Author: Marah Ellis Ryan
Category: Western
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CHAPTER XX.
Mrs. McVeigh entered the sitting room some time after and wasastonished to find her still there and alone.
"Why, Judithe, I fancied you had gone to change your habit ages ago,and here you are, plunged in a brown study."
"No--a blue and green one," was the smiling response. "Have you everobserved what a paintable view there is from this point? It would be agem on canvas; oh, for the talent of our Dumaresque!"
"Your Dumaresque," corrected Mrs. McVeigh. "I never can forgive you,quite, for sending him away; oh, Helene wrote me all about it--and he_was_ such a fine fellow."
"Yes, he was," and Judithe gave a little sigh ending in a smile; "butone can't keep forever all the fine fellows one meets, and when theyare so admirable in every way as Dumaresque, it seems selfish for onewoman to capture them."
Mrs. McVeigh shook her head hopelessly over such an argument, butbroke a tiny spray of blossom from a plant and fastened it in thelapel of Judithe's habit.
"It is not so gorgeous as the rose, but it is at least free from thepests."
Judithe looked down at the blossom admiringly. "I trust Mr. Loringwill forgive my panic--I fear it annoyed him."
"Oh, no--not really. He is a trifle eccentric, but his invalidismgains him many excuses. There is no doubt but that you made a decidedimpression on him."
"I hope so," said Judithe.
Margeret entered the room just then, and with her hand on the doorpaused and stared at the stranger who was facing her. Judithe,glancing up, saw a pair of strange dark eyes regarding her. Shenoticed how wraith-like the woman appeared, and how the brown dressshe wore made the sallow face yet more sallow. A narrow collar andcuffs of white, and the apron, were the only sharp tones in thepicture; all the rest was brown--brown hair tinged with grey ripplingback from the broad forehead, brown eyes with a world of patience andsadness in them and slender, sallow-looking hands against the whiteapron.
She looked like none of the house servants at the Terrace--in factJudithe was a trifle puzzled as to whether she was a servant at all.She had not a feature suggesting colored blood, was much moreCaucasian in appearance than Louise.
It was but a few seconds they stood looking at each other, whenMargeret made a slight little inclination of her head and a movementof the lips that might have been an apology, but in that moment thestrange woman's face fairly photographed itself on Judithe's mind--themelancholy expression of it haunted her afterwards.
Mrs. McVeigh, noticing her guest's absorbed gaze, turned and sawMargeret as she was about to leave the room.
"What is it, Margeret?" she asked, kindly, "looking for MissGertrude?"
"Yes, Mistress McVeigh; Mr. Loring wants her."
"I think she must have gone to her room, she and Mistress Nesbitt wentupstairs some time ago."
Margeret gently inclined her head, and passed out with the noiselesstread Evilena had striven to emulate in vain that day at Loringwood.
"One of Miss Loring's retainers?" asked Judithe; "I fancied they onlykept colored servants."
"Margeret _is_ colored," explained Mrs. McVeigh, "that is," as theother showed surprise, "although her skin does not really show color,yet she is an octoroon--one-eighth of colored ancestry. She has neverbeen to the Terrace before, and she had a lost sort of appearance asshe wandered in here, did she not? She belongs to Miss Loring'sportion of the estate, and is very capable in her strange, quiet way.There have been times, however, when she was not quite rightmentally--before we moved up here, and the darkies rather stand in aweof her ever since, but she is entirely harmless."
"That explains her peculiar, wistful expression," suggested Judithe."I am glad you told me of it, for her melancholy had an almostmesmeric effect on me--and her eyes!"
All the time she was changing her dress for lunch those haunting eyes,and even the tones of her voice, remained with her.
"Those poor octoroons!" and she sighed as she thought of them, "theintellect of their white fathers, and the bar of their mothers' bloodagainst the development of it--poor soul, poor soul--she actuallylooks like a soul in prison. Oh!"--and she flung out her hands insudden passion of impotence. "What can one woman do against such amultitude? One look into that woman's hopeless face has taken all thecourage from me. Ah, the resignation of it!"
