CHAPTER TEN
_The Troubles of Nan_
"Why, what on earth ails the child?" exclaimed Mrs. Absalom. Nan wasleaning back in the chair, her face very red, making an effort to fanherself with one little hand, and panting wildly. "Malindy!" Mrs.Absalom yelled to the cook, "run here an' fetch the camphire as youcome! Ain't you comin'? The laws a massy on us! the child'll be cold andstiff before you start! Honey, what on earth ails you? Tell your Nonny.Has anybody pestered you? Ef they have, jest tell me the'r name, an'I'll foller 'em to the jumpin'-off place but what I'll frail 'em out.You Malindy! whyn't you come on? You'll go faster'n that to your ownfuneral."
But when Malindy came with the camphor, and a dose of salts in atumbler, Nan waved her away. "I don't want any physic, Nonny," she said,still panting, for her run had been a long one; "I'm just tired fromrunning. And, oh, Nonny! I have something to tell you."
"Well, my life!" exclaimed Mrs. Absalom indignantly, withdrawing herarms from around Nan, and rising to her feet. "A little more, an' you'd'a' had me ready for my coolin'-board. I ain't had such a turn--notsence the day a nigger boy run in the gate an' tol' me the Yankees wasa-hangin' Ab. An' all bekaze you've hatched out some rigamarole thatnobody on the green earth would 'a' thought of but you."
She fussed around a little, and was for going about the variousunnecessary duties she imposed on herself; but Nan protested. "Please,Nonny, wait until I tell you." Thereupon Nan told as well as she couldof the conversation she and Gabriel had overheard in town, and therecital gave Mrs. Absalom a more serious feeling than she had had inmany a day. Her muscular arms, bare to the elbow, were folded across herample bosom, and she seemed to be glaring at Nan with a frown on herface, but she was thinking.
"Well," she said with a sigh, "I knowed there was gwine to be trouble ofsome kind--old Billy Sanders went by here this mornin' as drunk as alord."
"Drunk!" cried Nan with blanched face.
"Well, sorter tollerbul how-come-you-so. The last time old Billy wasdrunk, was when sesaytion was fetched on. Ev'ry time he runs a straw ina jimmy-john, he fishes up trouble. An' my dream's out. I dremp lastnight that a wooden-leg man come to the door, an' ast me for a pair ofshoes. I ast him what on earth he wanted wi' a pair, bein's he had butone foot. He said that the foot he didn't have was constant a-feelin'like it was cold, an' he allowed maybe it'd feel better ef it know'dthat he had a shoe ready for it ag'in colder weather."
"Oh, I hate him! I just naturally despise him!" cried Nan. When she wasangry her face was pale, and it was very pale now.
"Why do you hate the wooden-leg man, honey? It was all in a dream," saidMrs. Absalom, soothingly.
"Oh, I don't know what you are talking about, Nonny!" exclaimed Nan,ready to cry. "I mean old Billy Sanders. And if I don't give him a pieceof my mind when I see him. Now Gabriel will go to that place to-night,and he's nothing but a boy."
"A boy! well, I dunner where you'll find your men ef Gabriel ain'tnothin' but a boy. Where's anybody in these diggin's that's any biggeror stouter? I wish you'd show 'em to me," remarked Mrs. Absalom.
"I don't care," Nan persisted; "I know just what Gabriel will do. He'llgo to that place to-night, and--and--I'd rather go there myself."
"Well, my life!" exclaimed Mrs. Absalom, with lifted eyebrows.
The pallor of Nan's face was gradually replaced by a warmer glow. "Now,Nonny! don't say a word--don't tease--don't tease me about Gabriel. Ifyou do, I'll never tell you anything more for ever and ever."
"All this is bran new to me," Mrs. Absalom declared. "You make me feel,Nan, like I was in some strange place, talkin' wi' some un I never seedbefore. You ain't no more like yourself--you ain't no more like you usedto be--than day is like night, an' I'm jest as sorry as I can be."
"That's what Gabriel says," sighed Nan. "He said he was sorry, and nowyou say you are sorry. Oh, Nonny, I don't want any one to be sorry forme."
"Well, then, behave yourself, an' be like you use to be, an' stoptrollopin' aroun' wi' them highfalutin' gals downtown. They look likethey know too much. All they talk about is boys, boys, boys, frommornin' till night; an' I noticed when they was spendin' a part of the'rtime here that you was just as bad. It was six of one an' twice three ofthe rest. Now you know that ain't a sign of good health for gals to beeternally talkin' about boys, 'specially sech ganglin', lop-sidedcreeturs as we've got aroun' here."
