CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
_Bridalbin Finds His Daughter_
"They's a gentleman out there what says he wanter see Miss Bridalbin,"said the house-girl who had gone to the door. "I tol' him they wan't nosech lady here, but he say they is. It's that there Mr. Borin'," thegirl went on, "an' I didn't know if you'd let him go in the parlour."
"Yes, ask him in the parlour," said Miss Fanny, "and then go upstairsand tell Miss Margaret that some one wants to see her."
"Oh, yessum!" said the house-girl with a laugh; "it's Miss Marg'ret; Iclean forgot her yuther name."
"The rascal certainly has impudence," remarked Miss Fanny. "Pulaskishould know about this." Whereupon, she promptly called Neighbour Tomlinout of the library, and he came into the room just as Margaret camedownstairs.
"Wait one moment, Margaret," he said. "It may be well for me to see whatthis man wants--unless----" He paused. "Do you know this Boring?"
"No; I have heard of him. I have never even seen him that I know of."
"Then I'll see him first," said Neighbour Tomlin. He went into theparlour, and those who were listening heard a subdued murmur of voices.
"What is your business with Miss Bridalbin?" Neighbour Tomlin asked,ignoring the proffered hand of the visitor.
"I am her father."
Neighbour Tomlin stood staring at the man as if he were dazed.Bridalbin's face bore the unmistakable marks of alcoholism, and he hadevidently prepared himself for this interview by touching the bottle,for he held himself with a swagger.
Neighbour Tomlin said not a word in reply to the man's declaration. Hestared at him, and turned and went back into the sitting-room where hehad left the others.
"Why, Pulaski, what on earth is the matter?" cried Miss Fanny, as heentered the room. "You look as if you had seen a ghost." And indeed hisface was white, and there was an expression in his eyes that Nan thoughtwas most piteous.
"Go in, my dear," he said to Margaret. "The man has business with you."And then, when Margaret had gone out, he turned to Miss Fanny. "It isher father," he said.
"Well, I wonder what's he up to?" remarked Miss Fanny. There was a touchof anger in her voice. "She shan't go a step away from here with such acreature as that."
"She is her own mistress, sister. She is twenty years old," repliedNeighbour Tomlin.
"Well, she'll be very ungrateful if she leaves us," said Miss Fanny,with some emphasis.
"Don't, sister; never use that word again; to me it has an ugly sound.We have had no thought of gratitude in the matter. If there is any debtin the matter, we are the debtors. We have not been at all happy in theway we have managed things. I have seen for some time that Margaret isunhappy; and we have no business to permit unhappiness to creep intothis house." So said Neighbour Tomlin, and the tones of his voice seemedto issue from the fountains of grief.
"Well, I am sure I have done all I could to make the poor child happy,"Miss Fanny declared.
"I am sure of that," said Neighbour Tomlin. "If any mistake has beenmade it is mine. And yet I have never had any other thought than to makeMargaret happy."
"I know that well enough, Pulaski," Miss Fanny assented, "and I havesometimes had an idea that you thought too much about her for your owngood."
"That is true," he replied. He was a merciless critic of himself inmatters both great and small, and he had no concealments to make. He wasopen as the day, except where openness might render others unhappy oruncomfortable. "Yes, you are right," he insisted; "I have thought toomuch about her happiness for my own good, and now I see myself on theverge of great trouble."
"If Margaret understood the situation," said Miss Fanny, "I think shewould feel differently."
"On the contrary, I think she understands the situation perfectly well;that is the only explanation of her troubles which she has not sought toconceal."
At that moment Margaret came to the door. Her face was very pale, almostghastly, indeed, but whatever trouble may have looked from her eyesbefore, they were clear now. She came into the room with a little smilehovering around her mouth. She had no eyes for any one but PulaskiTomlin, and to him she spoke.
"My father has come," she said. "He is not such a father as I would haveselected; still, he is my father. I knew him the moment I opened thedoor. He wants me to go with him; he says he is able to provide for me.He has claims on me."
"Have we none?" Miss Fanny asked.
"More than anybody in the world," replied Margaret, turning to her;"more than all the rest of the world put together. But I have alwayssaid to myself," she addressed Neighbour Tomlin again, "that if itshould ever happen that I found myself unable to carry out your wishes,sir, it would be best for me to leave your roof, where all my happinesshas come to me." She was very humble, both in speech and demeanour.
Neighbour Tomlin looked at her with a puzzled and a grieved expression."Why, I don't understand you, Margaret," said Neighbour Tomlin. "Whatwish of mine have you found yourself unable to carry out?"
"Only one, sir; but that was a very important one; you desired me tomarry Mr. Bethune."
"I? Why, you were never more mistaken in your life," replied NeighbourTomlin, with what Miss Fanny thought was unnecessary energy. "I may havesuggested it; I saw you gloomy and unhappy, and I had observed thedevotion of the young man. What more natural than for me to suggestthat--Margaret! you are giving me a terrible wound!" He turned and wentinto the library, and Margaret ran after him.
