August 21, 2025 • 11 mins
Gabrielle has always called the imposing brick mansion on the rugged New England coast home. But when she returns to Wastewater Hall, she finds it transformed into a sinister place brimming with malevolence. As she delves deeper into the dark mysteries that have overtaken her beloved home, each step brings her closer to danger—and perhaps even death. Join Gabrielle on her harrowing journey to uncover the truth behind this haunting transformation. - Summary by kirk202
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Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 1 (00:00):
Chapter nineteen of The Black Flemings by Kathleen Norris. This
LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Chapter nineteen. She stopped,
and after a long minute of silence, the young persons
looked at each other. Tom had been sitting throughout in
a low chair with his hands locked. Now he merely
(00:22):
grinned nervously and shrugged. David's face was stern and grave.
He had folded his arms and had been staring ahead
of him with a faint frown. Now his eyes moved
about the circle and returned to space. Sylvia's vivid, dark
face with its white white skin, was drained of color.
(00:42):
Her eyes looked tortured, and she was breathing fast. As
she knelt beside the bed, she half supported her mother
upon her arm, her anxious and stricken face close to
the leaden, ghastly face upon the pillow. Gabriela had been
kneeling too as she let listened. But at the end
she rose and walked to the little window. Outside. In
(01:06):
the winter dusk, lay the soaked, blackened ruins of the
old stables, those clean, bigery stables that Gabriela had so
loved as a little girl. Nearer against the angle of
the house lay the wreck of the windmill, the great
rusty hoops and singed wood piled almost as high as
the window. Beyond all were the bare winter woods, looking
(01:30):
desolate and forlorn in the cool gray light. And on
the right brimmed and lowered the steely surface of a
cold and unfriendly sea. As Gabriella stood there, her wary
heart and mind whirled hither and thither by a hundred
conflicting thoughts in a very storm of pity and pain.
The island lights suddenly pricked through the dove gray of
(01:53):
the gloom and flashed their pinkish radiance against the gaining
and prevailing shadows. The girl's thoughts traveled to them idly.
She thought of little ships cutting their way through the
trackless waters, and dark faced rough men twisting the spokes
of the little wheels, and peering out across the waves
to find that steadily pulsating flash. Somebody had lighted a
(02:18):
light in the room behind her. She saw her own reflection,
slender aureoled against the dark night. David touched her arm.
A sudden, bitter need of tears possessed her, and her
breast swelled, but She only raised her eyes to his
questioningly and bit her lip to steady it. And Flora
(02:41):
wants to speak to you gay. The girl could tell
by David's tone that he had sitted before he gently
turned her toward the bed. She looked bewilderedly at Tom,
who was busy at the lamp, and at Sylvia, who
stood at the foot of the bed like a person
in a dream. She went slowly toward Flora and knelt
(03:03):
down beside her. Flora reached out hard and anxious fingers
and gripped the girl's hand. I told David this yesterday.
He told you and Tom he was to tell you
when the fire came, Flora whispered. He did tell us.
Gabriella's beautiful voice sounded childish and husky in contrast to
(03:24):
the other's weak voice. But I thought, I thought that
my mother, Lily was still my mother, and that Uncle
Roger was my father, that I had no right to
call him father. It seems her lips shook again. It
seems that I might have had a father. She faltered,
her voice thickened and stopped. She raised her eyes appealingly,
(03:49):
almost apologetically, to David, who was watching closely. I never
had anyone, she said, with suddenly brimming eyes. Flora Barah spoke,
and immediately afterward, in a strange muse that was not hearing,
Gabriella heard Sylvia give a sort of cry, and then
(04:09):
David leaned over her and said, tenderly, Gay, she is
still very ill, dear, if you can, if I can,
want David, she repeated, confused, her beautiful eyes wide and anxious.
She wants you to forgive her, Gabriella, David answered. Gabriella
still appeared bewildered. She looked from one face to another. Yes,
(04:33):
I will, of course I will, she said, quickly, and
simply then tell her so, Gabriella. Gabriella bent her gaze
upon her aunt's sunken face a blot against the white pillows,
and Flora fixed upon her the tragic look of her
darkening eyes. I'm sorry, Aunt, Flora, Gabriella stammered, in tears.
(04:56):
I know, I know how hard it must have been
for you. I am I'm so sorry. You will forgive me, Gabriella,
Flora whispered feverishly. In all the years to come, you
will not hate me. You have grown to be a
lovely woman. I did not harm you. I might have
harmed you, but it was Sylvia in the end who
(05:17):
paid for what I did. I will never hate you,
Gabriella said, slowly and steadily, like a child repeating a lesson.
