Battle Ground

by Ellen Anderson Gholson Glasgow

  II

  AT THE FULL OF THE MOON

  By the light of the big moon hanging like a lantern in the topmost pineupon a distant mountain, the child sped swiftly along the turnpike.

  It was a still, clear evening, and on the summits of the eastern hills afringe of ragged firs stood out illuminated against the sky. In the warmJune weather the whole land was fragrant from the flower of the wild grape.

  When she had gone but a little way, the noise of wheels reached hersuddenly, and she shrank into the shadow beside the wall. A cloud of dustchased toward her as the wheels came steadily on. They were evidentlyancient, for they turned with a protesting creak which was heard longbefore the high, old-fashioned coach they carried swung into view--longindeed before the driver's whip cracked in the air.

  As the coach neared the child, she stepped boldly out into the road--it wasonly Major Lightfoot, the owner of the next plantation, returning, belated,from the town.

  "W'at you doin' dar, chile?" demanded a stern voice from the box, and, atthe words, the Major's head was thrust through the open window, and hislong white hair waved in the breeze.

  "Is that you, Betty?" he asked, in surprise. "Why, I thought it was theduty of that nephew of mine to see you home."

  "I wouldn't let him," replied the child. "I don't like boys, sir."

  "You don't, eh?" chuckled the Major. "Well, there's time enough for that, Isuppose. You can make up to them ten years hence,--and you'll be gladenough to do it then, I warrant you,--but are you all alone, young lady?"As Betty nodded, he opened the door and stepped gingerly down. "I can'tturn the horses' heads, poor things," he explained; "but if you will allowme, I shall have the pleasure of escorting you on foot."

  With his hat in his hand, he smiled down upon the little girl, his faceshining warm and red above his pointed collar and broad black stock. He wasvery tall and spare, and his eyebrows, which hung thick and dark above hisRoman nose, gave him an odd resemblance to a bird of prey. The smileflashed like an artificial light across his austere features.

  "Since my arm is too high for you," he said, "will you have my hand?--Yes,you may drive on, Big Abel," to the driver, "and remember to take out thosebulbs of Spanish lilies for your mistress. You will find them under theseat."

  The whip cracked again above the fat old roans, and with a great creak thecoach rolled on its way.

  "I--I--if you please, I'd rather you wouldn't," stammered the child.

  The Major chuckled again, still holding out his hand. Had she been eightyinstead of eight, the gesture could not have expressed more deference. "Soyou don't like old men any better than boys!" he exclaimed.

  "Oh, yes, sir, I do--heaps," said Betty. She transferred the frog's foot toher left hand, and gave him her right one. "When I marry, I'm going tomarry a very old gentleman--as old as you," she added flatteringly.

  "You honour me," returned the Major, with a bow; "but there's nothing likeyouth, my dear, nothing like youth." He ended sadly, for he had been a gayyoung blood in his time, and the enchantment of his wild oats had increasedas he passed further from the sowing of them. He had lived to regret boththe loss of his gayety and the languor of his blood, and, as he driftedfurther from the middle years, he had at last yielded to tranquillity witha sigh. In his day he had matched any man in Virginia at cards or wine orwomen--to say nothing of horseflesh; now his white hairs had brought himbut a fond, pale memory of his misdeeds and the boast that he knew hisworld--that he knew all his world, indeed, except his wife.

  "Ah, there's nothing like youth!" he sighed over to himself, and the childlooked up and laughed.

  "Why do you say that?" she asked.

  "You will know some day," replied the Major. He drew himself erect in histight black broadcloth, and thrust out his chin between the high points ofhis collar. His long white hair, falling beneath his hat, framed his ruddyface in silver. "There are the lights of Uplands," he said suddenly, with awave of his hand.

  Betty quickened her pace to his, and they went on in silence. Through thethick grove that ended at the roadside she saw the windows of her homeflaming amid the darkness. Farther away there were the small lights of thenegro cabins in the "quarters," and a great one from the barn door wherethe field hands were strumming upon their banjos.

