Part 1
Mystery Date
Chapter 2
David heard his father trot past his room. He knew that Roger had been into the east wing, exulting over the dumbwaiter there. He had told them all about it at dinner. Now, David heard his father's footsteps on the stairs, rapidly going down. It was about 8 p.m.
David was vastly bored so far this summer vacation period. The weather was odd; not really warm enough for swimming or camping, every day dull and cloudy. He thought back to when he was a kid and the house had been full of mystery. Now, his schoolfriends were off doing other things. Hallie wasn't adventurous and Amy wouldn't return to Collinwood from her summer camp for at least another week. And anyway, Amy was just a kid.
Bored! David rose and took exaggerated, dragging steps to the door of his room. Well, he'd go see the dumbwaiter in the east wing, then. And maybe he'd get up into the compartment and sit there a while. The compartment wasn't quite long enough to sleep in—at least the one they'd found in the central wing wasn't. Were there two dumbwaiter carriages, or just one? For apparently there was more than one dumbwaiter shaft in the house. The east and central wings were a good ways distant from one another. If there were two dumbwaiter carriages, and different people using them, wouldn't the carriages crash into each other sooner or later?
He slipped quietly into the hallway. Probably everybody else was downstairs. He took himself to the east wing, which wasn't locked anymore since his father and Aunt Elizabeth were thinking about updating it and getting rid of all the dark furniture in all the wings.
David found the right room and put his hand on the old-fashioned engraved copper doorknob. Then he twisted the knob and entered.
The overhead light, when he snapped it on, was working, but weak. He glanced about the stale room and then approached the dumbwaiter. He noticed the crumpled afghan on the floor but paid it no thought. Pressing the heavy dumbwaiter door open all the way, he lifted himself onto his palms, brought up one leg, and clambered inside the space. David scooched in and settled his shoulders comfortably against one of the sides of the carriage. He had to turn his face to the left to look out into the room.
The compartment was okay. It really probably could house two people, even two adults. His hands lazily wandered the floor of the compartment and drove softly through dust and crumbs of dirt. Then his touch encountered something else; a stiff, fanlike semicircular protrusion in the floor. It felt like the rounded fin of some sea creature.
David sat up and frowned down at the protuberance. It was a wheel, a semicircle of a wheel standing out of the floor. He pressed his hand on it and felt the prickled copper edge of the wheel bite softly into his palm. It looked like it was made of brass, and it resembled a fan. He grasped it and tugged upwards, but it stayed firm and unmoving. Well, what was a wheel doing inside the dumbwaiter bay? Surely it couldn't be for—
David shifted abruptly in the compartment and scrambled to his knees. A wheel on the floor of a dumbwaiter! Would it do what he thought it would?
Squatting comfortably, he leaned over the little wheel. It was only about 4 inches long, perhaps 3 inches high and barely a quarter inch wide. He pressed his fingers against the scalloped design in the brass and gently, slowly "spun" it away from him.
The compartment in which he sat began to sink. It fell smoothly two or three inches below its door-ledge in the wall. David felt a thrill of excitement. He carefully ran his fingers over the wheel, letting the flesh of his hand get lightly caught in its upper grooves; then he slowly rolled the top of the wheel toward him.
His compartment began to rise. His view of the room began to be cut off from the top, and the inside of the carriage became shadowy as the light from the room was narrowed.
David chuckled softly. This was a discovery. A dumbwaiter that someone sitting inside could steer! He was so excited that for a moment it made no sense. Then he remembered his earlier conjecture about the Underground Railroad. This was evidence, then, that the Collinses had participated in aiding people trying to escape Southern slavery. Better yet, if the fugitive heard a commotion in the house, he or she could quickly board this compartment and use it to secretly reach another refuge!
Where would the dumbwaiter go? To the attic? The kitchen?
He brought the compartment level with the room again, and scrambled out carefully, noting that it didn't dip or shift as he disembarked—as long as the inner wheel was not touched, it seemed that the carriage remained solid and stationary.
David rushed from the east wing to find Hallie. She could hardly believe the story of the dumbwaiter's "steering wheel" without seeing it firsthand, so he insisted that she accompany him back to the room, late though it was. It was Hallie who pointed out that this dumbwaiter, too, had the legend WT CAP 300 LB machine-stamped into the copper of its lower frame.
Hallie was also responsible for a second discovery.
