House Divided (136 page)

Any great battle filled the hospitals, she explained. There was always a shortage of blankets, linen, lint, bandages, food. “And when a man dies there's always someone waiting for his cot. They carry him off to the death house and change the sheets and put some other poor man in his place; and sometimes the bed's still warm.”

Dolly shivered. “Oh, Mama, how disgusting!” And Streean grinned and said:

“Besides, Tilda, a dead man's cold!”

But Tilda ignored them. “What we do,” she told Trav, “is to work with the hospitals, try to provide cots and bedding, and help them get food. We send trading scows and canal boats up as far as Lynchburg to buy things from the farmers, and we've put in soup houses. We used to just carry food from our own kitchens; but so many people now don't have anything to spare. And we run the hospital bakeries, and keep cows, and raise chickens.”

Trav, who knew from his own experience the difficulties of finding rations for hungry men, was interested in what she said; but he was more interested in Tilda herself. She was like a stranger, someone he had never known before. She spoke of her work as General Longstreet spoke of his, with calm certainty and in accents of authority. He realized with a sudden surprise that he liked her! Till now she had been just someone to be tolerated because she was his sister and to be pitied because she was married to Redford Streean; but he liked her now.

He asked many questions, till the others, Enid and Dolly and Streean, protested that they were sick and tired of hearing about hospitals. Dolly brought for Enid to admire a bolt of silk which Captain Pew had given her after his recent return from Nassau, and Enid asked:

“Oh, did Dal come back with him this time?” There was a sharp insistence in the question which caught Trav's ear and puzzled him.

“No, Captain Pew was only here one day.”

Streean said in a jocular tone: “I don't believe Darrell's coming back, Enid. I think he's afraid of the conscript officers; but Dolly says he's probably tired of some conquest he made here in Richmond and wants to keep out of the lady's way.”

Enid tossed her head. “Conceit! Does he expect her to run after him?” She began to laugh and fell into a hard spasm of coughing, till Dolly clapped her on the back.

“Well!” Streean exclaimed. “I didn't know what I said was as funny as all that!” Trav felt the other's eye upon him and wondered why;
and he wondered why Enid's face, after that fit of choking, had sagged in haggard lines. There was some mystery here. He remembered Lucy's tone when she spoke of her mother, and the way she hushed Peter at the station, and April's sulky sniffing, and the shadow in Mill's loyal eyes, and Enid's own fright and her meaningless angers and malicious taunts. He sat in troubled silence, searching for some explanation, till dinner called them all.

After dinner he and Streean were left alone. He had never felt any positive dislike for Streean, and had sometimes been made uncomfortable by Cinda's open contempt and Faunt's cold courtesy. Streean so obviously wanted to please them that Trav was sympathetic, and a little sorry for the man. But of course no one could be sorry for Streean now.

When they were alone Streean seemed not to notice Trav's silence, delivering a complacent monologue reciting some of his profitable ventures. “You and I are both levelheaded men,” he said, and Trav felt a faint irritation at this suggestion of a bond between them. “It's fortunate that there are men like us to keep our heads, or the Confederacy would have collapsed before now.” He added, in a judicial tone: “Of course local government in most places has already collapsed. Everywhere away from the cities armed bands of deserters are the only law, and the army is the only police force. We men of business have bolstered up the Confederacy so far; but I don't know how long we can keep it going.” Trav held his tongue and Streean said: “Your North Carolinians run your affairs with some intelligence. They buy cotton, ship it, bring in supplies, keep the state's regiments clothed and equipped. Jeff Davis could take a lesson from Governor Vance.”

Trav thought this was true. “I know. The North Carolina uniforms are good enough so that after a battle our men strip the North Carolina dead just as they do the Yankees. But maybe if North Carolina put all her surplus uniforms into the general depots, ther400e'd be enough to go around.”

“She won't,” Streean assured him. “Why should she? Every state has a right to take care of her own men.” Trav thought there had been too much talk about a state's rights, but he did not say so; and Streean, eyeing his cigar, said: “I suppose you agree that our defeat is only a matter of time.”

