Battle Ground

by Ellen Anderson Gholson Glasgow

  XI

  THE RETURN

  As they passed from the shadow of the tavern road, the afternoon sunlightwas slanting across the turnpike from the friendly hills, which alone ofall the landscape remained unchanged. Loyal, smiling, guarding the ruinedvalley like peaceful sentinels, they had suffered not so much as an addedwrinkle upon their brows. As Dan had left them five long years ago, so hefound them now, and his heart leaped as he stood at last face to face. Hewas like a man who, having hungered for many days, finds himself suddenlysatisfied again.

  Amid a blur of young foliage they saw first the smoking chimneys ofUplands, and then the Doric columns beyond a lane of flowering lilacs. Thestone wall had crumbled in places, and strange weeds were springing upamong the high blue-grass; but here and there beneath the maples he caughta glimpse of small darkies uprooting the intruders, and beyond the garden,in the distant meadows, ploughmen were plodding back and forth in thepurple furrows. Peace had descended here at least, and, with a smile, hedetected Betty's abounding energy in the moving spirit of the place. He sawher in the freshly swept walks, in the small negroes weeding the blue-grasslawn, in the distant ploughs that made blots upon the meadows. For a momenthe hesitated, and laid his hand upon the iron gate; then, stifling thetemptation, he turned back into the white sand of the road. Before he metBetty's eyes, he meant that his peace should be made with the old man atChericoke.

  Big Abel, tramping at his side, opened his mouth from time to time to letout a rapturous exclamation.

  "Dar 'tis! des look at it!" he chuckled, when Uplands had been left farbehind them. "Dat's de ve'y same clump er cedars, en dat's de wil' cher'ylyin' right flat on hit's back--dey's done cut it down ter git decher'ies."

  "And the locust! Look, the big locust tree is still there, and in fullbloom!"

  "Lawd, de 'simmons! Dar's de 'simmon tree way down yonder in the meadow,whar we all use ter set ouah ole hyar traps. You ain' furgot dose ole hyartraps, Marse Dan?"

  "Forgotten them! good Lord!" said Dan; "why I remember we caught five oneChristmas morning, and Betty fed them and set them free again."

  "Dat she did, suh, dat she did! Hit's de gospel trufe!"

  "We never could hide our traps from Betty," pursued Dan, in delight. "Shewas a regular fox for scenting them out--I never saw such a nose for trapsas hers, and she always set the things loose and smashed the doors."

  "We hid 'em one time way way in de thicket by de ice pond," returned BigAbel, "but she spied 'em out. Yes, Lawd, she spied 'em out fo' ouah backswuz turnt."

  He talked on rapidly while Dan listened with a faint smile about his mouth.Since they had left the tavern road, Big Abel's onward march had beenaccompanied by ceaseless ejaculations. His joy was childlike, unrestrained,full of whimsical surprises--the flight of a bluebird or the recognition ofa shrub beside the way sent him with shining eyes and quickened steps alongthe turnpike.

  From free Levi's cabin, which was still standing, though a battle had ragedin the fallen woods beyond it, and men had fought and been buried within astone's throw of the doorstep, they heard the steady falling of a hammerand caught the red glow from the rude forge at which the old negro worked.With the half-forgotten sound, Dan returned as if in a vision to his lastnight at Chericoke, when he had run off in his boyish folly, with freeLevi's hammer beating in his ears. Then he had dreamed of coming backagain, but not like this. He had meant to ride proudly up the turnpike,with his easily won honours on his head, and in his hands his magnanimousforgiveness for all who had done him wrong. On that day he had pictured theGovernor hurrying to the turnpike as he passed, and he had seen hisgrandfather, shy of apologies, eager to make amends.

  That was his dream, and to-day he came back footsore, penniless, and in adead man's clothes--a beggar as he had been at his first home-coming, whenhe had stood panting on the threshold and clutched his little bundle in hisarms.

  Yet his pulses stirred, and he turned cheerfully to the negro at his side.

  "Do you see it, Big Abel? Tell me when you see it."

  "Dar's de cattle pastur'," cried Big Abel, "en dey's been a-fittin'dar--des look."

  "It must have been a skirmish," replied Dan, glancing down the slope. "Thewall is all down, and see here," his foot struck on something hard and hestooped and picked up a horse's skull. "I dare say a squad of cavalry metMosby's rangers," he added. "It looks as if they'd had a little frolic."

