Will You Love Me in September

"My mama is down there in that big hole in that box," she said. "It was a nice box ... with shiny woods and a lot of gold on it.”

"Brass," I said.

"Gold's better than brass. But you can't bury gold, can you? It costs too much. The gravestones look like old women ... men too ... wrapped in gray cloaks.”

"Yes," I agreed. "A little.”

"When it's night they stop being stones and turn into' people.”

"Who told you that?”

"I heard them talking.”

She meant the servants. I knew they gossiped together, and several of them were sure Enderby was haunted.

"And," went on Sabrina, "the graves open and dead people come out of their coffins.”

"That's nonsense.”

"They dance on the graves, and if anybody goes there when they're dancing they catch them ... and won't let them go. They take their hearts and everything and keep them for themselves. Then they're alive again and the other one is dead.”

"Where on earth did you hear such gruesome tales?”

"I won't tell.”

"You made them up.”

"Perhaps."

"Sabrina," I said, "it's nice to be with you. The two of us together. Do you think so?”

"It would be if ...”

"If what?”

"Just if," she said.

I fancied the old Sabrina was returning. She laughed a little. I thought, She's getting over it. She's only a child, really.

I stayed for three weeks in that house of mourning, and during that time the sadness did not diminish. Jeremy nursed his grief. He was the sort of man who concentrates his main affection on one person, and that person had been Damaris. His wife had been the center of his life, and his love for her, his need of her, were so intense that nothing else could encroach on them. His wife would always come first, and although he would have been fond of his children, they would always have taken second place in his affections; and he was a stern disciplinarian.

He had wanted a son and Damaris had always hoped to give him one. When she had died he had lost his will to live, and his was not the temperament to allow him to adjust to a new set of circumstances. Nor did he make any effort to do so. And because Sabrina's wayward, thoughtless act had brought about the tragedy, he remembered it whenever he saw her. I knew it would be well for Sabrina to keep out of his way. She knew it too, poor child, and robbed of her mother, whom she had deeply loved, found no one to whom she could turn but myself and Nanny Curlew.

I should have gone back to London, but I did not feel I could leave Sabrina in this unhappy state. So I stayed on and spent as much time as possible with her, and I was rewarded by occasional glimpses of the child she used to be.

Then came the night when she was missing.

Nanny Curlew came to me in great distress.

"I went to her room," she said. "She was getting ready for bed. I heard her saying her prayers. I saw her into bed and told her you might be along to tell her a story.”

"I did go in," I answered, "but she seemed sleepy, so I tucked her in and kissed her good-night.”

"The minx," said Nanny Curlew. "She must have got up and gone off somewhere.”

"Whatever for?”

"You can never know with Miss. But she's up to something. You can be sure.”

"We must find her, Nanny, and bring her back to bed. I expect she's in the attic.

She likes hiding up there.”

"I'll go up right away and look, Miss Clarissa.”

"I'll come with you," I said. We were dismayed to find she was not in the attic. We searched through the house.

No one had seen her. Nanny Curlew and I looked anxiously at each other.

"She must have gone out," I said. "Why ... and where?”

"She's been strange lately. She's upset about her mother ... and there's her father.

She seems frightened of him and keeps saying she hates him.”

"Poor, poor little Sabrina. We must find her quickly, Nanny.”

We hurried back to her room. Her slippers were gone and so was her dressing gown, but the rest of her clothes were there.

"She can't go far," I said. "She's not dressed for going out. Oh, where can she have gone.”

I tried to think of her favorite places. The stables was one. We went there together.

There was no sign of her. Her pony was there, so she had not taken him. That was a relief. The thought of her going out at night on her pony was terrifying.

As we came out of the stables, Damon ran up to us. The old dog was essentially Jeremy's, and slunk about mournfully these days as though aware of the tragedy which had befallen the household, but he was constantly in Sabrina's company.

I called to him, "Damon! Damon! Where is she? Where is Sabrina?”

He gave a little bark and looked at me with limpid sorrowing eyes.

"Find her for us, Damon," I said. "Please, Damon, find Sabrina.”

The dog wagged his tail, looked up at us and whimpered. Then he turned and started trotting toward the house.

I followed him in disappointment. I was sure Sabrina was not there.

As we neared the house Smith appeared.

"Hi, Damon," he cried. "I was looking for you, boy.”

Then he saw us.

"Oh, Smith," I cried, "we can't find Sabrina.”

Smith looked grave. "Not in her bed, then?”