Witch, page 21
“He’ll have to kill all of us,” she said aloud.
“No,” Tim said quickly. “He wouldn’t dare do that. That would raise a stink.”
“Jack would tear this town apart brick by brick if anything happened to you,” Penny added. “Norman knows it. But that won’t help Tim. It would be our word, not just against Norman’s, but against that of the whole town. We couldn’t prove Norman had done anything criminal.”
“Then Tim is the one in danger,” Ellen said. “Can we hide him?”
“Where? If they want to come in,” Penny said grimly, “we can’t keep them out.”
“Then he must get away.”
“Never mind,” Tim said softly. “It’s too late. Here they come.”
Ellen heard it then; fifty centuries of atavistic terror recognized the sound her own ears had never heard. Once heard, it could never be forgotten—the sullen roar of an aroused mob.
Chapter 12
ELLEN WENT TO THE WINDOW. TIM HELD THE DRAPERIES back SO she could see.
They came by car and on foot, along the driveway and out of the woods. Some carried torches. There were flashlights too, and electric lanterns. Someone turned on a car’s headlights. The front lawn was as bright as morning.
They gathered in a huddled group on the grass a safe distance from the house. At first glance they had seemed to number in the hundreds, but Ellen realized there were only twenty or thirty people. Most were men, but there were a few women. Among the latter, of course, was Mrs. Grapow. She stood in the front ranks, with the pastor beside her. Her allies were not all human. She had Norman’s dogs. One hamlike fist held both leashes without visible effort, though the dogs were straining forward.
Now that the moment had come, Ellen was conscious of relief. The menace was real, and there was a peculiar comfort in knowing that her imagination was healthy.
“I’ll talk to them,” she said.
“Don’t go out.” Tim caught her arm. “Talk through the window, it’s not so exposed.”
“Yes, right. Can you get out the kitchen door while I keep them occupied?”
Penny was one step ahead of her. She came running back through the hall, her hair flying.
“There are more of them out in back. They’re all around the house, Mom.”
“If worst comes to worst, Tim will have to try,” Ellen said. Then, despite her fancied calm, she shied back as a high-pitched shout echoed through the night.
“Miz March! We know he’s in there. Send him out and we won’t hurt you or your girl.”
“And just how do you suppose they found out he’s here?” Penny muttered.
Mrs. Grapow had stepped forward a few paces. So, Ellen thought, she’s the spokeswoman for the group. It was appropriate. In her long dark dress, flanked by the two great dogs, she looked like one of the more unsavory pagan goddesses—Hecate, perhaps, or the hippopotamus deity of the ancient Egyptians.
“Send him out,” she bellowed. “Or else we’ll come in and get him.”
“He isn’t here,” Ellen yelled back. “Get out of here, all of you.”
“We know he’s there! You better watch out, or we’ll tend to you too! There’s some here that thinks you’re worse than him.”
Mrs. Grapow’s grammar was deteriorating, Ellen thought with grim amusement. The amusement soared, suddenly, into an upsurge of exhilaration. In a way the feeling resembled the earlier seizure, when she had hurled unintelligible curses at the intruders; but this time she was fully conscious of what she said. It was as if something had learned, from the first experiment, that it had gone too far. Now it was gentler and more skilled. Ellen felt mildly, pleasurably drunk.
“Get your fat carcass off my lawn,” she shouted, enjoying the epithets. “And take that horde of morons with you! By God, I’ll sue you for every penny you’ve got, you dirty-minded, foulmouthed, paranoidal old—”
“Mom—hey, Mom!”
Penny’s voice was shaking. Ellen glanced at the girl over her shoulder and saw that she was laughing. A chip off the old block, that’s what Penny was. The boys would be proud of her. They hadn’t raised her to be a sissy….
Mrs. Grapow had fallen back a pace. The threat to her moneybags hurt, Ellen thought triumphantly. It wasn’t enough, though. Mrs. Grapow couldn’t back down now without losing prestige, and power meant more to her than money. Not that the woman was thinking that clearly. She was beside herself with rage.