"Where's Johnny?" asked Nan, who evidently had no notion of getting in acontroversy with Mrs. Absalom on the subject of boys. "Johnny" was hername for her step-mother, whose surname of Dion had been changed to"Johns" the day after she arrived at Shady Dale. The story of littleMiss Johns has been told in another place and all that is necessary toadd to the record is the fact that she had managed to endear herself tothe critical, officious, and somewhat jealous Mrs. Absalom. Mrs.Dorrington had the tact and the charm of the best of her race. She wasNan's dearest friend and only confidante, and though she was not manyyears the girl's senior, she had an influence over her that saved Nanfrom many a bad quarter of an hour.
Mrs. Dorrington was in her own room when Nan found her, sewing andsinging softly to herself, the picture of happiness and content. Nandropped on her knees beside her chair, and threw her arms impulsivelyaround the little woman's neck.
"Tell me ever what it is, Nan, before you smother-cate me," said Mrs.Dorrington, smoothing the girl's hair. The two had a language of theirown, which the elder had learned from the younger.
"It is the most miserable misery, Johnny. Do you remember what I toldyou about those people?"
"How could I forget, Nan?"
"Well, those people are going head foremost into trouble, and whateverhappens, I want to be there."
"Oh, is that so? Well, it is too bad," said the little womansympathetically. "Perhaps if you would say something about it--not toomuch, but just enough for me to get it through my thick numskull----"
Whereupon Nan told of all the fears by which she was beset, and of allthe troubles that racked her mind, and the two had quite a consultation.
"You are not afraid for yourself; why should you be afraid for thosepeople?" inquired Mrs. Dorrington, laying great stress on "thosepeople," the name that Gabriel went by when Nan and Johnny werereferring to him.
"Oh, I don't know," replied Nan, helplessly. "It isn't because of whatyou would guess if you knew no better. I have a very great friendshipfor those people; but it isn't the other feeling--the kind that you weretelling me about. If it is--oh, if it is--I shall never forgive myself."
"In time--yes. It is quite easy to forgive yourself on account of thosepeople. I found it so."
"Oh, don't! You make me feel as if I ought never to speak to myself."
"Then don't," said Mrs. Dorrington, calmly. "You can speak to me insteadof to that ignorant girl."
"Oh, you sweetest!" cried Nan, hugging her step-mother; "I am going tohave you for my doll."
"Very well, then," said Mrs. Dorrington, shrugging her shoulders; "butyou will have some trouble on your hands--yes, more than those peoplegive you."
"Johnny, you are my little mother, and you never gave me any trouble inyour life. I am the one that is troublesome; I am troubling you now."
"Silly thing! will you be good?" cried Mrs. Dorrington, tapping Nanlightly on the cheek. "How can you trouble me when I don't know what youmean? You haven't told me."
"I thought you could guess as well as I can," replied Nan.
"About some things--yes; but not about this terrible danger that is toovercome those people."
Whereupon, Nan told Mrs. Dorrington of the conversation she and Gabrielhad overheard. To this information she added her suspicions that Gabrielintended to do something desperate; and then she gave a very vividdescription of the strange white man, of his pale and eager countenance,his glittering, shifty eyes, and his thin, cruel lips.
Instead of shuddering, as she should have done, Mrs. Dorrington laughed."But I don't see what the trouble is," she declared. "That boy is everso large; he can take care
of himself. But if you think not, then askhim to tea."
Nan frowned heavily. "But, Johnny, tea is so tame. Think of rescuing afriend from danger by means of a cup of tea! Doesn't it seemridiculous?"
"Of course it is," responded Mrs. Dorrington. "But it isn't half soridiculous as your make-believe. Oh, Nan! Nan! when will you come downfrom your clouds?"
Now, Nan's world of make-believe was as natural to her as the personsand things all about her. No sooner had she guessed that it wasGabriel's intention to find out what the Union League was for, and, in away, expose himself to some possible danger of discovery, than shecarried the whole matter into her land of make-believe as naturally as amocking-bird carries a flake of thistle-down to its nest. Once there,nothing could be more reasonable or more logical than the terribledanger to which Gabriel would be exposed. While it lasted, Nan's feelingof anxiety and alarm was both real and sincere. Mrs. Absalom could neverenter into this world of Nan's; she was too practical and downright. Andyet she had a ready sympathy for the girl's troubles and humoured herwithout stint, though she sometimes declared that Nan was queer andflighty.
