The Siren's Tale (28 page)

Cassandra was
on the settee until early in the morning, when she sleepily arose and went upstairs toward her bedroom. Her drowsy mind dwelled heavily on how her circumstances had altered for the worse since she had lived here. Before, she had regarded the stone house as minimally adequate for her needs. How low she had sunk, that this modest place now appeared the epitome of comfort.

Along the upstairs corridor, she stopped and peeked
into her grandfather’s room. The fresh autumn air was blowing through the windows, which he left partially open. Her bleary eyes focused on a sight which, though familiar, newly caught her attention. There was a brace of pistols hanging on a nail beside his canopied bed. He always kept it there loaded, in case of burglars. She thought it a contradictory stratagem, since he usually left the door to the house unlocked. 

As Cassandra was half asleep, she stood
very still, so as not to tumble down. She did not hear Horatio coming up the stairs and creeping up close behind her. He looked from her to the brace of pistols she was staring at. His face went very pale. From that moment onward, he was convinced his beloved mistress meant to do harm to herself because of the trouble with her husband. There was rarely a waking moment thereafter when he allowed her to be out of his sight.

“
Oh, it's you, Horatio.” Cassandra moved along the corridor woodenly.

“
May I get you some tea and toast? I found some bread in the larder, and it don’t look too moldy.”

“
No…thank…you,” she said, with a mighty yawn.

As soon as he saw she was safely in her
bed, Horatio went into the captain’s room and took down the brace of pistols. He spent the next half hour finding the best place to hide them, finally placing them carefully on top of the strings of the pianoforte and tightly closing the lid.

At mid-morning, Captain
Vye came roaring up the long driveway in his roadster, which now gave off fewer sparks. When he spotted a figure slipping out the back door to his house, he honked the horn. Horatio was bolting for the safety of the barn, intent on putting distance between himself and the smashed glass that would have to be explained. 

Indeed, as he approached the
front door, the captain was quick to take note of the gaping aperture where his prized lead-glass side window had been two days before. Cursing like a seadog, Captain Vye entered his house. Seeing the smoldering fireplace and various parcels of female attire strewn in the living room, he bellowed, “Cassie!” There was no answer. He thundered upstairs and looked into his own room. On the wall near the bed, where the pistols had been hung, there was empty space.

“
Hell and damnation!” he yelled. “I’ve been robbed!”

Thinking of the clothing downstairs and fearing the worst, he ran down the hallway to Cassandra’s room and tore open the door. A drowsy head
was raised from the pillow. One topaz eye peered out from under a nightcap. 

“
I have left my husband, Grandfather. May I stay with you for a few days? I promise not to be any trouble.
”

At the tiny Bulette cabin, the marital belongings were packed, the bed and all the things that reminded Nicholas poignantly of Cassandra. Her paintings and books, her clothing and toiletries, and her baroque zither were carefully packed into two trunks, then loaded into a dray under his personal supervision.

But when the items
arrived several days later at the Grange, he could not bear to look at them again. They brought back happier moments too vividly. He treasured most the locket she had left him. He kept it close, in his breast pocket. 

With the holiday weekend at hand, he recalled how he
had enjoyed the Fire Nights of his youth. The thought he would be spending tonight, the First Fire Night of 1901, estranged from his adored wife was painful. The memory of her imploring his forgiveness on her knees was haunting him, as well as the image of her beauty. For the first time in months, he felt a desire for his wife's physical body. To look upon her as innocent was not yet possible, but he ached for her. In the end, the fair-minded young husband was regretting having rushed to judgment.

To keep from going mad, all day long Nicholas followed his mother's pattern. He worked hard
, sweeping leaves from the garden-paths, cutting dead stalks from the flower-beds, nailing up creepers which had been torn down by the autumn winds, and repairing wire fencing. He also consulted with the ranch foreman on the roundup schedule and instructed two new hands on the care and feeding of the weaned calves. 