  "I reckon supper's ready," she remarked, walking faster. "Yonder comesPeter, from the kitchen with the waffles."

  They entered an iron gate that opened from the road, and went up a lane oflilac bushes to the long stuccoed house, set with detached wings in a groveof maples. "Why, there's papa looking for me," cried the child, as a man'sfigure darkened the square of light from the hall and came between theDoric columns of the portico down into the drive.

  "You won't have to search far, Governor," called the Major, in his ringingvoice, and, as the other came up to him, he stopped to shake hands. "MissBetty has given me the pleasure of a stroll with her."

  "Ah, it was like you, Major," returned the other, heartily. "I'm afraid itisn't good for your gout, though."

  He was a small, soldierly-looking man, with a clean-shaven, classic face,and thick, brown hair, slightly streaked with gray. Beside the Major'sgaunt figure he appeared singularly boyish, though he held himself severelyto the number of his inches, and even added, by means of a simplicityalmost august, a full cubit to his stature. Ten years before he had beengovernor of his state, and to his friends and neighbours the empty honour,at least, was still his own.

  "Pooh! pooh!" the older man protested airily, "the gout's like a woman, mydear sir--if you begin to humour it, you'll get no rest. If you denyyourself a half bottle of port, the other half will soon follow. No, no, Isay--put a bold foot on the matter. Don't give up a good thing for the sakeof a bad one, sir. I remember my grandfather in England telling me that athis first twinge of gout he took a glass of sherry, and at the second hetook two. 'What! would you have my toe become my master?' he roared to thedoctor. 'I wouldn't give in if it were my whole confounded foot, sir!' Oh,those were ripe days, Governor!"

  "A little overripe for the toe, I fear, Major."

  "Well, well, we're sober enough now, sir, sober enough and to spare. Eventhe races are dull things. I've just been in to have a look at that newmare Tom Bickels is putting on the track, and bless my soul, she can't holda candle to the Brown Bess I ran twenty years ago--you don't remember BrownBess, eh, Governor?"

  "Why, to be sure," said the Governor. "I can see her as if it wereyesterday,--and a beauty she was, too,--but come in to supper with us, mydear Major; we were just sitting down. No, I shan't take an excuse--comein, sir, come in."

  "No, no, thank you," returned the Major. "Molly's waiting, and Mollydoesn't like to wait, you know. I got dinner at Merry Oaks tavern by theway, and a mighty bad one, too, but the worst thing about it was that theyactually had the impudence to put me at the table with an abolitionist.Why, I'd as soon eat with a darkey, sir, and so I told him, so I told him!"

  The Governor laughed, his fine, brown eyes twinkling in the gloom. "Youwere always a man of your word," he said; "so I must tell Julia to mend herviews before she asks you to dine. She has just had me draw up my will andfree the servants. There's no withstanding Julia, you know, Major."

  "You have an angel," declared the other, "and she gets lovelier every day;my regards to her,--and to her aunts, sir. Ah, good night, good night," andwith a last cordial gesture he started rapidly upon his homeward way.

  Betty caught the Governor's hand and went with him into the house. As theyentered the hall, Uncle Shadrach, the head butler, looked out to reprimandher. "Ef'n anybody 'cep'n Marse Peyton had cotch you, you'd er des beenlammed," he grumbled. "An' papa was real mad!" called Virginia from thetable.

  "That's jest a story!" cried Betty. Still clinging to her father's hand,she entered the dining room; "that's jest a story, papa," she repeated.

  "No, I'm not angry," laughed the Governor. "There, my dear, for heaven'ssake don't strangle me. Your mother's the one for you to hang on. Can't yousee what a rage sh
e's in?"

  "My dear Mr. Ambler," remonstrated his wife, looking over the high oldsilver service. She was very frail and gentle, and her voice was hardlymore than a clear whisper. "No, no, Betty, you must go up and wash yourface first," she added decisively.