But when she appeared among the others a little later, gowned in sheerwhite, with touches of apple green here and there, and the gay,gracious manner of one pleased with the world, and having all reasonto believe the world pleased with her, no one could suspect that shehad any more serious problem to solve than that of arranging her ownamusements.
Just now the things most interesting to her were the affairs of theConfederacy. Judge Clarkson answered all her questions with much goodhumor, mingled with amusement, for the Marquise, despite her Americansympathies, would get affairs hopelessly mixed when trying tocomprehend political and military intricacies; and then the gallantJudge would explain it all over again. Whether from Columbia orCharleston, he was always in touch with the latest returns, hopes,plans of the leaders, and possibilities of the Southern Confederacy,together with all surreptitious assistance from foreign sources, inwhich Great Britain came first and Spain close behind, each havingspecial reasons of their own for widening the breach in the union ofstates.
From Mobile there came, also, through letters to Mrs. McVeigh, many ofthe plans and possibilities of the Southern posts--her brother beingstationed at a fort there and transmitting many interesting views andfacts of the situation to his sister on her more Northern plantation.
Thus, although they were out of the whirl of border and coast strife,they were by no means isolated as regards tidings, and the fact was sowell understood that their less fortunate neighbors gathered often atthe Terrace to hear and discuss new endeavors, hopes and fears.
"I like it," confessed Judithe to Delaven, "they are like one greatfamily; in no country in the world could you see such unanimousenthusiasm over one central question. They all appear to know so manyof the representative people; in no other agricultural land could itbe so. And there is one thing especially striking to me in comparisonwith France--in all this turmoil there is never a scandal, nointrigues in high places such as we are accustomed to in a court whereMadame, the general's wife, is often quite as much of a factor in thepolitical scene as the general himself; it is all very refreshing to aforeigner."
"Our women of the South," said the Judge, who listened, "are more ofan inspiration because they are never associated in our minds with anylife but that of the home circle and its refining influences. When ourwomen enter the arena, it is only in the heart and memory of some manwhose ideals, Madame, are higher, whose ambitions are nobler, becauseshe exists untouched by the notoriety attaching itself to the courtintrigues you mention, the notoriety too often miscalled fame."
"Right you are, Judge," said Delaven, heartily. "After all, humannature is very much alike whether in kingdom or republic, and men lovebest the same sort of women the world over."
Matthew Loring entered the room just then, leaning on the arm ofGertrude, whose fair hair made harmony with the corn-colored lawn inwhich she looked daintily pretty, and as the two ladies faced eachother the contrasted types made a most effective picture.
"You have not met the Marquise de Caron?" he asked of Gertrude; andthen with a certain pride in this last of the Lorings, he continued:"Madame la Marquise, allow me to present my niece, Miss Loring."
The blue eyes of the Carolina girl and the mesmeric amber eyes of theParisian met, with the slight conventional smile ladies favor eachother with, sometimes. There was decided interest shown by each in theother--an interest alert and questioning. Judithe turned brightly toLoring:
"In your democratic land, my dear sir, I have dispensed with 'LaMarquise.' While here I am Madame Caron, very much at your service,"and she made him a miniature bow.
"We shall not forget your preference, Madame Caron," said Gertrude,"it is a pretty compliment to our institutions." Then she glanced
atDelaven, "did we interrupt a dissertation on your favorite topic,Doctor?"
"Never a bit; it's yourself is an inspiration to continue the sametopic indefinitely," and he explained the difference Madame Caron hadnoticed in political matter with and without the feminine element.
"For all that, there _are_ women in the political machines here,also," said Loring, testily--"too many of them, secret agents, spies,and the like. Gertrude, what was it Captain Masterson reported aboutsome very dangerous person of that sort in New Orleans?--a womanwhose assistance to the Yankees was remarkable, and whose circle ofacquaintances was without doubt the very highest--did he learn hername?"
"Why, no, Uncle Matthew; don't you remember he was finding fault with_our_ secret agents because they had not established her identity--infact, had only circumstantial evidence that it was a woman, thoughvery positive evidence that the person belonged to the higher socialcircle there."
"Faith, I should think the higher circle would be in a sorry whirljust then--not knowing which of your neighbors at dinner had a cup ordagger for you."