That
evening, as soon as the sun went down, Nicholas set out to visit Mr. and Mrs. Drake. His plan was to present his case about the closed door, omitting his suspicion about a third party. He hoped to prompt Drake to volunteer information, which he would surely do if he had been at the house with innocent intentions. To his disappointment, Nicholas found only Clare at home.

A
s always, Clare was glad to see her cousin, though his haggard and forlorn appearance gave her cause for concern. She told him Caleb Scattergood was staying at the inn for the holiday. She took him to inspect the sleeping baby, carefully screening the candlelight from the infant’s eyes with her hand. Little Nicholas Samuel Drake blinked at his cousin Nicholas and yawned.

“
He has your mother's eyes and his father's curly hair,” Clare said proudly.

When they had s
at down together over coffee, Nicholas said, “Clare, have you heard Cassandra has left me?”

“
No! Oh, Nick!”

“
Yes. I have left the cabin and am living at the Grange now.”

“
What on earth is the matter now?”

He related to he
r the circumstances of the closed door, omitting his suspicion about her husband's involvement.

“
Nick, did she leave you because she is really as wicked as everyone says? Or were you cruel to her?”

“
Can a man be too cruel to his mother’s enemy?”

“
I think so, if the person is your wife.”

He paused and sighed, for she had said what he himself had come t
o think. “Very well, then. I admit I have been hard on her. What is to be done now?”

“
Make it up with her. There are ways, if you both want to.”

“
I don’t know. It was a terrible thing to shut out my mother like that. Can I ever forget it or forgive her?”

“
She could not have known anything serious would come of it.”

“
That is just what she said. But the fact remains Mother was there and the door remained closed.”

“
I am sure she is truly sorry, Nick. Beg her to come home. Where is she staying?”

“
At Mill’s Creek. What if she won’t come?”

“
I don’t believe for a moment that will happen.”

“
I hope you are right. Clare, is your husband away from home?”

She blushed faintl
y.”No, just out. Will you promise me to write Cassandra immediately?”

“
I will,” he said. “I am most unhappy with the present state of affairs.”

He went into the inn’s reception parlor, where he found writing implements and sat down in a sheltered corner to pen the letter:

“Cassandra, please come back to me. I promise I will burden you with no further blame or cruelty. Dearest, remember the kisses and vows we exchanged in the summer. Return, and you will be warmly welcomed. I am now at the Grange, with our belongings. Your husband as ever, Nicholas.”

Having signed the letter and enclosed it in an envelope, he looked around the saloon for
help in delivering it on this holiday night. The town cronies were gathering, fortifying themselves in anticipation of a long First Fire Night up at the Hat. Among them he spotted his amiable friend Jason Harrison. Harrison was soon prevailed upon to deliver Nicholas’s letter at Mill’s Creek on his way to the bonfire.

Ha
ving set his reconciliation plan in motion, Nicholas was exhausted. He rejected several offers to go out for the festivities. It seemed to him the suitable behavior for a husband in limbo was to stay at home. In heading back to the Grange, however, he made it a point to go out of his way and ride past Mill’s Creek. From a distance, the house appeared quiet and dark. He wondered what its inhabitants were doing and how his note of capitulation would be received. Would she read it and run back to him?

At ten o’clock, Captain Vye was sipping grog in the stone kitchen when there was a loud knock on the front door. 

“
Come in, come in, Jason. I haven’t seen you in a while. I just got here myself, to take my holiday spirits in my own kitchen. Care to join me?”

“
Thanks, Captain, but Rita Simmons is waiting for me up at the bonfire at the Hat. Mr. Brighton asked me to leave this here note for Mrs. Brighton on my way up the hill. He says it is urgent. Will you make sure she gets it, sir?”

“
That I will,” said the Captain. “Cassandra is not in at the moment. She went out walking a while ago.”

When Harrison
had gone, the Captain placed Brighton's note on the mantelpiece, knowing Cassandra would see it when she came in, as this was where she always set down her bonnet and cloak. He went back to his pipe and his grog.     

