Night Stalks The Mansion: A True Story Of One Family's Ghostly Adventure (18 page)

I had given him only a sketchy account of the midnight
visit and he had shown the normal amount of interest,
agreeing that it was odd that the police hadn't located the
woman or picked up the two men who had so viciously
attacked her.

"Maybe she was scared to tell on 'em," he volunteered.
This attitude Enoch could understand. On the whole, however, the drama of the affair hadn't really seemed to bother
him. Enoch could take physical happenings in stride. I
hadn't mentioned the unusual reactions of the chows to
him, either, thinking that it might make him uneasy.

"Just exactly where was this attack supposed to have taken
place?" Dorothy asked on this particular evening.

"If it did take place-and it wasn't just another of our
crazy happenings-it was down at the crossroads," I answered. "Somewhere along the creek just about a hundred
yards from the old house, she said. But the boys and I
searched the entire area and there was no evidence of anything there. The whole business is spooky."

We heard a crash in the kitchen. I went out to investigate, motioning for Dorothy to continue with her meal. I
found Enoch standing motionless, staring at a shattered
goblet on the kitchen floor.

"Don't worry about it, Enoch," I said, a little surprised.
"We all break glasses."

He lifted his head and I was shocked at the sight of his
face. It was the color of gray putty. He stared wordlessly at
me for a moment and then dried his hands. I noticed that
they were shaking.

"I gotta go now, Boss," he said desperately. "I don't feel
so good." He took off his apron, reached for his coat, and
stumbled out the door. "I'm sorry 'bout the glass," he
mumbled as he left.

I stood there in amazement. Enoch had been pretty calm
lately but right now he seemed terrified.

I looked down at the broken glass at my feet. He hadn't
even attempted to pick it up so I went for a broom and dustpan. Enoch had received a shock-that was apparent. But
from what? Had he been frightened by something in the
kitchen? Had he heard footsteps or a rattle at the basement
door? I went over and checked the locks. Everything seemed
normal and the lights in the kitchen were bright. The dining
room was only a few feet away and we were all there around
the table. Had he overheard our conversation?

I went back in my mind to the words that had been said
just before he dropped the goblet. It occurred to me then
that I had never told Enoch just where the attack was supposed to have taken place and I remembered my words
when I had described it in detail in answer to Dorothy's
question. I had said: "down at the creek just past the old
house." The creek, I told myself. The crossroads. The old
house. These must have been the words that had so upset
Enoch.

Right then I came to a decision. I was tired of being
diplomatic with Enoch. I had spent most of his time with
us catering to his superstitions. I knew that he knew the
story of the mansion - that he probably knew who the lady
was-and why she walked at night. But he would never talk
about it -and I was getting desperate. Our lease would be
terminated in three more months and then Enoch would
be out of my life forever. I was going to get the truth from
him now or I might never get it.

"What was the trouble?" Dorothy asked when I returned
to the table.

"A broken glass," I said carelessly. I didn't add that I
had to pick up the pieces after Enoch's flight.

I cornered Enoch the very next morning and asked to
talk to him in the summerhouse. He started to mumble
something about work to be done; I wouldn't listen to any
excuses. I think he knew what was coming. We sat there in the sun and I wondered where to start. It was a beautiful
morning-breezy and sunny-and we sat in silence. I
glanced sideways at Enoch.

He didn't look well. He was still pasty-faced and his eyes,
usually so dark and expressive, were lackluster. He seemed
to be looking at something beyond me. I followed his gaze
and saw that he was looking at the old tree.

"That's a magnificent maple, isn't it?" I asked, to begin
our talk. "I've always admired it. I wonder how old it
really is."

"Should have cut it down," he muttered tonelessly. "Cut
it down an' burn it up good. Cain't figger why she never
done it. Better'n the way she took, anyways."

"All right, Enoch," I said quietly. "Let's have it! Who is
the `she' you mention and what's the matter with the old tree?"

"It was there it happened . . . under the tree." His old
hands were clenched. "The branches was like they is now
... hasn't changed much ... only the leaves was bigger."
He was still muttering as if to himself.