"The daggers were only figurative," said the Judge, "but they werenone the less dangerous, and the shame of it! each innocent loyalSoutherner convinced that a traitor had been made as one ofthemselves--trusted as is the nature of Southerners when dealing withfriends, just as if, in this Eden-like abode, Mistress McVeigh shouldbe entertaining in any one of us, supposed to be loyal Southerners, atraitor to his country."
"How dreadful to imagine!" said Judithe, with a little gesture ofhorror, "and what do they do with them--those dangerous serpents ofEden?"
"It isn't nice at all to hear about, Madame Caron," spoke Aunt Sajane,who was, as usual, occupied with the unlovely knitting. "It gave mechills to hear Phil Masterson say how that spy would be treated whenfound--not even given time for prayers!"
"Captain Masterson is most loyal and zealous, but given to slightextravagancies in such matters," amended the Judge. "No woman has eversuffered the extreme penalty of military law for spy work, in thiscountry, and especially would it be impossible in the South.Imprisonment indefinitely and the probable confiscation of allproperty would no doubt be the sentence if, as in this suspected case,the traitoress were a Southern woman of means. But that seems scarcelycredible. I have heard of the affair mentioned, but I refuse tobelieve any daughter of the South would so employ herself."
"Thank you, Judge," said Gertrude, very prettily; "any daughter of theSouth would die of shame from the very suspicion against her."
"Who is to die?" asked Mrs. McVeigh, coming in; "all of you, and ofhunger, perhaps, if I delay tea any longer. Come right on into thedining room, please, and let me hear this discussion of Southerndaughters, for I chance to be a daughter of the South myself."
Captain Philip Masterson, from an adjoining plantation, arrived afterthey were seated at the table, and was taken at once into the diningroom, where Judithe regarded with interest this extremist who wouldnot allow a secret agent of the North time for prayers. He did notlook very ferocious, though his manner had a bluntness not usual inthe Southern men she had met--a soldier above and beyond everythingelse, intelligent, but not broad, good looking with the good looks ofdark, curly hair, a high color, heavy mustache, which he had aweakness for caressing as he talked, and full, bold eyes roaming aboutpromiscuously and taking entire advantage of the freedom granted himat the Terrace, where he had been received as neighbor since boyhood.He was a cousin of Gertrude's, and it was not difficult to see thatshe was the first lady in the county to him, and the county was thecenter of Philip Masterson's universe.
He was stationed at Charleston and was absent only for some necessarybusiness at Columbia, and hearing Judge Clarkson was at the Terrace hehad halted long enough to greet the folks and consult the Judge onsome legal technicality involved in his journey.
Pluto, who had seen that the Captain's horse had also been givenrefreshment, came thoughtfully up the steps, puzzling his head overthe perfect rose cast aside on a pretense. It puzzled him quite asmuch as the problem of Louise; and the only key he could find to itwas that this very grand lady knew all about the identity of Louise,and knew why she had hurried away so when old Nelse recognized her.
He wished he had that picture of Margeret, brought by Rosa fromGeorgia. But it was still with a lot of Rosa's things over at theLarue plantation, with the child. He counted on going over to see theboy in a week at the furthest.
As he reached the top of the steps he could see Margeret through theopen window of the sitting room. Her back was towards him, and she wasso absorbed in regarding the party in the dining room that heapproached unnoticed, and she turned with a gasp as of fear when hespoke:
"You're like to see more gay folks like that over here than you haveat Loringwood," he remarked. "I reckon you glad to move."
"No," she said, and went slowly towards the veranda; then she turnedand looked at him questionably, and with an interest seldom shown foranyone.
"You--you heard news from Larue plantation?" she asked, hesitatingly.
"Who, me? No, I aint had no news. I aint"--then he stopped and staredat her, slowly comprehending what news _might_ come from there. "Fo'God's sake, tell me! My Zekal; my--"
She lifted her finger for silence and caught his arm.
"They hear you--they will," she said, warningly, "come in here."
She opened the door into the library and he followed; she could feelhis hand tremble, and his eyes were pleading and full of terror. Thelight chatter and laughter in the dining room followed them.