Shortly thereafter, Horatio
hurried into the house to check the parlor fire. As he did so, he spotted the envelope addressed to Mrs. Brighton on the mantelpiece.

He took a deep breath, then opened it.

When Horatio saw the note was from Cassandra's husband, he did not read it. Instead he immediately threw the letter into the fire. He stood there and watched it burn, relieved he had saved his mistress any additional distress from her husband.

Thus ended the last
chance Nicholas Brighton had for reconciling with his wife on this side of the grave
.

Upon Cassandra’s return to Mill's Creek, Horatio Nelson had felt more happiness than ever before in his life. During the daylight hours, he was at her beck and call. He was young enough to fetch and carry, and manly enough to flatter her vanity. A cozy fire was burning in any room she might set foot in, and he would run to retrieve her slippers or her shawl, then sit at her feet and moon at her like a bedazzled puppy.

Every day he presented her with a new treasure: a
vacant bird’s nest graced with a mourning dove feather, a handsome collection of small igneous rocks from Hatter’s Field, stone arrowheads, and a colorful beaded bracelet worked by Annie May (which had been intended for his mother’s birthday). He left these gifts around for his mistress to find, lurking in the chilly corridors of the stone house to see her reaction and gloating when she appeared pleased.  

A
fter a day or so of these special attentions, Cassandra began calling Horatio by his family nickname of “Dode,” whereupon her houseboy jumped to the optimistic conclusion she would remain at Mill's Creek permanently. The three of them would live happily ever after.

Cassandra spent the
first days of separation from her husband mulling over what had brought her to this juncture. Part of her unhappiness, she decided, lay in simple loneliness. She was starved for cheerful company. So she played cards and read books with Horatio, and they sang songs in the evening when the Captain came home. She even permitted the lad to hold the skein of fine thread that she was crocheting into an intricate web pattern to run along the oak harvest table in the dining room.

Early on Friday morning
, Cassandra, crocheting and looking out her bedroom window, witnessed a multitude of townspeople milling about the mountain. Having lost all track of time, she attributed the activity to the unusually fine weather.

In fact,
preparations were underway for the first Fire Night of 1901. A year had passed since she had successfully lured Drake to answer her signal fire. But, wrapped up in her thoughts, Cassandra was completely oblivious to the date or the holiday.

For Ho
ratio, Cassandra's apparent oblivion presented an irresistible opportunity to create a surprise that would surpass all others. He had a dispensation from his mother to stay out as long as he wished tonight. For two successive years, Cassandra had taken great pleasure in lighting her own bonfire, even though her grandfather took a dim view of it. This year, he, her young knight Horatio, would continue the tradition. A surprise bonfire could not fail to delight his mistress and erase any remaining sadness.   

Horatio brought the C
aptain in on his plan, asking permission to use his supply of prized juniper logs. Captain Vye, too, was worried about Cassandra's state of mind, and so he agreed to the scheme. 

“
I’ll be back home by nine thirty,” Captain Vye said, when he left for the Plush Horse after an early supper, with a conspiratorial wink for Horatio. The lad was happily engaged in a hot and heavy game of canasta by the fireplace in the parlor with Cassandra.

“
Mind you keep the fires going in the parlor and the bedrooms, Horatio,” said Captain Vye, with another secret wink.

“
Yes, sir.”

“
Have a good time, grandfather,” said Cassandra absently, peering closely at her hand. “Don't worry if I am not here when you return. I will take a walkabout later this evening. The air is nice enough for star-gazing.”

“
Be careful, my dear. The almanac says there is likely to be lightning on the mountain tonight. And mind the squaw paint. I don’t want to hear later you was carried off by an Injin chief, har, har, har.”

“
There is not a man in this district will touch me now, much less a chief.”

“
Have you heard from your husband yet?”

“
No. And I don't wish to either.”