“All right, boys,” she screamed. “Let’s go—”
“Wait, wait!” The pastor pushed forward, waving wildly at the surging crowd. “Mrs. March—don’t be a fool! We aren’t going to hurt you, not unless you make us. Give the boy up. Let’s not have trouble now. We don’t want—”
“You’re the ones who are making the trouble,” Ellen yelled. “You come any closer and I’ll have you put in jail.” She deliberated for a moment and then went on, forming every word distinctly, “You’re a lecher and a crook and a psychotic petty tyrant and a nasty little wizened meager skinny—”
“All right,” the pastor shouted. “All right! I tried. It’s your own fault.”
“Mom, Mom.” Penny shook her. “I admire your derangement of epitaphs, but you’re just making them mad. Stall for time.”
The leaders of the mob had gone into conference. The torches flared in the wind. The two dogs sat staring balefully at the house. They worried Ellen more than the humans did; in her present mood, she felt she could outface, and outfight, any two men in the crowd. But the dogs were something else.
Mrs. Grapow turned back, her fat face shining like an orange moon in the torchlight. Before she could move or speak, Ellen shouted,
“One more step and I’ll put the curse on you. May you get so fat you can’t walk. May your store burn to the ground. May your tongue turn black and wither and drop off. I pronounce this in the name of Satan and all the devils in hell, and furthermore—”
“Stop that!” It was the pastor who shouted; Mrs. Grapow stood stock-still, staring. “Now look here, Mrs. March, that sort of thing isn’t going to help—”
“Take it off me!” Mrs. Grapow spoke to Winckler, but her yelp was loud enough to be heard in the house. “Take it off, Pastor, don’t let my tongue—”
“I will, I will. Don’t worry, Elvira, the power of the Lord is with me—”
Ellen interrupted this pledge with a remark that surprised her. She was familiar with the phrase, but had never expected she would have occasion to use it.
The minister darted forward.
“You’re just making things worse for yourself, Mrs. March. I’m going to give you ten minutes. I can’t restrain these righteous citizens any longer. You send that young devil out here and we’ll leave you alone. Think it over.”
He turned to reassure Mrs. Grapow. He looked ridiculous, standing on tiptoe to pat the big woman’s heaving shoulders.
“Well,” Ellen said. She cleared her throat; it was dry from all that yelling. Turning from the window, she saw that Penny and Tim were standing side by side staring at her. Their hands were clasped and their eyes were wide.
“I never heard you talk like that,” Penny said.
“I’m just getting started. We have ten minutes and we had better make use of them. This is your chance, Tim. It isn’t much of a chance, but it’s better than staying here.”
“Right,” Tim said. He tried to free his hand, but Penny refused to let go.
“Mom, he’ll never make it. There are men all around the house. They’ve got lights and—and guns.”
“I’ll have a look.”
It did not take Ellen long to realize that Penny was right. Every exit was covered. She returned to the living room.
“Okay,” she said briskly. “Then we’ll make a stand. Let’s get everything we can piled up against the doors. Collect any object that can be used as a missile. We’ll retreat to the cellar if they break down the doors. Luckily the cellar door opens inward. Tim, can you quickly rig some kind of bar on the inside? There are tools and some scraps of wood downstairs.”
Tim’s jaw was hanging.
“You are a real crazy lady,” he said seriously.
“Go on, get moving. I’ll stay here and keep an eye on things.”
Tim was back in a few minutes.
“There are old bolts already on the doorframe,” he reported. “I found a piece of wood that fits.”
“Good. Help Penny shove that sofa against the door.”
Tim obeyed. He came back to the window, and Ellen saw him stiffen as he looked out.
“Get a load of who just arrived.”
The car was the old station wagon Norman used for rough work and bad weather. Trust him not to risk the Rolls, Ellen thought—and then felt a faint stir of hope. Maybe the kids were wrong about Norman. Maybe he could disperse the mob.
He looked frantic enough as he got out of the car and ran toward the waiting group. Ellen strained her ears, but at first she could hear only a murmur as he spoke with Mrs. Grapow. Then Norman’s voice rose.
