House Divided (146 page)

Tony added the easy lie. “Yes, he did. When the set-gun went off, she screamed. A woman's voice.”

Alex said reassuringly: “Why, I wasn't going nowhere, Ed. Only to the kitchen to get a drink of water.”

“ 'Phemy'll bring it,” Tony told him.

“I'll go get it,” said Alex Spain, and he went out.

Ed Blandy asked in a low tone: “Where's Mister Darrell, Captain Currain?”

“Gone to Martinston. He'll be back soon.”

“Don't let him come back. Send word to him to get away and stay away.”

“He won't.”

“He'd better.” Ed rose. “I'll go myself. There's been blood enough. I'll tell him to go away.”

Tony protested. “You'll get hurt. Someone will.”

“I'll not lay a hand on him,” Ed promised. “I'll let him go away.” He looked at his son. “Eddie, you come on,” he said.

The boy followed them toward the door. When they came out, Alex Spain was yonder by the kitchen steps, 'Phemy holding a pail while Alex dipped water and drank. Blandy hesitated.

“Alex, you coming?” he called.

Alex shook his head. “No, I'm riding on.”

Ed's mule was at the hitch rail. He swung to its back and gave Eddie a hand to scramble up behind him. “I'll leave Eddie at home,” he told Tony quietly. “Then I'll ride on to Martinston. If I miss seeing Mr. Darrell and he comes back here, you tell him to make hisself scarce.”

He waited for no answer. The mule trotted down the hill toward the big road.

 

Tony went indoors. He was cold, with sweat upon his brow. When he heard Alex Spain canter away, he began to tremble and his teeth
to chatter. After some time, 'Phemy came to him. He asked her what Alex Spain had wanted of her. To know where Mr. Darrell was, she said. He told her Ed Blandy had gone to warn Darrell away. She smiled, and those welts Darrell had laid across her cheek burned red.

When Darrell returned, the western sun was low. Tony had thought to stay abed, but he could not; so he was dressed and about when Darrell's horse, sweat-flecked and weary, came with hanging head to the steps. A boy took the horse, and Darrell strode into the hall, and Tony met him there. 'Phemy stood in the background.

“Well,” said Darrell grimly, “I had a long ride. The stage had gone, so I went to the railroad.” He looked at 'Phemy. “When Mr. Pudrick and his hounds get here, I'll give them a practice run on you.”

She said humbly: “Please suh, Sapphira's so little. She cain't git away. Don' put de dogs on her. She cain't run away. She done racked her foot twell she cain't hardly walk.”

Darrell grinned. “Well then, stop this nonsense! Where is she?”

To Tony's astonishment, 'Phemy who was always so composed seemed on the verge of frightened tears. “Please suh, don't ha'm mah baby!”

“Speak up. Where is she?”

The woman looked helplessly right and left. Tony gnawed at his mustache, half understanding. “I ca‘n' he'p but tell him, Marse Tony,” she pleaded, as though seeking his permission.

Darrell laughed at them both. “Of course you can't! Where is she?”

'Phemy wretchedly surrendered. “She hidin' in de sawdust pit down undeh de mill.”

Darrell chuckled and swung toward the door; he ran down the steps and away. When he had disappeared, Tony turned to 'Phemy.

“Is she there?”

'Phemy shook her head. “She in her own room. I tolt Mister Spain I'd send him tuh de mill soon's he come home.” There was content in her tone. “He ain' gwine pester us no moah.”

Tony sat down, but he could not be still; he rose again and went out on the porch to listen for a rattle of shots from the direction of the mill. He heard no sound from that direction, but a rider in haste galloped up toward him from the road. This was Ed Blandy on his mule. Ed pulled up, the mule breathing hard.

“Is he here, Captain Currain? I couldn't find him in town. They
said he'd started for Statesville, and I went all the way. He'd been there and left. Is he here?”

“He came back,” Tony said through dry lips.

Then they both heard a sound down past the smoke house toward the mill. Tony turned to look. He saw a dozen mounted men coming at a fast walk up the slope toward the house. In the lead rode Alex Spain. Behind Alex, his hands bound, a rope from his neck to Alex's saddle, Darrell was at a jog trot to keep the noosed rope slack.

As they neared the smoke house, Alex kicked his horse; its leap jerked Darrell off his feet, and the noose dragged him strangling to the smoke house door.

Ed Blandy met them there; and as Alex checked, Darrell sprawled in the dust behind him. Ed leaped off his mule and eased the noose around Darrell's throat. Tony heard Darrell choking and coughing, heard his hoarse cry:

“God's sake! God's sake!”

Ed Blandy faced Alex and the others. “Boys, don't do this. Let him go.”

