Uncle Seamus had made his entrance.
While the adults gaped, this incarnation ofthe god Pan danced a sprightly jig that brought him floating – itseemed – across the lawn towards the resting children. Then one byone, as if awakened and entranced by the music, the little onesrose to their feet and, without guile or prearrangement, fell inbehind him, prancing and lalling some wordless child’s song in tunewith the melodious notes of the fife and its manic master. Thewhite lace and muslin of the girls’ dresses and the flagrantblouses of the lads behind them fanned out on a musical breeze likeso many pristine petals. It was all so innocent and beautiful andephemeral that there was not one of the adults watching whose heartdid not lurch at the sight. The melody and the gay parade seemed togo on forever, but it was less than a minute before Pan and hispipe reached a grassy knoll and the music stopped in mid-note andtheir goat-footed deity planted both feet on the ground, staredblue-eyed at his acolytes, and blew a single, high, fierce note -so loud the air itself seemed momentarily stunned.
“All right, my children, it’s time for thegames to begin!”
At this exhortation the nymphs and dryadsinstantly became children once more. They cheered and chattered,and broke into their constituent groups. Pan himself, with asatisfied smile, sat down cross-legged on the knoll and proceededto observe the games, whose nature and rewards had beenpredetermined by the Baldwin boys and under whose aegis they wereto be executed. The adults, after giving Uncle Seamus awell-deserved round of applause, moved their chairs over to thatpart of the lawn where the various races and contests were to takeplace. Beth excused herself in order to slip a short ways off andonce again feed Junior before he began making his own brand ofmusic.
Marc noticed the two young maids begin toedge over in his direction, but they were summarily brought back tothe business of clearing the luncheon tables by their superior,Miss Faye Partridge, a mannish-looking woman in her late thirtieswith a wizened face and a permanent glower. Marc felt sorry forEdie and Betsy, who could be no more than fifteen or sixteen yearsof age. They were children too, but compelled by necessity toperform adult drudgeries. Still, Robert had seen to it that theyhad had a share of the ice cream and had been encouraged to joinDiana’s sing-along.
The games lasted almost an hour, and wereajudged a success even though two skinned knees in the sack raceand a bruised elbow in the wheelbarrow event threatened to bringthe party to a halt. Eliza and two other younger girls found theexcitement too much, and were seen sitting in the grass near Panthe piper, pretending not to doze. Robert gave out the prizes withunashamed generosity: trinkets and toys lovingly wrapped in tissueand tied up with ribbon by Diana Ramsay days before the event.Robert would miss her as much as his four children would when shefinally left to marry Brodie Langford. (A woman’s touch was neededaround Baldwin House, but Robert had had only one love, and she hadbeen taken from him.) When the last bauble had been given out, toone of the mill lads, Robert looked over the gathering and openedhis mouth in order to announce that the party was over. But it wasthe voice of Uncle Seamus, who had not stirred from his Buddha-likeposition on the knoll, that carried over the assembly.
“We can’t end a birthday party,” he shouted,bouncing to his feet, “without a game of Blind Man’s Buff!”
Tired and sated as they were, the childrenseemed energized merely by the sound of the piper’s voice and thesheer possibility that he might raise the fife to his lips andimprovise a jig. Which he did, in a brief flurry of prettynotes.
The children cheered and ran towards him. Hisblue eyes danced.
“Now who’s gonna tie this scarf tight aroundmy eyes?” he called out, pulling a green scarf from around histhroat and letting it flutter between a thumb and a forefinger.
“Me! Me! Me!”
Uncle Seamus laughed heartily and handed thescarf to the nearest tot. He squatted down until she was able toreach up and wrap it loosely around the upper half of his face,making the bell on his cap tinkle.
“Now I need a strong young fella to tie ittight,” he chuckled. “We don’t want any peeking, do we?”