  He threw the skull into the pasture, and followed Big Abel, who washurrying along the road.

  "We're moughty near dar," cried the negro, breaking into a run. "Des waittwel we pass de aspens, Marse Dan, des wait twel we pass de aspens, denwe'll be right dar, suh."

  Then, as Dan reached him, the aspens were passed, and where Chericoke hadstood they found a heap of ashes.

  At their feet lay the relics of a hot skirmish, and the old elms wereperforated with rifle balls, but for these things Dan had neither eyes northoughts. He was standing before the place that he called home, and wherethe hospitable doors had opened he found only a cold mound of charred andcrumbled bricks.

  For an instant the scene went black before his eyes, and as he staggeredforward, Big Abel caught his arm.

  "I'se hyer, Marse Dan, I'se hyer," groaned the negro in his ear.

  "But the others? Where are the others?" asked Dan, coming to himself. "Holdme, Big Abel, I'm an utter fool. O Congo! Is that Congo?"

  A negro, coming with his hoe from the corn field, ran over the desolatedlawn, and began shouting hoarsely to the hands behind him:--

  "Hi! Hit's Marse Dan, hit's Marse Dan come back agin!" he yelled, and atthe cry there flocked round him a little troop of faithful servants,weeping, shouting, holding out eager arms.

  "Hi! hit's Marse Dan!" they shrieked in chorus. "Hit's Marse Dan en BrerAbel! Brer Abel en Marse Dan is done come agin!"

  Dan wept with them--tears of weakness, of anguish, of faint hope amid thedark. As their hands closed over his, he grasped them as if his eyes hadgone suddenly blind.

  "Where are the others? Congo, for God's sake, tell me where are theothers?"

  "We all's hyer, Marse Dan. We all's hyer," they protested, sobbing. "En OleMarster en Ole Miss dey's in de house er de overseer--dey's right over darbehine de orchard whar you use ter projick wid de ploughs, en Brer Cupidand Sis Rhody dey's a-gittin' dem dey supper."

  "Then let me go," cried Dan. "Let me go!" and he started at a run past thegray ruins and the standing kitchen, past the flower garden and the bigwoodpile, to the orchard and the small frame house of Harris the overseer.

  Big Abel kept at his heels, panting, grunting, calling upon his master tohalt and upon Congo to hurry after.

  "You'll skeer dem ter deaf--you'll skeer Ole Miss ter deaf," cried Congofrom the rear, and drawing a trembling breath, Dan slackened his pace andwent on at a walk. At last, when he reached the small frame house and puthis foot upon the step, he hesitated so long that Congo slipped ahead ofhim and softly opened the door. Then his young master followed and stoodlooking with blurred eyes into the room.

  Before a light blaze which burned on the hearth, the Major was sitting inan arm chair of oak splits, his eyes on the blossoming apple trees outside,and above his head, the radiant image of Aunt Emmeline, painted as Venus ina gown of amber brocade. All else was plain and clean--the well-sweptfloor, the burnished andirons, the cupboard filled with rows of blue andwhite china--but that one glowing figure lent a festive air to the poorlyfurnished room, and enriched with a certain pomp the tired old man, dozing,with bowed white head, in the rude arm chair. It was the one thing savedfrom the ashes--the one vestige of a former greatness that still remained.

  As Dan stood there, a clock on the mantel struck the hour, and the Majorturned slowly toward him.

  "Bring the lamps, Cupid," he said, though the daylight was still shining."I don't like the long shadows--bring the lamps."

  Choking back a sob, Dan crossed the floor and knelt down by the chair.

  "We have come back, grandpa," he said. "We beg
your pardon, and we havecome back--Big Abel and I."

  For a moment the Major stared at him in silence; then he reached out andfelt him with shaking hands as if he mistrusted the vision of his eyes.

  "So you're back, Champe, my boy," he muttered. "My eyes are bad--I thoughtat first that it was Dan--that it was Dan."

  "It is I, grandpa," said Dan, slowly. "It is I--and Big Abel, too. We aresorry for it all--for everything, and we have come back poorer than we wentaway."

  A light broke over the old man's face, and he stretched out his arms with agreat cry that filled the room as his head fell forward on his grandson'sbreast. Then, when Mrs. Lightfoot appeared in the doorway, he controlledhimself with a gasp and struggled to his feet.

  "Welcome home, my son," he said ceremoniously, as he put out his quiveringhands, "and welcome home, Big Abel."