Jeremy Blackstone, one of the old Martinston company who had deserted from the army and come home months ago, rode up beside Ed. Darrell scrambled to his knees, sobbed out entreaties.

“For God's sake, gentlemen! For God's sake!”

Ed laid his hand on Alex's bridle. “Don't, Alex,” he urged again. “She was my woman. I'm the one to say. Let him go.”

Jeremy Blackstone, behind Ed, swung his pistol like a cudgel. The heavy barrel clipped Ed above the ear, and he crumpled where he stood. Tony, at the end of the veranda, looking down upon them all, felt a retching nausea shake him; he put his arm around a pillar so that he would not fall. Jeremy Blackstone said evenly: “He ain't hurt, Alex. Be all right in a minute or two. We don't want him bothering.”

Alex nodded; he said mildly to Darrell, still on his knees: “We're going a ways down the road, polecat. I sh'd guess't you c'n walk faster'n you c'n crawl, but suit yourself.”

He turned his horse, and Darrell stumbled to his feet. The noose, though Ed had loosed it enough to let him breathe, was still around his neck. The men paid no heed to Tony on the veranda; but Darrell
saw him and uttered a screaming cry, till Alex touched his horse to a fast walk that tightened the noose and hushed him.

Thus they passed the veranda steps, Darrell in dreadful silent effort trotting at the horse's heels to keep some life-saving slack in the rope. The little group of horsemen moved down the drive toward the road, and presently Alex put his horse to a jog so that Darrell had to run to keep up. The horsemen following sometimes hid Darrell, but Tony still caught glimpses of the running man.

When the driveway dipped down to the big road, they all passed out of sight, but if they turned away from Martinston they would be in Tony's sight as they crossed the level bottom lands. He watched where they would reappear, and after a moment saw them. Honeysuckle grew along the fences, and the thick twining vines screened the road. Above that screen Tony could see the riders, and the heads and backs of their horses; and he could see Darrell's head. Alex had checked his horse to a fast walk, so Darrell sometimes walked, sometimes trotted. They were already half a mile away, making toward the woods along the Yadkin.

Alex's horse quickened its pace a little, and then suddenly it was trotting; and a moment later Darrell either tripped or was jerked off his feet. Because of the screening vines Tony could no longer see him; but Alex's horse lifted to a canter and then to full gallop. Tony tried to shut his eyes, but he could not. He watched Alex ride at a dead run for another long half-mile, the others keeping their distance behind him; till beyond the bottom lands where the road dipped to the ford, they pelted in among the trees and disappeared.

Tony held hard to the pillar, and his stomach seemed to turn over and he was sick; but beside him 'Phemy said calmly, as she had said before:

“He ain' gwine tuh pester us no moah.”

From the distant mountains, shadow flowed across the land as in the west the sun went down.

January-February, 1864

 

 

 

D
OLLY'S decision to go for a visit with Jenny at the Plains was a relief to Tilda. Perhaps because of her own new taste of responsibility and of authority, the girl's waywardness which she had used to think so charming now seemed to her dangerously frivolous. After all, Dolly was no longer a child in her ‘teens; she was twenty. She had as many beaux as ever; but except for Rollin Lyle and his unwelcome devotion, and for Captain Pew, who was certainly no beau, the others sooner or later turned from her to someone else. Tilda thought Dolly should marry and settle down to a demure and decorous life. It was high time she ceased coquetting with every man she saw. Perhaps at the Plains, where there would not be so many charming young men, she might decide on one.

Till Dolly departed, Tilda was uneasy for fear the girl might change her mind. The day after Christmas, Captain Pew arrived in Richmond; and though he did not lodge with them, he was often at the house. He and Redford Streean one night entertained a company of gentlemen at the Spottswood. Tilda was still awake when Streean came late home. He was in a loquacious mood, and he told her, hiccoughing slightly, that the dinner had been a rousing success. “Champagne at a hundred dollars the bottle; sherry and Madeira at almost as much. That dinner will cost us fully three thousand dollars —Confederate.” He laughed triumphantly. “Think of me spending half of three thousand dollars on a dinner! My dear, your husband is a rich man! The
Dragonfly's
last voyage showed a profit of over two hundred thousand dollars—and she'll sail again within the week. Yes, a rich man; a rich man!”

Tilda had not lost her relish for his success, and long after he was asleep she lay awake with her thoughts. Why, her husband was probably one of the richest men in Richmond! As his wife, she had a certain position to maintain; and since Dolly's madcap ways might at any time cause some scandal or other, it was a very good thing that the girl was going off to the Plains for a while. The fact that the night before Dolly's departure Captain Pew came to supper and said he himself would leave for Wilmington on the same train gave Tilda no uneasiness. He might be of use on the journey as far as Wilmington, and Dolly would see the last of him there.