"Sick?" and his eyes searched her face for reply, but she slowly shookher head and he caught his breath in a sob, as he whispered: "Daid! Mybaby, oh--"
"Sh-h! He's alive--your boy. It's worse than that, maybe--and theynever let you know! Mr. Larue had gone down to Mexico, and theoverseer has published all his slaves to be sold--all sold, and yourchild--your little boy--"
"God A'mighty!"
He was silent after that half-whispered ejaculation. His face wascovered with his hands, while the woman stood regarding him, a worldof pity in her eyes.
"They can't sell Zekal," he said, at last, looking up. "Mahs Laruetole me plain he give me chance. I got some o' the money, thateighteen dollah I paid on Rosa's freedom--that gwine be countedin--then I got most nine dollah 'sides that yet, an' I gwine Mahs JeanLarue an' go down my knees fo' that boy, I will! He only pickaninny,my Zekal, an' I promise Rosa 'fore she died our boy gwine be free; soI gwine Mahs Larue, I--"
Margeret shook her head.
"He's gone, I tell you--gone to Mexico, more miles away than you couldcount; sold to the sugar plantation and left the colored folks forlawyer and overseer to sell. They all to be sold--a sale bill came toLoringwood yesterday. Men like overseers and lawyers never takeaccount of one little pickaninny among a hundred. One same as anotherto them--one same as another!"
Her voice broke and she covered her face with her hands, rocking fromside to side, overcome by memories of what had been. Pluto looked ather and realized from his own misery what hers had been. Again thelaughter and tinkle of tea things drifted in to them; some one wastelling a story, and then the laughter came more clearly. Plutolistened, and his face grew hard, brutish in its sullen hate.
"And they can laugh," he muttered, sullenly, "while my baby--my Rosa'sbaby--is sold to the traders, sold away where I nevah can find himagain; sold while the white folks laugh an' make merry," and he raisedhis hand above his head in a fury of suppressed rage. "A curse onevery one of them! a curse--"
Margeret caught his arm with a command to silence.
"Hush! You got a kind master--a kind mistress. The people who laugh atthat table are not to blame on account of Rosa's master, who holdsyour child."
"You stand up fo' the race that took yo' chile from yo?" he demanded,fiercely. "That held yo' a slave when yo' was promised freedom? Thatdrove yo' wild fo' years with misery? The man is in that room who didall that, an' yo' stan' up fo' him along of the rest?"
He paused,
glowering down at her as if she, too, were white enough tohate. When she spoke it was very quietly, almost reprovingly.
"My child died. What good was freedom to me without her? Where in allthis wide world would I go with my freedom if I had it? Free andalone? No," and she shook her head sadly, "I would be like a childlost from home--helpless. The young folks laughing there never hurtme--never hurt you."
The people were leaving the dining room. Captain Masterson, who hadtime for but a brief call, was walking along the veranda in lowconverse with the Judge. Judithe had separated herself from the restand walked through the sitting room into the library, when she halted,surprised at those two facing each other with the air of arrestedcombat or argument. She recovered her usual manner enough to glance atthe clock, and as her eyes crossed Margeret's face she saw traces oftears there.
"It is time, almost, for the mail up from Pocotaligo today, is it not,Pluto?" she said, moving towards a book-case. Receiving no reply, shestopped and looked at him, at which he recovered himself enough tomutter, "Yes, mist'ess," and turned towards the door, his tremblingtones and the half-groping movement as he put his hand out before himshowed he was laboring under some emotion too intense for concealment,and involuntarily she made a gesture of command.
"Wait! You have grief--some sad misfortune?" and she glanced from hisface to that of Margeret, questioningly. "Poor fellow--is it adeath?"
"No death, and nothing to trouble a white lady with," he said, withoutturning, and with hopeless bitterness in his voice; "not fit to betold 'long side o' white folks merry-maken', only--only Rosa, my boy'smother, died yeah ago ovah on Larue plantation, an' now the chilehisself--my Rosa's baby--gwine to be sold away--gwine to be sold tothe traders!"
His voice broke in a sob; all the bitterness was drowned in the waveof grief under which his shoulders heaved, and his broken breaths madethe only sound in the room, as Judithe turned questioningly toMargeret, who bent her head in confirmation of his statement.