It was because I loved him, so said Flora's drawn,
dark mouth in a whisper. She sank back, seemed to
be sinking away from Earth and the things of earth altogether.
(05:38):
God bless you, Gabriella. You have made it easy for
me to die, she added, in the mere breadth of
a voice. I am so sorry, Gay said with a
great sob, and she buried her face against the coverlet
and burst into crying. I am so sorry that he
was unkind to you, and that you could not forgive him. Anne,
(06:00):
forgive me, she sobbed. We might have been we might
all have been so happy. We might have been so happy.
Flora's lips repeated. No other muscle of her bloodless face
and shut eyes moved. God bless you, Gabriella, she whispered again,
as Gabriella, drawn away by David's hand, stopped to lay
(06:23):
a wet cheek against hers and kiss her in farewell.
The girl half way to the door, and hardly conscious
of what she was doing, suddenly wrenched herself free and
went back to the bed. She fell on her knees,
and catching the languid dark hand, put it to her lips.
Aunt Flora, indeed, I forgive you, she said, weeping from
(06:47):
my heart. I am so sorry you were so unhappy
that they all hurt you and failed you, so dear
Aunt Flora. Sylvia was on her knees on the other
side and crying as bitterly as Gabriella. When David led
the younger girl away. He and Margaret established her up
on a downstairs sofa with cushions and covers before the fire,
(07:11):
and she lay there in a dreamy state, not talking,
hardly thinking, as the strange panorama of the last twenty
four hours wheeled through her weary head. She saw Flora
only once again, and that was at the end, at
seven o'clock. At ten, Tom drove them to Crochester and
(07:31):
they boarded the Boston train, Sylvia veiled and clinging tightly
to Tom's arm, Gabriella and old Margaret guiding them through
the interested warm train to the privacy of their drawing room.
Gabriella's last look at Wastewater had shown her only bare trees,
blackened masses of ruins, darker than the prevailing dark, open
(07:54):
levels where the stately walls had been. A cold moon
had been shining brightly upon the sea had thrown the
shadows of leafless bushes in a lacework across the bare
brown space of the lawn, And against the steady rush
and retreat of the short waves, she had heard the tumbling,
cascading sound of some bit of wall collapsing upon the
(08:16):
general collapse toward the distant west wall beyond the woods.
The changed perspective had left a long vista free, and
Gabriella could see the white gravestones in the moonlight, graves
and ruins, ashes and bare branches, and beside them the unchanged,
restless sea, and above them the unfeeling moonlight. The child
(08:40):
of Wastewater looked back with a great gravity, a great
solemnity in her heart. There had been laughter here, music
and voices. Wastewater had had a housewarming more than one
hundred years before, when beautiful women in the capes and
high wasted gowns of the empire days had been driven
(09:01):
in jingling great coaches all the way from Boston City
to dance and rejoice with the young master of the mansion.
There had been a first Roger, in the buff and
blue of the Revolution, Colonel Fleming, as black and as
handsome as any of them. And there had been his
son Tom, the good hearted Tom, who had come all
(09:22):
the way to Brookline to find a cousin's disconsolate little
widow with her sewing machine and her girl babies, and
offer them a home. And there had been Tom's son Roger,
handsomest and most dashing of them all. David young Mother
who was to win his heart, And that shadowy little
(09:42):
Cicely who must now be mother in Gabriella's thoughts. Aunt
Flora always watching jealously, Aunt Lily tearful and singing her
romantic little songs. Gallant little Tom reading his sea stories
on the old nursery window, sill dark, little proud Sylvia
with her glossy curls, baby Gay, herself wistful and alone.
(10:06):
They all seemed to pass before the girl's eyes in
a long and haunting procession, crying as they went that
they had always failed, even here in all this wealth
and beauty, to find happiness and peace. I will be happy,
Gabriella had sworn to herself, solemnly frightened at the history
of the place. I will try never to be proud
(10:29):
or jealous or cruel. We are flemings, we four, and
I as much a fleming as any one of them now,
and we must not make their mistakes. God helping us,
she thought, remembering the little nun who had years ago
read the Sermon on the Mount to a class of
inattentive little girls. So many times we will all be
(10:52):
good and meek and merciful, and some day, years and
years from now, we will come back to waste Water
again and rebuild it. Good Bye, waste Water, she had whispered,
leaning back to look through the glass window of the
motor car, and from beyond the ruins, the ashes, the
(11:12):
bare garden, and the moonlit sea, the island lights had
flashed her an answer. End of chapter nineteen
Chapter nineteen of The Black Flemings by Kathleen Norris. This
LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Chapter nineteen. She stopped,
and after a long minute of silence, the young persons
looked at each other. Tom had been sitting throughout in
a low chair with his hands locked. Now he merely
(00:22):
grinned nervously and shrugged. David's face was stern and grave.
