CHAPTER XI.
THE THORNS THAT BESET LOVE.
The spring was late this year, but when it came everything burst intobloom and beauty as if by magic. Even the marshy ends of the streetsin Washington were covered with verdure and the curious delicate bloomof the different sedge growths. Congress kept on. There were manyperplexing questions, and war loomed in the distance.
The festivities at the Pineries were quite interrupted. When Mr.Greaves recovered consciousness it was found that his right side hadbeen partially paralyzed. His speech was affected, and the doctor spokedoubtfully of his mind.
Consequently all thoughts of Marian's marriage must be given up for thepresent. But Dolly's went on, and the last week in April the impatientlover presented himself, and the family relatives and friends weregathered to celebrate the occasion. It was considered most properfor Louis Mason to attend Marian, who was to be the first bridesmaid.Jaqueline was next in order, and there were three others. Weddings werequite sumptuous affairs in those days. There was a great supper anddancing; one of the bride-cakes held a ring, put in by the hand of thebride-elect, and great was the interest to see who would get it. Thisfell to Jaqueline. And when the bride was escorted upstairs by her bevyof maidens she paused on the landing and scattered her half-dozen roseswhich had been sent from Washington, and cost extravagantly. The firstone did not go far, and caught in Jaqueline's shoulder-knot. There wasa general laughing exclamation.
"And I haven't even a lover!" cried the girl with dainty mock regret.
There was a grand breakfast the next morning--a real breakfast, not anoon luncheon. Many of the guests had remained all night. Mirth andjollity reigned, good-wishes were given, healths were drunk, and atnoon the young couple started on their long stage-coach journey. Tourswere hardly considered then, though the bride often journeyed to thehouse of her husband's nearest relatives. But to take in Baltimore andPhiladelphia was enough to set one up for life, and Dolly was very muchelated. The return trip would be made by water, so she would be quitea traveled bride.
Marian had been the sedate elder sister. She was not old, but she hadgrown much older and lost the aspect of girlhood that she had kept herthree-and-twenty years. There was much kindly sympathy expressed forher. Mr. Greaves grew more helpless instead of improving, and his mindhad never been quite clear.
But no one suggested an interrupted engagement except among the slaves,who recalled that she had put out her candle on Christmas Eve, and thering in the cake had not come to her, nor a single rose.
"Looks laik she cut out fer 'n ole maid," declared a gray-haired mammy."En she mought 'a' bin a gret lady, goin' ober to de ole country. Butyoung missy goin' to be happy as de day is long. De house'll never seemde same."
"Grandfather Floyd has begun to break," said Mr. Mason when they hadstarted on their homeward journey. "One can hardly decide whether to beglad or sorry about Marian. Anyway, it is hard on the poor girl."
"And you can't decide whether she is sorry or not. I never saw anyonechange so. She has grown curiously close about herself," declaredJaqueline.
The interrupted intimacy between the two families was taken up again.Even Jane and her three children were invited to the Pineries for a hotmonth in the summer. Grandfather was quite deaf, which made him moreirritable, and Marian played piquet with him for hours together. Mrs.Floyd managed the plantation, though she had always taken her share ofthat.
Patricia came home a slim, pretty, and piquant young woman, refinedand finished, and Louis was an attractive young collegian. The housewas filled with guests, and there was much merriment, until one day theword came that surprised them all. Grandfather had been found dead inhis chair on the porch where he took his usual afternoon nap.
Family funerals were almost as grand occasions as marriages at thisperiod. The great house was filled with guests, and there was nounseemly haste to bury the dead out of their sight. The funeralprocession might have been that of a famous man. When they returnedthe relatives were gathered in the darkened parlor where the candlesstood lighted on a table, and Archibald Floyd's will was read in a dry,decorous tone by the little old lawyer who had made wills for half acentury.
As was expected, the Pineries and slaves and appurtenances of all kindswent to Brandon, who was the only son. The girls had an equal moneyportion. The widow was provided with a home; certain rooms were setapart for her, certain slaves were bequeathed to her with the bed andtable linen and some of the furnishings that she had brought with her;and Brandon was to pay her a regular income out of the estate, whichwas to cease at her death. A very fair and just will, it was agreed onevery side.