  The Governor sat down and unfolded his napkin, beaming hospitality upon hisfood and his family. He surveyed his wife, her two maiden aunts and his ownelder brother with the ineffable good humour he bestowed upon the majestichome-cured ham fresh from a bath of Madeira.

  "I am glad to see you looking so well, my dear," he remarked to his wife,with a courtliness in which there was less polish than personality. "Ah,Miss Lydia, I know whom to thank for this," he added, taking up a pale tearosebud from his plate, and bowing to one of the two old ladies seatedbeside his wife. "Have you noticed, Julia, that even the roses have becomemore plentiful since your aunts did us the honour to come to us?"

  "I am sure the garden ought to be grateful to Aunt Lydia," said his wife,with a pleased smile, "and the quinces to Aunt Pussy," she added quickly,"for they were never preserved so well before."

  The two old ladies blushed and cast down their eyes, as they did everyevening at the same kindly by-play. "You know I am very glad to be of use,my dear Julia," returned Miss Pussy, with conscious virtue. Miss Lydia, whowas tall and delicate and bent with the weight of potential sanctity, shookher silvery head and folded her exquisite old hands beneath the ruffles ofher muslin under-sleeves. She wore her hair in shining folds beneath herthread-lace cap, and her soft brown eyes still threw a youthful lustre overthe faded pallor of her face.

  "Pussy has always had a wonderful talent for preserving," she murmuredplaintively. "It makes me regret my own uselessness."

  "Uselessness!" warmly protested the Governor. "My dear Miss Lydia, yourmere existence is a blessing to mankind. A lovely woman is never useless,eh, Brother Bill?"

  Mr. Bill, a stout and bashful gentleman, who never wasted words, merelybowed over his plate, and went on with his supper. There was a theory inthe family--a theory romantic old Miss Lydia still hung hard by--that Mr.Bill's peculiar apathy was of a sentimental origin. Nearly thirty yearsbefore he had made a series of mild advances to his second cousin, VirginiaAmbler--and her early death before their polite vows were plighted had, inthe eyes of his friends, doomed the morose Mr. Bill to the position of aperpetual mourner.

  Now, as he shook his head and helped himself to chicken, Miss Lydia sighedin sympathy.

  "I am afraid Mr. Bill must find us very flippant," she offered as a gentlereproof to the Governor.

  Mr. Bill started and cast a frightened glance across the table. Thirtyyears are not as a day, and, after all, his emotion had been hardly morethan he would have felt for a prize perch that had wriggled from his lineinto the stream. The perch, indeed, would have represented moreappropriately the passion of his life--though a lukewarm lover, he was anardent angler.

  "Ah, Brother Bill understands us," cheerfully interposed the Governor. Hiskeen eyes had noted Mr. Bill's alarm as they noted the emptiness of MissPussy's cup. "By the way, Julia," he went on with a change of the subject,"Major Lightfoot found Betty in the road and brought her home. The littlerogue had run away."

  Mrs. Ambler filled Miss Pussy's cup and pressed Mr. Bill to take a slice ofSally Lunn. "The Major is so broken that it saddens me," she said, whenthese offices of hostess were accomplished. "He has never been himselfsince his daughter ran away, and that was--dear me, why that was twelveyears ago next Christmas. It was on Christmas Eve, you remember, he came totell us. The house was dressed in evergreens, and Uncle Patrick was makingpunch."

  "Poor Patrick was a hard drinker," sighed Miss Lydia; "but he was a citizenof the world, my dear."

  "Yes, yes, I perfectly recall the evening," said the Governor,thoughtfully. "The young people were just forming for a reel and you and Iwere of them, my dear,--it was the year, I remember, that the mistletoe wasbrought home in a cart,--when the door opened and in came the Major. 'Janehas run away with that dirty scamp Montjoy,' he said, and was out again andon his horse before we caught the words. He rode like a madman that night.I can see him now, splashing through the mud with Big Abel after him."