It is probable that Nan knows better than any outsider what occurredthen. It seems that Margaret, in her excitement, forgot to close thedoor after her, and Nan was sitting where she could see pretty mucheverything that happened; and she had a delicious little tale to tellher dear Johnny when she went home, a tale so impossible and romanticthat she forgot her own troubles, and fairly glowed with happiness. Butit is best not to depend too much on what Nan saw, though her sight wasfairly good where her interests were enlisted.
Margaret ran after Neighbour Tomlin and seized him by the arm. "Oh, Inever meant to wound you," she cried--"you who have been so kind, and sogood! Oh, if you could only read my heart, you would forgive me,instantly and forever."
"I can read my own heart," said Neighbour Tomlin, "and it has but onefeeling for you."
"Then kiss me good-bye," she said. "I am going with my father."
"If I kiss you," he replied, "you'll not go."
She looked at him, and he at her, and she found herself in the focus ofa light that enabled her to see everything more clearly. She caught hissecret and he hers, and there was no longer any room formisunderstanding. Her father, weak as he was, had been strong enough toprovide his daughter with a remedy for the only serious trouble, shortof bereavement, that his daughter was ever to know. She refused toreturn to the parlour, where he awaited her.
"Shall I go?" said Neighbour Tomlin.
"If you please, sir," said Margaret, with a faint smile. She couldhardly realise the change that had so suddenly taken place in her hopesand her plans, so swift and unexpected had it been.
Neighbour Tomlin went into the parlour, and made Bridalbin acquaintedwith the facts.
"Margaret has changed her mind," said Neighbour Tomlin. "She thinks itis best to remain under the care and protection of those whom she knowsbetter than she knows her father."
"Why, she seemed eager to go a moment ago," said Bridalbin; "and youmust remember that she is my daughter."
"Her friends couldn't forget that under all the circumstances,"Neighbour Tomlin remarked drily.
"I believe her mind has been poisoned against me," Bridalbin declared.
"That is quite possible," replied Neighbour Tomlin; "and I think youcould easily guess the name of the poisoner."
"May I see my daughter?"
"That rests entirely with her," said Neighbor Tomlin.
But Margaret refused to see him again. Since her own troubles had beenso completely swept away, her memory reverted to all the troubles hermother had to endure, as the result of Bridalbin's lack of
fixedprinciples, and she sent him word that she would prefer not to see himthen or ever afterward; and so the man went away, more bent on doingmischief than ever, though he was compelled to change his field ofoperations.
And then, after he was gone, a silence fell on the company. Nan appearedto be in a dazed condition, while Miss Fanny sat looking out of thewindow. Margaret, very much subdued, was clinging to Nan, and NeighbourTomlin was pacing up and down in the library in a glow of happiness. Allhis early dreams had come back to him, and they were true. The romanceof his youth had been changed into a reality.
Margaret was the first to break the silence. She left Nan, and wentslowly to Miss Fanny, and stood by her chair. "What do you think of me?"she said, in a low voice.
For answer, Miss Fanny rose and placed her arms around the girl, andheld her tightly for a moment, and then kissed her.
"But I do think, my dear," she said with an effort to laugh, "that thematter might have been arranged without frightening us to death."
"I had no thought of frightening you. Oh, I am afraid I had no thoughtfor anything but my own troubles. Did you know? Did you guess?"
"I knew about Pulaski, but I had to go away from home to learn the newsabout you. Madame Awtry called my attention to it, and then with myeyes upon, I could see a great many things that were not visiblebefore."
"Why, how could she know?" cried Margaret. "I have talked with her notmore than a half dozen times."
"She is a very wise woman," Miss Fanny remarked, by way of explanation.
"Well, when I get in love, I'll not visit Madame Awtry," said Nan.
"My dear, you have been there once too often," Miss Fanny declared.
"Why, what has she been telling you?" inquired Nan, blushing very red.
"I'll not disclose your secrets, Nan," answered Miss Fanny.
"I would thank you kindly, if I had any," said Nan.
And then, suddenly, while Margaret was standing with her arms aroundMiss Fanny, she began to blush and show signs of embarrassment.
"Nan," she said, "will you take a boarder for--for--for I don't know howlong?"
"Not for long, Nan. Say a couple of weeks." It was Neighbour Tomlin whospoke, as he came out of the library.
"Oh, for longer than that," protested Margaret.
"You must remember that I am getting old, child," he said very solemnly.
"So am I, sir," she said archly. "I am quite as old as you are, Ithink."
"This is the first quarrel," Nan declared, "and who knows how it willall end? You are to come and stay as long as you please, and then afterthat, you are to stay as long as I please."
"I declare, Nan, you talk like an old woman!" exclaimed Miss Fanny;whereupon Nan laughed and said she had to be serious sometimes.
And so it was arranged that Margaret was to stay with Nan for anindefinite period. "I hope you will come to see me occasionally, Mr.Tomlin, and you too, Aunt Fanny," she said with mock formality. "Weshall have days for receiving company, just as the fine ladies do in thecities; and you'll have to send in your cards."
The two young women refused to go in the carriage.
