One evening
in autumn after Charles had gone away to college, Robert had finished his
homework and his piano practice early. He still had a few hours before he had
to go to bed to get enough sleep before school the next day, so he decided to
take Spot for a walk.
Spot
eagerly jumped into his harness, and, leash in hand, Robert set out east along
the gravel road that ran in front of the family’s new home. At the
intersection, Robert and Spot turned right. They covered a considerable
distance to the south before coming to Mound Cemetery, which centered on
crossroads meeting at right angles. In all that way, no vehicle had come down
the road. The night was becoming chilly. The moon darted fretfully behind
scudding clouds of smoky silver.
At the base
of the tall, wide mound studded with gravestones, Robert and Spot turned to the
right on the dusty road that made a complete circle around the hill. They
turned right again on the road leading west. On the left, the long-abandoned
Martindale house stood. The two-story structure was built of large blocks of
sandstone. A cupola topped the center of its slate roof. The windows on both
floors were tall. The front door featured sidelights and transom.
Robert had
once asked his father why no one lived in such a splendid house, and Joe had
answered that the family came to believe that the sandstone retained moisture
that bred illness.
Robert and
Spot walked past the shadowy hulk with towering pine trees to the north and
west. The rusted windmill on the south side of the dwelling creaked. Robert
found himself glancing over his shoulder at the empty windows, and he shivered
from more than the cold air. At that moment, he could easily have been
persuaded that ghosts exist.
“Let’s
hurry!” Robert said to Spot. Robert was surprised to hear how small his voice
sounded in the great outdoors of fall beside the Martindale house with its
staring windows.
It had been
Robert’s intention to traverse a large square, but, by the time he and Spot
reached Great Uncle Charlie Rhode and Great Aunt Vinnie’s house, Robert knew it
was getting late and both he and the terrier were getting tired. He decided to
knock on the door.
Carrying an
open newspaper in one hand, Great Uncle Charlie answered. His eyes opened wide
behind his gold-rimmed glasses when he saw Robert standing on his porch at
night. Robert explained that he had walked there but had concluded it was too
late to complete the square. He wondered if he could use Charlie’s telephone to
call home.
Charlie
said, “Sure!” and led him to a small table with a black phone. While Robert was
dialing his parents’ number, Great Aunt Vinnie stepped into the room. Although
both she and Charlie were up in years, they still had black hair and relatively
smooth skin, which made them seem younger than they truly were.
Robert felt
foolish when he told his father that he and Spot were calling from Great Uncle
Charlie’s house, but Joe took everything in stride. Joe was becoming accustomed
to the fact that Robert often did what was unexpected.
“I’ll be there
soon,” Joe said.
“Do you
like living in the country?” Vinnie asked as Robert put the receiver back in
its cradle.
“Very
much,” Robert said. “Dad and Mom really fixed up the house before we moved in.”
Great Uncle
Charlie, who had played on the legendary community football team when he was
young, would give Robert an excellent interview two years later, when Robert
would be writing an article titled “Football Was Alive Here Then” for the high
school newspaper.
On this
occasion, Charlie just made small talk until Joe pulled into the driveway.
Robert and
Spot waved goodbye to Charlie and Vinnie standing in the lighted doorway.
On the trip
back home, Joe said, “You and Spot covered considerable ground in a fairly
short time.”
“He likes
to run ahead,” Robert said.
Spot was
stretched out on the seat with his front paws hanging over its edge. Typically,
he would have been at the window watching the world go by.
“I think
Spot is tuckered out,” Robert said.
Before
long, everyone was home. Robert brushed his teeth, said goodnight, and went to
bed. Before he turned out the light, he thought about leaving it on until
morning. The cheerful lamp kept the cemetery and the haunted house from
encroaching on Robert’s thoughts, but he was also afraid that his parents would
see the light streaming across the yard through the window of his room and
would wonder if he might be having trouble sleeping. He switched off the light
and lay awake in the darkened room for at least an hour. Every creak and bump
from somewhere in the house made him ask himself, “What was that?”
Eventually,
Robert remembered the hymn that he had played so often at the Methodist Church:
When we
walk with the Lord in the light of his Word
What a
glory he sheds on our way!
While we do
his good will, he abides with us still,
And with
all who will trust and obey.
Trust and
obey, for there’s no other way
To be happy
in Jesus, but to trust and obey.
Not a
shadow can rise, not a cloud in the skies,
But his
smile quickly drives it away;
Not a doubt
or a fear, not a sigh nor a tear,
Can abide
while we trust and obey.
Robert
drifted off to slumber.
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