With David seated within the dumbwaiter bay and demonstrating the mechanical wonder of the little brass wheel, Hallie stood beside its frame, absently tapping and scraping at what looked like an edge of torn paper wedged into the left side of the shaft's door-ledge. The paper flaked away as she rubbed her finger across it. Then she saw that an actual folded paper was fixed there, having perhaps become accidentally stuck in the crack long ago. She slid inquisitive fingers into the crack to see if she could get purchase on the tail-end of paper. She could; she slid the paper toward herself and it came slowly, and much longer a piece than she had expected. It was perhaps half a sheet of dry, crackling paper, chipping with age on one of its sides.
With a feeling of satisfaction, Hallie flapped the fragile paper at David.
"Someone wrote a note and stuck it here," she teased.
"What's it say? Read it," David urged from the shelter of the compartment, as Hallie cautiously unfolded the stiff page. The message was brief, and the bottom of the page jagged and ripped.
"It's torn right in half. It says," she began, reading,
Cross this threshold, which is a passage to a world unknown but long deserved, though
it appear only a dumbwaiter fashioned by the fallible hands of man. It is, under
heaven, the gateway to all that you desire. Deposit your dreams and hopes behind
this little door and you will be afforded that for which your soul has clamored. God
"A note from God?" David asked, leaning forward to look at the page Hallie read from. "Good grief. You know, some ancestor of ours must have been really crazy. Deposit your desires in the dumbwaiter? Oh, boy."
"Perhaps it was a game," Hallie offered, shrugging. "You wanted to play with the dumbwaiter, so there must have been other kids in the past who wanted to play with it too. This is probably a game someone made up."
"Yeah, well, I am going to take a ride in it and see where I go," David affirmed, settling back into the carriage with a look of determination, his hand on the small brass wheel. Hallie felt a tremor of fear.
"Don't ride in the dumbwaiter, David. What if you get stuck, or what if the cable is rotted? Please don't."
David slumped.
"Well," he reckoned, beginning to clamber out of the compartment again—the idea of a rotted cable frightened him even though he didn't quite credit it—"tomorrow we'll see about it, I suppose. Here, give me that note. I wonder what year it was written."
"It's in old-fashioned writing," Hallie offered, handing over the paper with relief. She liked David, but too often he proposed activities or pressed her into doing things that frightened her. If he went down in the dumbwaiter and it got jammed, and he couldn't get it going again, she'd have to summon help, and since she was the oldest and supposed to know better—oh, they wouldn't blame her, David was naturally rambunctious and responsible for his own choices, but they'd be disappointed in her. Roger Collins. Elizabeth Stoddard, whom she loved. Barnabas Collins and Quentin—who was just dreamy. She bit her lip.
Hallie Stokes wanted nobody on earth disappointed in her.
She wanted to be loved.
Sometimes she secretly dreamed about Quentin, sometimes about Barnabas. They were both far too old for her, but she had feelings for both men. She dreamed of cuddling in their arms while they stroked her hair and vowed to protect her. She dreamed also of Willie Loomis and of Chris Jennings. One afternoon, Willie Loomis, exhausted after a day of housekeeping at the Old House, had smiled so kindly on her, and he had looked gentle and sweet and warm, so appealing—
Well, all right, this was all normal. At her age she was supposed to be attracted to almost every guy she saw. Even David had the facial features that would make him into a handsome man one day, but he was too young, and they'd known each other as pals for too long for there to be any romance lurking. But gosh, all the rest of the handsome men around Collinwood lately—Mr. Olivo, who was Mrs. Stoddard's beau, and that Joe Haskell … even Roger Collins had his moments. Oh, well.
Hallie was used to staying at Collinwood when she wasn't at school, and that was a good thing; it seems that she and David had returned to Collinsport smack in the midst of mating season. Everyone was suddenly dating someone else, and even a couple of weddings were on the horizon. Even Uncle Elliot had a woman! Hallie had been flabbergasted upon coming home and seeing the remote and moody but gorgeous Angelique in her uncle's little house.
Love was in the air. Why should not she, Hallie, yearn for some of it, too?
She and David finally left the east wing dumbwaiter room and drifted off to their separate bedrooms. David had left the torn note behind in the dumbwaiter compartment after one fast glance.
Neither of the kids had regarded the fallen afghan.
Roger placed both hands on the black afghan with the multicolored squares. Here it was where it belonged, draped over the back of the sofa in the drawing room. So, the afghan upstairs in the east wing was a duplicate.
A small matter, but now it was settled. He wasn't seeing things, and nobody was playing games; it was merely a second, and identical, afghan. He put it out of his mind.
A brief look around the first floor told him that everyone had probably gone upstairs to bed.
He made certain that the front door was secured, put out the lights, and went up to bed himself, not realizing that his body now carried contagion.