  The old lady went into Dan's arms as he turned, and looking over her head,he saw Betty coming toward him with a lamp shining in her hand.

  "My child, here is one of our soldiers," cried the Major, in joyful tones,and as the girl placed the lamp upon the table, she turned and met Dan'seyes.

  "It is the second time I've come home like this, Betty," he said, "only I'ma worse beggar now than I was at first."

  Betty shook his hand warmly and smiled into his serious face.

  "I dare say you're hungrier," she responded cheerfully, "but we'll soonmend that, Mrs. Lightfoot and I. We are of one mind with Uncle Bill, who,when Mr. Blake asked him the other day what we ought to do for our returnedsoldiers, replied as quick as that, 'Feed 'em, sir.'"

  The Major laughed with misty eyes.

  "You can't get Betty to look on the dark side, my boy," he declared, thoughDan, watching the girl, saw that her face in repose had grown very sad.Only the old beaming smile brought the brightness now.

  "Well, I hope she will turn up the cheerful part of this outlook," he said,surrendering himself to the noisy welcome of Cupid and Aunt Rhody.

  "We may trust her--we may trust her," replied the old man as he settledhimself back into his chair. "If there isn't any sunshine, Betty will makeit for us herself."

  Dan met the girl's glance for an instant, and then looked at the oldnegroes hanging upon his hands.

  "Yes, the prodigal is back," he admitted, laughing, "and I hope the fattedcalf is on the crane."

  "Dar's a roas' pig fur ter-morrow, sho's you bo'n," returned Aunt Rhody."En I'se gwine to stuff 'im full." Then she hurried away to her fire, andDan threw himself down upon the rug at the Major's feet.

  "Yes, we may trust Betty for the sunshine," repeated the Major, as ifstriving to recall his wandering thoughts. "She's my overseer now, youknow, and she actually looks after both places in less time than poorHarris took to worry along with one. Why, there's not a better farmer inthe county."

  "Oh, Major, don't," begged the girl, laughing and blushing beneath Dan'seyes. "You mustn't believe him, Dan, he wears rose-coloured glasses when helooks at me."

  "Well, my sight is dim enough for everything else, my dear," confessed theold man sadly. "That's why I have the lamps lighted before the sun goesdown--eh, Molly?"

  Mrs. Lightfoot unwrapped her knitting and the ivory kneedles clicked in thefirelight.

  "I like to keep the shadows away myself," she responded. "The twilight usedto be my favourite hour, but I dread it now, and so does Mr. Lightfoot."

  "Well, the war's given us that in common," chuckled the Major, stretchingout his feet. "If I remember rightly you once complained that our tasteswere never alike, Molly." Then he glanced round with hospitable eyes. "Drawup, my boy, draw up to the fire and tell your story," he added invitingly."By the time Champe comes home we'll have rich treats in store for thesummer evenings."

  Betty was looking at him as he bent over the thin flames, and Dan saw herwarm gaze cloud suddenly with tears. He put out his hand and touched hersas it lay on the Major's chair, and when she turned to him she was smilingbrightly.

  "Here's Cupid with our supper," she said, going to the table, "and dearAunt Rhody has actually gotten out her brandied peaches that she keptbehind her 'jists.' If you ever doubted your welcome, Dan, this must banishit forever." Then as they gathered about the fruits of Aunt Rhody'slabours, she talked on rapidly in her cheerful voice. "The silver has justbeen drawn up from the bottom of the well," she laughed, "so you mustn'twonder if it looks a little tarnished. There wasn't a piece missing, whichis something to be thankful for already, and the port--how many bottles ofport did you dig up from the asparagus bed, Uncle Cupid?"

  "I'se done hoed up 'mos' a dozen," answered Cupid, as he plied Dan withwaffles, "en dey ain' all un um up yit."

  "Well, well, we'll have a bottle after supper," remarked the Major,heartily.

  "If there's anything that's been improved by this war it should be thatport, I reckon," said Mrs. Lightfoot, her muslin cap nodding over the highold urns.

  "And Dan's appetite," finished Betty, merrily.

  When they rose from the table, the girl tied on her bonnet of plaited strawand kissed Mrs. Lightfoot and the Major.

  "It is almost mamma's supper time," she said, "and I must hurry back. Why,I've been away from her at least two hours." Then she looked at Dan andshook her head. "Don't come," she added, "it is too far for you, and Congowill see me safely home."

