The Waltons 1 (5 page)

Grandpa was chuckling, but everyone else at the table was listening in wide-eyed silence.

“Well,” John said, “I guess we’d better have a look. Dave Pendleton gave me a key and I promised to keep an eye on the place.”

“I’m scared,” Elizabeth breathed.

“You finish your supper first, John-Boy,” Olivia said. John-Boy had started his story as soon as he sat down at the table, but he still hadn’t taken a bite.

“That’s right,” Grandpa laughed. “The worst thing you can do is go after ghosts on an empty stomach.”

“Oh, hush, old man,” Grandma said. “What do you know about chasin’ ghosts?”

“Daddy,” John-Boy said with an uneasy laugh, “if there’s a ghost there, I don’t promise but what my feet might run off with me.”

John nodded. “If there’s a ghost there, my feet will be travelin’ right along besides yours, son.”

After supper John got his hunting rifle and the whole family watched while he lighted the kerosene lantern and the two of them pulled on their jackets.

“Maybe you ought to get Ep Bridges to go along with you,” Olivia suggested.

“I think Grandpa ought to go,” Erin suggested slyly. “He’s not afraid of ghosts.”

John shook his head. “No, sweetheart, Grandpa might scare ’em all to death.”

Grandpa grinned, and they left with Olivia cautioning them to be careful.

The lantern in his father’s hand cast a swinging cone of yellow light that turned the surrounding darkness into an impenetrable black void. From their house the rutted dirt road curved downward and skirted along a row of tall spruce trees until it branched off toward the Pendletons’. In spite of his certainty that there were no such things as ghosts, and that whatever it was inside that house must be explainable in human terms, John-Boy still felt the dryness steadily growing in his throat.

“What do you think it might be, Daddy?”

“Don’t know, John-Boy. Lots of people wanderin’ around these days with no jobs and no place to stay.”

His father let it go at that, and John-Boy envisioned a group of hungry hobos lounging in the Pendleton house. Was the light he had seen the flickering of a campfire they had built in one of the upper bedrooms? Or maybe there was only one man—a fugitive hiding out from the law? That thought sent John-Boy’s heart ripping a couple beats faster.

“Hold it, John-Boy.”

His father’s voice was hushed and he stopped walking, his head cocked to the side.

John-Boy paused. Then he heard it too—the distant, eerie chords of an organ.

“That’s it, Daddy. That’s what I heard earlier.”

“Well, I’ll be damned!”

They were less than a hundred yards from the house, but no lights were visible. The dark silhouette was only a ghostly shadow against the chilly night sky.

“Okay, let’s just take it easy,” his father said. He shifted his rifle and moved forward again.

The organ music grew more powerful as they approached, as if building to some kind of dramatic climax. John-Boy swallowed hard and stuck close to his father’s elbow as he pushed open the gate and moved cautiously to the front steps.

“Daddy?”

“Umm?”

“Maybe we should get the Sheriff, like Mama said.”

His father set the lantern down and got out his keys. “Well,” he said softly, “I think I’d just as soon get it over with right now. What do you think?”

John-Boy nodded, not trusting his voice. Then he held his breath as his father turned the key and slowly eased the door open.

The entry hall was empty except for a single straight-backed chair and an umbrella holder that stood near the base of the staircase. Everything was thick and gray with dust. The music seemed to be coming from the open double doors on the left. John looked the place over, then lifted the lantern and moved to the doors. He stopped abruptly, the exclamation choking in his throat.

“Well, I’ll be damned!”

There are no such things as ghosts. John-Boy had silently repeated this fact a dozen times on their way to the house. And yet he was fully prepared to see a swirl of transparent vapor hovering over the bench in front of the organ. What he saw startled him even more. It was a girl—a young girl with long black tresses reaching almost to her waist.

For an instant they all stared at each other. The girl’s hands leaped from the organ keys as she twisted and gaped fearfully at them. And then she was gone. With three quick steps she was at the shuttered doors leading to the back, and in what seemed like one movement she swung one of them open and disappeared.

“Little girl!” John called, but the only response was the banging of a screen door that led to the backyard. John-Boy and his father hurried to the porch and then out the back door. “There’s no need to be scared!” John shouted. “Wait!”