  Betty came running in with smiling eyes, and fluttered into her seat. "Igot here before the waffles," she cried. "Mammy said I wouldn't. UncleShadrach, I got here before you!"

  "Dat's so, honey," responded Uncle Shadrach from behind the Governor'schair. He was so like his master--commanding port, elaborate shirt-front,and high white stock--that the Major, in a moment of merry-making, had oncedubbed him "the Governor's silhouette."

  "Say your grace, dear," remonstrated Miss Lydia, as the child shook out hernapkin. "It's always proper to offer thanks standing, you know. I rememberyour great-grandmother telling me that once when she dined at the WhiteHouse, when her father was in Congress, the President forgot to say grace,and made them all get up again after they were seated. Now, for what are weabout--"

  "Oh, papa thanked for me," cried Betty. "Didn't you, papa?"

  The Governor smiled; but catching his wife's eyes, he quickly forced hisbenign features into a frowning mask.

  "Do as your aunt tells you, Betty," said Mrs. Ambler, and Betty got up andsaid grace, while Virginia took the brownest waffle. When the thanksgivingwas ended, she turned indignantly upon her sister. "That was just a sly,mean trick!" she cried in a flash of temper. "You saw my eye on thatwaffle!"

  "My dear, my dear," murmured Miss Lydia.

  "She's des an out'n out fire bran', dat's w'at she is," said UncleShadrach.

  "Well, the Lord oughtn't to have let her take it just as I was thanking Himfor it!" sobbed Betty, and she burst into tears and left the table,upsetting Mr. Bill's coffee cup as she went by.

  The Governor looked gravely after her. "I'm afraid the child is reallygetting spoiled, Julia," he mildly suggested.

  "She's getting a--a vixenish," declared Mr. Bill, mopping his expansivewhite waistcoat.

  "You des better lemme go atter a twig er willow, Marse Peyton," mutteredUncle Shadrach in the Governor's ear.

  "Hold your tongue, Shadrach," retorted the Governor, which was the harshestcommand he was ever known to give his servants.

  Virginia ate her waffle and said nothing. When she went upstairs a littlelater, she carried a pitcher of buttermilk for Betty's face.

  "It isn't usual for a young lady to have freckles, Aunt Lydia says," sheremarked, "and you must rub this right on and not wash it off tillmorning--and, after you've rubbed it well in, you must get down on yourknees and ask God to mend your temper."

  Betty was lying in her little trundle bed, while Petunia, her small blackmaid, pulled off her stockings, but she got up obediently and laved herface in buttermilk. "I don't reckon there's any use about the other," shesaid. "I believe the Lord's jest leavin' me in sin as a warnin' to you andPetunia," and she got into her trundle bed and waited for the lights to goout, and for the watchful Virginia to fall asleep.

  She was still waiting when the door softly opened and her mother came in, alighted candle in her hand, the pale flame shining through her profile asthrough delicate porcelain, and illumining her worn and fragile figure. Shemoved with a slow step, as if her white limbs were a burden, and her head,with its smoothly parted bright brown hair, bent like a lily that has begunto fade.

  She sat down upon the bedside and laid her hand on the child's forehead."Poor little firebrand," she said gently. "How the world will hurt you!"Then she knelt down and prayed beside her, and went out again with thewhite light streaming upon her bosom. An hour later Betty heard her soft,slow step on the gravelled drive and knew that she was starting on aministering errand to the quarters. Of all the souls on the greatplantation, the mistress alone had never rested from her labours.

  The child tossed restlessly, beat her pillow, and fell back to wait morepatiently. At last the yellow strip under the door grew dark, and from theother trundle bed there came a muffled breathing. With a sigh, Betty sat upand listened; then she
drew the frog's skin from beneath her pillow andcrept on bare feet to the door. It was black there, and black all down thewide, old staircase. The great hall below was like a cavern underground.Trembling when a board creaked under her, she cautiously felt her way withher hands on the balustrade. The front door was fastened with an iron chainthat rattled as she touched it, so she stole into the dining room, unbarredone of the long windows, and slipped noiselessly out. It was almost likesliding into sunshine, the moon was so large and bright.

