The Eighth Day by Thornton Wilder Page A

called Miss Thoms “Wilhelmina” and Mrs. Lansing “Eustacia,” but that was all. She even called her hired girl “Mrs. Swenson.”
    It was reported from house to house that the only son Roger, seventeen and a half, had left Coaltown. It was assumed that he had gone out in the world to make his fortune and to send money home to his mother. The daughters did not return to school in the fall. Their mother tutored them at home. Lily, almost nineteen, and Constance, nine, like their mother did not pass the front gate of “The Elms” for over a year and a half. It was Sophia, fourteen and two months, who did the shopping for the family. She was seen on the main street daily, nodding brightly to her former acquaintances, to all appearance unaware that few of her greetings were returned. Her purchases were reported from house to house—soap, flour, yeast, thread, hairpins, and “mousetrap” cheese.
    The residents at “The Elms” were among the last persons in Coaltown to learn of Ashley’s escape. It was Porky, twenty-one, who brought the news. Porky was Roger’s best friend. Though his family name was O’Hara, he was large part Indian and belonged to the Church of the Covenant community, a religious sect that had drifted into southern Illinois from Kentucky and established itself on Herkomer’s Knob, three miles from Coaltown. Porky’s right foot and shin had been injured at birth, but he was a notable hunter and had taken Roger on many a hunting trip. He repaired the shoes of Coaltown, sitting all day in his little matchbox of a store on the main street. He was highly regarded by all the Ashleys, but he never entered their house by the front door and he firmly refused to sit down to a meal with them. He was taciturn and loyal; the black eyes in his square walnut-colored face were observant. On the morning of July twenty-second he appeared at the back door and uttered his signal, the hoot of an owl. Roger joined him and was told the news.
    â€œYour mother ought to know. They’ll be here soon.”
    â€œYou tell her, Porky. She’ll want to ask you questions.”
    He followed Roger into the front hall. Mrs. Ashley came down the stairs.
    â€œMama, Porky has something to tell you.”
    â€œMa’am, Mr. Ashley got away. Some men piled into the car and loosed him.”
    Silence.
    â€œWas anybody hurt, Porky?”
    â€œNo, ma’am, not that I heard.”
    Beata Ashley put her hand on the newel post to steady herself. She was accustomed to the fact that Indians waste few words. Her eyes asked him if he knew who the rescuers had been. His eyes gave no answer.
    She said, “They’ll be hunting for him.”
    â€œYes, ma’am. They’re saying that the men who rescued him gave him a horse. If he’s smart he’ll get to the river.”
    The Ohio is forty miles south of Coaltown, the Mississippi sixty miles west. During the long trial Beata’s voice had acquired a huskiness and her breathing had become constrained.
    â€œThank you, Porky. If you learn anything more, will you let me know?”
    â€œYes, ma’am.” His eyes said, “He’ll get away.”
    There was a sound of feet mounting the front steps, accompanied by angry voices.
    â€œThey’ll be asking you questions,” said Porky. He went into the kitchen and left the grounds through the hedge behind the chicken run.
    There was a pounding on the front door; the bell attached to it jangled furiously. It was flung open. Four men entered the hall, led by Captain Mayhew. The Ashleys’ old friend Woody Leyendecker, the police chief, tried to render himself invisible. He had been pusillanimous—and miserable—throughout the whole trial.
    â€œGood morning, Mr. Leyendecker,” said Mrs. Ashley.
    â€œNow, Mrs. Ashley,” said Captain Mayhew, “you’re goin’ to tell us everything you know about this.”