls stood and chatted with Mr. Reynolds, less out of courtesy than because all of them so enjoyed hearing him talk.  Like some of the other townsfolk, Mr. Reynolds had come to Constance all the way from Great Britain.  In his case, it was the hope of marrying Sadie McTimmons, whose family had neighbors of his, that brought him here.  He eagerly settled into the town, claiming it was much like the one he left in Ireland, and he wrote to many of his friends and relatives, encouraging them all to move to “this bit of Paradise in America.”

Mr. Reynolds and his Sadie married nearly forty years ago, and Constance grew by almost one-half due to an influx of immigrants who had received Mr. Reynolds’ missives.  It had helped revitalize much of the town which was starting to feel the pain of a declining population and a shrinking gene pool.  The new immigrants with their cheery dispositions and strong work ethic were welcomed in Constance with open arms.

Mr. Reynolds took his leave of Mariah and the girls as he was headed home to have tea with his Sadie.  He directed them to the kitchen where he said Jonas was making tea for himself and the few men that were still there.  Marian and the girls thanked him and stepped into the foyer.  Again, they were struck with awe.  The wood floor and walls had been oiled and buffed to a dazzling shine, a thick dark red carpet lined the staircase before them, and, overhead, an exquisite chandelier made of thousands of delicate crystals that sent a gentle kaleidoscope of color dancing along the walls and high ceiling.

Mariah and the girls rallied themselves and stepped around the perimeter of an intricately designed tapestry rug that blanketed the floor.  In the kitchen they found Jonas serving up cups of tea to three men sitting at a large white kitchen table.  Before them was a platter holding a mound of cakes, and they were all laughing and talking at once.  Mariah and the girls smiled mischievously at each other and then stood silent, waiting for the men to notice them.

Jonas was the first to see them, glancing up as he fetched a towel from the sink.  His eyes went directly to Mariah’s, and it was as if she were the only one in the room.  The men noticed that Jonas had been struck dumb and followed his eyes to the doorway.  They politely nodded to Hannah and Jemima, but they broke into great smiles and elbowed each other as they took in the sight of Jonas and Mariah staring at each other with obvious and deeply held affection.  While the townspeople had discreetly discussed the possibility of marriage between Jonas and Mariah, no one had actually ever seen them in any kind of affectionate display.  Except for one evening in the library, when Mrs. Hardcover saw them sitting quietly, their heads bowed and their hands clasped in each other’s.  That was considered evidence enough for the townspeople but none of them knew whether Jonas and Mariah were aware that they were in love.

The men began to shift in their chairs.  Their wives would be content to sit back and watch the spectacle of the two young lovers in their shared reverie, but they weren’t.  Finally, William Masterson cleared his throat loudly while his companions tried to suppress their laughter.  Jonas and Mariah were startled into realizing that they, in fact, were not the only people in the kitchen, much less on the planet.  Marian blushed a sweet rosy red, and Jonas winced at his inappropriate behavior and the understanding that he would be in for a severe ribbing after Mariah left.  He quickly came to himself and offered Mariah some tea and cakes.  It was only when she softly said, “Thank you, we would love to have tea and cakes,” did he realize that Mariah had not come alone.

He was not pleased when he saw that it was Hannah and Jemima that had accompanied Mariah.  Their persistence belief that the house was sentient or at least haunted disquieted him, and they also seemed to have developed a dislike for him.  He had thought they initially liked him; but Jonas was not savvy in the way of little girls and the kinds of jealousies they harbored, so he did not know that his own relationship with Mariah had compounded the more distant irritation they had had with him when he discounted their story about the fright they had had in the master bedroom.  They might have forgiven him eventually, but now, they had resolved, they never would.  Not as long as he was part of Mariah’s life.

The girls were glaring at him.  They still held Mariah’s hands and looked as if they were ready to drag her away from the house and from him.  They resented being neglected and, more so, they resented the display of love between Jonas and Mariah.  Their intention to commend Jonas for the house’s beautiful rebirth dissipated.  They each moved to just behind Mariah’s skirts, pretending shyness when they actually felt animosity.

No one but Jonas saw anything strange in their behavior.  Even Mariah later excused the girls’ behavior as typical for their tender ages.  “They are developing into women,” Mariah would say to him.  “They can shift from outgoing to wallflower in the blink of an eye.  It’s nothing to fret about.”

