"The Whites, 'tis said, were
privateers when England ruled the waves ..." was the way it started. And it went on to tell how the mirror was part of their loot when they
sacked and scuttled some tall merchantman. To corroborate this story we had another relic, a "treasure chest" of
the same dark wood, iron-bound and strong, which was used as a hens'
nest beneath the house. Annette and I crawled under the floor from time
to time to see if we could find any treasure still in it. But all we
ever found were eggs. After Paw had taken off his overcoat and Maw had put his packages in
the leanto kitchen he would sit before the fire, suck coffee through
his beard and regale us with news from the outside--how Uncle Joe
Cannon's control of Congress was about to be broken, what the Young
Turks were up to, how T.R. 's trust-busting would boost farm prices and
make us all rich again and how they had just found a rusted and bloody
monkey wrench in Brown's well. At last, tired and happy, with our mouths puckered from too many
jawbreakers, we'd go back to bed. And we'd wake to a humdrum world
which included school, collecting wood, milking our cow, riding Old
Nell when she would let us and maybe going to an ice cream social at
New Harmony, until it was time for Paw to make another epic trip to
Martinsville. But life was never completely humdrum when Paw was around. He knew
every bird by its call, could lead us unerringly to the best raspberry
patches and made marvelous popguns, slingshots and "fly killers" out of
elder bushes and bits of string. When he tired of such things as the
sun went down his tales about Napoleon and Hannibal crossing the Alps
would hold us spellbound. Openhanded to a fault Paw had lost most of his farm through the years
by going on neighbors' worthless notes or lending them money and not
having the heart to ask for its return. Yet he was the materialist
of the family and never tired of poking fun at Maw's voices and
premonitions. Dressed in overalls, shaggy, massive and not always clean, he looked
like a poor white. Nevertheless he had had a good education and once
confessed to me, when Maw's back was turned, that in his youth he had
made a tour of the state lecturing on atheism. And he had an endless
fund of slightly bawdy sacrilegious stories which made May click her
teeth at him and mourn that he would never go to heaven when he died. Years slip past like water when one is young. We hardly noticed,
Annette and I, that the bend in Maw's back was growing more pronounced
and that Paw stopped oftener for breath when he plowed our stubby
fields or sawed the endless cords of wood which still could not keep
the living room warm when wintry winds swept down from some place that
he called Medicine Hat. (Annette and I used to pretend we were on a
ship as we walked across the rag carpet in the living room while it
billowed upward as air blew under it through cracks in the floor.) And then one night, after the usual period of listening, when Maw
finally had heard the wagon creaking, closed the door and put on the
bitter coffee, Old Nell jogtrotted into the yard and stopped without
the usual accompaniment of curses. For a while Maw noticed nothing
wrong. Then she slowly faced the door, lips firmly drawn over those
wobbly teeth. Annette and I, all ready for our jump out of the warm bed onto the
icy floor, watched her uncomprehendingly until we saw that Aunt Ellen
had given over her unending vigil at the mirror and turned her head
questioningly. Then we too knew that something was very strange. As though moved by strings, placing one foot before the other with
obvious effort, Maw started toward the door. After an eternity she
reached it, opened it, closed it against her bare shank in the old
accustomed gesture. "_Josiah!_" we heard her scream as the foot disappeared. With a sigh Aunt Ellen rose and waddled after her. Maw--she was still strong as an ox and could swing an axe like a
man--backed through the door after awhile, holding Paw under the
armpits. Aunt Ellen carried his feet as they brought him in. "The old fool!" Maw was whimpering. "I knew they'd get him. The old
fool! I told him not to stay so danged late." Her eyes were dry and glittering. *       *       *       *       *

After the funeral--Annette and I boasted at school that the Brown
murderers had done for Paw although a stroke undoubtedly was
responsible--the old cabin never felt quite like home again. First a
deluge of uncles, aunts and cousins descended upon us and insisted we
sell the farm and move to town. "Josiah would not have it so," Maw told them while Aunt Ellen nodded
corroboration. So they compromised by having a hired hand in to do the
plowing and heavier work. At the start nothing seemed vitally wrong except the absence of Paw's
explosive laughter and endless stories, plus a growing dearth of
first-class popguns and slingshots. Then, one rainy day when I had been
brooding over one of his dog-eared books--"Vanity Fair," I think it
was--I looked up, caught sight of Maw, her potato peeling forgotten,
sitting tense beside the kitchen table. I knew what it was that had been bothering me. Maw was still
listening ... always listening now. What I did not realize was that,
without Paw's quizzical common sense to balance her, she was slipping
imperceptibly into that never-never land which had so often beckoned. Not long after this discovery I awakened, chilled, as the decrepit Seth
Thomas clock clinked midnight. The door was open a crack and I could
glimpse, by the last flickering embers, Maw's foot in its accustomed
place. "Maw," I called. "Shhh! Listen! I think I hear a wagon." "Maw," I screamed. "_Maw!_"

"What is it, honey?" she asked in her normal voice as she came inside,
crossed the room and placed a horny hand on my forehead in one of her
rare caresses. "You'll catch cold," I mumbled, somehow ashamed. "I was just listening to the katydids. They sound--fresh, like
spring-water," she lied. "Don't listen any more." "All right, honey, I'll go to bed. Don't worrit yourself." But she did not keep her promise. Several months later I came home from school ahead of Annette, who
was dusting erasers for the teacher. At the front door I stopped as I
heard animated conversation inside. Thinking it was one of the neighbor
women, who called occasionally to gossip, I rushed in, eager not to
miss anything, then stopped, heart in mouth, terrified. *       *       *       *       *

Aunt Ellen was out of the house on one of the chores to which she now
condescended to put her white hands and Maw was occupying the old
rocker before the mirror. But what frightened me was the chatter in two
distinct voices which still continued. "Maw," I gulped. "Who--who you talking to?" "Why, with Mrs.--Mrs. Jones here, of course." She laughed although
her eyes refused to meet mine. "Mrs. Jones, this is my grandson I was
telling you about. Take off your cap, son, and say--"

"But Maw," I gulped. "There's no one there.