Calamity Town

Hallowe’en: The Mask

Jim and Nora returned from their honeymoon cruise in the middle of October, just when the slopes of Bald Mountain looked as if they had been set on fire and everywhere you went in town you breathed the cider smoke of leaves burning. The State Fair was roaring full blast in Slocum: Jess Watkins’s black-and-white milker, Fanny IX, took first prize in the Fancy Milch class, making Wrightsville proud. Kids were sporting red-rubber hands from going without gloves, the stars were frostbitten, and the nights had a twang to them. Out in the country you could see the pumpkins squatting in mysterious rows, like little orange men from Mars. Town Clerk Amos Bluefield, a distant cousin of Hermione’s, obligingly died of thrombosis on October eleventh, so there was even the usual “important” fall funeral.

Nora and Jim stepped off the train the color of Hawaiians. Jim grinned at his father-in-law. ”What! Such a small reception committee?”

“Town’s thinking about other things these days, Jim,” said John F. ”Draft registration tomorrow.”

“Holy smoke!” said Jim. ”Nora, I clean forgot!”

“Oh, Lordy,” breathed Nora. ”Now I’ve got something else to worry about!” And she clung to Jim’s arm all the way up the Hill.

“The town’s just agog,” declared Hermy. ”Nora baby, you look wonderful!”

Nora did. ”I’ve put on ten pounds,” she laughed.

“How’s married life?” demanded Carter Bradford.

“Why not get married and find out for yourself, Cart?” asked Nora. ”Pat dear, you’re ravishing!”

“What chance has a man got,” growled Carter, “with that smooth-talking hack writer in the house¯”

“Unfair competition,” grinned Jim.

“In the house” exclaimed Nora. ”Mother, you never wrote me!”

“It was the least we could do, Nora,” said Hermy, “seeing how sweet he was about giving up his lease.”

“Nice fella,” said John F. ”Bring back any stamps?”

But Pat said impatiently: “Nora, shake off these men and let’s you and I go somewhere and . . . talk.”

“Wait till you see what Jim and I brought¯” Nora’s eyes grew big as the family limousine stopped in the Wright driveway. ”Jim, look!”

“Surprise!”

The little house by the big one glistened in the October sunshine. It had been repainted: the fresh white of the clapboard walls, the turkey-red of the shutters and “trim,” the Christmas green of the newly relandscaped grounds made it look like a delectable gift package.

“It certainly looks fine,” said Jim. Nora smiled at him and squeezed his hand.

“And just wait, children,” beamed Hermy, “till you see the inside.”

“Absolutely spick and utterly span,” said Pat. ”Ready to receive the lovebirds. Nora, you’re blubbing!”

“It’s so beautiful,” wept Nora, hugging her father and mother. And she dragged her husband off to explore the interior of the house that had lain empty, except for Mr. Queen’s short tenure, for three frightened years.

* * *

Mr. Queen had packed an overnight bag the day before the newly-weds’ return and had taken the noon train. It was a delicate disappearance, under the circumstances, and Pat said it showed he had “a fine character.” Whatever his reason, Mr. Queen returned on October seventeenth, the day after national registration, to find bustle and laughter in the little house next door, and no sign whatever that it had recently been known as Calamity House.

“We do want to thank you for giving up the house, Mr. Smith,” said Nora. There was a housewifely smudge on her pert nose.

“That hundred-watt look is my reward.”

“Flatterer!” retorted Nora, and tugged at her starchy little apron. ”I look a sight¯”

“For ailing eyes. Where’s the happy bridegroom?”

“Jim’s down at the railroad station picking his things up. Before he came back from his apartment in New York, he’d packed his books and clothes and things and shipped them to Wrightsville care of General Delivery, and they’ve been held in the baggage room ever since. Here he is! Jim, did you get everything?”

Jim waved from Ed Hotchkiss’s cab, which was heaped with suitcases and nailed boxes and a wardrobe trunk. Ed and Jim carried them into the house.

Ellery remarked how fit Jim looked, and Jim with a friendly handclasp thanked him for “being so decent about moving out,” and Nora wanted Mr. ”Smith” to stay for lunch. But Mr. ”Smith” laughed and said he’d take advantage of that invitation when Nora and Jim weren’t so busy getting settled, and he left as Nora said: “Such a mess of boxes, Jimmy!” and Jim grunted: “You never know how many books you’ve got till you start packing ‘em. Ed, lug these boxes down the cellar meanwhile, huh?”

The last thing Ellery saw was Jim and Nora in each other’s arms.

Mr. Queen grinned. If the bride’s house hid a calamity within its walls, the calamity was hidden superlatively well.

* * *

Ellery attacked his novel with energy. Except for mealtimes he remained within the sanctuary of his quarters on the top floor, the whole of which Hermy had placed at his disposal. Hermy and Pat and Ludie could hear his portable clacking away until immoral hours. He saw little of Jim and Nora, although at dinner he kept his ears alert for dissonances in the family talk.

But Jim and Nora seemed happy. At the bank Jim had found waiting for him a private office with a new oak desk and a bronze plaque saying mr. haight v.-pres. Old customers dropped in to wish him luck and ask about Nora, not without a certain vulturous hope.

The little house was popular, too. The ladies of the Hill called and called, and Nora gave them tea and smiles. Sharp eyes probed corners, looking for dust and despair; but they were disappointed, and Nora giggled over their frustrated curiosity. Hermy was very proud of her married daughter.

So Mr. Queen decided he had been an imaginative fool and that Calamity House was buried beyond resurrection. He began to make plans to invent a crime in his novel, since life was so uncooperative. And, because he liked all the characters, he was very glad.