The men at the table gave up their seats to Mariah and the girls, and took their cups and stood along the far wall.  Jonas poured the tea and passed them the plate of cakes.  Hannah and Jemima remained sullen and looked down at their hands rather than take a cake.  Jonas gave Mariah a worried look, but she smiled and gently shook her head.  He understood that she wanted him to let the girls be, that his efforts to engage them would only backfire.  The men drinking their tea against the wall were all fathers of girls the same ages as Hannah and Jemima. They knew too well what such little girls were like and kept themselves out of their way.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Mariah and Jonas became inseparable and began meeting every afternoon for tea at Mariah’s school, and then again for supper at the café or a friend’s house. On one Saturday in early summer, Mariah decided to walk up to the house with Hannah and Jemima, ostensibly to admire the renovations, but really to see Jonas.  Hannah and Jemima were aware of Mariah’s real intentions, and they were jealous.  They both felt that Mariah was theirs, not to be shared with anyone.  They had known her all their lives and dreaded the day when she would marry and abandon them.

Yes, they themselves had both been smitten with Jonas at first, but that changed once they were cognizant of his attraction to Mariah.  They made every effort to come between Jonas and Mariah, if only to keep them from having any sense of privacy.  They surely would not discuss their future together if the girls were about.  But it was often difficult for them to intrude because they had their own chores to do after school and then their mother often needed help with their brothers.

So they were quite pleased when Mariah asked them to come along with her to see the house.  Only because Mrs. Heartswell knew that her daughters missed Mariah’s visits, did she agree to let them go.  She felt the girls needed to learn that Miss Ringworthy had a right to her own future and that the girls would eventually have to let her go.  She had tried counseling her daughters when they complained that Miss Ringworthy was neglecting them.  They rationalized that Miss Ringworthy’s extracurricular meetings with them had been to provide them with additional education, and now that she was spending so much of her free time with Mr. Buckthorn, their education was now threatened.  Their mother smiled and humored them at first, saying simply that they were capable of studying well enough on their own.  But their complaints evolved, sounding more like that they had had a contract with Miss Ringworthy and now she was breaking it.  Mrs. Heartswell was perplexed by their arguments, wondering what they could know about contracts and such.

Their father tried to reason with them, too, asserting that Miss Ringworthy did not owe anyone her free time but herself.  Perhaps she was a bit more fond of them than the other children because she had known them the longest, and felt a kind of kinship with them.  But in that case, he argued, they should treat her as they would any other sibling and not expect more from her than they would expect from themselves.  It was the wrong argument to make.  The problem the girls had was that they did expect from Mariah what they expected from themselves:  utter and eternal loyalty.  That she would make herself unworthy of that loyalty, the same loyalty that each girl felt for the other, was unacceptable.

Hannah and Jemima felt they had two choices:  either blame Mariah and punish her accordingly or blame Jonas and punish him accordingly.  The first option meant that they would lose Mariah entirely, which was unthinkable.  The second option was more viable, they thought, because if Jonas were not around, then they would have Mariah all to themselves again.  So, on that sunny Saturday morning, while they were sitting in the swing on the front porch, waiting for Mariah’s arrival, they agreed to plan for a way to get rid of Jonas.  It wasn’t important how they did it; only that they would succeed.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Once the house was completed and ready to show, Jonas worked on the picture book and began to plan for his trips to the outside.  Every Saturday afternoon, Mariah helped him with the book, usually meeting him at the library since it would have been unseemly for either of them to have visited each other alone in their own homes.  They often laughed about the old-fashioned social customs that the town held, but admitted that it was also part of the town’s charm.  In exchange for observing the social customs, which at worst were nothing more than inconvenient, the town had no crimes, no assaults against persons or animals.

Not since the day of Shelley Windsprite, Jonas once said.  Mariah was familiar with the story and looked away when it was mentioned.  “That was a horrible, horrible thing to happen to these good people and innocent child.  I believe that’s why they revised their social customs.  They did it to protect themselves, every one of them and especially the most vulnerable.  Even boys had to be protected so they too could not be out alone at night.  You always have to have someone with you, or be in a public place.”

“Like the library or Mrs. Goodbread’s café,” Jonas interrupted.