"But," and the questioner looked a trifle bewildered, "a little child,that would not mean a great expense, surely if your mistress, or yourmaster, knew, they would help you."
Margeret shook her head, and Pluto spoke more calmly.
"Not likely; this war done crippled all the folks in money; that whyMahs Jean Larue sell out an' go ovah in Mexico; that why Loren'wood upfo' sale to strangers; that why Judge Clarkson done sell out his sharein cotton plantation up the river; ain't _nobody_ got hundreds thesedays, an' lawyers won't take promises. I done paid eighteen dollars onRosa when she died, but I ain't got no writin'," he went on,miserably, "that was to go on Zekal, an' I have 'nigh onto ninedollars 'sides that. I gwine take it ovah to Mahs Larue nex' week,sure, an' now--an'--now--"
His words were smothered in a sigh; what use were words, anyway? Judithe felt that Margeret's eyes were on her face as shelistened--wistful, questioning eyes! Would the words be of no use?
"The Jean Larue estate," she said, meditatively, seating herself atthe table and picking up a pen, "and your wife was named Rosa?"
"Yes'm." He was staring at her as a man drowning might stare at a spardrifting his way on a chance wave; there was but the shadow of a hopein his face as he watched with parted lips the hand with the pen--andback of the shadow what substance!
"And she is dead--how long?"
"A yeah gone now."
"And Mr. Larue asks how much for her child?"
"Hundred 'n' fifty dollar--this what he _said_, but, God knows,lawyers got hold o' things now, maybe even more 'n that now, an'anyway--"
His words sounded vague and confused in his own ears, for she waswriting, and did not appear to hear.
"Where is this Larue place?" she asked, glancing up. "I heard of aJean Larue plantation across in Georgia--is this it?"
"No'm," and he turned an eager look of hope towards Margeret at thispointed questioning, but her expression was unchanged; she only lookedat the strange lady who questioned and showed sympathy.
"No, mist'ess, this Mahs Jean Larue did stay on they Georgy plantationtill five yeah back, then they move ovah to Callina again; that how Icome to meet up with Rosa. Larue place down river towards Beaufort--awhole day's walken'."
"What did you say this child was named?" she asked, without ceasingthe movement of the pen over the white paper.
"His name Ezekal, but we ain't nevah call him anything but Zekal--he'sso little yet."
"And when is this sale to be?"
Pluto looked helplessly towards Margeret.
"Tomorrow week, Madame Caron," she said, speaking for the first time,though her steady gaze had almost made Judithe nervous. It had apeculiar, appealing quality, which Judithe, with a little grimace,assured herself was so appealing it was compelling; it left her nochoice but to do what she was doing and for which she could take nocredit whatever to herself--the wistful eyes of the pale-facedbondwoman did it all.
"In a week there is plenty of time to arrange it," she said, turningkindly to Pluto. "You can rest in peace about your Rosa's boy. I willattend to it at once, and the traders shall never have him."
Margeret drew a sharp, inward breath of relief.
"Yo' mean _you'll_ buy him in?" and Pluto's voice was scarcely morethan a whisper. "Yo' mean I'll have a chance, maybe, to buy him backsome day?"
"Not 'some day,' my good fellow," and Judithe folded the paper she hadbeen writing; "from the day he is bought from the Larue estate he willhave his freedom. He will never be bought or sold again."
The man stared at her, helplessly. No hope of his had ever reached sohigh as _that_! He tried to speak--failed--and his face was covered byhis sleeve, as he went slowly out of the room.
"Don't--don't you think Pluto ain't thankful, Madame Caron," said thesoft tones of Margeret, and they were not quite steady tones, either.Judithe did not look up for fear she should see tears in themelancholy, dark eyes; "that black boy just so thankful he can'tspeak. He'll worship you for what you've done for him, and well hemay."
There was a soft rustle beside her--the presence of lips on her hand,and then Judithe was alone in the room, and stronger than when she hadentered it so short a while since, braced by the certainty that here,at least, she had been of use--practical use her own eyes could see,and all the evening a bird sang in her heart, and the grateful touchof the bondwoman's lips gave her more pleasure than she could rememberthrough the same tribute of any courtier.