Hallie sat in a nightgown in her room doodling in a school notebook. She couldn't seem to gather her thoughts. Finally, she tossed her pencil down, got up and went over to her bedroom closet. She reached up to the shelf and drew down a long, well-worn box. It was a board game that she'd had for years, called "Mystery Date: Meet Your Secret Admirer!"
Carolyn had played it with her, and Maggie, and Mrs. Johnson. David had scoffed at it, but that was all right.
This game was Hallie's favorite.
Small, stiff cardboard figures of elegant young women served as tokens to be moved about the board, players landing on different squares. "Take a card", "Swap 1 card with any player", and so on … or "Open the Door", with a big blue question mark after it. Behind a plastic door set flat into the center of the board lurked one's mystery date. A player grasped the toy "doorknob" of the door and turned it, which shuffled the selection of "mystery date" cards beneath. Then the door was pulled open (upwards) from the board, revealing either the image of the handsome skier, or the smiling hunk with the bowling ball, or the gentleman in the spiffy tux—or the dreaded disheveled dud. Nobody wanted to draw the dud.
This game held a fascination for Hallie, and playing it was always fun, but she was usually content just to sit and look at it. She could spend hours poring over the board. There was a sort of allure in it for her; the heady suspense, the limitless possibilities of what dream date might wait behind the plastic door (although, truly, there were only 5 date pictures provided), the prim colored blocks about the board on which to move one's token. A girl could fall upon any combination. Roll the dice, four steps, draw a card … the cards provided you with services and items you needed for your upcoming date. A hair set, an attractive parka (for a ski date), an elegant pair of dancing slippers …
The mystique of the game was greater than the sum of its parts. She couldn't put it into words, but for her it all betokened a future of love and softness and understanding. One day, amid a furor of excitement, a young man would come and rescue her from something—perhaps merely the danger of loneliness—and shelter her in his gentle embrace. Then she would know the thrall of unending love.
Hallie ran her hands over the smooth front of the box. What she was about to do was miserably stupid, probably, but the idea had come to her whole and clear, and she meant to act on it. She rose and found a heavy dispenser of Scotch tape in her desk and took a piece. Then she tore a strip of paper out of her notebook. Taking up her pencil, she scribbled a rough, hasty 'X' in the center of the paper. She drew off the game's box top and put it aside. She wasn't going to set the game up for play; she only wanted to turn the little toy knob of the plastic door.
She turned it, and it took her a few tries to come up with the picture of the "dud" date, a slovenly figure with a hand on his hip, no tie, and loose, paint-splattered pants. One pants leg was tucked into a boot and the other hung unevenly. He was laughing and looking as though impressing a girl was the last thing on his mind. Hallie pressed the strip of paper over the dud figure and secured it with tape, so that now he was blotted out. With a quiet sound of satisfaction, she closed the small plastic door of the game and settled the box top back onto the box.
She rose in her nightdress and slipped silently out of her bedroom, carrying the board game, and went in the direction of the east wing.
Hallie let herself into the east wing room where the dumbwaiter was, softly closing the door behind her. Her heart raced as she clutched her board game against her. She was frightened to come alone at night to one of the untenanted wings of the house, but she wouldn't have a witness with her this night for anything. She was ashamed and elated at what she was about to do.
Hallie approached the dumbwaiter and placed her board game inside it. She then drew out the stiff, aged note that she and David had earlier prized out of the crack it had been stuck in, and read it again.
Cross this threshold, which is a passage to a world unknown but long deserved, though
it appear only a dumbwaiter fashioned by the fallible hands of man. It is, under
heaven, the gateway to all that you desire. Deposit your dreams and hopes behind
this little door and you will be afforded that for which your soul has clamored. God
"God," she whispered, "please send someone." Her throat closed up after that and she didn't know what else to say. A kaleidoscope of feeling, shimmering and brilliant and all different colors, shifted through her. Maybe she didn't need to say anything further.
Other people had found magic within the dumbwaiter—the note attested to it. She wanted a little bit of magic too.
Hallie reached into the compartment past her board game, and slowly turned the brass wheel in the floor of the carriage. She pushed it away from herself and the compartment began to sink. She shook her head and reversed direction, drawing the knobbed wheel toward her, making the dumbwaiter rise. She continued to do it until the floor of the dumbwaiter was almost eye-level and her arm could no longer stretch out to the wheel anymore. Ducking slightly, she reached into the grayish, cool dark of the shaft beneath the carriage and closed her fingers about the cable. She pulled on it, and the dumbwaiter with her board game inside it rose once more. Hand over hand, David had mentioned. But how far should she send the compartment? And who said that up was the right direction, anyhow?