Walking out the door,
Captain Vye recollected it was on this same day last year he had met up with a coal miner who told him Clare Brighton's wedding was a failure. Who would have believed then that a year later his own girl would be pining away while plain, ordinary Clare would land in prosperity? As he rumbled away in his roadster, he was considering the fate of modern, independent-minded women like Cassandra. It seemed they were too smart for their own good. There was nothing he could do to halt Cassandra in mid-course, however. He had heard the whispers about his granddaughter having demonic powers, but he had no use for superstitious cant. Cassandra was just a woman with an excitable imagination, as his own runaway wife had been.

Later, as Cassandra went out for her evening turn on Hatter's Field, she walked alone. Meantime her besotted houseboy was building up his
bonfire behind the house with brushwood and juniper logs. He erected the pyre on exactly the same spot as last year, on the knell by the pond. He glanced from time to time at an old disused mill wheel that loomed nearby, a shadowy reminder of more productive days in the past. He had heard Cassandra suggest that it be restored and used as a decorative effect. That would be his next project on her behalf, he thought, and it would be quite an undertaking.   

T
he bonfire at Mill's Creek joined the rounds of bonfires being lit in the district well after the first one at the Hat. At nine thirty, Horatio heard the rumble of the returning roadster, and the slam of front door as the Captain came in. A few minutes later, the young man ducked into the parlor to check on the fire laid for his returning master. It was then he found the note from Nicholas Brighton and promptly destroyed it. 

As he went outdoors again, his thoughts were focused not on the note from husband to wife he had just destroyed. Rather he was obsessed with the surprise he was building for his mistress. It was time to spur it to its capacity, as she would soon be returning. Horatio
enlarged the lungs of the fire with vigorous bellows work and added log after log, exceeding the number he had used the previous year. The flames leapt higher and higher. 

He left the fire and came around to the side of the house where he could watch the window in Cassandra's bedroom. After a few minutes, he saw the light was turned on. She had returned from her walk, and the hour was his.

“
Look there, at Mill's Creek. The best one yet!” declared Fairwell from his usual position at the Hat. “And the Captain said he didn't go in for bonfires! What a show!”

The colorful flames of the fire winking on the remote hillside were
drawing the keen attention of one man who was on horseback, drawing nearer to Mill's Creek. 

Curly Drake
was less than a mile away from the Mill's Creek Pond when Horatio's bonfire reached its peak. To the innkeeper, it was more than an impressive bonfire; it was a signal with a specific meaning, one he had been anticipating for days. 

Tonight Drake had left his wife and son alone, and ventured out precisely on the chance such a message might be forthcoming. Like Horatio, he remembered how much Cassandra enjoyed this night, and he was also aware, thanks to the buzz of the local grapevine, she had left her husband. He plodded along with his eye on the mountain, waiting for the signal.

And there it was, just as he had expected! Grinning, he took out his whip and spurred his black horse forward.

Flushed from tending to the roaring flames and also lit up inside by the glow of romantic anticipation, Horatio rushed indoors. He nodded once at the Captain, who gave him an enormous wink and then pointed to Cassandra's cloak and walking shoes drying by the fire. Horatio picked up the items and winked back. The Captain then went up to bed and tightly closed his door.

Horatio traipsed upstairs and knocked three times on Cassandra's bedroom door. “Miss, would you please go with me outdoors for a minute?”

“
What is the matter, Dode?” she said, a bit crossly. “You know I’m not dressed for outdoors.”

“
It's a surprise for you, Miss. Please, only come out and see for yourself. Then you can go right back in. I promise. Please?”

“
Oh, all right. Will you fetch my cloak and walking boots for me?”

“
Already got them right here.” Whistling merrily, Horatio waited for Cassandra to unlatch the door.

Cassandra opened her bedroom door and
gazed warily at the smudged face and large grin on her houseboy. He swiftly reached around her shoulders with the drab cloak.

“
My, you've got to be such a young gentleman, Dode.”