“Yes,” Mariah turned back to him.  “The town actually began to have more social events, public events, just so no one would feel like they were trapped inside their own home.  They had always had quilting bees and work parties and church socials, but they knew the young people needed something for themselves.  The library has always been here, but Mrs. Goodbread’s café grew out of the need for people such as ourselves to have a place to meet and talk.”

“I don’t mind it, you know,” Jonas said.  “I like meeting here or at the café or in the gazebo at the town center.  I like having something else to see besides my four walls.”  Mariah smiled at him and gently touched his hand.

“What do you plan to do, Jonas,” she asked.  “After the house is sold and you’ve fulfilled your contract with the town.  Will you stay here?”  He looked into her eyes.  She seemed worried and he wondered why she would think he would leave.  He had told her all about his family, except the part about his mother being related to the Kindfellows.  Somehow he couldn’t bring himself to tell her that, at least not yet.

For now, she believed that he had come to Constance simply to get away from the pain of losing his parents and his family home and because he had wanted a simpler life than that chosen by his brothers.  His parents had left him a modest trust and he could have lived on it frugally in the city.  But he had wanted, not only to find the house, but also to find a place where his sensibilities would be respected and shared.  He had told Mariah all this, yet she seemed afraid that he might leave.
“I haven’t made any particular plans,” he said, turning in his chair toward her.  “I can’t imagine leaving here, if that is what you mean by plans.  I’ve come to feel that Constance is my home.  I can’t imagine being anyplace else.”

Mariah smiled at him with relief.  “I’m glad.  I feel the same way about Constance.  Of course, it has been my home since birth,” she laughed.  “But there was a time when I thought I might leave.  When my parents died, I realized that there was no other home for me.  My friends on the outside were very kind to me and tried to comfort me, but it wasn’t the same.  It was like being comforted by strangers.  I needed to be with my own and be comforted by them.”  Her eyes soften with sadness as her voice drifted away.  Jonas took her hands in his and they sat there, with their knees almost touching, looking down at their hands and not saying a word, until the librarian, Mrs. Hardcover, began turning off the lights.

Chapter Thirty-Four

All this time, the house had been rejoicing for all the attention and care it was receiving.  Occasionally, when Jonas was alone, the house would whisper to him that it felt like it was being reborn, that it was being given another chance at happiness and worth, that it believed it would never be lonely again.  Jonas smiled at these sentiments, rarely responding, but the house knew that he too was pleased.  Other than these brief communiqués with Jonas, the house was silent.  It did not want to disturb the industry that was taking place within and without it.  Only once did it dare to share its thoughts with anyone but Jonas.

It was the day that the master bedroom was completed and Jonas asked the Heartswell family and Mariah to stay after all the others had left.  He suggested that they celebrate the room’s completion by making a ceremony of placing the quilt on the bed.  Hannah and Jemima gasped with delight and were very eager to participate.  Their parents acquiesced and Mariah beamed at Jonas.  Hannah and Jemima’s parents held their two younger brothers, both of whom had fallen asleep after a long day of playing hide-and-seek in the orchard.  Jonas brought the bundle from the closet and placed it at the foot of the bed.

Each girl took the end of the binding string and pulled.  The paper wrapping fell away and Jonas and Mariah and the girls’ parents made the appropriate oohs and aahs.  It was a beautiful quilt and the cotton was as soft as an infant’s skin.  The girls let Jonas caress the quilt, filling with pride over his pleasure.  Then he stepped back and they slowly unfolded the quilt and arranged it over the bed.  They went to Mariah’s side by the far wall to also admire their work, when both of them started.

“Thank you.  You are forgiven.”  A low voice had just spoken inside each of their heads.  They looked sideways at each other and then at everyone else.  No one had seen them start, but no one apparently had heard anything either.  They were all looking at the quilt, and their mother was softly explaining to Mr. Buckthorn some of the details of their craftsmanship.  They looked up at Mariah but she staring at Jonas’ back.  They frowned.  They were a bit jealous of the time that Mariah spent with him.  Until this house, she had spent most of her time with the girls and their friends.  She was like every girls’ big sister.  They looked back at the quilt and then again at each other.  They didn’t need to speak.  They knew what they both had heard.  They were relieved to know that they had been forgiven, but now their fear of the house was reawakened.  Forgiven or not, the voice had sent chills down their backs.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Jonas and Mariah learned much about each other over the next few months as spring slipped into summer and then summer into fall.  They took coffee together every Sunday after church, and Mrs. Goodbread kept a table near the picture window just for them.  Mariah resumed school for the children when major work on the house had completed and only a handful of men were needed for the finishing touches.