  "Well, I'm sorry for Congo, but his day is over," Dan returned, as he tookup his hat and followed her out into the orchard. With a last wave to theMajor, who watched them from the window, they passed under the blossomingfruit trees and went slowly down the little path, while Betty talkedpleasantly of trivial things, cheerful, friendly, and composed. When shehad exhausted the spring ploughing, the crops still to be planted and thebright May weather, Dan stopped beside the ashes of Chericoke, and lookedat her with sombre eyes.

  "Betty, we must have it out," he said abruptly. "I have thought over ituntil I'm almost mad, and I see but one sensible thing for you to do--youmust give me up--my dearest."

  A smile flickered about Betty's mouth. "It has taken you a long time tocome to that conclusion," she responded.

  "I hoped until the end--even after I knew that hope was folly and that Iwas a fool to cling to it. I always meant to come back to you when I gotthe chance, but not like this--not like this."

  At the pain in his eyes the girl caught her breath with a sob that shookher from head to foot. Pity moved her with a passion stronger than merelove, and she put out her protecting arms with a gesture that would havesaved him from the world--or from himself.

  "No, like this, Dan," she answered, with her lips upon his coat.

  He kissed her once and drew back.

  "I never meant to come home this way, Betty," he said, in a voice thattrembled from its new humility.

  "My dear, my dear, I have grown to think that any way is a good way," shemurmured, her eyes on the blackened pile that had once been Chericoke.

  "It is not right," he went on; "it is not fair. You cannot marry me--youmust not."

  Again the humour quivered on the girl's lips.

  "I don't like to seem too urgent," she returned, "but will you tell mewhy?"

  "Why?" he repeated bitterly. "There are a hundred why's if you want them,and each one sufficient in itself. I am a beggar, a failure, a wreck, abroken-down soldier from the ranks. Do you think if it were anything lessthan pure madness on your part that I should stand here a moment and talklike this?--but because I am in love with you, Betty, it doesn't followthat I'm an utter ass."

  "That's flattering," responded Betty, "but it doesn't explain just what Iwant to know. Look me straight in the eyes--no evading now--and answer whatI ask. Do you mean that we are to be neighbours and nothing more? Do youmean that we are to shake hands when we meet and drop them afterward? Doyou mean that we are to stand alone together as we are standing now--thatyou are never to take me in your arms again? Do you mean this, my dear?"

  "I mean--just that," he answered between his teeth.

  For a moment Betty looked at him with
a laugh of disbelief. Then, bitingthe smile upon her lips, she held out her hand with a friendly gesture.

  "I am quite content that it should be so," she said in a cordial voice. "Weshall be very good neighbours, I fancy, and if you have any trouble withyour crops, don't hesitate to ask for my advice. I've become an excellentfarmer, the Major says, you know." She caught up her long black skirt andwalked on, but when he would have followed, she motioned him back with adecisive little wave. "You really mustn't--I can't think of allowing it,"she insisted. "It is putting my neighbours to unheard-of trouble to makethem see me home. Why, if I once begin the custom, I shall soon have oldRainy-day Jones walking back with me when I go to buy his cows." Stillsmiling she passed under the battle-scarred elms and stepped over theruined gate into the road.

  Leaning against a twisted tree in the old drive, Dan watched her until herblack dress fluttered beyond the crumbled wall. Then he gave a cry thatchecked her hastening feet.

  "Betty!" he called, and at his voice she turned.

  "What is it, dear friend?" she asked, and, standing amid the scatteredstones, looked back at him with pleading eyes.

  "Betty!" he cried again, stretching out his arms; and as she ran towardhim, he went down beside the ashes of Chericoke, and lay with his face halfhidden against a broken urn.

  "I am coming," called Betty, softly, running over the fallen gate and alongthe drive. Then, as she reached him, she knelt down and drew him to herbosom, soothing him as a mother soothes a tired child.

  "It shall be as you wish--I shall be as you wish," she promised as she heldhim close.

  But his strength had come back to him at her touch, and springing to hisfeet, he caught her from the ground as he had done that day beside thecabin in the woods, kissing her eyelids and her faithful hands.

  "I can't do it, Betty, it's no use. There's still some fight left in me--Iam not utterly beaten so long as I have you on my side."

  With a smile she lifted her face and he caught the strong courage of herlook.

  "We will begin again," she said, "and this time, my dear, we will begintogether."