Mrs. Dorrington, on the other hand, inheriting the sensitive andartistic temperament of Flavian Dion, her father, was able to enterheartily into the most of Nan's vagaries. Sometimes she humoured them,but more frequently she laughed at them as the girl grew older.Occasionally, in her twilight conversations with her father, whosegentleness and shyness kept him in the background, Mrs. Dorringtonwould deplore Nan's tendency to exploit her imagination.
"But she was born thus, my dear," Flavian Dion would reply, speaking thepicturesque patois of New France. "It will either be her great misery,or her great happiness. How was it with me? Once it was my great misery,but now--you see how it is. Come! we will have some music, ifMademoiselle the Dreamer is willing."
And then they would go into the parlour, where, with Mrs. Dorrington atthe piano, Flavian Dion with his violin, and Nan with her voice, whichwas rich and strong, they would render the beautiful folk-songs ofFrance. Moreover, Flavian Dion had caught many of the plantationmelodies, of which Nan knew the words, and when the French songs wereexhausted, they would fall back on these. It frequently happened thatMademoiselle the Dreamer would add feet as well as voice to the negromelodies, especially if Tasma Tid were there to incite her, and the waythat Nan reproduced steps and poses was both wonderful and inimitable.
The reader who takes the trouble to make inferences as he goes along,will perceive that Nan's solicitude for Gabriel was no compliment tohim; it was not flattering to the heroism of a young man who wasthreatening to grow a moustache, for a young lady to believe, or evenpretend to believe, that he needed to be rescued from some imaginarydanger. Gabriel was strong enough to take a man's place at alog-rolling, and he would have had small relish for the information ifhe had been told that Nan Dorrington was planning to rescue him.
Let the simple truth be told. Gabriel was no hero in Nan's eyes. He wasmerely a friend and former comrade, who now was in sad need of some oneto take care of him. That was her belief, and she would have shrunk fromthe idea that Gabriel would one day be her lover. She had quite otherviews. Yes, indeed! Her lover must be a man who had passed through somedesperate experiences. He must be a hero with sword and plume, a cutterand slasher, a man who had a relish for bloodshed, such as she had readabout in the romances she had appropriated from her father's library.
Nan had brought over from her childhood many queer dreams and fancies.Once upon a time, she had heard her elders talking of John A. Murrell,the notorious land-pirate and highwayman. The man was one of thecoarsest and cruellest of modern ruffians, but about his name the commonpeople had placed a halo of romance. It was said of him that he rescuedbeautiful maidens from their abductors, and restored them to theirfriends, and that he robbed the rich only to give to the poor. Sad tosay, this ruffian was Nan's ideal hero.
And now, when she was racking her brains to invent some bold and simpleplan for the rescue of Gabriel, her mind reverted to this ideal hero ofher childhood.
"If you insist, Johnny, I'll ask Gabriel to tea," Nan remarked for thesecond time; "but, as you say, it is perfectly ridiculous. Whoever heardof rescuing persons by inviting them to supper?" She paused a moment,and then went on with a sigh that would have sounded very real in Mrs.Absalom's ears, but which simply brought a smile to Mrs. Dorrington'sface--"Heigh-ho! What a pity John A. Murrell isn't alive to-day!"
"And who is this Mr. Murrell?" Mrs. Dorrington asked.
"He was a fierce robber-chief," replied Nan, placidly. "He wore a bigblack beard, and a hat with a red feather in it. Over his left shoulderwas a red sash, and he rode a big white horse. He carried two bigpistols and a bowie-knife--Nonny can tell you all about him."
Whereupon, Mrs. Dorrington jumped from her chair, and made an effort tocatch the young romancer; and in a moment, the laughter of the pursuer,and the shrieks of the pursued, when she thought she was in danger ofbeing caught, roused the echoes in the old house. Mrs. Absalom, who wasin the kitchen, laughed and shook her head. "I believe them two scampswill be children when they are sixty year old!"
But after awhile, when their romp was over, Nan suddenly discovered thatshe had been in very high spirits, and this, according to theconstitution and by-laws of the land of make-believe, was anunpardonable offence, especially when, as now, a very dear friend was indanger. So she went out upon the veranda, and half-way down the steps,where she seated herself in an attitude of extreme dejection.
While sitting there, Nan suddenly remembered that she did have agrievance and a very real one. Tasma Tid was in a state of insurrection.She had not been permitted to accompany her young mistress when thelatter visited her girl-friends, and for a long time she had beensulking and pouting. An effort had been made to induce Tasma Tid to makeherself useful, but even the strong will of Mrs. Absalom collapsed whenit found itself in conflict with the bright-eyed African.