Jonas had been at the house every day, but his supervision wasn’t necessary.  It was as if the men and women of Constance knew exactly what the house needed and worked steadily to meet those needs.  Instead, Jonas just made sure that everyone had tea and cakes at midmorning and again at mid-afternoon, with fresh salads and breads for lunch.  While the mornings were still chilly, he would arrive especially early to start the fires.  Later, he arrived early to open the windows so the warm cross breezes would free the house of the scent of cleaning solvents and oils.

The women brought linens and quilts and sundry other necessities that they had either made for the house or were donating from their cache.  The master bedroom was the first of the bedrooms to be completed.  A four-poster bed with lace canopy was donated by Mrs. Goodbread, who now preferred to sleep on the daybed since her husband of 45 years had passed away.  Theirs had been a happy and fruitful marriage.  Mrs. Goodbread bore her husband eight children, four boys and four girls, all of who still lived in town.  No one ever knew of the Goodbreads arguing, much less raising their voices to each other.  Their children swore that their parents’ love for each other was so deep and abiding, it was almost as if they had been born for each other.

Jonas took the donation of the bed, which had been cared for so well that it looked as if Mr. Goodbread had just built it, as a good omen.  A new mattress was brought.  The room was wallpapered with a pattern of tea roses sprinkled over a soft green background.  The trim was painted petal pink.  One of Mariah’s older students, Miss Saintsbury, made white lace curtains and a linen shade for the large window opposite the door.  Mr. Treadwell, the town’s master glassblower, created an exquisite opaque white dome for the ceiling light, with a variety of wildflowers etched around the dome.  His ten-year-old son and apprentice blew two small bowls of pearly glass for reading lamps that he personally affixed to simple brass stems.

An oaken chest of drawers and end tables were crafted by Hannah and Jemima’s father.  At their directions a border of tea roses were carved around the top edges of the chest and tables.  The quilt that the young girls had given to Jonas was made with a decidedly expert hand.  Jonas practically gushed over the young girls’ skill, and they and their mother blushed with pride.

The quilt was a log cabin pattern of soft green and light pink among floral pieces.  The pieces were quite small, suggesting that the girls had spent countless hours cutting and counting.  The border was wide with alternating stripes of green, pink, and floral.  Pearl buttons were sewn to the top of the quilt in a haphazard fashion, looking as if they had been thrown like seeds in a flower bed.

Jonas pulled out a disposable camera and took several pictures of the room.  He wanted to put together a picture book to show potential buyers, many of whom he would have to seek out in the city.  Mere description alone would not attract someone who would have to travel far.  A picture is worth a thousand words, he thought as he put the camera back in his pocket.  As he left the room, he felt a slight ache in his heart at the thought of having to sell the house.  It was an unexpected feeling that he quickly brushed away.

Chapter Thirty-Two

It was several weeks before Jonas finally asked Miss Ringworthy to have coffee with him.  They spoke often in the meantime, but they were blessed with an early spring so Jonas organized the men to begin working on the house.  They worked from sunup to sundown.  They were all grateful that the house had been built with solid oak and they would not need to rebuild.  They sanded and painted over the weathered exterior boards, replaced parts of the porch, oiled and rubbed the inside floors and cabinets, and re-shingled the roof.  They put a thick layer of insulation in the high attic ceiling and placed thin oak planks over that to make a new ceiling. They replaced the windows, the shutters, and flower boxes, painting them the same festive colors they had been during the Kindfellows’ day.

The women gravitated to the fallow gardens and orchards and raked and hoed and aerated the soil.  They brought their own compost to mix with the soil, and threw seed about.  They pruned back the trees in the orchard, so many of their branches having grown spindly and weak.  They laid out the vegetable garden for planting, believing that whoever would come to live in the house would likely participate in their market days.  Among themselves the women all agreed to take turns tending the gardens and orchards until the new family—whoever they may be—moved in.

