Johanna Spyri - Heidi

‘I must say you look pretty well for a man wanting someone to sit up all night with you!’ he said, patting him on the shoulder.

‘Not so fast, my friend,’ replied Mr Sesemann. ‘Your attention is likely to be needed all right, and by someone who won’t look as well as I do when we’ve caught him.’

‘So there really is a patient in the house,’ returned the doctor, ‘and one who has to be caught, eh?’

‘Much worse than that! We’ve a ghost! The house is haunted.’

The doctor laughed outright.

‘You’re not very sympathetic,’ objected Mr Sesemann. ‘It’s a good thing Miss Rottenmeier can’t hear you at the moment. She’s firmly convinced one of my ancestors is prowling around, doing penance for his sins.’

‘How did she come to meet him?’ asked the doctor, still chuckling.

Mr Sesemann told him all he knew, and added, ‘To be on the safe side I’ve put two loaded pistols in the room, where you and I are going to keep watch. I’ve a feeling it may be a very stupid practical joke which some friend of the servants is playing in order to alarm the household during my absence. In that case a shot fired into the air to frighten him will do no harm. If, on the other hand, burglars are preparing the ground for themselves by making everyone so afraid of the “ghost” that they won’t dare to leave their rooms, it may equally be advisable to have a good weapon handy.’

While he was talking, Mr Sesemann led the way to the same room where John and Sebastian had spent the night. On the table were the two guns and a bottle of wine, for if they had to sit up all night, a little refreshment would certainly be welcome. The room was lit by two candelabra, each holding three candles. Mr Sesemann had no intention of waiting for a ghost in the dark, but the door was shut so that no light should penetrate into the corridor to give warning to the ghost. The men settled themselves comfortably in their armchairs, for a good chat and a drink. Time passed quickly and they were quite surprised when the clock struck midnight.

‘The ghost’s got wind of us and isn’t coming,’ said the doctor.

‘We must wait a while yet,’ replied Mr Sesemann. ‘It isn’t supposed to appear till about one o’clock.’

So they chatted on, for another hour. In the street outside everything was quiet, when suddenly the doctor raised a warning finger. ‘Did you hear anything, Sesemann?’ he asked.

They listened and heard distinctly the sound of a bolt being pushed back, and a key turned, then the door opened. Mr Sesemann reached for his revolver.

‘You’re not afraid, are you?’ asked the doctor quietly.

‘It’s better to be careful,’ the other whispered back.

They each took a light in one hand and a revolver in the other and went out into the corridor. There they saw a pale streak of moonlight coming through the open door, and shining on a white figure which stood motionless on the threshold.

‘Who’s there?’ shouted the doctor so loudly that his voice echoed down the corridor. They both moved towards the front door. The figure turned and gave a little cry. It was Heidi who stood there, barefooted, in her white nightgown, staring in bewilderment at the weapons and the lights. She began to tremble and her lips quivered. The men looked at each other in astonishment.

‘Why I believe it’s your little water‐carrier!’ said the doctor.

‘What are you doing here, child?’ asked Mr Sesemann. ‘Why have you come downstairs?’

Heidi stood before him, white as her nightgown, and answered faintly, ‘I don’t know.’

‘I think this is a case for me,’ said the doctor. ‘Let me take the child back to her room, while you go and sit down again.’ He put his revolver on the ground, took Heidi gently by the hand, and led her upstairs. She was still shivering and he tried to soothe her by speaking in his friendly way to her. ‘Don’t be afraid. Nothing terrible is going to happen. You’re all right.’

When they reached her room, he set the light down on the table and lifted Heidi back into bed. He covered her up carefully, then sat down in a chair beside her and waited until she was more herself. Then he took her hand and said gently, ‘That’s better. Now tell me where you were going.’

‘Nowhere,’ whispered Heidi. ‘I didn’t know I’d gone downstairs. I just was there.’

Her small hand was cold in the doctor’s warm one.

‘I see,’ he said. ‘Can you remember whether you’d had a dream? One perhaps that seemed very real?’

‘Oh yes.’ Heidi’s eyes met his. ‘I dream every night that I’m back with Grandfather and can hear the wind whistling through the fir trees. I know in my dream the stars must be shining brightly outside, and I get up quickly and open the door of the hut — and it’s so beautiful. But when I wake up I’m always still here in Frankfurt.’ A lump came in her throat and she tried to swallow it.

‘Have you a pain anywhere?’ asked the doctor. ‘In your head or your back?’

‘No, but I feel as though there’s a great stone in my throat.’

‘As though you’d taken a large bite of something and can’t swallow it?’

Heidi shook her head. ‘No, as if I wanted to cry.’

‘And do you sometimes have a good cry?’

Her lips quivered again. ‘No. I’m not allowed to. Miss Rottenmeier has forbidden it.’

‘So you swallow it down, I suppose. You like being in Frankfurt, don’t you?’

‘Yes,’ she said, but it sounded much more as though she meant to say No.

‘Where did you live with your grandfather?’

‘On the mountain.’

‘That wasn’t much fun, was it? Didn’t you find it rather dull there?’

‘Oh no, it’s wonderful.’ Heidi got no further. The memory of home, added to the shock of all she had been through, overcame the ban which had checked her tears, and they suddenly rained down her cheeks and she sobbed bitterly.

The doctor got up and laid her head gently on the pillow. ‘Have a good cry, it won’t do you any harm,’ he said. ‘Then go to sleep, and in the morning everything will be all right.’ He left the room and went to find Mr Sesemann, who was anxiously awaiting him.

‘Well, in the first place your little foster‐child is a sleepwalker,’ he began. ‘Without knowing anything about it, she has been opening the front door every night and frightening the servants out of their wits. In the second place she’s terribly homesick, and appears to have lost a great deal of weight, for she’s really not much more than skin and bone. Something must be done at once. She’s very, upset and her nerves are in a bad state. There’s only one cure for that sort of trouble — to send her back to her native mountains, and immediately. She should leave for home tomorrow — that’s my prescription.’

Mr Sesemann got to his feet and paced up and down the room, much disturbed. ‘Sleepwalking, homesick, and losing weight — fancy her suffering all this in my house without anyone noticing! She was so rosy and strong when she arrived. Do you think I’m going to send her back to her grandfather looking thin and ill? No, you really mustn’t ask me to do that. Cure her first. Order whatever you like to make her well, then I’ll send her home, if she wants to go.’

‘You don’t know what you’re talking about,’ protested the doctor. ‘This is not an illness that can be cured with pills and powders. The child’s not robust, but if you send her back to the mountains at once she’ll soon be herself again. If not… you might find you have to send her back ill, incurable, or even not at all.’