The Haunted South: Where Ghosts Still Roam

ROOM FOR ONE MORE

44 1\pomfor One More The coachman called 11room for one more," and this time the invitation seemed to be meant for her! It seemed impossible to the girl getting off the plane from New York which had just taxied into the Atlanta airport that such a thing as New York and a real southern plantation could actually co-existin the 1950's. In the late summer she had met Ruthanne Reeves on a vacation trip to Greece and the two girls had returned to New York on the same plane. Ruthanne went back to her plantation home in Georgia and Elise Barnhardt to her work with a New York publishing firm. Ruthanne and "brother John" as she called him, greeted Elise gaily and as they walked toward John's tiny sports car brother and sister kept interrupting each other with talk of parties and plans for the weekend. The car sped along one country road after another, seldom going through anything but villages with a few houses and a· country store or two at the crossroads. It was dusk and for a few minutes there was that intense light in which everything takes on a glow all its own. The fragile, spider-like cleome flowers in front of the dark gray unpainted little shacks were a vibrant pink. The cotton fields could not have looked more green. There was a dreamlike quality about the drive as they passed one shack after another with their rusty tin roofs, sitting lonely, back from the road in the midst of a few pine trees. Then they turned down a dirt road and drove through swamps which hummed and chirped with dusk's surge of life, past gates protecting private roads, and on and on. Finally , they turned down one of these, passing through an open iron gate. Sweet gum and pine branches flicked the side of the car until the woods abruptly ceased. Ahead lay a long avenue of moss-draped live oaks and beneath these huge olds trees it was always twilight. Under this leafy, moss-draped ceiling a shadowy stillness had settled in broken only by the occasional, mournful sound of a dove. The last rays of the sun disappeared as the car pulled up in front of an immense, sprawling southem mansion. Tall columns at the front and wings at each side made it look like some grand and dignified creature crouched nobly on its haunches. Lights were flickering on now in the rooms of the house and as the three young people entered the large center hall Ruthanne's mother, a short, cheerful little woman, plump as a marsh hen, greeted them warmly. That evening friends arrived from nearby towns and plantations for an extremely gay dinner party and dance on the rear piazza which overlooked the river. Elise was entranced. She watched the shimmering trail of the full moon on the black waters of 45 the river with a delightful young man who managed to make her feel completely feminine and devastatingly attractive. The party was over shortly after twelve and the girls were tired, so by one-thirty all was quiet. Elise should have fallen asleep quickly but she did not. Her trip, the events of the evening, and even the quiet, so different from all the noises ofa city at night, were enough to make her more wakeful. She tossed restlessly on the high fourposter mahogany bed, heard the grandfather clock in the hall strike two and swung her feet over the side of the bed, deciding to get up and draw back the drapes slightly, hoping for a cool breeze. At that moment she heard a clatter outside which to her startled ears sounded like the clatter of horses' hooves. Reaching the window she drew the drapes and looked out. She could hardly believe her eyes. Directly beneath her window in the circular drive stood an impressive gold and black stagecoach drawn by four gleaming black stallions. Beside it stood a coachman dressed in black coat and britches. The entire scene was illuminated by the light of the full moon. Holding the door of the coach open with one hand, the coachman gestured toward the house with the otherand called out-"Room for one more!" Amazed, she stared down at his face. Theskin was swarthy and the lips full above the jutting chin. A long scar staggered irregularly across the man's...