Most of the children remained behind to tend to their own family’s gardens and woodworking, except Hannah and Jemima who still sought to redeem themselves.  On a Saturday morning, Mrs. Heartswell brought her daughters with her and stood by while they shyly walked up to Mr. Buckthorn, a brightly wrapped bundle in their arms.  They managed the courage the look up at him while he smiled fondly down at them.

“Mr. Buckthorn,” began Hannah, “since we couldn’t come back for while, Jemima and I decided to make a quilt, just the two of us, by ourselves.”

Jemima continued, “We wanted to do something to show that we regret what happened last time we were here.  We wanted to make a gift of atonement to the house.”

Mr. Buckthorn chuckled a little, amused that the girls would think of giving a gift to the house itself, but as he gazed on their stern little faces, he realized that they were utterly serious.  It wasn’t their lively imaginations at work here; it was their own firm belief that the house created that image which had frightened them so.  They had never stopped believing it.  He took a deep breath, wondering whether he should make light of their desire of “atonement” and risk offending them like he had the last time, or simply accept the bundle without any commitment on his part that the house had anything to do with their scare.  Before he could say anything, Miss Ringworthy suddenly appeared at his side.

“Oh, wonderful, Hannah and Jemima, you brought the quilt,” she exclaimed.  “I’m sure the house will be very pleased and forgive you.”  Mr. Buckthorn looked at Miss Ringworthy sharply.  Why was she humoring the girls, he wondered.  As if reading his thoughts, Miss Ringworthy looked up at him with a great toothy smile.

“Don’t you agree, Mr. Buckthorn?  Hannah and Jemima want the quilt to go into the master bedroom and give rest and comfort to any unhappy spirits that still may be there.”

Again, Mr. Buckthorn was shocked by Miss Ringworthy’s address of spirits in the house.  He looked over at Mrs. Heartswell, but she had been standing too far from them to have heard their exchange and, in any case, her husband had gotten her full and undivided attention, apparently needing to talk to her at this very moment.

“Don’t you agree, Mr. Buckthorn?,” said Hannah and Jemima in unison.

He jumped slightly and blushed when he heard Miss Ringworthy stifle a giggle.

“Well, my good ladies,” he addressed the girls with a short bow and then held out his hands for the bundle.  “I am honored to accept this quilt on behalf of the family, as yet unknown, who will eventually reside it.  I say with the utter most confidence that they will cherish this quilt, the very first housewarming gift.”
Hannah and Jemima both scowled slightly and then glanced at Miss Ringworthy.  Mr. Buckthorn assumed that she must have nodded her head because then they placed the bundle in his hands.

“May we resume helping at the house, Mr. Buckthorn?,” asked Hannah.

“We thought we could help our mother with the gardens,” said Jemima.

Mr. Buckthorn felt relief wash over him.  Thank goodness they did not ask to go back into the house, he thought.  “Of course,” he said with forced cheeriness.  “We have missed you both very much, and you’ll be a wonderful helpmeet for your mother.  I will see if the closet in the master bedroom is ready to receive this generous gift.”  He gave a little bow again.  The girls just looked at him blankly, turned, and set off after their mother who was now heading toward the gardens.

Mr. Buckthorn let out a long sigh and then turned to Miss Ringworthy with some irritation.  “Miss Ringworthy, pray, why were you encouraging such young girls to believe that they had to not only “atone” for their behavior but had to “atone” to the house?  Who will want to live in this house if there are rumors about it being haunted?”

Miss Ringworthy smiled demurely.  “Mr. Buckthorn, I have known Hannah and Jemima since their birth.  I watched them grow up.  I nursed them when they both came down with the flu and their mother could not tend them because she was carrying their youngest brother, Josiah.  I have taught them formally now for three years.  I know them very well.”  Miss Ringworthy emphasized the “very” and Mr. Buckthorn realized that she was a bit irritated with him, too.

She continued.  “Not only do they have vivid imaginations.  Upon that, you were quite perceptive.  But they are also stubborn and often implacable.  That you did not perceive.  The more you resist their version of reality, the harder they will cling to it.  If you humor them, they will eventually grow out of their stories.”

Mr. Buckthorn blushed slightly, feeling rather like a schoolboy who had just failed a simple test.  She would know better than me, he thought.  However.

“I see the logic of your reasoning, Miss Ringworthy, and, trust me, I respect your understanding of these girls as much I would their mother’s.  Still, I wish you had given me some warning.  I was completely unprepared for their little speech.”

