CHAPTER 7 BED AND BOARD

For a moment the two girls watched in awe the dark, grotesque figure silhouetted against the leaping flames of the fire. A woman in a long, flowing gown kept stirring the contents of the iron kettle.

“Doesn’t she look exactly like a witch!” Penny exclaimed again. “Maybe it’s Mrs. Lear.”

“If that’s the Lear place I know one thing!” Louise announced dramatically. “I’m going straight on to Delta.”

Penny knew better than to argue with her chum. Softly she quoted from “Macbeth”:

“‘Double, double, toil and trouble

Fire burn and cauldron bubble.’”

“Trouble is all we’ve had since we started this wild trip,” Louise broke in. “And now you ask me to spend the night with a witch!”

“Not so loud, or the witch may hear you,” Penny cautioned. “Don’t be silly, Lou. It’s only a woman out in her back yard cooking supper.”

“At this time of night?”

“Well, it is a bit late, but so are we. Any port in a storm. Come along, Louise. I’ll venture that whatever is cooking in that kettle will be good.”

Penny rode on and Louise had no choice but to follow. A hundred yards farther on they came to an ancient farmhouse set back from the road. Dismounting, the girls tied their horses to an old-fashioned hitching rack near the sagging gate. A mailbox bore the name: Mrs. M. J. Lear.

“This is the place all right,” said Penny.

Just inside the gate stood an ancient domicile that by daylight was shaded by a giant sycamore. Built of small bricks, it had latticed windows, and a gabled front. An iron weathercock perched on the curling shingle roof seemed to gaze saucily down at the girls.

Going around the house to the back yard, Penny and Louise again came within view of the blazing fire. An old woman in a long black dress bent over the smoke-blackened kettle which hung from the iron crane. Hearing footsteps, she glanced up alertly.

“Who is it?” she called, and the crackled voice was sharp rather than friendly.

“Silas Malcom sent us here,” Penny said, moving into the arc of flickering light.

“And who be you? Friends o’ his?” The hatchet-faced woman peered intently, almost suspiciously at the two girls.

Penny gave her name and Louise’s, adding that they were seeking lodging for the night.

“We’ll pay, of course,” she added.

The old woman scrutinized the girls for so long that they were certain she would send them away. But when she spoke, her voice was friendly.

“Well, well,” she cackled, “anybody that’s a friend of Silas is a friend of mine. You’re welcome to bed and board fer as long as you want to stay.”

Penny thanked her and stepped closer to the kettle. “We’ve not had anything to eat since noon,” she said suggestively. “My, whatever you’re cooking looks good!” She sniffed at the steam arising from the iron pot and backed hastily away.

Old Mrs. Lear broke into cackling laughter. “You gals don’t want none o’ that! This here is soap and I’m head over heels in it. That’s why I’m workin’ so late.”

“Soap,” repeated Penny with deep respect. “Why, I thought soap was made in a factory.”

Mrs. Lear was pleased at the girl’s interest. “Most of it is,” she said, “but not my soap. This here is homemade soap and I wouldn’t trade a cake of it for all the store soap ye can lug home—not for heavy cleanin’, I wouldn’t.”

Moving near enough to the fire to see the greasy mixture bubbling in the kettle, Penny asked Mrs. Lear if she would explain how soap was made.

“Bless you, yes,” the old lady replied with enthusiasm. “You are the first gal I ever ran across that was interested in anything as old fashioned as soap makin’. Why, when I was young every girl knew how to make soap and was proud of it. But nowdays! All the girls think about is gaddin’ and dancin’ and having dates with some worthless good-for-nothin’. Come right up to the fire and I’ll show you something about soap makin’.”

Mrs. Lear poked the glowing logs beneath the kettle.

“First thing,” she explained, “is to get your fire good and hot. Then you add your scrap grease.”

“What is scrap grease?” Louise asked, greatly intrigued.

“Why, bless you, child, that’s the odds and ends of cookin’ that most folks throw away. Not me though. I make soap of it. Even if it ain’t so good smellin’ it’s better soap than you can buy.”

The girls looked over the rim of the steaming kettle and saw a quantity of bubbling fats. With surprising dexterity for one of her age, Mrs. Lear inserted a long-handled hoe-shaped paddle and stirred the mixture vigorously.

“Next thing ye do is to cook in the lye,” she instructed. “Then you let it cool off and slice it to any size you want. This mess’ll soon be ready.”

“And that’s all there is to making soap,” Penny said, a bit amazed in spite of herself.

“All but a little elbow grease and some git up and git!” the old lady chuckled. “Them two commodities are mighty scarce these days.”

While the girls watched, Mrs. Lear poured off the soap mixture. She would not allow them to help lest they burn themselves.

“I kin tell that you girls are all tuckered out,” she said when the task was finished. “Just put your horses in the barn and toss ’em some corn and hay. While you’re gone I’ll clean up these soap makin’ things and start a mess o’ victuals cookin’.”

Mrs. Lear waved a bony hand toward a large, unpainted outbuilding. Louise and Penny led their horses to it, opening the creaking old barn door somewhat cautiously. A sound they could not instantly identify greeted their ears.

“What was that?” Louise whispered, holding back.

“Only a horse gnawing corn!” Penny chuckled. “Mrs. Lear must keep a steed of her own.”

It was dark in the barn even with the doors left wide open. Groping their way to empty stalls, the girls unsaddled and tied the horses up for the night. Mrs. Lear’s animal, they noted, was a high-spirited animal, evidently a thoroughbred.

“A riding horse too,” Penny remarked. “Wonder how she can afford to keep it?”