"What happened? Was the doctor's wife hurt under the
tree?"

He stiffened a little. "Her? Nol 'Twas the young missy."

This was the first time that Enoch had mentioned a
daughter. He had spoken of the doctor and his wife, but
never of any children. I thought I understood.

"How old was the daughter, Enoch?"

He hesitated and I went on firmly. "You've got to tell me
the whole story, you know. I've waited a long time. We'll
be gone from here in only a few months. Then I won't
bother you about all this. No more questions that upset you.
You can keep as quiet as you want. But I want the story
before we go. I want it now."

"I never even told Willie Mae," he answered slowly. "Don't
seem fittin' somehow."

"Well, you can tell me. I'm entitled to know. I've gone through a lot of things in the old house. Besides, I'm your
friend. I hope you know that by now."

He nodded slowly. "You is, at that. I really appreciate
what you done for me." Then he sighed. "Might as well. It
don't matter no more. It don't make no difference no more.
I'm gettin' too old to care if I'm scared."

There was something terrible in his utter resignation, in
his complete surrender. I took a deep breath. "Go ahead
and talk, Enoch," I said quietly. "It might surprise you how
much better you can feel when you let something out of
your mind that has been bottled up for so long. I'll promise
to keep quiet about it. I won't tell anyone."

He turned his head to look at me and I was surprised to
see a glint of humor in his eyes. "Not even your wife, Boss?"
he questioned.

"That's not fair," I protested. "Dorothy and I talk everything over. She's entitled to know, too. But she won't say
anything. Not if I promise that she won't."

"It ain't that," he said in a halting manner. "You can
tell 'er. But not 'til you leave. Not 'til you leave the big
house for good."

I thought for a moment. "Okay," I agreed. "I give you
my word. When we are finally out of the mansion, I'll tell
her. Not before."

He gave a sigh of relief. "I jus' don't want 'er to know
before," he confessed. "She's a mighty fine little lady. She's
sweet an' she's kind. She likes black folks, too. I don't want
to see her face after you tell."

I felt a prickle down my spine. I recalled Dorothy's words
spoken in the quiet of a night months ago. "Maybe we'd
be better off not to know," she had whispered.

As Enoch still hesitated, I repeated my questions. "What
happened to the girl? How old was she? What year was it?"

"Fourteen or fifteen, maybe. Her name was Lisa. She was
so pretty, with them big blue eyes and yellow hair. Always laughin' and dancin' 'round. She loved the horses and spent
a lotta time at the stables. She had quality, Boss, an' she
knew it. She knew someday she'd be a great lady. She was
bein' schooled for it-like a filly for the races."

The scene was being set. It was probably 1864 or thereabouts. Pennsylvania hardly counted as a Southern state,
being above the Mason-Dixon line, but there were slave
owners there and the southern traditions held in social life.
Here was a pretty young girl who had reached the age where
she must be taught how to conduct herself. She would learn
the art of flirtation, the way to be nice to people but not
let them get too familiar, the way to treat the blacks. In a
couple more years she would be making her debut in a ball
gown of pure silk with her hair piled up on her head. There
would be music and dancing throughout the night. There
would be damask tablecloths and silver, candlelight and
champagne, with hurrying slaves carrying laden trays of
food from room to room. I looked at the mansion and I
could see it all - the beauty and grandeur of those past days.
And there would soon be suitors from good families. This
was the period that the Southern belle looked forward to
the most and remembered the longest. I felt a stir of pity.
Was Lisa never to know it?

"She minded pretty good," Enoch went on. "But sometimes she didn't."

"That's only natural in a child," I reminded him as he
paused a little.

"She was like her mama in some ways. She had her own
way of doin' things. But she liked everybody too much. She
was awful nice to slaves, too. She'd rather be down with
Ben and the horses than learnin' to sew an' pour tea without
spillin'. So they sent her away to school in Atlanta." He
sighed and shook his old head. "She came home for vacation. The first thing she done was make a beeline for the
stables and her old pony."

Enoch stirred restlessly and ran a trembling hand through
his hair. He was telling a graphic story. The girl had come
alive for me. My eyes went to the stables that we had placed
off-limits to the children. I could see them as they must
have been once-clean and warm with the smells of hay
and animals.