He dared not say a word for fear his voice would squeak.
The white creaminess of her skin under her thin cotton nightdress was giving him heart palpitations and a painful tumescence.

“
You are full of surprises since I moved back, my little knight,” purred Cassandra, smiling at him so archly, he thought his heart would leave his chest.

“
I ain't so little anymore. I'm taller now than you are, Miss.”

“
Why, so you are. You must have shot up six inches since my wedding!”

When she took his arm
, Horatio had never felt prouder. They walked slowly downstairs, then out into the fragrant autumnal darkness. The native lad was keenly aware of his exotic mistress, leaning on him under a vast carpet of stars. 

“
Is that fire I smell nearby?” asked Cassandra, sniffing the air.

“
Uh, Miss, do you mind wearing this around your eyes?”

F
rom his jacket pocket Horatio pulled a grimy scarf. “I'll lead you along to the surprise blindfolded. That will be best.”

“
Why, not only have you become quite the gallant, but now you are full of new tricks! Very well, then, sir knight, please do blindfold me and lead on. Mind I don’t stumble, Dode, or the surprise I’ll deliver to you will be quite painful in the shins.”

“
No fear of that. I've got you, Miss.”

After blindfolding her, he carefully steered his
mistress by the elbow. She was giggling like a schoolgirl as he slowly led her to the bank where the bonfire roared forth. Then he gently pulled the scarf away. 

The leaping red and gold flames of t
he bonfire were reflected in her widening eyes.

“
It is tremendous!” she cried. “But why such a big fire, Dode?”

“
First Fire Night, milady!” he crowed. “Behold, your own bonfire!”

Horatio danced a little jig. As she
clapped her hands, her young knight solemnly bowed. Then he gently drew off her cloak, just like a grand gentleman, and laid it carefully on the ground. Next, he grabbed her by both hands and danced her around the fire. Around and around they flew under the starry sky in the crackling heat, grinning at each other foolishly, hands laced together, and feet pattering in the same rhythm. 

Cassandra was dizzily exhilarated.
Her head thrown back, her hair streaming freely in the wind, she felt light as a feather in her partner’s grasp. Her dancing feet barely touched the ground. 

“
Oh, Dode, please stop!” she gasped after several long, delirious minutes of incessant movement. “One moment to catch my breath!”

Reluctantly, he let
go of her hands.  

“
Oh, Dode, what fun!  But is it really First Fire Night?”

“
I knew I would surprise you,” he gloated. “You have always loved a bonfire on this night.”

“
Indeed I have,” she said, staring at the fire with a thoughtful look.

She left Horatio's side, her hands clasped behind her
, and walked away from the fire.

I looked out over the bank of the pond toward the road, listening carefully. It was then I heard from across the pond the distinct sounds of
ker-plunk! ker-plunk
! It was the noise of stones splashing in the pond—Drake’s old signal! Could it be that what I had just begun to contemplate had already come to pass? If so, to what desired end might this act of fate be applied? 

Once again, the
ker-plunk, ker-plunk
. But this time the sounds were followed by a low whistle. So, Curly was waiting on the other end of the pond, just as I had surmised.

I commanded my mind and memory to resume their normal rapid operations. They were sluggish since my
break-off with Nicholas, or I would never have missed the fact that it was a bonfire night. Simultaneously, I was trying to make time stand still so I could make a decision. I clasped my traveling cloak against the cold night and reviewed the dazzling possibilities. Two facts emerged: I could bend Drake to my will, and what I wanted most was an immediate escape from Alta.

Escape, sighed
the wind. Escape and find a better life.

“
Horatio, dear,” I said. “I need you to carry out a very special mission. Will you?”

“
Yes, milady. Name it!”

He was gazing into my
eyes lovingly. Was it wrong to enlist the lad in such an enterprise? I dismissed the concern. My need was too great. I had left my zither behind, and I must have that item for the journey ahead and the remainder of my life. I had already decided I would never set foot in Alta again.