Finding corn in the bin, the girls fed Bones and White Foot, and forked them an ample supply of hay.

“Now to feed ourselves,” Penny sighed as they left the barn. “My stomach feels as empty as the Grand Canyon!”

The girls had visions of a bountiful supper cooked over the camp fire. However, Mrs. Lear was putting out the glowing coals with a bucket of water.

“Come into the house,” she urged. “It won’t take me long to git a meal knocked up. That is, if you ain’t too particular.”

“Anything suits us,” Louise assured her.

“And the more of it, the better,” Penny muttered, though under her breath.

Mrs. Lear led the way to the house, advising the girls to wait at the door until she could light a kerosene lamp. By its ruddy glow they saw a kitchen, very meagerly furnished with old-fashioned cook stove, a homemade table and a few chairs.

“While you’re washin’ up I’ll put on some victuals to cook,” Mrs. Lear said, showing the girls a wash basin and pitcher. “It won’t take me a minute.”

With a speed that was amazing, the old lady lighted the cook stove and soon had a bed of glowing coals. She warmed up a pan of potatoes, fried salt pork and hominy. From a pantry shelf she brought wild grape jelly and a loaf of homemade bread. To complete the meal she set before the girls a pitcher of milk and a great glass dish brimming with canned peaches.

“It ain’t much,” she apologized.

“Food never looked better,” Penny declared, drawing a chair to the kitchen table.

“It’s a marvelous supper!” Louise added, her eyes fairly caressing the food.

Mrs. Lear sat down at the table with the girls and seemed to take keen delight in watching them eat. Whenever their appetites lagged for an instant she would pass them another dish.

“Now that you’ve et, tell me who you are and why you came,” Mrs. Lear urged after the girls had finished. “You say Silas sent you?”

Good food had stimulated Penny and Louise and made them in a talkative mood. They told of their long trip from Riverview and almost before they realized it, had spoken of the Headless Horseman. Mrs. Lear listened attentively, her watery blue eyes dancing with interest. Suddenly Penny cut her story short, conscious that the old lady deliberately was pumping her of information.

“So you’d like to collect Mr. Burmaster’s reward?” Mrs. Lear chuckled.

“We shouldn’t mind,” Penny admitted. “Besides, we’d be doing the Burmasters a good turn to help them get rid of their ghost rider.”

“That you would,” agreed the old lady exactly as if the Burmasters were her best friends. “Yes, indeed, you’ve come in a good cause.”

“Then perhaps you can help us,” Louise said eagerly. “You must have heard about the Headless Horseman.”

Mrs. Lear nodded brightly.

“Perhaps you know who the person is,” Penny added.

“Maybe, maybe not.” Mrs. Lear shrugged, and getting quickly up, began to carry the dishes to the sink. The firm tilt of her thin chin warned the girls that so far as she was concerned, the topic was closed.

Rather baffled, Penny and Louise made a feeble attempt to reopen the conversation. Failing, they offered to wipe the dishes for their hostess.

“Oh, it ain’t no bother to do ’em myself,” Mrs. Lear said, shooing them away. “You both look tired enough to drop. Just go up to the spare bedroom and slip beneath the covers.”

Louise and Penny needed no further urging. Carrying their knapsacks and a lamp Mrs. Lear gave them, they stumbled up the stairs. The spare bedroom was a huge, rather cold chamber, furnished with a giant fourposter bed and a chest of drawers. The only floor covering was a homemade rag rug.

Louise quickly undressed and left Penny to blow out the light. The latter, moving to the latticed window, stood for a moment gazing out across the moonlit fields toward the Burmaster estate.

“Nothing makes sense about this trip,” she remarked.

From the bed came a muffled: “Now you’re talking!”

Ignoring the jibe, Penny resumed: “Did you notice how Mrs. Lear acted just as if the Burmasters were her friends.”

“Perhaps she did that to throw us off the track. She asked us plenty of questions but she didn’t tell us one thing!”

“Yet she knows plenty. I’m convinced of that.”

“Oh, come on to bed,” Louise pleaded, yawning. “Can’t you do your speculating in the morning?”

With a laugh, Penny leaped into the very center of the feather bed, missing her chum’s anatomy by inches.

Soon Mrs. Lear came upstairs. She tapped softly on the door and inquired if the girls had plenty of covers. Assured that they were comfortable, she went on down the hall to her own room.

Worn from the long horseback ride, Louise fell asleep almost at once. Penny felt too excited to be drowsy. She lay staring up at the ceiling, reflecting upon the day’s events. So far, the journey to the Valley had netted little more than sore muscles.

“Yet there’s mystery and intrigue here—I know it!” Penny thought. “If only I could get a little tangible information!”

An hour elapsed and still the girl could not sleep. As she stirred restlessly, she heard Mrs. Lear’s bedroom door softly creak. In the hallway boards began to tremble. Penny stiffened, listening. Distinctly, she could hear someone tiptoeing past her door to the stairway.

“That must be Mrs. Lear,” she thought. “But what can she be doing up at this time of night?”

The question did not long remain unanswered. Boards squeaked steadily as the old lady descended the stairs. A little silence. Then Penny heard two long rings and a short one.

“Mrs. Lear is calling someone on the old-fashioned party-line telephone!” she identified the sound.

Mrs. Lear’s squeaky voice carried clearly up the stairway through the half open bedroom door.

“That you, Silas?” Penny heard her say. “Well, those gals got here, just as you said they would! First off they asked me about the Headless Horseman.”

A slight pause followed before Mrs. Lear added: “Don’t you worry none, Silas. Just count on me! They’ll handle soft as kittens!”

And as she ended the telephone conversation, the old lady broke into cackling laughter.