Trav felt his cheeks stiffen. “I haven't thought much about it.” This was not true, but his thoughts were his own.

“High time you did,” Streean assured him. “Yes, sir, we're licked. Of course, we never did have a chance unless we got European recognition.” He laughed. “It's like a wife leaving her husband. Unless she can turn to some other man, she's lost.”

There was something in the other's tone which made Trav uncomfortable. He said Longstreet thought something might be done in Tennessee, that victory there and a march to the Ohio might lead the northwestern states to demand peace. “There's a strong peace party in Ohio and Illinois—all through that region.”

Streean said like an oracle: “There might be some hope if those states needed the Mississippi as an outlet for their produce. If we'd seceded ten or fifteen years ago, and held the river, we'd have had them by· the throat; and self-interest would have brought them to our side. But Henry Clay and his compromises postponed this war and gave the North time to build railroads; and the railroads bind that northwestern country to the eastern seaboard, bind the North together. No, Trav, we're lost. It's just a question of time.” He lighted a fresh cigar. “A wise man will face the fact and plan accordingly.”

Trav, without knowing why, was uneasy and therefore angry. “You seem pleased with the idea.”

Streean laughed. “God bless you, no! I make no bones about it, Trav; I'd be glad to see the war last forever. Every week is money in my pockets. No, I was thinking of you.”

“I'm not looking for a profit!”

Streean smiled. “You're wiser than you admit, Trav. Enid tells me you're making money in tobacco.”

Trav flushed, as much with surprise as with embarrassment. He had told Enid of his transactions, but his own habit of silence was so strong that it had not occurred to him she would speak of them. But also Streean had put him on the defensive. “I'm no damned speculator,” he said angrily. “People don't have to have tobacco! That's not like dealing in—food!”

Streean's color rose, his eyes narrowed. “A nice point,” he drawled. “If you're ashamed of being intelligent, you'd better bridle Enid's tongue.” And he went on in an amused tone: “You Currains are a
virtuous lot! Brett Dewain came to me a while ago with a proposal to donate everything in the family vaults to the cause. I told him I'd take Tilda's share in gold and the rest of you could do what you liked. I didn't know at the time that you were turning a penny where you could.” He nodded admiringly. “Yes, sir, a high-minded lot of patriots, you Currains!”

Trav was confused and silenced. It was a relief to hear voices in the hall, and when Enid called that it was time to go he rose at once, eager to escape. But before he reached the door, Streean checked him. “Oh, Trav, just a minute.” Trav turned and Streean said in a reassuring tone: “I just wanted to urge you not to let Enid's friendship with Darrell bother you. Darrell will always pay a compliment if he thinks it will be welcome; and of course Enid's a natural flirt. But I'm sure there's no harm in either of them.”

Trav stared at him, feeling the slow pound of pulses in his throat. With the rushing of his blood his vision blurred, so that Streean's face went out of focus. He set a hard control upon himself, turned to join Enid and the children with Tilda and Dolly in the hall. He had Tilda's good-by kiss and Dolly's. Then they were out of the house, turning toward home.

He did not speak. Enid chattered pleasantly; the children walked in silence. But for Trav, Streean's word was a key that unlocked the door to understanding. Streean had meant him to understand, and absently he wondered why, and guessed that anger had prompted the other to this malicious revelation. But no matter. Streean had meant him to know the truth. Well, now he knew.

And he remembered that the children knew, as much as children could know, and April knew, and Mill knew. He remembered Lucy at the train. “Mama had a headache.” Her young eyes mature and stern. Peter: “Oh, she's not lonesome. I guess she is now, though!” And Lucy's instant warning: “Peter!” that silenced him. Trav thought he could have forgiven Enid any crime but this, thrusting evil knowledge into Lucy's mind.

At home Enid went at once to her room, but Trav kept the children with him. “Lucy,” he said, “you and Peter go to Aunt Cinda's. Tell her we're inviting ourselves to supper. Tell her Mama and I will
be over pretty soon.” He added, like an afterthought: “But tell her not to wait for us!” Lucy's eyes widened in surprise, and in alarm too; and he forced himself to smile, controlled his tones, spoke to Peter. “Like that, would you, son?”