He had folded his arms and had been staring ahead
of him with a faint frown. Now his eyes moved
about the circle and returned to space. Sylvia's vivid, dark
face with its white white skin, was drained of color.
(00:42):
Her eyes looked tortured, and she was breathing fast. As
she knelt beside the bed, she half supported her mother
upon her arm, her anxious and stricken face close to
the leaden, ghastly face upon the pillow. Gabriela had been
kneeling too as she let listened. But at the end
she rose and walked to the little window. Outside. In
(01:06):
the winter dusk, lay the soaked, blackened ruins of the
old stables, those clean, bigery stables that Gabriela had so
loved as a little girl. Nearer against the angle of
the house lay the wreck of the windmill, the great
rusty hoops and singed wood piled almost as high as
the window. Beyond all were the bare winter woods, looking
(01:30):
desolate and forlorn in the cool gray light. And on
the right brimmed and lowered the steely surface of a
cold and unfriendly sea. As Gabriella stood there, her wary
heart and mind whirled hither and thither by a hundred
conflicting thoughts in a very storm of pity and pain.
The island lights suddenly pricked through the dove gray of
(01:53):
the gloom and flashed their pinkish radiance against the gaining
and prevailing shadows. The girl's thoughts traveled to them idly.
She thought of little ships cutting their way through the
trackless waters, and dark faced rough men twisting the spokes
of the little wheels, and peering out across the waves
to find that steadily pulsating flash. Somebody had lighted a
(02:18):
light in the room behind her. She saw her own reflection,
slender aureoled against the dark night. David touched her arm.
A sudden, bitter need of tears possessed her, and her
breast swelled, but She only raised her eyes to his
questioningly and bit her lip to steady it. And Flora
(02:41):
wants to speak to you gay. The girl could tell
by David's tone that he had sitted before he gently
turned her toward the bed. She looked bewilderedly at Tom,
who was busy at the lamp, and at Sylvia, who
stood at the foot of the bed like a person
in a dream. She went slowly toward Flora and knelt
(03:03):
down beside her. Flora reached out hard and anxious fingers
and gripped the girl's hand. I told David this yesterday.
He told you and Tom he was to tell you
when the fire came, Flora whispered. He did tell us.
Gabriella's beautiful voice sounded childish and husky in contrast to
(03:24):
the other's weak voice. But I thought, I thought that
my mother, Lily was still my mother, and that Uncle
Roger was my father, that I had no right to
call him father. It seems her lips shook again. It
seems that I might have had a father. She faltered,
her voice thickened and stopped. She raised her eyes appealingly,
(03:49):
almost apologetically, to David, who was watching closely. I never
had anyone, she said, with suddenly brimming eyes. Flora Barah spoke,
and immediately afterward, in a strange muse that was not hearing,
Gabriella heard Sylvia give a sort of cry, and then
(04:09):
David leaned over her and said, tenderly, Gay, she is
still very ill, dear, if you can, if I can,
want David, she repeated, confused, her beautiful eyes wide and anxious.
She wants you to forgive her, Gabriella, David answered. Gabriella
still appeared bewildered. She looked from one face to another. Yes,
(04:33):
I will, of course I will, she said, quickly, and
simply then tell her so, Gabriella. Gabriella bent her gaze
upon her aunt's sunken face a blot against the white pillows,
and Flora fixed upon her the tragic look of her
darkening eyes. I'm sorry, Aunt, Flora, Gabriella stammered, in tears.
(04:56):
I know, I know how hard it must have been
for you. I am I'm so sorry. You will forgive me, Gabriella,
Flora whispered feverishly. In all the years to come, you
will not hate me. You have grown to be a
lovely woman. I did not harm you. I might have
harmed you, but it was Sylvia in the end who
(05:17):
paid for what I did. I will never hate you,
Gabriella said, slowly and steadily, like a child repeating a lesson.
