R. Lafferty - The 7th Ghost Story Megapack

When she arrived at the white boat which floated so stilly on the morning glitter of the water, just stirred by a breeze from the south, she stepped at once on board. Gregory could see her as she took from the corner of the flat, where it stood erect along with other boating gear, something which looked like a short iron hoe. With this she walked to the end of the boat nearest him. She laid the hoe end of the instrument against a chain that ran breast-high along one side of the boat, and at the end plunged diagonally into the water. His mare lifted her foot impatiently, as though the shoreward end of the chain had brought a thrill across the loch from the ferry boat. Turning her back to him, the girl bent her slim young body in an effort, and, as though by the gentlest magic, the ferry-boat drew nearer to him. It did not seem to move; but gradually the space of blue water between it and the shore on which the whitewashed cottage stood widened. He could hear the gentle clatter of the wavelets against the lip of the landing drop as the boat came nearer. His mare tossed her head and snuffed at this strange thing that came towards them.

Gregory, who loved all women, watched with interest the sway and poise of the girlish figure. He heard the click and rattle of the chain as she deftly disengaged her gripper-iron at the farther end, and, turning, walked the deck’s length towards him.

She seemed but a young thing to move so large a boat. He forgot to be angry at being kept so long waiting, for of all women, he told himself, he most admired tall girls in simple dresses. His interest arose from the fact that he had never seen one manage a ferry-boat before.

As he stood on the shore, and the great flat boat moved towards him, he saw that the end of it nearest him was pulled up a couple of feet clear of the water. Still the boat moved noiselessly forward, till he heard it ground gently as the graceful pilot bore her weight upon the bar to stay its progress. Gregory specially admired the flex of her arms bent outwardly as she did so. Then she went to the end of the boat, and let down the tilted gangway upon the pebbles at his feet.

Gregory Jeffray instinctively took off his hat as he said to this girl, “Good morning! Can I get to the village of Dullarg by this ferry?”

“This is the way to the Dullarg,” said the girl, simply and naturally, leaning as she spoke upon her dripping gripper-iron.

Her eyes took in the goodliness of the youth while his attention was for the moment given to his mare.

“Gently, gently, lass!” he said, patting the mare on the neck as she felt the hollow boards beneath her feet. But she came obediently enough on deck, arching her fore feet high and throwing them out in an uncertain and tentative manner.

Then the girl, with a quiet and matter-of-fact acceptance of her duties, placed her iron once more upon the chain, and bent herself to the task with a well-accustomed effort of her slender body.

The heart of the young man was stirred. Yet he could have seen fifty field-wenches breaking their backs among the harvest sheaves without a pang. This, however, was very different.

“Let me help you,” he said.

“It is better that you stand by your mare,” she said.

Gregory Jeffray looked disappointed.

“Is it not too hard work for you?” he said.

“No,” said the girl. “Ye see, sir, I leeve wi’ my mother’s twa sisters i’ the boat-hoose. They are very kind to me. They brocht me up, that had neither faither nor mither. An’ what’s bringin’ the boat ower a time or twa?”

Her ready and easy movements told the tale for her. She needed no pity, and asked for none, for which Gregory was rather sorry. He liked to pity people, and then to right their grievances, if it were not very difficult. Of what use otherwise was it to be, what he was called in Galloway, the “Boy Fiscal”? Besides, he was taking a morning ride from the Great House of the Barr, and upon his return to breakfast he desired to have a tale to tell that would rivet attention upon himself.

“And do you do nothing all day but only take the boat to and fro across the loch?” he asked.

He saw the way now, he thought, to matter for an interesting episode—the basis of which would be the delight of a beautiful girl in spending her life in carrying desirable young men, riding upon horses, over the shining morning water. They would all look with eyes of wonder upon her; but she, the cold Diana of the loch side, would never look in return at any of them, except perhaps upon Gregory Jeffray. Gregory went about the world finding pictures and making romances for himself. He meant to be a statesman, and, with this purpose in view, it was necessary for him to study the people, and especially, he might have added, the young women of the people. Hitherto he had done this chiefly in his imagination, but here certainly was material to his hand.

“Do you do nothing else?” he repeated, for the girl was uncomplimentarily intent upon her gripper-iron. How deftly she lifted it just at the right moment, when it was in danger of being caught upon the revolving wheel! How exactly she exerted just the right amount of strength to keep the chain running sweetly upon its cogs! How daintily she stepped back, avoiding the dripping of the water from the linked iron which rose from the bed of the loch, passed under her hand and dipped diagonally down again into the deeps! Gregory had never seen anything like it, he told himself.

It was not until he had put his question the third time that the girl answered, “Whiles I tak’ the boat ower to the waterfoot when there’s a cry across the Black Water.”

The young man was mystified.

“A cry across the Black Water! What is that?” he said.

The girl looked at him directly almost for the first time. Was he making fun of her, she thought. His face seemed earnest enough, and handsome. It was not possible, she thought.

“Ye’ll be a stranger in these parts?” she answered interrogatively, because she was a Scottish girl.

Gregory Jeffray was about to declare his names, titles and expectations, but he looked at the girl again, and saw something that withheld him.

“Yes,” he said, “I am staying for a week or two over at Barr.”

The boat grounded on the pebbles, and the girl went to let down the hinged end. It seemed a very brief passage to Gregory Jeffray. He stood still by his mare, as though he had much more to say.

The girl placed her cleek in the corner, and moved to leave the boat. It piqued the young man to find her so unresponsive. “Tell me what you mean by ‘a cry across the Black Water,’” he said.

The girl pointed to the strip of sullen blackness that lay under the willows upon the southern shore.

“That is the Black Water o’ Dee,” she said simply, “and that green point amang the trees is the Rhonefoot. Whiles there’s a cry frae there. Then I gae ower i’ the boat an’ set them across.”

“Not in this boat,” he said, looking at the great upturned table swinging upon its iron chain.

She smiled at his ignorance.

“That is the boat that goes across the Black Water o’ Dee,” she said, pointing to a small boat which lay under the bank on the left.

“And do you never go anywhere else?” he asked, wondering how she came by her beauty and her manners.

“Only to the kirk on the Sabbaths,” she said, “when I can get some one to watch the boat for me.”

“I will watch the boat for you!” he said impulsively.

The girl looked distressed. This great gentleman was making fun of her, assuredly. She did not answer. Would he never go away?

“This is your way,” she said, pointing along the track in front. Indeed, there was only one way, and the information was superfluous.

The end of the white, rose-smothered boathouse was towards them. A tall, bowed woman’s figure passed quickly round the gable.