“And so I must beg your apology for my oversight.  Like Hannah and Jemima, I am too often presumptuous.  Please forgive me, Mr. Buckthorn.”  Miss Ringworthy lowered her head and made a little courtesy but there was humor in her voice and Mr. Buckthorn understood that they had regained their friendly terms.

“On one condition.  You must call me Jonas,” he said jovially and then added quickly, “at least when it’s just the two of us together.”  He longed for the day when he would know Miss Ringworthy well enough to good-naturedly tease her without worrying over when he had instead offended her.

“Yes, we must be discreet,” and added with an playful smile, “Jonas.“

“Excellent,” Jonas returned.  “And will you agree to have coffee with me, at Mrs. Goodbread’s café, after church services tomorrow?”

“Yes,” Miss Ringworthy replied with delight, “but on one condition.”

“Anything,” Jonas said with mock solemnity.

“You must call me by my Christian name—Mariah.”

Chapter Thirty-One

Later that night after everyone including Jonas had left, the house mused to itself.  It felt better than it had in decades.  Layers of dust had been removed, the walls and baseboards were being whitewashed in preparation for a fresh cost of paint, and cobwebs had been swept out of corners.  For a whole day, the house had been filled with bustling young women, all diligent workers, all gentle as they swept and dusted and wiped.  They treated the house as if it were their own.

The house raised its shades just enough to see the full moon shining down upon it.  It sighed long and deep, but this was a sigh of pleasure, of happiness.  It had been so lonely so long, it had forgotten what it felt like to be loved and cared for.  The house had meditated all the night before, thinking over the pact that Jonas had made with it.  Jonas was right, the house thought.  It had to avoid harming or frightening anyone, otherwise it might left to decay, or worse.

Jonas was also right about the young girls.  They had meant no harm. The house had simply forgotten what it was like to have playful children inside it.  The Kindfellow children had been just as playful, especially the three boys and Rebekka, the baby.  Mariah had been more serious but never chided her siblings for their silly behavior.  Nor had Mr. or Mrs. Kindfellow.  Nor had the house.  They all had seemed to take great pleasure in their antics.  Thus, the house came to respect Jonas Buckthorn’s judgment as well as like the young man.

In fact, the house thought Jonas Buckthorn was very much like Mr. Kindfellow.  He even looked quite a bit like him.  He was not the craftsman that Mr. Kindfellow was, but Mr. Buckthorn admired craftsmanship and the house could tell that he had great admiration for Mr. Kindfellow’s work.

And Miss Ringworthy.  She was perfect, the house thought.  She looked exactly like the late Mrs. Kindfellow.  With that last thought, the house went to sleep and dreamed of a new family to come reside within it—the Buckthorns.

Chapter Thirty

“Mr. Buckthorn?”

Jonas was startled out of his reverie.  How long had he been standing, he wondered, rag in one hand and a paintbrush in the other.  Miss Ringworthy stood before him, an impish smile gracing her lips.

“I hope you weren’t thinking about the house.  Your face looked quite sad and disturbed while you were lost in your thoughts.”

“Oh, no,” Jonas started to lie, and then thought better about it.  “Actually, I was thinking about my mother and my father.”  And before Miss Ringworthy could embarrass them both by asking after their health, Jonas quickly added, “They both died ten years ago . . . today.”  He blinked his eyes.  Yes, today was the anniversary of their death.  No wonder he felt so preoccupied.

“Oh, I am terribly sorry,” exclaimed Miss Ringworthy with great warmth and genuine sincerity.  She stepped a little closer to Jonas as if she wanted to put her hand on his arm.  He didn’t move, hoping that she might reach out and touch him.  Instead she asked with some hesitation, “This was before you came to Constance?”
He thought her question curious, under the circumstances.  To go from his acknowledgement that today was the anniversary of his parents’ death to her expressed sympathy and now to an almost casual, conversational question.  And then he remembered:  Miss Ringworthy’s parents had died in an auto accident on their way back from attending Miss Ringworthy’s college graduation ceremony.  He had overheard Mrs. Parrish talk about it at one of the church socials.  Miss Ringworthy had originally planned to seek employment in the city, but upon becoming an orphan with not even siblings to give her comfort, she returned instead to the Town of Constance and made a public vow never to leave it.  Mrs. Parrish had said, and many listening to her story agreed, that Miss Ringworthy blamed herself for her parents’ death and hoped to atone by becoming a school teacher in Constance.  It had been her mother’s wish.