Peter clearly sensed nothing wrong; Lucy yielded obedience without understanding. When they were gone, surely gone, out of sight and around the corner where they turned into Fifth Street, he went up to the bed room. He entered without knocking. Enid had removed her dress, her hair was down, she lay along the couch by the window. When he shut the door behind him she said angrily: “Must you always burst into my room?”

He said harshly: “Get up!” She did not move; and he caught her arm, jerked her to her feet, asked in a low tone: “What's between you and Darrell?”

She freed her arm. “You're hurting me!”

“Answer my question.”

She hesitated, but only for an instant. “Between me and Darrell?” She looked up at him with mocking eyes, as angry now as he. “Don't you wish you knew?”

That was confession enough. Trav struck as a snake strikes, with an unleashed violence. By his blow she was swept against the couch and fell over it, rolling across the floor. She lay there unconscious, her eyes half-open, seeming not to breathe. Her petticoats were disordered, her corset cover was split across her breast, her legs sprawled.

In that moment, if she had moved or cried out he might have killed her, but since she lay senseless he let her lie. Yet to do so, to be passive, was a thwarting bafflement. He was trembling with passionate and terrible anger for which he had now no outlet. He sat down on the couch, head in his hands, elbows on his knees, watching her and hating her.

After a while his pulses slowed; and after a while she began to breathe, heavily at first, her breast heaving with her deep inhalations. Then that stertorous gasping eased, and her half-open eyes closed, and then they opened and fastened on him, and seemed to try to recognize him; and then into her blank eyes sense and remembrance came, and she sat up, pushing herself desperately away from him across the floor till she was backed against the wall. She crouched there, her cheek
swollen and flaming red where his palm had struck, her face elsewhere white as ice, her mouth working soundlessly.

Trav watched her for a long moment; but—she had been his wife. He could not kill her. Without a word he rose and left the room. He found April. “I'm going to supper at Miss Cinda's,” he said. “The children have gone.” April's eyes turned questioningly toward the stairs, but he made no explanation. April was full of years and wisdom. He need tell her nothing.

At Cinda's he said Enid had decided not to come, that she was tired. He was sure not even Cinda guessed the turmoil in him. When he and the children walked home through the pleasant mid-September night, he made them laugh, telling them how soldiers on a weary march would trudge in sagging silence for a while, till someone wailed in exaggerated woe: “I'm tired of walking and I want to go ho-o-ome,” and someone would answer: “I'm a sick little boy and I want my Ma-a-ma!” and the doleful wails would go on till the men forgot they were tired. He told them about the day General Longstreet tried to shame a soldier running away from a fight. “He said: ‘You're acting like a baby,' and the soldier began to cry and said: ‘I don't care, General, I wish I was a baby—and a gal baby at that!' ” Dredging his memory for incidents that would amuse them, he went on: “One day one of the men tried to cook some rice for his mess. This fellow was a fast talker. They used to say he talked like molasses in July. He didn't know how much rice to cook, but he thought a gallon would be about right; so he put the rice to boil and it swelled till the kettle was full, and kept on swelling; and he kept dipping it out into tin cups and into his hat and every hat he could borrow, and the more the rice swelled the faster he talked, trying to explain what was wrong.”

Their delighted laughter rang through the dark streets, and when they came home they sat together for a while and Trav strove to please them in every way he could, giving them a feast of himself upon which their memories might feed while he was away.

For he must leave them at dawn, leave them with Enid; he must leave them to face what new knowledge? What new shame? While he played his part with them, he sought alternatives. Take them to Cinda? To Tilda? No, there was no recourse but just to leave them
here, no one in whom he could confide the truth, no one he could enlist as their protector. He even considered appealing to Mrs. Albion, but of course that was impossible.

No, they must stay and he must go. He would have said good-by to them tonight, but Lucy promised to breakfast with him. When they had bidden him good night and gone upstairs, he sat a longer while. If Enid were awake, she might come down. But she did not, and he did not go to her. He had no word to say to her. To depart without a word would be more eloquent than many words.