“Now,” I said, “now at least you can walk. But this gown will be ruined if we don’t get you into some other clothes.”
We ate dinner and Marnie ate some of everything we did, after a cautious tasting and a waiting to see how we handled it. She helped me gather up and put away the leftovers and clear the tarp. She even helped with the dishes-all with an absorbed interest as if learning a whole new set of skills.
As our wagon rolled on down the road, Nils and I talked quietly, not to disturb Marnie as she slept in the back of the wagon.
“She’s an odd child,” I said. “Nils, do you think she really was floating? How could she have? It’s impossible.”
“Well, it looked as if she was floating,” he said. “And she acted as if she had done something wrong-something-” Nils’s words stopped and he frowned intently as he flicked at a roadside branch with the whip “-something we would hurt her for. Gail, maybe that’s why-I mean, we found that witch quotation. Maybe those other people were like Marnie. Maybe someone thought they were witches and burned them-“
“But witches are evil!” I cried. “What’s evil about floating-“
“Anything is evil,” said Nils. “It lies on the other side of the line you draw around what you will accept as good. Some people’s lines are awfully narrow.”
“But that’s murder!” I said, “to kill-“
“Murder or execution-again, a matter of interpretation,” said Nils. “We call it murder, but it could never be proved-“
“Marnie,” I suggested. “She saw-“
“Can’t talk-or won’t,” said Nils.
I hated the shallow valley of Grafton’s Vow at first glance. For me it was shadowed from one side to the other in spite of the down-flooding sun that made us so grateful for the shade of the overhanging branches. The road was running between rail fences now as we approached the town. Even the horses seemed jumpy and uneasy as we rattled along.
“Look,” I said, “there’s a notice or something on that fence post.”
Nils pulled up alongside the post and I leaned over to read: “‘Ex. 20:16’ That’s all it says!”
“Another reference,” said Nils. “‘Thou shalt not bear false witness.’ This must be a habit with them, putting up memorials on the spot where a law is broken.”
“I wonder what happened here.” I shivered as we went on.
We were met at a gate by a man with a shotgun in his hands who said, “God have mercy,” and directed us to the campgrounds safely separated from town by a palisade kind of log wall. There we were questioned severely by an anxious-faced man, also clutching a shotgun, who peered up at the sky at intervals as though expecting the wrath of heaven at any moment.
“Only one wagon?” he asked,
“Yes,” said Nils. “My wife and I and-“
“You have your marriage lines?” came the sharp question.
“Yes,” said Nils patiently, “they’re packed in the trunk.”
“And your Bible is probably packed away, too!” the man accused.
“No,” said Nils, “here it is.” He took it from under the seat. The man sniffed and shifted.
“Who’s that?” He nodded at the back of Marnie’s dark head where she lay silently, sleeping or not, I don’t now.
“My niece,” Nils said steadily, and I clamped my mouth shut. “She’s sick.”
“Sick!”’ The man backed away from the wagon. “What sin did she commit?”
“Nothing catching,” said Nils shortly.
“Which way you come?” asked the man.
“Through Millman’s Pass,” Nils answered, his eyes unwavering on the anxious questioning face. The man paled and clutched his gun tighter, the skin of his face seeming to stretch down tight and then flush loose and sweaty again.
“What-” he began, then he licked dry lips and tried again. “Did you-was there-“
“Was there what?” asked Nils shortly. “Did we what?”
“Nothing,” stammered the man, backing away. “Nothing.
“Gotta see her,” he said, coming reluctantly back to the wagon. “Too easy to bear false witness-” Roughly he grabbed the quilt and pulled it back, rolling Marnie’s head toward him I thought he was going to collapse. “That’s-that’s the one!” he whimpered hoarsely. “How did she get-Where did you-” Then his lips clamped shut. “If you say it’s your niece, it’s your niece.
“You can stay the night,” he said with an effort. “Spring just outside the wall. Otherwise keep to the compound. Remember your prayers. Comport yourself in the fear of God.” Then he scuttled away.
“Niece!” I breathed. “Oh, Nils! Shall I write out an Ex. 20:16 for you to nail on the wagon?”
“She’ll have to be someone,” said Nils. “When we get to Margin, we’ll have to explain her somehow. She’s named for your sister, so she’s our niece. Simple, isn’t it?”
“Sounds so,” I said. “But, Nils who is she? How did that man know-? If those were her people that died back there, where are their wagons? Their belongings? People don’t just drop out of the sky-“
“Maybe these Graftonites took the people there to execute them,” he suggested, “and confiscated their goods.”
“Be more characteristic if they burned the people in the town square,” I said shivering. “And their wagons, too.”
We made camp. Marnie followed me to the spring. I glanced around, embarrassed for her in the nightgown, but no one else was around and darkness was failing. We went through the wall by a little gate and were able for the first time to see the houses of the village. They were very ordinary looking except for the pale flutter of papers posted profusely on everything a nail could hold to. How could they think of anything but sinning, with all these ghosty reminders?
While we were dipping the water, a small girl, enveloped in gray calico from slender neck to thin wrists and down to clumsy shoes, came pattering down to the spring, eyeing us as though she expected us to leap upon her with a roar.
“Hello,” I said and smiled.
“God have mercy,” she answered in a breathless whisper.
“Are you right with God?”
“I trust so,” I answered, not knowing if the question required an answer.
“She’s wearing white,” said the child, nodding at Marnie.
“Is she dying?”
“No,” I said, “but she’s been ill. That is her nightgown.”
“Oh!” The child’s eyes widened and her hand covered her mouth. “How wicked! To use such a bad word! To be in her-her-to be like that outside the house! In the daytime!” She plopped her heavy bucket into the spring and, dragging it out, staggered away from us, slopping water as she went. She was met halfway up the slope by a grim-faced woman, who set the pail aside, switched the weeping child unmercifully with a heavy willow switch, took a paper from her pocket, impaled it on a nail on a tree, seized the child with one hand and the bucket with the other, and plodded back to town.
I looked at the paper. Ex. 20:12. “Well!” I let out an astonished breath. “And she had it already written!” Then I went back to Marnie. Her eyes were big and empty again, the planes of her face sharply sunken.
“Marnie,” I said, touching her shoulder. There was no response, no consciousness of me as I led her back to the wagon.