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2 The dream
One night, two or three weeks later,
when the boy was in bed, Rhoda Brook sat by the dying fire in her little house.
She stared at the fire for a long time,
but she saw only the picture in her head of the new wife.
At last, tired from her day's work, she went to bed.
But the picture of Gertrude Lodge did not go away.
When Rhoda slept, the young wife was still there in Rhoda's dreams.
She sat on Rhoda's body in the bed, staring into Rhoda's face.
Her blue eyes were cold, and with a cruel laugh,
she put her left hand in front of Rhoda's eyes.
There, on the third finger, was her wedding-ring.
And the phantom of Gertrude Lodge laughed again.
Rhoda turned this way and that way, but the phantom was still there.
It sat, heavier and heavier, on Rhoda's body, and now Rhoda could not move.
Always in her ears was that cruel laugh,
and always in front of her eyes was that left hand with its wedding-ring.
At last, half-dead with terror, Rhoda suddenly put out her right hand, took hold of the phantom's left arm, and pulled it hard.
The phantom fell off the bed onto the floor, and Rhoda sat up.
‘Dear God!’ she cried. She felt cold, so cold.
‘That was not a dream— she was here!’
She could still feel the young woman's arm under her hand— a warm, living arm.
She looked on the floor for the woman's body, but there was nothing there.
Rhoda Brook slept no more that night,
and at the dairy early the next morning, she looked pale and ill.
She could not forget the feel of that arm under her hand.
When she came home for breakfast, her son asked her,
‘What was that noise in your room last night, mother? Did you fall off the bed?’
‘Noise? What time did you hear it?’
‘About two o’clock. But what was it, mother? Something fell, I heard it. Was it you?’
Rhoda did not answer, and after breakfast she began to do- her work in the house.
At about midday she heard something, and looked out of the window.
At the bottom of the garden stood a woman- the woman from her dream.
Rhoda stood still, and stared.
The boy came to look out of the window too.
‘Oh, there's Mrs Lodge,’ he said. ‘She told me—’
‘Told you?’ said his mother. She looked angry. ‘Why did you speak to her? I told you not to.’
‘She spoke to me first. I met her in the road.’
‘When was this?’ ‘Yesterday.’
‘What did you tell her?’ ‘Nothing.
‘She began to talk to me, and then she saw my old shoes.
‘She said, “Do they keep the rain out?”
‘And I said, “No, they don't, but mother and I have no money for new shoes.”
‘Then she said, “I can give you some better shoes.”
‘She's bringing them now, I think. Perhaps they're in her bag.
‘She's very nice, mother- she gives things to lots of people.’
By now Mrs Lodge was at the door.
Rhoda wanted to run away, but there was no back door in her little house.
So she waited, and the boy ran to open the door.
‘This is the right house then,’ said Mrs Lodge, smiling at the boy. ‘And this is your mother, is it?’
The face and body were the same as those of the phantom in Rhoda's dream, but there was nothing cruel in this face.
The blue eyes were warm, and the smile was sweet and kind.
The young woman took the shoes out of her bag, and gave them to the boy.
She smiled and talked in a warm and friendly way.
‘How kind she is!’ thought Rhoda. ‘How young and sweet and innocent!
‘Why did I have that bad dream about her? She's a friend, not an enemy.’
Two days later Mrs Lodge came again, with a new shirt for the boy,
and twelve days after that she visited Rhoda a third time.
The boy was out that day.
‘I like walking up here on the hill,’ Mrs Lodge told Rhoda. ‘And your house is the only one up here.’
They talked about the weather and the village, then Mrs Lodge got up to leave.
‘Are you well, Rhoda?’ she asked. ‘You look pale.’
‘Oh, I'm always pale,’ said Rhoda. ‘But what about you, Mrs Lodge? Are you well?’
‘Yes, I am, but... there is something... It's nothing very bad, but I don't understand it.’
She uncovered her left hand and arm.
There were marks on the arm, yellowy-brown marks, like marks made by fingers.
Rhoda stared at them. ‘How did it happen?’ she asked.
‘I don't know,’ said Mrs Lodge. ‘One night, when I was in bed, I had a dream...
‘and then suddenly, my arm hurt very badly.
‘Perhaps I hit it on something in the daytime, but I don't remember it.’
She laughed. ‘My dear husband says it's nothing very much, and he's right, of course.’
‘Yes... Which night was that?’ said Rhoda.
Mrs Lodge thought for a moment. ‘It was two weeks ago today.
‘It was two o’clock in the night- I remember, because I heard the clock.’
It was the same night, the same hour, as Rhoda's dream of the phantom.
Rhoda remembered the terror of it, and felt cold.
‘How can this be?’ she thought, when Mrs Lodge left.
‘Did I do that? But why? She is innocent and kind- I don't want to hurt her.
‘And how can a thing like that happen? Only witches can do things like that...’