The yard was almost pitch black. But then, from the light of his father’s lifted lantern, John-Boy caught a glimpse of the girl’s skirt disappearing into a latticed summerhouse. “In there, Daddy!” They strode to within a few feet of the entrance and stopped.

“Young lady,” John called. “My name is John Walton, and this boy’s my son.”

They stood silently for a minute, but there was no answer.

“We didn’t mean to scare you that way. John-Boy saw lights over here, and I promised Dave Pendleton I’d keep an eye on this place.”

For another half minute there was no sound. Then some dry leaves rustled and the girl moved hesitantly into sight. She was about sixteen, John-Boy guessed. Her silky black hair was parted in the middle, half of it now tumbling down the left side of her blouse. He was amazed at how pretty she was, and how frightened she looked gazing out at them.

“Don’t be afraid now,” John said. “What’re you doin’ here, miss?”

She studied them for a minute, and then, as if apologizing, said, “Dave Pendleton is my father.”

“Jenny? You’re Jenny Pendleton? Dave Pendleton’s little girl?”

“Yes.”

“Jenny Pendleton!” John-Boy’s father laughed in disbelief. “Why, last time I saw you, you were just a baby! By golly! But that was a long time ago, wasn’t it.”

She nodded and gave John-Boy a sheepish glance. “Mr. Walton, it was very nice of you to check up on things here, but I’m all right. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Are you all alone here?”

“Yes, but I’m fine. Really I am. Dave and Eula will probably come in a few days and I’ll just wait till they’re here.”

“Who’s Eula?”

“My father’s married again.”

“Oh, I see.” John-Boy’s father nodded thoughtfully. “Jenny, I want you to get your things together and come over and spend the night with us. I’ve got a little girl of my own near your age, and I sure wouldn’t want her out here by herself.”

“I don’t want to be any trouble.” It was a weak protest, suggesting she had had enough of this spooky old house.

John-Boy smiled at her. “Come on. I’ll help you get your things.”

Everyone was in pajamas by the time they got home. But none of them had any intention of going to bed until the mystery was solved. John and John-Boy brought Jenny Pendleton into a kitchen full of gaping, awestruck faces.

“Here’s your ghost,” John said, “Miss Jennifer Pendleton, lately of St. Petersburg, Florida.”

After a moment of stunned silence, the questions came like a crashing avalanche. No, her parents were not with her; they would be in Walton’s Mountain very soon. She had ridden a bus all alone from St. Petersburg to Savannah, and then to Richmond where she hitched a ride to Walton’s Mountain. Yes, she had stayed in that spooky house all by herself last night and all day today. Yes, she was a little hungry.

And with that revelation Olivia shooed everyone out of the kitchen and up to bed so the girl could eat in peace.

When the others were gone, Olivia warmed up some leftover meat and potatoes, but she didn’t ask the girl any more questions. She was curious enough, wondering why Jenny was in Walton’s Mountain all by herself, and whether or not Dave Pendleton knew where she was. But if any confessions were to be made, Olivia felt it was better for them to come out voluntarily.

But apparently Jenny was not ready to unburden herself. While she ate she asked about the Walton family and seemed content to let Olivia do most of the talking.

For Mary Ellen, Erin, and Elizabeth, the girl’s adventures riding around the country and spending a night in that house were far more intriguing than was the question of why she wasn’t with her parents. When Olivia brought Jenny up to their room and a place was arranged for her to sleep, a new barrage of questions came, this time asked with hushed admiration. Weren’t you scared traveling all by yourself? What did you do in that spooky house all day? Is it haunted? What did you eat? And then Erin shifted her questions and got what seemed like the oddest answer of all. “Don’t you have any brothers or sisters?” she asked.

“No,” Jenny told them, “I’m an only child.”

This revelation was as startling and bizarre to the three Walton girls as was Jenny’s experience of being in a household teeming with other children.

Elizabeth found the idea of being an only child incomprehensible. “But why didn’t you get some brothers and sisters?”

The three older girls laughed. “Elizabeth, did you know that you are a very pretty girl?” Jenny said.

The evasion was successful. Elizabeth stared at her for a minute, then shook her head. “I don’t think I’m as pretty as you are. You have the prettiest hair I’ve ever seen. But I’ve got a tadpole named after me.”

“You do? Will you show it to me tomorrow?”