“I told you you couldn’t take the dogs. What the hell do you mean by stealing my—”
“Public need,” said Mrs. Grapow. “You can’t stand in the way of the people, Norman.”
“You’re all crazy,” Norman shouted. “Crazy, insane…Hank, Mrs. G.—stop this and go home. I promise you, I’ll deal with Tim.”
“You go home,” Mrs. Grapow said. “This is no place for you, Norman, and you ain’t the man to stop us.”
Norman turned toward the house.
“Ellen,” he called, making a megaphone of his hands. “Don’t worry, Ellen. I’ll go for help…the police…”
Mrs. Grapow raised a huge fist. Ellen watched in horrified fascination; she didn’t have time to call out a warning even if she had been inclined to do so. The fist fell, and Norman collapsed onto the ground, where he lay still.
“Five more minutes,” Mrs. Grapow shouted.
She gestured; two of the men came forward and dragged Norman’s limp body to the rear.
“You don’t suppose…” Ellen began.
“That puts him in the clear,” Penny said tightly. “Mom, don’t start wondering. That was all an act.”
Ellen stood watching through the window as the young pair went back to barricading the doors.
“Three minutes,” the minister shouted.
There was a cry from Penny, and the sound of a scuffle. Ellen whirled around.
The big sofa, which had been moved with such labor to block the front door, was pushed out far enough to allow someone to pass. Tim had one hand on the doorknob. His other hand and arm were hindered by Penny, who clung like a furious puppy in spite of his efforts to dislodge her. She couldn’t have held him if he had not been reluctant to hurt her.
Ellen ran to them and added her strength to her daughter’s. Tim resisted for a moment; the muscles in his arm felt like ropes. Then he relaxed and put his arm around Penny. She clung to him, clutching his shirt front. Tears of fright were streaming down her face.
“No, you don’t,” Ellen said, panting. “What’s the matter with you?”
“You’ve got to let me go! They’ll leave you alone then. If you don’t…” He ducked his head toward Penny, whose face was hidden against his dirty shirt.
“We have a hang-up,” Ellen said slowly, “about throwing people to the wolves. If you went out there, Penny would be right behind you. I couldn’t stop her. Because I’d be right behind her.”
He believed her. That he could do so, after seven years with Norman, was a magnificent tribute to the man and woman who had been his parents. I wonder if I could do as well, Ellen thought humbly. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so emotional. He’s going to cry.
Tim had learned discipline the hard way. After some struggle, he got face and voice under control.
“Okay,” he said gruffly. “Hey, Penny, cut it out. You’re getting mud all over your face.”
Ellen went back to the window and left them to talk. The incident had removed her last lingering doubts about Tim, and if she was being illogical, then logic be damned. He cared enough about Penny to walk out in cold blood to face that pack of human wolves.
Ellen knew she would have to watch him. If he could get out of the house without their following, he would try again.
Another car came up the driveway. Its headlights flared, sending long, queer shadows fleeing across the lawn. The car was unfamiliar, but the man who got out of it was not. She gave a little cry, and Penny and Tim came to join her.
“I don’t believe it,” Penny gasped.
“Who is it?” Tim asked.
“Jack,” Ellen whispered.
“It’s my uncle,” Penny said. “Oh, wow—of all the people I’d like to see right now…”
His tie was askew and he was bareheaded; the torchlight reflected redly from his high forehead. He didn’t look at the house, but went quickly across the grass toward the mob. Mrs. Grapow went to meet him. They talked for several minutes, while the three inside the house watched in an agony of fear and hope.
“It won’t work,” Ellen muttered. “What in God’s name is he doing here? He can’t—”
Jack’s comments seemed to be having some effect. The mob’s amorphous outlines wavered. Winckler was no longer in evidence; Ellen finally located him, safely concealed behind a couple of stalwart and very intoxicated farmers.
