The Secret of the Storm Country is a Webnovel created by Grace Miller White.
This lightnovel is currently completed.
He had no mercy for the stumbling horse as he spurred down the long drive, into the public thoroughfare, and thence to the sh.o.r.e road. When he came opposite to his own closed, uninhabited house, he could see by straining his eyes the dusky shadow of the willow trees shrouding the Skinner home.
A glimmer of light struggled from the curtained window of the hut. With desperate haste he tied his horse to the fence post. He could scarcely stop to spread over the animal the blanket he’d brought for the purpose.
Then as he waded through the snow and rounded the mud cellar a dog’s mournful howling, pierced and punctuated by a girl’s shrill, heart-broken cry, fell upon his startled ears. In another minute he had flung himself against the shanty door and forced it open. Kennedy’s bulldog greeted him, growling, and beyond him, stretched out upon the body of her dead father, lay Tess. Hovering over her, chattering, was Andy Bishop, the dwarf, the condemned murderer of Ebenezer Waldstricker, Sr.
CHAPTER XXIX
THE VIGIL
During Professor Young’s instant of hesitation on the threshold, the wind gusted sheets of snow into the Skinner shanty. Quieting the dog by a low-spoken word, Deforrest stepped in and closed the door against the storm. The acrid smoke drawn from the stove by the back-draft, filled the room,–a choking cloud.
Andy stared at the intruder for an instant, and then turned again to the girl lying unconscious upon the body of her father.
Young’s vision comprehended the whole tragedy. He pulled off his cap and gloves and shook the snow from his shoulders. Advanced to the bedside, a glance satisfied him that the squatter was dead and that Tess had fainted. He had recognized the dwarf the minute he saw him, and heartsick with apprehension, he wondered what he was doing there.
“Get up,” said he. “Let me look at her.”
The dwarf moved aside hesitatingly.
“Air she dead, too?” he whimpered.
“Bring me some water,” commanded Young.
Andy went to the pail, dipped a portion of water into a small basin, and waddled back with it.
“Her daddy air dead,” he offered. “Ye can see he air dead.”
“Yes!” nodded Young, taking the dish.
He did not speak again until Tess groaned, and opened her eyes. She made a half struggle to sit up, and Young lifted her to her feet.
“Lean on me,” he said gently.
Tess stared at him, incredulously. He had come after all! Relief crumpled her up in his arms.
“Daddy air dead,” she whispered.
“Yes, dear,” soothed Young. “There, lean your head on my shoulder, poor little broken baby.”
His tones were so tender, so soft! They went to the heart of the stricken dwarf, and like a hurt child he burst into tears. Professor Young turned and looked at him.
“Don’t do that,” he said huskily. “Sit down–don’t cry!”
Without moving from her position, Tess said, “Andy, Andy, dear, git on up in the garret a few minutes, will ye?”
The dwarf crept to the ladder, and Deforrest let him go. A dozen questions leapt to the lawyer’s lips at the same time, but the girl against his breast looked so desperately ill he had no heart to ply them. Tess lifted her lids heavily.
“Ye won’t tell n.o.body he air here?” she gulped.
“How long has he been here?” asked Young, instead of answering her question.
“Ever since spring,” sighed Tessibel.
“Was he here that day when Mr. Waldstricker and my sister–“
“Yep.” The girl’s whisper was very low.
“And when Burnett came too, I suppose?”
“Yep, I hid ‘im … Daddy loved ‘im, Daddy did.”
She began to cry softly. Her confession had taken her mind back to the huge figure on the bed.
“I wanted to go with Daddy,” she sobbed. “I didn’t know–I thought I couldn’t live without ‘im.”
Stooping, Deforrest gathered the mourning little one into his arms, and seating himself in the big rocker, pressed his cheek against her hair in sympathy. Patiently he waited, holding her thus while the mercy of her flowing tears dulled the first sharp edge of her grief.
Bye and bye the sobs ceased, and a faint, catchy little voice struggled up through the red curls to the man’s ears.
“Ye air awful good to me, you air. Oh, I needed ye so, and I feared–I feared mebbe ye wasn’t never comin’ again!”
“My dear, my dear,” Young soothed, much moved. Then he rose and placed her in the chair. “You sit here and tell me about it.”
Bravely she looked into the friendly face, a doleful smile quivering on her lips.
“The first thing I want to know,” she asked, “what air ye goin’ to do ’bout Andy?”
Professor Young had antic.i.p.ated this question.
“Until I’ve had more time to think about it, and until after the funeral anyway, I’ll keep your secret,” he rea.s.sured her kindly.
“An’ ye won’t say anythin’ to n.o.body ’bout ‘im till ye talk with me again?” she queried, fearfully.
“That’s what I mean, Tess,” Young answered.
“Ye air so good to me, ye air,” sighed Tess, satisfied.
“Child,” began Young a moment later, “can you bear to tell me about it, now?”
“About Daddy?” asked Tess, “or about the other–“
The lawyer’s nod, responsive to the latter half of her question, reawakened the suffering girl’s memory of the horror of the church meeting.
“It were so awful,” she said after a pregnant pause. “I mean–Mr.
Waldstricker–“