Captain Pew said that Darrell would go with him on the
Dragonfly
to Nassau. “At least, he plans to. He's meeting me in Wilmington. But he may change his mind. A group of young Englishmen have taken a big yellow house up on Market Street. They're agents for the English companies that are running the blockade; half-pay naval officers, younger sons, a wild lot. It's the liveliest house in Wilmington, with cocking mains even on Sundays, nigger minstrels, balls, gaming. Darrell finds their company to his taste, and he may prefer it to Nassau for a while.”

Dolly cried: “Oh, could you take me to a cockfight, Captain? We'll probably stay overnight in Wilmington anyway, between trains.”

“Ladies don't attend cockfights, Miss Dolly.”

“I could wear some of Darrell's clothes and no one would know.”

Tilda said sharply: “Dolly, behave yourself!”

“But, Mama, if no one knew it was me——

“Hush!” Tilda could silence Dolly when she must. “Captain Pew, I'm glad you and Darrell will be there to see Dolly and Jenny and the children on the train for Camden.”

 

After Dolly's departure, Tilda had much to do. General Morgan, the heroic Kentuckian who when he and his raiders were captured in Ohio had been imprisoned in Columbus and treated shamefully till his audacious escape, was now expected in Richmond; and the city had voted him the honors that were his due. Tilda arranged that a throng should be at the station when he and Mrs. Morgan and his staff arrived, and she had overseen the preparation of the rooms at the Ballard which they would occupy. The reception at City Hall was managed
by Mayor Mayo; but there was to be a great ball in the General's honor at the Ballard Saturday night, and that needed her feminine hand.

She went to ask Vesta and Cinda to help. Cinda was at Chimborazo Hospital when Tilda reached the house; but Brett and Vesta were there. When Tilda spoke of her errand Brett said, half-seriously:

“Pshaw, Tilda! Why make such a hero of General Morgan, just because the Yankees cut off his hair! If he'd been with the army where he should have been, instead of rampaging around Ohio and getting himself captured, Bragg needn't have been beaten at Chattanooga.”

“Oh, Cousin Brett, you're as bad as Trav! Enid says he always finds fault when she admires any of our heroes.”

“Too much admiration's bad for them,” Brett retorted. “We think they're irresistible; but General Grant out West doesn't seem to agree, no matter how many receptions and balls we give them. Let General Morgan go teach Grant to admire him.”

“Oh, you're just teasing,” she protested. “Vesta, make him come to the ball! And I'm counting on you, of course.”

Vesta shook her head. “I've promised to go to Mrs. Semmes's for the charades tonight, and they say General Morgan will be there; but even if he isn't, one party a week is enough for me. I'm housekeeper, you know. With flour two hundred dollars a barrel, I haven't time for balls.”

“You're silly to pay those robber prices. Let Mr. Streean buy for you from the commissary. Why, two weeks ago he sent home a barrel of flour and some potatoes and rice and salt beef and a peck of salt, and all that only cost sixty dollars.”

Brett said laughingly: “If it's flour you want, Vesta, I'll buy you a few barrels! I'm rich now, you know. Soldiers' pay has been raised to eighteen dollars a month.”

Vesta did not smile. “That's not so funny for poor people, Papa! Eighteen dollars won't buy three needles, these days, much less three square meals.”

Tilda protested: “Cousin Brett, you should have made them give you a commission long ago.”

“We have to have some privates.'

“That's ridiculous! And besides, when you have friends it's sill not
to let them help you. Everyone else does!” Feeling Brett's unspoken criticism, she struck out blindly: “And as far as food is concerned, I didn't see that you starved yourselves on Christmas! If you feel so bad about the poor hungry soldiers, why didn't you turn all the food Jenny brought right over to the commissary?”

“Giving food to the commissary doesn't mean it reaches the army,” Brett reminded her. “The department has too many friends to feed.” He added warningly: “You know, Tilda, the poor people here in Richmond won't go hungry forever. Captain Warner told me today that we're likely to see another food riot, and that if the mob catches Colonel Northrop they'll hang him!”

“Nonsense!” Yet Tilda felt a cold touch of fear. Mr. Streean might be wise to resign his government post. He was making so much money in so many other ways that he could do so as well as not. “People willing to work have plenty to eat,” she declared. “It's just the lazy ones that stir up trouble.”