A chorus of “no’s!” confirmed thisconclusion, and Fabian Cobb stepped up and drew the folded scarfback until it was opaque and snug, and then tied a perfect reefknot to hold it in place.
At this moment, a small female voice calledfrom the far side of the knoll, “Can we play, UncleSeamus?”
“Edie Barr, you keep yer mouth shut or I’llwash it out with soap!” The naysayer was Miss Partridge, the seniormaid.
“Let the girls join in,” Uncle Seamusshouted. “And anyone else here who’s not forgotten how to be achild!”
Robert nodded in the direction of the twomaids, and cautiously they moved into the gaggle of boys and girlssurrounding Uncle Seamus. Uncle Seamus let out a whoop, tucked hisfife in his belt, and began to lurch and lunge towards thechildren, who taunted and teased, as children have always done,just beyond the blind grasping of his fingers. Close calls producedshrieks of joyful terror or yips of satisfaction. Uncle Seamusplayed his role for all it was worth. His gestures were exaggeratedand deliberately clownish. He hopped about with his knees bentspider-like and his arms waving like the tentacles of an octopus,and all the while hissing out a futile “Gotcha!” Whenever a tardychild did come within his reach, he pretended to stumble over atussock of grass and let the laggard squeal away. The children werefrantic with delight. Their clamour swelled to a maelstrom ofuninhibited cries, like a Greek chorus that had lost its conductor.The adults looked on, open-mouthed.
Suddenly the tumult ceased. The blind oldfellow had caught someone. He was clutching her waist with his bonyclaws. The others watched in disbelief: the game had turned. Thecaptive stood stock-still. It was Edie Barr, her baby face andblond curls a vivid contrast with her dark maid’s uniform. She washolding her breath and trembling.
“You gotta guess who it is!” shouted thebirthday girl, and her suggestion was taken up by the otherparticipants until it became an insistent chant.
“Ah, now, that’s gonna be easy, isn’t it?”Uncle Seamus cried, and he began moving his hands down along thegirl’s waist and hips, his fingers tracing but never touching theirquarry.
“It’s a large boy! Right?”
“No!” came the roar of denial anddelight.
The fingers now moved up the front of thegirl’s body, again they lingered and wriggled, to instant laughterfrom the jury, but did not touch. Then Edie appeared to totterabruptly and contact was made in several, and highly inappropriate,places. It lasted for no more than a second or two, but no-onewatching, even casually, would have missed the emboldened wideningof the girl’s eyes and the sudden stiffening of Piper Pan’sfingers.
“It’s Miss Partridge!” he trilled.
The hysterical response of the boys and girlsdoubled them over with laughter. Quick as a wink, Uncle Seamus’sfingers were up over the girl’s spray of curls, and he wheeledabout and just before whipping off his blindfold, shouted, “It’sBetsy Thurgood!”
“Wrong again!”
“You lose!”
“Put the mask back on, you’re still it!”
Uncle Seamus – his wrinkled, rubbery featuresset in a calculated grin – sank slowly to his haunches and threwhis hands in the air. “Thank you, children, for a most exhilaratingafternoon. But your old uncle is all elved out.”
Robert took the cue, and within minutes thechildren were being herded, happy but reluctant, towards the house.Meanwhile, Marc took notice of two events that might easily havegone unremarked. As she walked away from the slumped figure ofUncle Seamus, Edie Barr turned and gave him a look that was partpuzzlement and part reproof. Then she glanced at Betsy Thurgood asif somehow it were her fault that she had been named captive outthere, even though the girls were unalike, opposites even. WhereEdie was shapely and tall and luxuriously blond, Betsy was plumpand short with straight brown hair arranged in bangs. When Betsysmiled and tried to take her friend’s hand, Edie pulled away andran towards the house. Then, at the back door, with Maggie in hisarms, Marc looked back for a moment and saw, to his surprise, UncleSeamus still seated on the grass, his head between his knees.Exhaustion? Or something else?