It was because I loved him, so said Flora's drawn,
dark mouth in a whisper. She sank back, seemed to
be sinking away from Earth and the things of earth altogether.
(05:38):
God bless you, Gabriella. You have made it easy for
me to die, she added, in the mere breadth of
a voice. I am so sorry, Gay said with a
great sob, and she buried her face against the coverlet
and burst into crying. I am so sorry that he
was unkind to you, and that you could not forgive him. Anne,
(06:00):
forgive me, she sobbed. We might have been we might
all have been so happy. We might have been so happy.
Flora's lips repeated. No other muscle of her bloodless face
and shut eyes moved. God bless you, Gabriella, she whispered again,
as Gabriella, drawn away by David's hand, stopped to lay
(06:23):
a wet cheek against hers and kiss her in farewell.
The girl half way to the door, and hardly conscious
of what she was doing, suddenly wrenched herself free and
went back to the bed. She fell on her knees,
and catching the languid dark hand, put it to her lips.
Aunt Flora, indeed, I forgive you, she said, weeping from
(06:47):
my heart. I am so sorry you were so unhappy
that they all hurt you and failed you, so dear
Aunt Flora. Sylvia was on her knees on the other
side and crying as bitterly as Gabriella. When David led
the younger girl away. He and Margaret established her up
on a downstairs sofa with cushions and covers before the fire,
(07:11):
and she lay there in a dreamy state, not talking,
hardly thinking, as the strange panorama of the last twenty
four hours wheeled through her weary head. She saw Flora
only once again, and that was at the end, at
seven o'clock. At ten, Tom drove them to Crochester and
(07:31):
they boarded the Boston train, Sylvia veiled and clinging tightly
to Tom's arm, Gabriella and old Margaret guiding them through
the interested warm train to the privacy of their drawing room.
Gabriella's last look at Wastewater had shown her only bare trees,
blackened masses of ruins, darker than the prevailing dark, open
(07:54):
levels where the stately walls had been. A cold moon
had been shining brightly upon the sea had thrown the
shadows of leafless bushes in a lacework across the bare
brown space of the lawn, And against the steady rush
and retreat of the short waves, she had heard the tumbling,
cascading sound of some bit of wall collapsing upon the
(08:16):
general collapse toward the distant west wall beyond the woods.
The changed perspective had left a long vista free, and
Gabriella could see the white gravestones in the moonlight, graves
and ruins, ashes and bare branches, and beside them the unchanged,
restless sea, and above them the unfeeling moonlight. The child
(08:40):
of Wastewater looked back with a great gravity, a great
solemnity in her heart. There had been laughter here, music
and voices. Wastewater had had a housewarming more than one
hundred years before, when beautiful women in the capes and
high wasted gowns of the empire days had been driven
(09:01):
in jingling great coaches all the way from Boston City
to dance and rejoice with the young master of the mansion.
There had been a first Roger, in the buff and
blue of the Revolution, Colonel Fleming, as black and as
handsome as any of them. And there had been his
son Tom, the good hearted Tom, who had come all
(09:22):
the way to Brookline to find a cousin's disconsolate little
widow with her sewing machine and her girl babies, and
offer them a home. And there had been Tom's son Roger,
handsomest and most dashing of them all. David young Mother
who was to win his heart, And that shadowy little
(09:42):
Cicely who must now be mother in Gabriella's thoughts. Aunt
Flora always watching jealously, Aunt Lily tearful and singing her
romantic little songs. Gallant little Tom reading his sea stories
on the old nursery window, sill dark, little proud Sylvia
with her glossy curls, baby Gay, herself wistful and alone.
(10:06):
They all seemed to pass before the girl's eyes in
a long and haunting procession, crying as they went that
they had always failed, even here in all this wealth
and beauty, to find happiness and peace. I will be happy,
Gabriella had sworn to herself, solemnly frightened at the history
of the place. I will try never to be proud
(10:29):
or jealous or cruel. We are flemings, we four, and
I as much a fleming as any one of them now,
and we must not make their mistakes. God helping us,
she thought, remembering the little nun who had years ago
read the Sermon on the Mount to a class of
inattentive little girls. So many times we will all be
(10:52):
good and meek and merciful, and some day, years and
years from now, we will come back to waste Water
again and rebuild it. Good Bye, waste Water, she had whispered,
leaning back to look through the glass window of the
motor car, and from beyond the ruins, the ashes, the
(11:12):
bare garden, and the moonlit sea, the island lights had
flashed her an answer. End of chapter nineteen
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