So Jonas relaxed, understanding the underlying meaning of Miss Ringworthy’s question.  He looked at her and smiled.

“Yes, it was before I came here and it is also why I came here.  Perhaps some day we might meet for coffee and I can tell you all about it.”  He knew he was being a bit forward; most women in Constance would have found his suggestion impolite merely because he and Miss Ringworthy barely knew each other.  As he suspected, however, Miss Ringworthy was not offended, no doubt due to her experiences in the city.  Rather, she said she would be delighted to meet with him and then, as if to keep this happy moment with her for a long while, she quickly took her leave, saying that the Makepeace girls were waiting for her in the kitchen.

Jonas laughed to himself as he saw Miss Ringworthy put a little skip in her step as she hurried along the hallway.  So, we have a great deal in common, he thought to himself.  Both orphans.  Both having lived on the outside.  Both now living alone.  Both lonely?  He heard a slight chuckling sound as if someone had eavesdropped on his thoughts and was laughing good-humoredly about his apparent growing infatuation with Miss Ringworthy.  He looked around but saw no one else in his corner of the upstairs hallway.  A line of women and girls were streaming down the staircase and toward the kitchen, but they took no notice of him, perhaps not even realizing he was there.

“You would do well to court Miss Ringworthy,” a voice inside Jonas’s head said.  “You would do well.”  Jonas blushed, murmured an awkward “thank you,” and then dashed off to follow his troops and help them prepare their afternoon tea.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

The town deliberated for many months over what to do.  It was obvious the hippies had no money and few if any possessions.  It would have gone against their sense of charity to force them out.  But they were becoming a nuisance, with their loitering and poor hygiene.  Not all of them were this way, which is another reason why the town tried to stay open-minded.  A few had taken immediately to the town culture, and within days of their arrival, they were actively involved in the gardening and harvesting, learning the intricacies of woodworking, even going to market.  They donated what few books they had brought with them to the town library and would read aloud to whoever cared to stop and listen.  It was a great boon to the children to have “story hour” added to their choice of entertainment.  Eventually these few hippies assimilated to the point of marrying within the town families, and they themselves began to participate in the deliberations about what to do about the others. 

“The choice was made for them,” the sisters had said.  “It was winter and the days were very short.  The sun didn’t rise until well after seven.  It was a Sunday and nobody was out on the darkened streets yet, except for the elder Reverend Goodheart.  He was coming early to the church to start the fires to warm up the large rooms.  But as he stood before the side door, he heard faint gasping and soft thuds, like someone slipping on the icy sheet that covered the ground.  He turned and saw a figure, a female figure, staggering toward him.  It wasn’t until she was right before him, reaching out her arms to him, that he recognize young Shelley Windsprite.  Poor dear Shelley,” they had said, shaking their head. 

“The poor thing, she was only fifteen at the time, she was practically frozen.  She was—“ and here they blushed and looked away from their audience.  “She was without clothes, not a stitch on, and there was blood all over her legs and backside.  They said her face was scratched and there was blood in her hair.  They said she cried, “Father, father” over and over and then collapsed in the elder Reverend Goodheart’s arms.  They said that he gathered her up and that he said she was so light and little, that he could have been carrying a baby for all he knew.  His heart was quite broken for he knew immediately what had happened. 

“He said nothing to her parents after they let him in and they said nothing in return.  They all just went about cleaning Shelley and getting her warm.  Shelley’s mum and older sister drew a warm bath and put herbs and teas in it to take away the scent of blood and . . . intimacy.  They washed her hair and rinsed it with lavender water to help her relax and hopefully sleep.  They said she only moaned occasionally and she did not open her eyes for a long time.  The elder Reverend suspected the hippies had abused her.  He knew they imbibed alcohol but had hoped they would confine their use to their camps.

“When Shelley finally became conscious, she was hysterical until her mother came to her side.  They fetched the elder Reverend and then Shelley told her story, but not without often breaking into great sobs.  Now, this is what we were told:  There’s a great house high up on a hill in our town.  And it’s been empty for many, many years.  We think that some of the hippies found the house and decided they could stay there, although it was in truly bad condition.  A few of the lads were celebrating their find of the house and they came down to the town.