  From the wide stone portico, the great white columns, looking grim andghostly, went upward to the roof, and beyond the steps the gravelled driveshone hard as silver. As the child went between the lilac bushes, themoving shadows crawled under her bare feet like living things.

  At the foot of the drive ran the big road, and when she came out upon ither trailing gown caught in a fallen branch, and she fell on her face.Picking herself up again, she sat on a loosened rock and looked about her.

  The strong night wind blew on her flesh, and she shivered in the moonlight,which felt cold and brazen. Before her stretched the turnpike, darkened byshadows that bore no likeness to the objects from which they borrowedshape. Far as eye could see, they stirred ceaselessly back and forth likean encamped army of grotesques.

  She got up from the rock and slipped the frog's skin into the earth beneathit. As she settled it in place, her pulses gave a startled leap, and shestood terror-stricken beside the stone. A thud of footsteps was comingalong the road.

  For an instant she trembled in silence; then her sturdy little heart tookcourage, and she held up her hand.

  "If you'll wait a minute, Mr. Devil, I'm goin' in," she cried.

  From the shadows a voice laughed at her, and a boy came forward into thelight--a half-starved boy, with a white, pinched face and a dusty bundleswinging from the stick upon his shoulder.

  "What are you doing here?" he snapped out.

  Betty gave back a defiant stare. She might have been a tiny ghost in themoonlight, with her trailing gown and her flaming curls.

  "I live here," she answered simply. "Where do you live?"

  "Nowhere." He looked her over with a laugh.

  "Nowhere?"

  "I did live somewhere, but I ran away a week ago."

  "Did they beat you? Old Rainy-day Jones beat one of his servants and he ranaway."

  "There wasn't anybody," said the boy. "My mother died, and my father wentoff--I hope he'll stay off. I hate him!"

  He sent the words out so sharply that Betty's lids flinched.

  "Why did you come by here?" she questioned. "Are you looking for the devil,too?"

  The boy laughed again. "I am looking for my grandfather. He lives somewhereon this road, at a place named Chericoke. It has a lot of elms in the yard;I'll know it by that."

  Betty caught his arm and drew him nearer. "Why, that's where Champe lives!"she cried. "I don't like Champe much, do you?"

  "I never saw him," replied the boy; "but I don't like him--"

  "He's mighty good," said Betty, honestly; then, as she looked at the boyagain, she caught her breath quickly. "You do look terribly hungry," sheadded.

  "I haven't had anything since--since yesterday."

  The little girl thoughtfully tapped her toes on the road. "There's acurrant pie in the safe," she said. "I saw Uncle Shadrach put it there. Areyou fond of currant pie?--then you just wait!"

  She ran up the carriage way to the dining-room window, and the boy sat downon the rock and buried his face in his hands. His feet were set stubbornlyin the road, and the bundle lay beside them. He was dumb, yet disdainful,like a high-bred dog that has been beaten and turned adrift.

  As the returning patter of Betty's feet sounded in the drive, he looked upand held out his hands. When she gave him the pie, he ate almost wolfishly,licking the crumbs from his fingers, and even picking up a bit of crustthat had fallen to the ground.

  "I'm sorry there isn't any more," said the little girl. It had seemed avery large pie when she took it from the safe.

  The boy rose, shook himself, and swung his bundle across his arm.

  "Will you tell me the way?" he asked, and she gave him a few childishdirections. "You go past the wheat field an' past the maple spring, an' atthe dead tree by Aunt Ailsey's cabin you turn into the road with thechestnuts. Then you just keep on till you get there--an' if you don't everget there, come back to breakfast."

  The boy had started off, but as she ended, he turned and lifted his hat.

  "I am very much obliged to you," he said, with a quaint little bow; andBetty bobbed a courtesy in her nightgown before she fled back into thehouse.