Meanwhile there had been no perceptible change in Mr. Greaves. He didnot suffer much; he was fed and cared for like a child. Some days hebrightened and talked with encouraging coherence, but it was mostlyabout his early life, and he now and then mistook his sister for hisdead wife. And though Marian had gone over several times, he had notseemed to recall her specially.
Miss Greaves was in her element. She had not taken kindly to theprospect of being deposed, though the training of women in her dayled them to accept the inevitable without complaining. She was ratherproud, too, that her brother had won a young woman; and Marian's suddengravity after her engagement had given her considerable satisfaction.
"The doctor holds out very little hope of perfect recovery," she saidto the younger woman at one call. "He thinks brother's mind will neverbe quite right again. He has a good appetite now and sleeps well, butit is very sad to be stricken down in the very prime of life. On ourmother's side we are a long-lived race. I had an aunt who lay paralyzedfor seven years, and was eighty when she died."
Marian shuddered. Her father's failing health had demanded most ofher attention. Was she in any way relieved? She tried not to think ofit. No one referred to the marriage, except now and then some of theslaves, who counted up all the bad signs in an awesome fashion.
Dolly had enjoyed everything to the uttermost, and was delightedwith her new home and her new relatives. Communication between eventhe most important cities was tardy at that time, and often sent byprivate messenger. Yet the political interest of the States was keptup keenly, almost to rivalry. New England, whose commerce had beeninjured the most, complained loudly. The States were between two fires.England was bringing all her power to bear upon the Emperor Napoleon.Neither country paid any attention to the rights of neutrals. Therewas the old romantic remembrance of France coming to our assistancein our mighty struggle with the mother country; but there were ahundred relationships with England where there was one with France,and Napoleon's ruthlessness had alienated the noblest sense of thecommunity.
Yet living went on in the lavish, cordial Virginian fashion at theold plantation, if it was not quite so full of gayety. There were twoattractive young women now, and the young men were haunting the house,planning riding parties and a day's outing to some grove or wood, asail down or up the Potomac, and a three-days' visit to some neighborwho rather regretfully gave up dancing on account of the recent death.Louis had been putting in law with his other studies, and was not tograduate for another year.
Roger Carrington was now a steady visitor, and all the household knewhe was young missy's lover. Her father's assent had been cordiallygiven. Her own was still in abeyance. Jaqueline had a willful streakin her nature. If someone had opposed, she would have sided at oncewith her lover. But everybody agreed. Mrs. Carrington treated her asa daughter already, and longed to have the engagement announced. Rogerpleaded.
"I want to be quite sure that I love you better than anybody," shewould say with a kind of dainty sweetness. "If one _should_ make amistake!"
"But we are such friends already. We have been for a long time. Surelyif you disliked me you would have found it out before this."
"But I don't dislike you. I like you very much. Only it seems thatthings which come so easy----"
She let her lovely eyes droop, and the color came and went in her face.How exquisite her rose-leaf cheeks
were! He wished he had the rightto kiss them fifty times an hour. A husband would have. But there wasa fine courtesy between lovers of that day. And there was always somecurling tendril of shadowy hair clustering about her fair temples. Herear, too, was like a bit of sculpture, and the lines that went down herneck and lost themselves in the roundness of her shoulders changed withevery motion, each one prettier than the last, and were distractinglytempting.
"I'm sure it doesn't come easy to me," he said in a rather curt tone.
"Oh, doesn't it? I thought there really was no mistaking the grandpassion on a man's part--that he was convinced in the flash of an eye."
"It is when he wishes to convince that his doubt arises. If I couldpersuade you----" longingly.
"I am always afraid I shall be too easily persuaded," she returnedplaintively. "I sometimes wonder if I really have a good strong mind ofmy own. Do you know, I should like to be one of the heroic women; thenin case war should come--there are such talks about it, you know--andI _had_ to send you away----"
She looked so utterly bewitching that he had much ado not to clasp herto his heart.
"You are heroic enough. And you are tormenting to the last degree. Iwonder sometimes if you even like me!"
"Oh, you know I like you," carelessly.
