Chapter III

A hush fell on the room. There was a baleful light shimmering through Zeb’s dull eyes, his claws began a nervous intertwining. “Wall ...” he broke the silence at last, “Gram died. Night afore she died seems like she got scairt. She grabbed us boys one after another and made us all promise we wouldn’t bury her twell we were good and sure she was dead. ‘Keep me five days--promise me that,’ she kept a-sayin’. And we promised. Recollect it didn’t seem to me then as how Gram could die--so full of smartness and spunk. Even after old Doc Coombs come and pronounced her, seemed like she’d open her eyes any minute and ask us boys to lug her somewhars. ’Stead o’ that she lay so quiet, seemed like I could hear Doomsday strike.”

The air about us became suddenly supercharged with something. Was it that ravenous desire for life that must have consumed Gram Perkins? Under their glass domes the hair wreaths seemed to move as if fanned by a breath. The feathers about us swayed. The rooster in the pulled-in rug seemed to pulse with life and a desire to crow. A crowing shook the room, but it came from Zeb.

“Hot! Golly, Gram died in the sizzlingest spell, middle of August, folks can remember. Didn’t embalm in them days, so ’twas ice or nothing. We drew lots for shifts--us boys. Ben and Ellery drew day; Sam and me night. Mebbe we didn’t work! Lugged in hunks from the ice house to the shed; thar we cracked and lugged in dish pans to the settin’ room. Crack--lug--mop--lug--crack. Five days! It’s been a powerful sight o’ comfort sence to know we kept Gram’s promise. Then come the funeral--smart one. Slathers o’ flowers and mourners and hacks. Cal’ate you’ve seen the lot whar we buried her?”

At the mention of burial a sense of enormity made me shudder. I was beginning to realize that the further Zeb progressed in the matter of the obsequies of Gram Perkins the more alive she became. At that moment she possessed the house--every crack and cranny in it. She possessed Zeb, and she possessed me. I found myself straining my ears for the rattle of dishes in the butt’ry or the sharp thin note of a whistle. Zeb’s ear was cocked as well as mine.

“Them dreams,” he said, pulling himself together. “First one come fifteen years after Gram died. All was gone from the harbour by that time but me. Ben took the pneumony and died quick. Ellery got liver complaint, turned yaller as arnicy and thinned out to a straw. Sort o’ blew away he did. Sam--he got trampled on by a horse. That left jes’ me. Night after I buried Marm I come back here and had my first dream. I was young ag’in. Boys back, Marm back, all of us settin’ thar at Gram’s funeral. Parson was a-prayin’--had been fur a considerable time. I could hear Nate French fumblin’ fur his tunin’ fork, so’s to lead the departin’ hymn when plain as daylight I heard a whistle. Yes, m’am. Then I heard a tick-tack--like Gram was knockin’ on some wind’y. Kept hopin’ she’d quiet down when out shot another whistle--clear above the parson’s prayin’. Nobody but me seemed to notice, so I got up gingerly and tiptoed over to the coffin and raised the lid.

“Thar she was--fixin’ fur to tick-tack ag’in. I grapped her fingers quick and shoved ’em back whar they belonged. Then I leaned over and whispered, loud as I durst, ‘Lay still, Gram. Parson’s nigh through and we’ll be movin’ along shortly. Folks ’ll be passin’ ’round in a moment to view the remains. Fur the Lord’s sake, close your eyes and act sensible.’ Wall ... that fixed her. She give me a wink so’d I know she’d act right, and I tiptoed back to my place. They was all still a-prayin’--kept right on a-prayin’ twell I woke up. Three years later, come November, I had the second.”

Zeb shivered, and so did I. I wanted that second dream and yet I did not want it. Had I chosen I could no more have stayed it than one could have held back the second act of a Greek tragedy.

“We was on our way to the cemetery.” Zeb’s voice lifted me free of all choice in the matter. “I was ridin’ outside the first hack, bein’ the youngest, and I was thinkin’ what a fine day it was fur that time o’ year. Sort o’ funny, too, fur Gram died in August and here it was November and we was jes’ gittin’ to bury her. I was lookin’ at the hearse when it happened. Hearses was different in them days, black urns at the four top corners with black plumes stickin’ out and a pair o’ solid wooden doors behind. Above the poundin’ of the horses’ hoofs I heard a hammerin’ on them solid doors. Bang ... bang ... plain as daylight. Old Jared Sims was drivin’ and I didn’t want he should hear so I sung out, ‘Cal’ate they’re shinglin’ the Coomb’s barn.’ He turned ’round in his seat to look, and jes’ that minute thar come a regular whale of a hammerin’ and the doors of the hearse bust open. Thar was Gram--top of her own coffin, peekin’ down low at me and beckonin’ fur me to come and git her.

“Mad! I was as mad as a hornet. I went back to that wink she’d given me in t’other dream and seemed like she’d gone back on her word--something Gram had never done livin’. I was off the seat of that hack in a jiffy, runnin’ aside the hearse. When the goin’ slowed up I stuck my head inside and hollered, ‘Ye git straight back whar ye b’long! And what’s more ye stay thar!’ Then I begun to whimper like I couldn’t stand my feelin’s another minute. ‘Gram,’ says I, ‘hain’t ye got any heart? Do ye want to disgrace us boys? How’ll ye cal’ate we’ll feel to have the neighbours thinkin’ we’re tryin’ to bury ye ag’in your will? We give ye them five days like we promised--can’t ye lay down decent and proper now?’

“That settled her. She turned, meek as a cow, climbed back into her coffin and closed the lid down. I went back to the hack and climbed up. We was still a-goin’ when I woke up.”