“It was quite late and Shelley Windsprite was coming home from the library.  You know, it was always unlocked so anyone who couldn’t sleep and needed a book could go there and get one.  Shelley was a great reader and she hadn’t realized how late it was.  Her parents were already asleep, and they knew she was at the library so they weren’t worried. 

The sisters stopped and looked coldly at their audience.  They resumed with, “We didn’t have to worry about anything bad happening in our town until those hippies came.  Well, these lads saw Shelley.  They were quite inebriated so they took it upon themselves to kidnap her and take her away to the old house.  She said she never had a chance to scream.  They said she would only tell her mother and sister what they had done to her and only they ever saw her wounds.  They said . . ..” 

Again the sisters faltered.  Jonas remembered that he took a moment to look around.  They were all seated in a coffee house: the sisters, Jonas and his roommate, and two other girls.  They all were in the same literature class and had taken to meeting at the coffee house to study and socialize.  One of the other girls put a gentle hand on the sister who had last spoke.  The other sister continued the story.

“They said that she would never have children and may always be in some pain because they had hurt her so badly.  They said it was the pain and the nightmares that drove her to kill herself.  She often said they should have just killed her.”

“There was no shame,” the other sister put in suddenly.  “No one blamed Shelley for any of it.  She did have a suitor at the time and he was so gentle and patient.  He was deeply in love with her and would have been happy to live with her without intimacy, he loved her that much.”

The other sister continued, “But she said that was no life.  Still, it was really the pain and the nightmares.  If she hadn’t been so badly hurt, I think she would married Paul.”

“What happened to the lads that hurt her,” asked Jonas’s roommate.

“They and the other hippies were forced to leave town.  We are not a violent people.  We hunt but only for food, not sport.  The men never abuse their wives or their children, and the women are the same.  It is what we believe, that everyone deserves to be treated with respect.  The body is a holy temple and the soul is a gift.

“But the men did force them out.  They brought their rifles with them and stood aside as the women went forward and told the hippies why they must leave.  That is usually how we do things:  the women talk and reason, the men show strength and resolve.  The hippies were not happy to be put out.  They had grown to live living in Constance, but, frankly, the town had grown quite tired of them already.  There was no turning back after what they did to Shelley.  The town held all of them responsible since they had all come together.  Much in the same way that we take responsibility for each other.”

“What about the house,” Jonas asked.

“The town had to go up there and make sure the lads and al their things were gone.  They knew that the hippies were not evil and that those lads had not been control of themselves.  We were told, in fact, that the lads were quite sick the next day because they had drunk so much and when they were told what they had done, they got sicker and cried like little babies, begging the town’s forgiveness.  They kept offering to make restitution, to do something to prove that they hadn’t meant to hurt Shelley.  The town believed them but the harm to Shelley was done and no restitution could ever amend what they did to her.”

“It must take a deep faith in humanity to believe that those boys had not intended to harm Shelley,” said one of the girls.

“They said their faith was shaken, first by Shelley’s story, and then what they found in the house.  Still, regardless of their faith, they would not let the lads or the others stay—“

“What did they find in the house,” interrupted Jonas.

The sisters looked directly at him, both sets of eyes meeting his.  It was a bit daunting.

“The things they used to hurt Shelley.  A broken broom handle, a small knife, a rope.  All these things were covered with Shelley’s blood.”  Everyone at the table, except the sisters, bowed their heads and tried to keep their imaginations still.  The sisters had stopped talking, obviously exhausted from their awful story.  All of them sat in silence for several moments before Jonas’ roommate discreetly elbowed him.  Getting his attention, his roommate ever so slightly jerked his head toward the door.  Jonas understood immediately:  the men must leave.  The sisters and the two other girls were still staring at their cups of coffee and tea, but they were waiting.  He felt it then.  They wanted Jonas and his roommate to leave so they could talk amongst themselves. 

They stood up.  Jonas cleared his throat and said, very softly, “We are so sorry for what happened in your idyllic community.  We hope it never experiences such a tragedy again.” 

The sisters looked up him and smiled at him gently.  They simply nodded in accepting his sentiments, but their eyes told him that it was not the last tragedy to befall their town.