"If you would once say 'I love you.' You like so many people--youngmen, I mean."
"Why, when you have been brought up with them, so to speak----" and shelooked up out of large, innocent eyes. "There are the Bakers, you know.Georgie, Rob, Teddy, and I have played together always. Would you haveme turn haughty now?"
"I don't mind the Bakers, and Teddy is as good as engaged to HesterFairfax, who really does adore him."
"Yes, I think she does," gravely. "He is always describing herperfections and her sweetnesses, as if we hadn't quarreled and declaredwe wouldn't speak to each other and done little spiteful tricks thatgirls always do, and--and gotten over it, and know all about eachother."
"I don't believe you were ever very spiteful. That takes a smallnature."
She looked furtively from under her long lashes, as if considering.
"Well--Patty and I quarrel. You must know that I haven't the mostamiable temper in the world when I am roused."
"Yes." She could be very tormenting.
"And I like to have my own way. Papa generally gives in. And sometimesI feel self-condemned that mamma is so good to me."
"Then you have a conscience?"
"I don't believe my own mother would have been so easy. And there'sgrandmamma----"
"Who would have led you to find out your mind in short order," hecommented quickly.
"_Her_ mind, you mean. And if she had resolved that I shouldn't marryyou, you would have been sent to the right-about at once. And thatreminds me--Lieutenant Ralston is coming down next week. But I supposeyou are not afraid of him, since his heart is--oh, can you tell whereit is? Sometimes I think he still cares for Marian, and then he is sobitter and sharp. She won't ever marry Mr. Greaves now."
She looked so eager and earnest, as if this was the main question ofher life. He turned away with a pang at his heart. Was she anything buta volatile, teasing girl, with no deep feelings?
"You shan't! I say you shan't! Annis belongs to me. You shan't take heraway. We're going to row round the pond----"
Louis laughed with a soft sound of triumph.
"But you promised to ride with me, didn't you, Annis? And I don't seehow Annis belongs to you especially. You're too old for that boyishfoolishness. Why, you couldn't marry her in years and years, and thenshe'd be an old woman, queer and cross. Hillo!" in a surprised tone.
They faced Mr. Carrington and Jaqueline.
"Oh, Louis, why do you tease the children so?" exclaimed Jaqueline indisapprobation.
"I'm not teasing you, Annis, am I? We were to go for a ride, and herpony is all ready, when Charles flew into a passion."
"I told you Scipio was getting the boat ready----"
"But I didn't think you meant to-day. You said it leaked and had to berepaired, and this morning----"
She glanced up at Louis entreatingly.
"This morning I told her we would go down to the creek and see thegreat flock of ducks Julius has been raising. Annis belongs as much tome as to you. She belongs to us all. And how do you know but that I'llmarry her myself? I'm very fond of Annis. And I'm grown up. In a fewyears I may be a judge, or be sent abroad to smooth out some quarrel ormake a treaty, while you will be in school studying your Cicero. Anniswill be a big girl, old enough to marry. And you like me, don't you,Annis?"
He had his arm around the child. He had been very sweet to her oflate, partly to tease Varina, and partly because she interested himcuriously. She said such quaint things; she could seem to understandalmost everything. And when he declaimed a fine Latin poem with vigorand loftiness, her eyes would follow him, her face would glow andchange with emotion and appreciation. Then he had been teaching hersome pretty songs.
"I like you both," she returned in a tender, entreating voice, as ifbegging each one to be content with the regard. Yet she made no motionto leave him, and both slim hands were clasped around the young man'sarm.
"But you must like me the best," and now he put his arm abouther, drawing her closer to his side. "It's this way. First yourmother--always; then father, who is very fond of you, little Annis;then me, then Jaqueline, and you see Charles stands way down at thebottom of the line. Of course you can't love him quite so much; itwouldn't be fair to the rest of us."
Annis looked perplexed with the reasoning. She glanced at Charles, thenhid her face in the elder brother's coat. He made a rush at her, butLouis caught him and held him off at arm's length.
"You're a mean--mean skunk, that's what you are!" The boy's face wasscarlet with passion, and his voice choked. "She won't love you best,will you, Annis? For he likes all the girls, the big ladies, and Idon't care for anyone but just you."
