Folklore of the Night

     The farm boy’s head was swimming.   He only barely listened as Minnie gave him the option of taking a room or sitting up all night in the library. Being an avid reader, he selected the library without giving it any thought.      After Mrs. Hitt’s departure, Oliver took a few minutes to calm himself and gather his thoughts. Upon reflection, he was grateful for his decision to stay in the library. Had he taken a bedroom, he would have been all the more miserable. He knew that sleep had no chance of coming. At least the library was cozy and he could find much to keep his mind occupied. Unfortunately, the walls of glorious leather-bound volumes that would normally have enchanted him failed to hold his distracted mind. He needed a few more minutes to take stock of the situation.      He planted himself in a high wing chair in front of the fireplace and pondered. The greed of all the other guests seemed evident and sadly understandable. Oddly, it only occurred to him much later that as

       To distract himself, Oliver scanned the room and was stunned to see that there were other people at the table. To his right sat three men, one at the foot of the table and one at the end of each line of girls, himself excluded. The center man was corpulent, cigar in hand, breathing out a haze of smoke. The other two men were slightly younger, but sharing the same haughty aspect of privilege. All three men hungerly roved their eyes over the young women.      A ringing of fork on crystal goblet pulled Oliver from this disagreeable sight to the head of the table where Minnie Hitt stood in authority. “My friends,” she said with a poorly-concealed choke in her voice. “You are all welcome into my humble home on this dreadful evening.” The rumble of the storm and the shriek of wind required that she increase her volume. “Our fine lawyers have informed me that in less than an hour, we arrive at the earliest legal moment to settle my dear husband’s affairs.” With that last word, she su

                  “Why me!” Oliver exclaimed. “I didn’t really know him much. If anyone, I would expect them to ask for George; at least he worked for Frank one summer.” Oliver Haroldsen shook his head as he read the telegram for the third time, confused by the scant explanation provided. He was to be at the Hitt mansion the next evening as a participant in the reading of millionaire Frank Hitt’s will. “And check this out; the reading is going to be at midnight! Can you believe this?”      “Maybe you are named in the will,” suggested Eva with absolutely no conviction.      “Hardly. It's his wife, Minnie requesting me, not the attorney,” responded Oliver as he scanned the clerical information at the bottom of the telegram.      “Ah, I have it,” said Morgan with overt soberness. “It is your saintly reputation, yes, your saintly presence that is needed to help usher old Frank through the pearly gates.”      This statement actually did have a slight bit of logic to it. Oliver w