Wandering ghostsCrawford, F. Marion (Francis Marion)
Science
Wandering ghosts
Crawford, F. Marion (Francis Marion)
American fiction; Ghost stories; Horror tales; Short stories
"Your hand's like ice," said Mamie to Jack, "and it's all wet!"
She kept looking at it, as she got hold of herself again.
"It don't feel cold to me," said Jack, and he held the back of his hand
against his cheek. "Try it again."
Mamie held out hers, and touched the back of his hand, timidly at
first, and then took hold of it.
"Why, that's funny," she said.
"She's been as nervous as a witch all day," said Mrs. Brewster severely.
"It is natural," said the parson, "that young Mrs. Benton should
experience a little agitation at such a moment."
Most of the bride's relations lived at a distance, and were busy people,
so it had been arranged that the dinner we'd had in the middle of the
day was to take the place of a dinner afterwards, and that we should
just have a bite after the wedding was over, and then that everybody
should go home, and the young couple would walk down to the cottage by
themselves. When I looked out I could see the light burning brightly in
Jack's cottage, a quarter of a mile away. I said I didn't think I could
get any train to take me back before half-past nine, but Mrs. Brewster
begged me to stay until it was time, as she said her daughter would want
to take off her wedding dress before she went home; for she had put on
something white with a wreath that was very pretty, and she couldn't
walk home like that, could she?
So when we had all had a little supper the party began to break up, and
when they were all gone Mrs. Brewster and Mamie went upstairs, and Jack
and I went out on the piazza to have a smoke, as the old lady didn't
like tobacco in the house.
The full moon had risen now, and it was behind me as I looked down
toward Jack's cottage, so that everything was clear and white, and there
was only the light burning in the window. The fog had rolled down to the
water's edge, and a little beyond, for the tide was high, or nearly, and
was lapping up over the last reach of sand within fifty feet of the
beach road.
Jack didn't say much as we sat smoking, but he thanked me for coming to
his wedding, and I told him I hoped he would be happy, and so I did. I
daresay both of us were thinking of those footsteps upstairs, just then,
and that the house wouldn't seem so lonely with a woman in it. By and by
we heard Mamie's voice talking to her mother on the stairs, and in a
minute she was ready to go. She had put on again the dress she had worn
in the morning.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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