Mary Ellen reached under her bed and came up with the gallon jar. “You can see it right now if you want.”

“Ecchh!” Erin cried and pulled her feet off the floor. “You’re not supposed to have that in here!”

“You want one named after you?” Elizabeth asked.

“Yes, I do.” Jenny frowned thoughtfully at the jar, then pointed. “That one.”

Elizabeth jumped from her bed and looked closely at the jar. “Which one?”

“That one.”

“Oh.” Elizabeth frowned uncertainly at the slithering mass of polliwogs and finally smiled. “Hello, Jenny,” she said.

“Goodnight, Elizabeth. Goodnight, Erin. Goodnight, Mary Ellen. Goodnight, Jenny.”

It was Jason’s voice coming from the next room. Then came Jim-Bob’s and John-Boy’s voices, followed by those of all the others in the family.

Jenny listened, amazed at first, and then delighted by the never-ending chorus. When they were finished she returned the calls, with Mary Ellen whispering to her the names of those she couldn’t remember.

“Do you do that every night?” she whispered when the house was finally silent.

“Do what?”

“Say goodnight that way?”

“Sure.”

“That’s wonderful.”

“It is unless there’s a bunch of relatives here,” Erin smiled. “Then it’s practically mornin’ before everybody gets said goodnight to.”

Jenny laughed. The other girls were now snuggled under the covers, and she eased down from her elbow and pulled the thick comforter up to her chin. She had never seen a family quite like this one. And yet she knew, somehow, that this was the kind of family she had always wanted. And that was at least part of the reason she had run away. She closed her eyes and smiled, trying to remember all the names again. But she was asleep before she got past three or four of them.

After the good-nights, John-Boy sat at his desk for another ten minutes, gazing idly at the blank notebook in front of him. He wasn’t certain what he wanted to write down. He wasn’t even certain of what he thought about Jenny Pendleton. There was no question of her being about the prettiest girl he had ever laid eyes on. He had been struck by this fact the minute he saw her standing out in that backyard with the lantern light on her face. And then, after they got home, he had caught himself staring at her in the kitchen. And when she looked back at him he felt a crazy kind of embarrassment he had never experienced before. With no change of expression her eyes seemed to smile as if they were softly saying that she liked him. It was a brand-new experience for John-Boy.

But to write something like that down on paper would be crazy, he guessed. It would all look pretty silly if someone happened to read it.

John-Boy finally brought his attention back to the blank pad. He drew it closer and slowly wrote the name
Jenny
on the top line. That would be enough, he figured. It was an important day in his life, and he wouldn’t forget what that single entry meant. He finally returned the pad to the desk drawer, climbed into bed, and switched off the lamp.

He could hear no sounds from the girls’ room. He listened for a minute and then smiled, picturing Jenny’s hair spread across the pillow as she slept. He hoped she liked it here.

The familiar early-morning sounds drifted softly into John-Boy’s consciousness. From his parents’ bedroom the muffled ring of the alarm clock was stopped abruptly. A minute later the bedsprings creaked, there was the shuffling of feet, and he knew his father was pulling on his faded overalls. The heavy footsteps clamored down the stairs, followed by the clunking of kerosene-soaked wood being tossed into the stove. Then the screen door slapped gently shut and John-Boy knew his father was crossing the yard toward the barn, his hands in his jacket pockets and his shoulders hunched against the predawn chill. Ten minutes later his return was signaled by another slap of the screen door and the clunk of the full milk pail on the kitchen table.

By this time his mother was already dressed and going down the stairs. There was a soft murmur of conversation and then the faint aroma of perking coffee was followed by the growing sizzle of cooking bacon.

It was going to be a warm day. Through his window John-Boy could see the first rays of sunlight already touching the peak of Walton’s Mountain. He closed his eyes for a minute, smiling, thinking about the day ahead. It was Sunday. There would be no rush to awaken everybody. And after breakfast they would all be going to church.

He wondered if Jenny Pendleton went to church in St. Petersburg. He could imagine how pretty she would look in a long white dress and her black hair tumbling down from a big picture hat. And she would have flowers in her hand. John-Boy held the picture in his mind for several minutes, seeing her in a front pew of the church, singing, then standing on the church steps, the sun filtering through her bonnet. Then he was walking home with her, both of them talking, laughing happily over some story. And then, after lunch—