But Vesta made an angry sound, and Brett smiled without mirth, and she knew they blamed her. Walking homeward she tried to tell herself that she did not care! When the war was over and Mr. Streean was rich and they were poor, they would not be so high and mighty. Yet she did want their good opinion. So many people hated Redford, hated everyone who made money out of the war. That was one reason why he and she had not been invited to Mrs. Semmes's charades tonight. Probably Dolly too would have been left out, even if she had been here. They were all tainted with the Streean name. But perhaps at the Plains some fine young man would love Dolly for herself alone, would woo and win and marry her and take her away from Richmond —and from the shadows of her father's disrepute.

The ball for General Morgan was a fine success; and at church on Sunday one or two of the ladies congratulated Tilda on her part in the arrangements, and she treasured their kindly words. But next day a letter from Jenny brought disturbing news.

Tilda hastily picked up the enclosure, in Dolly's sprawling hand.
There were only a few lines, scribbled straight away with no punctuation, badly blotted.

Tilda uttered an exasperated sound and turned back to Jenny's letter.

Tilda took some reassurance from that fact, but she was furious with Dolly for this escapade. If it were ever known, it would ruin the child's chances to make a good marriage! Ladies did not go off through the blockade just for adventure.

But perhaps no one need ever know. She wrote to Jenny: “Dolly's always so headstrong. She'd begged to go on one of those dreadful
voyages and I had told her she mustn't. Of course she's with her brother, so I suppose it's all right; but I hope no one knows but you and me. So many people would not understand.” Jenny would keep a discreetly silent tongue; but Tilda thought she would not have a moment's peace till Dolly was safely at the Plains. In fact, she would never have an easy mind till the child was married.

During the days that followed she almost forgot Dolly in the pleasant gaieties contrived in General Morgan's honor, of which for once she found herself a part. Mrs. Randolph, with whom her work brought her in contact, invited her and Streean to an evening of charades. She thought he would refuse to go, but to her surprise he consented. President and Mrs. Davis were there, and most of the members of the Cabinet. Tilda watched the charades in happy delight, and guessed “Penitent”, though she had not courage to say so, long before anyone else. She thought she was stupid not to guess “Matrimony” too, and might have done so if in the “Money” scene the turnstile on which Miss Cary was sitting had not collapsed and thrown them all into a hilarious amusement. General Stuart, in some way Tilda did not quite understand, was responsible for that mishap. Before the evening was over, Tilda had the tremulous honor of meeting the great cavalryman, and the happiness of receiving one of the gracious compliments that he was always so ready to bestow.

She went with Mr. Streean to the President's reception the night after someone, presumably bribed by Yankees, made a stupid attempt to set fire to the White House of the Confederacy. Everybody was thankful that the fire was discovered in time so that no one was hurt and little damage done. Richmond during these winter months was very gay, and someone suggested the fire might have been set by poor people resenting the many dances and parties; but General Lee himself had approved the dancing, declaring that when his officers had a chance to enjoy themselves, young ladies were quite right to entertain them.

Tilda enjoyed the reception. She saw in the throng many acquaintances, and felt a deep pleasure when ladies nodded or spoke to her and sometimes even engaged her in conversation. Why, they seemed to respect and to like her; and it was a part of her small triumph to see that Streean was left very much to himself, standing for most of
the evening with two or three intimates in a corner of the room. Mrs. Grant, who had been a Crenshaw before her marriage and had converted her handsome home next door to the White House into a House of Mercy for wounded soldiers, herself presented Tilda to Mrs. Davis, and spoke of the useful work Tilda had done; and Mrs. Davis was pleasantly gracious. Tilda was left swimming in a sea of happy pride.

Judge Tudor spoke to her. His home was diagonally across Twelfth Street, only a few steps away. She asked why Julian and Anne had not come, and he said Julian kept away from crowds. “He and Anne are at home.” He added, with a smile: “Anne was reading aloud to Julian out of Blackstone's
Commentaries
when I left them.” Tilda had never heard of Blackstone's
Commentaries
, so she said hurriedly that this was a beautiful house, wasn't it, and Judge Tudor agreed. “Dr. Brockenbrough built it, forty or fifty years ago,” he said. “There weren't any railroad tracks down in the ravine then, so the lot was more attractive than it is now. Mrs. Brockenbrough laid out a beautiful garden on the slope on that side. She had been Mrs. Randolph of Tuckahoe. When Dr. Brockenbrough retired, he sold the house to Mr. Morson; but Mr. Morson sold it to Miss Bruce—she was Mrs. Morson's sister, and a great belle before she married Mr. Seddon.” Tilda listened blissfully to these great names. “Mr. Seddon added the third story, and then he sold it to Mr. Crenshaw, and the city bought it from him, and the Confederacy rented it as a residence for Mr. Davis.” He added with a chuckle: “Mrs. Davis thinks it too small, but she keeps filling it with children.”