"It is so small and stuffy," said Margaret to Neighbour Tomlin, "andto-day I want to be in the fresh air. If you please, sir, don't look atme like that, or I can never go." She went close to him. "Oh, is it alltrue? Is it really and truly true, or is it a dream?"
"It is true," he said, kissing her. "It is a dream, but it is my dreamcome true."
"I didn't think," she said, as she went along with Nan, "that the worldwas as beautiful as it seems to be to-day."
"Mr. Sanders says," replied Nan, "that it is the most comfortable worldhe has ever found; but somehow--well, you know we can't all be happy thesame way at the same time."
"Your day is still to come," said Margaret, "and when it does, I want tobe there."
"You say that," remarked Nan, "but you know you would have felt betterif you hadn't had so much company. For a wonder Tasma Tid wouldn't go inthe house with me. She said something was happening in there. Now, howdid she know?" Tasma Tid had joined them as they came through the gate,and now Nan turned to her with the question.
"Huh! we know dem trouble w'en we see um. Dee ain't no trouble now. Shedone gone--dem trouble. But yan' come mo'." She pointed to Miss PollyGaither, who came toddling along with her work-bag and her turkey-tailfan.
"Howdy, girls? I'm truly glad to see you. You are looking well both ofyou, and health is a great blessing. I have just been to Lucy Lumsden's,Nan, and she thinks a great deal of you. I could tell you things thatwould turn your head. But I'm really sorry for Lucy; she's almost aslonely as I am. They say Gabriel is sure to be dealt with; I'm toldthere is no other way out of it. Have you two heard anything?" Margaretand Nan shook their heads, but gestures of that kind were not at allsatisfactory to Miss Polly. "They say that little Cephas was sent downto prepare Gabriel for the worst. But I didn't say a word about that toLucy, and if you two girls go there, you must be very careful not todrop a word about it. Lucy is getting old, and she can't bear up undertrouble as she used to could. She has aged wonderfully in the past fewweeks. Don't you think so, Nan?"
She held up her ear-trumpet as she spoke, and Nan made a great pretenceof yelling into it, though not a sound issued from her lips. Miss Pollyfrowned. "Don't talk so loud, my dear; you will make people think I'm agreat deal deafer than I am. But you always would yell at me, though Ihave asked you a dozen times to speak only in ordinary tones. Well, Idon't agree with you about Lucy. She has broken terribly since Gabrielwas carried off; she is not the same woman, she takes no interest inaffairs at all. I told her a piece of astonishing news, and she paid nomore attention to it than if she hadn't heard it; and she didn't use tobe that way. Well, we all have our troubles, and you two will have yourswhen you grow a little older. That is one thing of which there is alwaysenough left to go around. The supply is never exhausted."
After delivering this truism, Miss Polly waved her turkey-tail fan asmajestically as she knew how, and went toddling along home. Miss Pollywas a kind-hearted woman, but she couldn't resist the inclination togossip and tattle. Her tattle did no harm, for her weakness was welladvertised in that community; but, unfortunately, her deafness had madeher both suspicious and irritable. When in company, for instance, sheinsisted on feeling that people were talking about her when theconversation was not carried on loud enough for her to hear the sound ofthe voices, if not the substance of what was said, and she had a way ofturning to the one closest at hand, with the remark, "They should havebetter manners than to talk of the afflictions of an old woman, for itis not at all certain that they will escape." Naturally this would callout a protest on the part of all present, whereupon Miss Polly wouldshake her head, and remark that she was not as deaf as many peoplesupposed; that, in fact, there were days when she could hear almost aswell as she heard before the affliction overtook her.
"I wonder," said Nan, whose curiosity was always ready to be aroused,"what piece of astonishing news Miss Polly has been telling GrandmotherLumsden. Perhaps she has told her of the events of the morning at Mr.Tomlin's."
"That is absurd, Nan," Margaret declared. "Still, it would make nodifference to me. He was the only person that I ever wanted to hide myfeelings from. I never so much as dreamed that he could care forme--and, oh, Nan! suppose that he should be pretending simply to pleaseme!"
"You goose!" cried Nan. "Whoever heard of that man pretending, or tryingto deceive any one? If he was a young man, now, it would be different."
"Not with all young men," Margaret asserted. "There is GabrielTolliver--I don't believe he would deceive any one."
"Oh, Gabriel--but why do you mention Gabriel?"
"Because his eyes are so beautiful and honest," answered Margaret.
But Nan tossed her head; she would never believe anything good aboutGabriel unless she said it herself--or thought it, for she could thinkhundreds, yes, thousands, of things about Gabriel that she wouldn't dareto breathe aloud, even though there
was no living soul within a hundredmiles. And that fact needn't make Gabriel feel so awfully proud, forthere were other persons and things she could think about.
Ah, well! love is such a restless, suspicious thing, such an irritating,foolish, freakish, solemn affair, that it is not surprising the twoyoung women were somewhat afraid of it when they found themselves in itsclutches.
Gabriel Tolliver: A Story of Reconstruction Page 30