She didn't have much choice there; though she could use the wheel to steer the mechanism downwards, she didn't think she could get the carriage lowered enough to be able to reach the cable in the space above the carriage. So—up it was.
As slowly and quietly as she could, Hallie did a careful hand-over-hand until the dumbwaiter disappeared upwards. She continued for some seconds, then stopped when it felt right to stop.
Surely God would understand what she was saying?
Late in the night, nearly two hours after Hallie had returned to the central wing, David had appeared in the east wing himself, on his way, of course, to the dumbwaiter.
He'd been careful in his preparations. He had with him a flashlight and a screwdriver. He'd been to the bathroom before leaving the central wing. And he'd slipped a note under Hallie's door, just in case things went wrong.
Hallie, it's 2:10 in the morning and I am going to go ride the east wing dumbwaiter and see what it does. If I'm not back in my room by the time you wake up
maybe you better come looking for me and tell my dad or Aunt Elizabeth or Barnabas or somebody. Thanks! David
If a cable snapped and delivered him, within the dumbwaiter, all the way down to the kitchen, well, he was pretty sure the fall wouldn't kill him. He'd just start yelling and banging as soon as he heard someone moving around the kitchen in the morning. The fall, if he fell, was probably only a story-and-a-half's descent anyway, and he'd be protected within the carriage. And he didn't believe the cables would be rotted, anyhow.
David entered the dumbwaiter room and closed the door behind him. He had changed out of his pajamas into a regular shirt, slacks and shoes. Now he crossed the silent, shadowy room and approached the darkened dumbwaiter shaft.
He flashed his light at it and was astonished to see that the compartment was gone. How could it be gone? They'd left it parked, as it were, right here before he and Hallie had departed the room last time. Hallie was asleep in bed; he'd checked. Where had the dumbwaiter taken itself, then?
Perhaps—yes, it must have been his father, who was so excited about the dumbwaiters. He must have visited the room again and pulled the cable to make the compartment descend or rise. Probably testing to see if it could possibly reach the kitchen from this wing.
David took his flashlight in his teeth and reached for the exposed cable. He slowly pulled it hand over hand so that the compartment, if it were on a lower floor, would come up to him. No compartment appeared, and the cable grew taut and refused to budge any further. Okay, that meant that the compartment must be in the attic. He reached for the twin cable and took it hand-under-hand, waiting for the dumbwaiter to descend to him. The pulleys moved smoothly. There, something was happening. In a short time, the compartment arrived.
It was empty, clean, and inviting.
David let go of the cable and wiped his hands on his pants. He took the flashlight from between his teeth and laid it in the compartment. Feeling behind him to make sure he still had the screwdriver in his back pants pocket, he grabbed each side of the dumbwaiter frame and hauled himself into the chamber.
He settled in and chuckled. Sitting cross-legged, his tongue out and touching his top lip in anticipation, he touched the little brass wheel in the floor of the cell, pushing its ridges away from himself in a slow, smooth motion. The compartment he rode in began to sink away from the room. He continued to work the wheel in this deliberately slow motion; he didn't want to cause the cable to bunch up or something. It was pretty old, after all.
And now! Destination: Kitchen, probably, he thought to himself.
The carriage sank downwards and David with it, slowly vanishing from view, until only the slithering cables above the compartment could be seen in the east wing room he'd just left.
In this fashion, David Collins disappeared from the face of the earth.
Hallie didn't even see the note on the floor of her room until she was up in the morning and dressed.
She stood brushing her hair before the mirror, dressed in a lavender angora sweater and dark, short skirt, and plain loafers. Today was the twenty-second of June, but who knew what the weather would be? Her tiny bedside transistor radio had forecast an inviting day in the mid-sixties, but with the usual proviso to be on the lookout for thunder and lightning. Collinsport always had thunder and lightning.
She set down her brush and finally saw the note on the floor in front of her door, in her mirror. Hallie froze, then whirled away from the glass and hurried over to pick up the note. She read it in horror.
Her hands spasmodically crumpled the paper as her heart rose to her throat. The game! David must have discovered her board game! With the lightning flash of vision that sometimes hits us, she knew that David had immediately guessed her intentions, the dreams, the prayers behind what she had done. As with X-ray vision, he would be able to glance at her and view, instead of her corpuscles and bones, her very longings and wishes!
But was he in his room now? Or downstairs apprehensively awaiting a breakfast of scrambled eggs with boiled hash-browned potatoes and (oh, awful) boiled bacon and boiled toast? Shuddering in reaction to more than one of these prospects, Hallie scurried from her room to visit David's bedroom, his note clutched in her fist.