But Mrs. Grapow was not so easily cowed. She had been bossing men all her life, and a single man, without a gun, did not intimidate her. She thrust her face into Jack’s, arguing and baring her teeth. He said something that seemed to annoy her, for she began to shout.
“Get going, mister. Let’s see you run. If you like ’em so much, you can just join ’em. Come on, run—get moving, or I’ll set the dogs on you.”
She slackened her hold on the leash. The two great black beasts lunged; only Jack’s quick backward leap saved his legs. He glanced at the house, and then at his car. Ellen read the thoughts that raced through his mind; she knew what his decision would have been, if he had been allowed to make it. The car was not only a means of reaching help, it was a weapon, and Jack would not scruple to use it as such.
Mrs. Grapow knew what he was thinking, too. She moved to intercept him. She let the lunging dogs drag her forward, and Jack had to retreat. She was bellowing with laughter. When Jack turned to run, with the gaping jaws snapping at his heels, her laughter rose to a howl.
Ellen, Tim and Penny reached the door in a jumble. Tim heaved the couch back; the women worked at the bolts and the lock. Ellen flung the door open as Jack came bounding up the stairs. Without a word of greeting he turned and helped Tim push the couch back into place. Then he went to the window.
“Give us five minutes,” he shouted. “I’ll talk to them—I’ll convince them.”
Then he turned and grinned at Ellen.
“You surpass yourself,” he said. “Only six weeks, starting from scratch, and look what you worked up!”
A few days earlier Ellen would have burst into tears and fallen into his arms. Now she grinned back.
“I guess we do need a diplomat. Why didn’t you ask for fifteen minutes while you were at it?”
“I’m not sure what to do with even five minutes. This is rather confusing….” His eyes finally left her face. “This, I presume, is Tim?”
“Sir!” said Tim, staring.
“Hi, Penny. Your face is dirty…. All right, troops. How do we get out of here?”
“The house is surrounded,” Ellen said. “We were going to make a stand.”
“I’ll bet you were. No dice, Ellen. Half that crowd is roaring drunk and the other half is hypnotized by Madame Lefarge and her dogs. They’ll set fire to the house if they can’t get in any other way. I’d rather take my chances out there than be roasted alive. That blocked-up door in the cellar. Where does it lead to?”
“The witch’s tunnel,” Ellen said slowly.
“So you said in one of your letters. Where does it end up?”
“I don’t know. I don’t even know if it’s passable.”
“Then let’s find out. Get a flashlight. Penny, keep an eye on the window, but don’t get too close. They’re about ready to start throwing things.”
A rock crashing through the glass lent emphasis to his words. Jack didn’t even look back.
Ellen and Tim followed him downstairs. He picked up an ax as they passed through the room where Ellen kept her tools. When they had descended the slimy stone stairs, Ellen silently indicated the door; Jack swung the ax and brought it down with a crash. Rotted wood splintered and fell.
Tim glanced at Ellen. His eyes were shining with admiration, and she thought wryly, He’s found himself a hero. He ran up the stairs and returned with a hatchet.
“We need something heavier,” Jack said, glancing at Tim. “There’s a sledgehammer under the workbench upstairs.”
Tim took off as if someone had lit a fuse under him. Jack leaned debonairly on the ax and smiled at Ellen. His face shone with sweat, but that was the only sign of concern she could see.
“Lucky for us you let the boys dump all their junk here.”
“You wanted them to put it in storage,” Ellen reminded him.
“I am sometimes wrong. Rarely. But you can’t blame me for failing to anticipate this particular problem…. Ah, Tim; got it? Okay, see what you can do with it. Ellen, hold the light steady.”
Cleared of its overlayers of wood, the doorway looked even less accessible. It had been bricked up as well as boarded over. A solid wall of green-lichened brick confronted them. Before Ellen could voice her dismay, Tim swung the sledge. Ellen ducked back from a shower of sharp fragments. A breath of something foul and dank-smelling reached her nostrils; when she dropped the arm with which she had shielded her face, she saw that the wall was not so formidable after all. A jagged black hole gaped where Tim had struck. The surrounding bricks were buckling.