* * *

The twenty-ninth of October came and went, and with it the published figures of the Federal draft lottery in Washington. Jim and Carter Bradford drew high order-numbers; Mr. Queen was observed to drop in at the Hollis Hotel early on the morning of the thirtieth for a New York newspaper, upon reading which he was seen by Mark Doodle’s son Grover to shrug and toss the paper away.

The thirty-first was mad. People on the Hill answered mysterious doorbells all day. Menacing signs in colored chalk appeared on pavements. As evening came on, costumed gnomes began to flit about town, their faces painted and their arms flapping. Big sisters complained bitterly about the disappearance of various compacts and lipsticks, and many a gnome went to bed with a tingling bottom.

It was all gay and nostalgic, and Mr. Queen strolled about the neighborhood before dinner wishing he were young again so that he, too, might enjoy the wicked pleasures of Hallowe’en. On his way back to the Wright house, he noticed that the Haight place next door was lit up; and on impulse he went up the walk and rang his ex-doorbell.

But it was Pat, not Nora, who answered the door.

“Thought you’d run out on me,” said Pat. ”We never see you anymore.” Ellery fed his eyes for a moment. ”Now what?” demanded Pat, blushing. ”If you aren’t the wackiest man! Nora? It’s the famous author.”

“Come in!” called Nora from the living room. He found her struggling with an armful of books, trying to pick up more from disorderly stacks on the floor.

“Here, let me help you,” said Ellery.

“Oh, dear, no,” said Nora. ”You just watch us.” And Nora plodded up the stairs.

“Nora’s turning the second bedroom upstairs into a study for Jim,” explained Pat.

Pat was stacking books from the floor in her arms and Ellery was idly examining titles on the half-filled bookshelves when Nora came downstairs for more books.

“Where’s Jim, Nora?” asked Ellery.

“At the bank,” said Nora, stooping. ”An awfully important directors’ meeting¯” And just then a book slid off the top of the fresh pile in her arms, and another, and another, while Nora crouched there, horrified at the cascade. Half the books were on the floor again.

Pat said: “Oh, look, Nor! Letters!”

“Letters? Where? Of all-They are!”

One of the volumes which had fallen from Nora’s arms was oversized and fat, bound in tan cloth. From among the leaves some envelopes had tumbled.

Nora picked them up curiously. They were not sealed.

“Oh, three poky old envelopes,” said Pat. ”Let’s get going with these books, or we’ll never be through, Nora.”

But Nora frowned. ”There’s something inside each one, Pat. These are Jim’s books. I wonder if . . . ” She removed a single sheet of folded notepaper from one of the envelopes and spread it smooth, reading slowly to herself.

“Nora,” said Mr. Queen, “what’s the matter?”

Nora said faintly: “I don’t understand¯” and returned the sheet to its envelope. She took a similar sheet from the second envelope, read it, returned it to its envelope, the third, read it . . . And as she thrust it back into the third envelope, her cheeks were the color of wet sand. Pat and Ellery glanced at each other, puzzled.

“Boo!”

Nora whirled, shrieking. In the doorway crouched a man wearing a papier-mache mask; his fingers were curled before his fantastic face, opening and closing hungrily.

Nora’s eyes turned up until they were all whites. And then she crumpled, still clutching the three envelopes.

“Nora!” Jim ripped off the ludicrous Hallowe’en mask. ”Nora, I didn’t mean¯”

“Jim, you fool,” panted Pat, flinging herself to her knees by Nora’s still body. ”That’s a smart joke! Nora dear¯Nora!”

“Look out, Pat,” said Jim hoarsely; he seized Nora’s limp figure, scooped her up, half-ran up the stairs with her.

“It’s only a faint,” said Ellery as Pat dashed into the kitchen. ”She’ll be all right, Patty!”

Pat came stumbling back with a glass of water, which slopped over with each step.

“Here, wench.” Ellery took it from her and sped up the stairs with the glass, Pat treading on his heels.

They found Nora on her bed, in hysterics, while Jim chafed her hands and groaned self-abasements.

“Excuse me,” said Ellery. He shouldered Jim aside and put the glass to Nora’s blue lips. She tried to push his hand away. He slapped her, and she cried out; but she drank the water, choking. Then she sank back on the pillow, covering her face with her palms. ”Go away,” she sobbed.

“Nora, you all right now?” asked Pat anxiously.

“Yes. Please. Leave me alone. Please!”

“Go on, now,” said Jim. ”Leave us alone.”

Nora let her hands fall. Her face was swollen and puffed.

“You, too, Jim.”

Jim gaped at her. Pat steered him out. Ellery shut the bedroom door, frowning, and they went downstairs.

Jim made for the liquor cabinet, poured himself a stiff Scotch, and tossed it down with one desperate motion.

“You know how nervous Nora is,” said Pat disapprovingly. ”If you hadn’t had too much to drink tonight¯”

Jim was angry, sullen. ”Who’s tight? Don’t you go telling Nora I’ve been drinking! Understand?”

“Yes, Jim,” said Pat quietly. They waited. Pat kept going to the foot of the stairs and looking up. Jim shuffled around. Ellery whistled a noiseless tune.

Suddenly Nora appeared. ”Nora! Feeling better?” cried Pat.

“Worlds.” Nora came downstairs smiling. ”Please forgive me, Mr. Smith. It was just being scared all of a sudden.” Jim seized her in his arms. ”Oh, Nora¯”

“Forget it, dear,” laughed Nora. There was no sign of the three envelopes.