Chapter 4
"I think so. You will be at Silver Hill throughout the week?"
"No, I think that I, too, will ride toward Albemarle to-morrow. It is worth something to be with Fauquier Cary a little longer."
"That is quite true," said Cleave slowly. "I do not ride to Albemarle to-morrow, and so I will pursue my road to Lauderdale and make the most of him to-night!" He turned his horse, lifted his hat. Stafford did likewise. They parted, and Cleave presently heard the rapid hoofbeat overtake the Silver Hill coach and at once change to a slower rhythm.
"Now _he_ is speaking with her through the window!" The sound of wheel and hoof died away. Cleave shook Dundee's reins and went on toward Lauderdale. _Judith Cary--Judith Cary--There are other things in life than love--other things than love--other things than love.... Judith Cary--Judith Cary...._
At Three Oaks Margaret Cleave rested upon her couch by the fire. Miriam was curled on the rug with a book, an apple, and Tabitha the cat. Will mended a skate-strap and discoursed of "Old Jack." "It's a fact, ma'am!
Wilson worked the problem, gave the solution, and got from Old Jack a regular withering up! They'll all tell you, ma'am, that he excels in withering up! 'You are wrong, Mr. Wilson,' says he, in that tone of his--dry as tinder, and makes you stop like a musket-shot! 'You are always wrong. Go to your seat, sir.' Well, old Wilson went, of course, and sat there so angry he was s.h.i.+vering. You see he was right, and he knew it. Well, the day went on about as usual. It set in to snow, and by night there was what a western man we've got calls a 'blizzard.'
Barracks like an ice house, and snowing so you couldn't see across the Campus! 'T was so deadly cold and the lights so dismal that we rather looked forward to taps. Up comes an orderly. 'Mr. Wilson to the Commandant's office!'--Well, old Wilson looked startled, for he hadn't done anything; but off he marches, the rest of us predicting hanging.
Well, whom d' ye reckon he found in the Commandant's office?"
"Old Jack?"
"Good marksmans.h.i.+p! It was Old Jack--snow all over, snow on his coat, on his big boots, on his beard, on his cap. He lives most a mile from the Inst.i.tute, and the weather was bad, sure enough! Well, old Wilson didn't know what to expect--most likely hot shot, grape and canister with musketry fire thrown in--but he saluted and stood fast. 'Mr. Wilson,'
says Old Jack, 'upon returning home and going over with closed eyes after supper as is my custom the day's work, I discovered that you were right this morning and I was wrong. Your solution was correct. I felt it to be your due that I should tell you of my mistake as soon as I discovered it. I apologise for the statement that you were always wrong.
You may go, sir.' Well, old Wilson never could tell what he said, but anyhow he accepted the apology, and saluted, and got out of the room somehow and back to barracks, and we breathed on the window and made a place through which we watched Old Jack over the Campus, ploughing back to Mrs. Jack through the blizzard! So you see, ma'am, things like that make us lenient to Old Jack sometimes--though he is awfully dull and has very peculiar notions."
Margaret Cleave sat up. "Is that you, Richard?" Miriam put down Tabitha and rose to her knees. "Did you see Cousin Judith? Is she as beautiful as ever?" Will hospitably gave up the big chair. "You must have galloped Dundee both ways! Did you ask about the shotgun?"
Cleave took his seat at the foot of his mother's couch. "Yes, Will, you may have it.--Fauquier sent his love to you, Mother, and to Miriam. They leave for Greenwood to-morrow."
"And Cousin Judith," persisted Miriam. "What did she have on? Did she sing to you?"
Cleave picked up her fallen book and smoothed the leaves. "She was not there. The Silver Hill people had taken her for the night. I pa.s.sed them on the road.... There'll be thick ice, Will, if this weather lasts."
Later, when good-night had been said and he was alone in his bare, high-ceiled room, he looked, not at his law books nor at the poet's words, left lying on the table, but he drew a chair before the fireplace, and from its depths he raised his eyes to his grandfather's sword slung
CHAPTER IV
GREENWOOD
The April suns.h.i.+ne, streaming in at the long windows, filled the Greenwood drawing-room with dreamy gold. It lit the ancient wall-paper where the shepherds and shepherdesses wooed between garlands of roses, and it aided the tone of time among the portraits. The boughs of peach and cherry blossoms in the old potpourri jars made it welcome, and the dark, waxed floor let it lie in faded pools. Miss Lucy Cary was glad to see it as she sat by the fire knitting fine white wool into a sacque for a baby. There was a fire of hickory, but it burned low, as though it knew the winter was over. The knitter's needles glinted in the suns.h.i.+ne.
She was forty-eight and unmarried, and it was her delight to make beautiful, soft little sacques and shoes and coverlets for every actual or prospective baby in all the wide circle of her kindred and friends.
A tap at the door, and the old Greenwood butler entered with the mail-bag. Miss Lucy, laying down her knitting, took it from him with eager fingers. _Place a la poste_--in eighteen hundred and sixty-one!
She untied the string, emptied letters and papers upon the table beside her, and began to sort them. Julius, a spare and venerable piece of grey-headed ebony, an autocrat of exquisite manners and great family pride, stood back a little and waited for directions.