Tasma Tid had been wounded in her tenderest part--her affections. Hersentiments and emotions, being primitive, were genuine. Her grief, whenseparated from Nan, was very keen. She refused to eat, and for the mostpart kept herself in seclusion, and no one was able to find herhiding-place. Now, when Nan threw herself upon the steps in an attitudeof dejection, with her head on her arm, it happened that Tasma Tid wasprowling about with the hope of catching a glimpse of her. The African,slipping around the house, suddenly came plump upon the object of hersearch. She stood still, and drew a long breath. Here was Honey Nanapparently in deep trouble. Tasma Tid crept up the steps as silently asa ghost, and sat beside the prostrate form. If Nan knew, she made nosign; nor did she move when the African laid a caressing hand on herhair. It was only when Tasma Tid leaned over and kissed Nan on the handthat she stirred. She raised her head, saying,
"You shouldn't do that, Tasma Tid; I'm too mean."
"How come you dis away, Honey Nan?" inquired the African in a low tone."Who been-a hu't you?"
"No one," replied Nan; "I am just mean."
"'Tis ain't so, nohow. Somebody been-a hu't you. You show dem ter TasmaTid--dee ain't hu't you no mo'."
"Where have you been? Why did you go away and leave me?"
"Nobody want we fer stay. You go off, an' den we go off. We go off an'walk, walk, walk in de graveyard--walk, walk, walk in de graveyard; an'den we go home way off yander in de woods."
"Home! why this is your home; it shall always be your home," cried Nan,touched by the forlorn look in Tasma Tid's eyes, and the despairingexpression in her voice.
"No, no, Honey Nan; 'tis-a no home fer we when you drive we 'way fumfoller you, when you shak-a yo' haid ef we come trot, trot 'hind you. Weno want home lak dat. No, no, Honey Nan. We make home in de woods."
"Where is your home?" Nan inquired, full of curiosity.
"We take-a you dey when dem sun go 'way."
"Well, you must stay here," said Nan, emphatically. "You shall follow mewherever I go."
"You talk-a so dis time, Honey Nan; nex' time--" Tasma
Tid ran down thesteps, and went along the walk mimicking Nan's movements, shaking herfrock first on one side and then on the other. Then she looked over hershoulder, turned around with a frown, stamped her foot and made menacinggestures with her hands. "Dat how 'twill be nex' time, Honey Nan."
Hearing Mrs. Absalom laughing, Nan conjectured that she had witnessedTasma Tid's performance. "Nonny," she cried, "do I really walk that way,and finger my skirt so?"
"To a t," said Mrs. Absalom, laughing louder. "Ef she was a foot an' ahalf higher, I'd 'a' made shore it was you practisin' ag'in the timewhen you'll mince by the store where old Silas Tomlin's yearlin' isclerkin', or by the tavern peazzer, where Frank Bethune an' the rest ofthe loafers set at. It's among the merikels that Gabe Tolliver don't mixwi' that crowd. I reckon maybe it's bekaze he jest natchally toowuthless."
"Now, Nonny! I don't think you ought to make fun of me," protested Nan."I am perfectly certain that I don't mince when I walk, and you arealways complaining that I don't care how my clothes look."
"Go roun' to the kitchen, you black slink," exclaimed Mrs. Absalom,addressing Tasma Tid, "an' git your dinner! You've traipsed andtrolloped until I bet you can gulp down all the vittles on the place."
"And when you have finished your dinner, come to my room," said Nan.
It was not often that Nan was to be found in her own room during theday, but now she remembered that she had promised to spend the nightwith Eugenia Claiborne; and how was she to invite Gabriel to tea, asMrs. Dorrington had suggested? There was but one thing to do, and thatwas to break her engagement with Eugenia. She was of half a dozen mindswhat to say to her friend. She wrote note after note, only to destroyeach one. She pulled her nose, stuck out her tongue, looked at theceiling, and bit her thumb, but all to no purpose.
Tasma Tid, who had finished her dinner, sat on the floor eying Nan as anintelligent dog eyes its master, ready to respond to look, word orgesture. Finally, the African, seeing Nan's perplexity, made asuggestion.
"Make dem cuss-words come," she said. Tasma Tid had heard men useprofane language when fretted or irritated, and she supposed that it wasa remedy for troubles both small and large.
"Be jigged if I haven't a mind to," cried Nan, laughing at the African'searnestness.
But at last she flung her pen down, seized her hat, and, with anunspoken invitation to Tasma Tid, went out into the street, determinedto go to the Gaither Place, where Eugenia lived, and present her excusesin person.
Gabriel Tolliver: A Story of Reconstruction Page 11