Enoch made a gesture across his face as if brushing off
cobwebs. "She was more grown up, seems like, after she
went to school. I saw the way Ben looked at her, but I still
didn't pay it no real mind. Ben was a slave an' knew his
place."

"Was Ben a groom?" I asked curiously.

"Ben?" Enoch looked at me. "He worked with horses,
but he was the coachman. He lived in the coachhouse
upstairs."

Again I felt the cold prickle. This couldn't be happening, I told myself. The pieces were beginning to fit. I looked
around at the quiet yard that seemed to be basking in the
morning sun. I smelled the perfume of roses. I heard birds
singing. This story couldn't be happening ... but it was.

"Go on," I managed to say.

"It was a fox hunt. The doctor and his lady, they went
ridin'. They was all excited and they looked mighty fine.
Even the horses was keyed up and plungin' around. They
always did that when a caper was comin' up. Lisa rode real
good, but she didn't want to go. Her papa teased her 'bout
rather readin' than ridin', but she said she'd got to study.
Truth was, she tole me once she didn't like to see nuthin'
killed."

The squeaky old voice broke for a moment and I realized
what an ordeal this was for Enoch. But he went on resolutely. "Her folks was comin' by to pick her up for the dance
later on. The missus said it was 'bout time that Lisa went -
just to look on. But when they come back-she was gone."

"Gone?" I echoed. "Kidnapped?"

He shook his head. "I had to do an errand to that old
house at the crossroads. It was pretty then. I had to get
some salve for an ole pony what was sick. I was walkin' down
the road and I looked back at the bend. Saw Ben goin' up
the front steps. Thought 'twas funny he go up to the front
door. Slaves always went to the back."

I nodded.

"I saw the door open and the little missy, she come out.
She had dressed up for the dance early, I guess. It was a new
dress ... white with pink flowers an' a pink sash. She musta
wanted to see how good she looked. She wuz studying in
the liberry. They found her book on the sofa."

"How did he get her out of the house, do you think?"

"That'd be easy, Boss. She trusted the slaves. All he'd say
was he wanted her to look at the pony. It was her pony what
needed the salve."

"Did he take her back to the coach house?"

"Nope. He saw the tree and musta seen it was a good
place. Nobody could see under them branches and everybody was gone anyways. The slaves was at the hunt or at
another big house where the dance was goin' to be. All
except the old cook and she was deaf and slept in the afternoons, anyways."

Enoch sighed deeply. One tear slid down his face. "I
mighta stopped it if I'd gone back to see why Ben was at
the front door. But I didn't. I just went on doin' what T
was told. When I come back, it was all quiet. I didn't see
Ben. I didn't ever fool with them horses so I left the salve
and went in to clean up. The commotion started when the
folks come home. They called and called and checked the
neighbors to see if anyone knew where Lisa went. I tole
them 'bout Ben goin' to the front door and her comin' out.
They they looked for Ben, too. They looked everywhere.
Finally they looked-under the tree."

"Was Lisa there, Enoch?" I felt sick.

He shook his head. "Just her dress an' a pink dance shoe.
The dress was torn a lot and had stains an' blood on it."

Enoch was talking stoically now as if nothing really mattered any more. "All the folks from the other houses come
then. They had guns and dogs. They looked everywhere.
They found her body in the creek that night - right past
the old house. He musta hid her 'til later and then dumped
her in the creek."

Enoch shook himself slightly. "Ben didn't think things
out so good. Guess he just wanted her bad. After he did
what he did under the tree, he knew he had to kill 'er. Anyway, that's what he said when they ketched him."

"What happened to him, Enoch?"

"The slaves hung him," he replied grimly. "They didn't
even wait for her papa. They said no use him gettin' his
hands dirty on scuml"

We sat in silence for several moments. "So," I mused
aloud. "It's the little missy who walks the house-who comes
from the library and climbs the stairs."

Enoch straightened. "Not her, Boss. She's walkin' them
golden streets in heaven and playin' a golden harp. It's the
lady, that's what!" Again he shivered.