Miss Lucy, taking up one after another the contents of the bag, made her comments half aloud. "Newspapers, newspapers! Nothing but the twelfth and Fort Sumter! _The Whig._--'South Carolina is too hot-headed!--but when all's said, the North remains the aggressor.' _The Examiner._--'Seward's promises are not worth the paper they are written upon.' '_Faith as to Sumter fully kept--wait and see._' That which was seen was a fleet of eleven vessels, with two hundred and eighty-five guns and twenty-four hundred men--'_carrying provisions to a starving garrison!_' Have done with cant, and welcome open war! _The Enquirer._--'Virginia will still succeed in mediating. Virginia from her curule chair, tranquil and fast in the Union, will persuade, will reconcile these differences!' Amen to that!" said Miss Lucy, and took up another bundle. "_The Staunton Gazette_--_The Farmer's Magazine_--_The Literary Messenger_--My _Blackwood_--Julius!"
"Yaas, Miss Lucy."
"Julius, the Reverend Mr. Corbin Wood will be here for supper and to spend the night. Let Car'line know."
"Yaas, Miss Lucy. Easter's Jim hab obsarved to me dat Ma.r.s.e Edward am conducin' home a gent'man from Kentucky."
"Very well," said Miss Lucy, still sorting. "_The Winchester Times_--_The Baltimore Sun._--The mint's best, Julius, in the lower bed. I walked by there this morning.--Letters for my brother! I'll readdress these, and Easter's Jim must take them to town in time for the Richmond train."
"Yaas, Miss Lucy. Easter's Jim hab imported dat Ma.r.s.e Berkeley Cyarter done recompense him on de road dis mahnin' ter know when Marster's comin' home."
"Just as soon," said Miss Lucy, "as the Convention brings everybody to their senses.--Three letters for Edward--one in young Beaufort Porcher's writing. Now we'll hear the Charleston version--probably he fired the first shot!--A note for me.--Julius, the Palo Alto ladies will stop by for dinner to-morrow. Tell Car'line."
"Yaas, Miss Lucy."
Miss Lucy took up a thick, bluish envelope. "From Fauquier at last--from the Red River." She opened the letter, ran rapidly over the half-dozen sheets, then laid them aside for a more leisurely perusal. "It's one of his swift, light, amusing letters! He hasn't heard about Sumter.--There'll be a message for you, Julius. There always is."
Julius's smile was as bland as suns.h.i.+ne. "Yaas, Miss Lucy. I 'spects dar'll be some excommunication fer me. Ma.r.s.e Fauquier sho' do favour Old Marster in dat.--He don' never forgit! 'Pears ter me he'd better come home--all dis heah congratulatin' backwards an' forwards wid gunpowder over de kintry! Gunpowder gwine burn ef folk git reckless!"
Miss Lucy sighed. "It will that, Julius,--it's burning now. Edward from Sally Hampton. More Charleston news!--One for Molly, three for Unity, five for Judith--"
"Miss Judith jes' sont er 'lumination by one of de chillern at de gate.
She an' Ma.r.s.e Maury Stafford'll be back by five. Dey ain' gwine ride furder'n Monticello."
"Very well. Mr. Stafford will be here to supper, then. Hairston Breckinridge, too, I imagine. Tell Car'line."
Miss Lucy readdressed the letters for her brother, a year older than herself, and the master of Greenwood, a strong Whig influence in his section of the State, and now in Richmond, in the Convention there, speaking earnestly for amity, a better understanding between Sovereign States, and a happily restored Union. His wife, upon whom he had lavished an intense and chivalric devotion, was long dead, and for years his sister had taken the head of his table and cared like a mother for his children.
She sat now, at work, beneath the portrait of her own mother. As good as gold, as true as steel, warm-hearted and large-natured, active, capable, and of a sunny humour, she kept her place in the hearts of all who knew her. Not a great beauty as had been her mother, she was yet a handsome woman, clear brunette with bright, dark eyes and a most likable mouth.
Miss Lucy never undertook to explain why she had not married, but her brothers thought they knew. She finished the letters and gave them to Julius. "Let Easter's Jim take them right away, in time for the evening train.--Have you seen Miss Unity?"
"Yaas, ma'am. Miss Unity am in de flower gyarden wid Ma.r.s.e Hairston Breckinridge. Dey're training roses."
"Where is Miss Molly?"
"Miss Molly am in er reverence over er big book in de library."
The youngest Miss Cary's voice floated in from the hall. "No, I'm not, Uncle Julius. Open the door wider, please!" Julius obeyed, and she entered the drawing-room with a great atlas outspread upon her arms.
"Aunt Lucy, where _are_ all these places? I can't find them. The Island and Fort Moultrie and Fort Sumter and Fort Pickens, and the rest of them! I wish when bombardments and surrenders and exciting things happen they'd happen nearer home!"
"Child, child!" cried Miss Lucy, "don't you ever say such a thing as that again! The way you young people talk is enough to bring down a judgment upon us! It's like Sir Walter crying 'Bonny bonny!' to the jagged lightnings. You are eighty years away from a great war, and you don't know what you are talking about, and may you never be any nearer!--Yes, Julius, that's all. Tell Easter's Jim to go right away.--Now, Molly, this is the island, and here is Fort Moultrie and here Fort Sumter. I used to know Charleston, when I was a girl. I can see now the Battery, and the blue sky, and the roses,--and the roses."
She took up her knitting and made a few st.i.tches mechanically, then laid it down and applied herself to Fauquier Cary's letter. Molly, ensconced in a window, was already busy with her own. Presently she spoke. "Miriam Cleave says that Will pa.s.sed his examination higher than any one."
"That is good!" said Miss Lucy. "They all have fine minds--the Cleaves.
What else does she say?"
"She says that Richard has given her a silk dress for her birthday, and she's going to have it made with angel sleeves, and wear a hoop with it.
She's sixteen--just like me."
"Richard's a good brother."
"She says that Richard has gone to Richmond--something about arms for his Company of Volunteers. Aunt Lucy--"
"Yes, dear."