"Louis, do stop! You ought to be ashamed. Charles----"
But Louis let go of his little brother's arm, who ran a few steps withthe impetus and then tumbled over. Louis caught the little girl in botharms,--she was slim and light,--and ran swiftly with her. Jaquelinepicked up Charles, who was crying now in a passion of anger, exclaimingbetween the sobs:
"I just hate him, I do! He shan't take away Annis. She belongs to me."
"Charles, don't be so foolish. You can't have Annis every hour in theday, and if you go on this way she'll just hate you. Why, I am ashamedof you! And here is Mr. Carrington."
"I don't care. I made Scip mend the boat, 'n' he said Dixon would beawful mad and maybe have him flogged. Where's father? I'll go and tellhim how it was, and Scip may tear the old boat to pieces, but he shan'tbe flogged. Louis thinks he's great shakes because he's older andbigger----"
"But he will be married before you and Annis are grown up, so don'tworry. He loves to tease you. Now go and find father."
"He is taking love early and hard," said Mr. Carrington.
"It's such ridiculous nonsense! Mamma doesn't like it a bit, but fatherthinks it a good joke. It makes Charles appear silly. But he will goaway to school and have new interests. And in a few years Annis won'twant to be claimed in that masterful fashion."
They walked along silently. Mr. Mason sat out under a great tree,smoking his pipe and listening to Charles.
"Let them finish their confidence. I'll take the hammock, and you mayread to me." She did not want to discuss love any more just now.
Annis was borne triumphantly to her pony. Louis placed her in thesaddle.
"You do love me, little Annis, do you not?" and he kissed her tenderly.He had a very sweet way that you could not gainsay when it was turnedupon you, and a child certainly could not resist. "Now we will have anice gallop, and then a rest down by the creek where it is shady, everso much nicer than the sunny pond and the old boat. You know I askedyou first."
"I didn't think Charles meant this very afternoon," she saidregretfully. "And I'm so sorry he----"
"Never mind about a boy's temper. Look at that fire bird--isn't hegorgeous? There's where the lightning struck that great pine tree theother night and split it in two."
"Oh, poor tree! Do you suppose it hurt very much! And the half standsup as if nothing could ever make it afraid. There are the branches allwithering on the ground. Were you very much frightened? It kills peoplesometimes, doesn't it?"
"Very seldom. And a great many things kill them. Accidents and falls,and sickness, so the few struck by lightning are hardly to be takeninto account."
"Oh, look at the great field of corn! It is like a sea."
The tassels had turned yellow, and the wind stirred them, making goldenwaves.
"What do you know about the sea?"
"Why, when we went down the Potomac. You were not home."
"I've been down there though, and out on the ocean."
"Would you be afraid to go to England?"
"Not of the ocean, but I might be of the privateers. And I should notwant to be caught and impressed, and made to fight. But I mustn't fillmy little lady-love with frightful subjects."
The child's cheek warmed with a dainty color. Could anyone be alady-love to two persons? That was what Charles called her.
Squirrels were scurrying here and there. The goldenrod was nodding ontall stalks, and some asters starred the wayside. Afar was a broadstretch of tobacco fields in their peculiar deep-green luxuriance.Birds were calling to each other, insects were droning, the monotonybroken by a shrill chirr as a grasshopper leaped up from the path or alocust predicted a hot to-morrow from his leafy covert. They crossedbroad sunny patches that looked like a dried-up sea, they lingeredunder fragrant pines and great oaks and maples that shaded the road,and Annis laughed at her companion's comments and the merry storieshe told. She had been used to standing somewhat in awe of him, butthis summer he had quite overcome her shyness. Sometimes she did geta little tired of the knowledge Charles poured into her ears. Latinorations had not much charm for her, in their unknown tongue, and onlythe inflections of the boy's musical voice rendered them tolerable. Sheliked the deeds of heroes rather than what they said, and their lovesrather than their fighting or their harangues.
At home Charles had thrown himself on the half-dried turf and given wayto another burst of passion such as seldom moved him. That Louis shouldtake Annis away from him, his chosen friend and companion, and that sheshould go without a protest! Was she really liking Louis, who was grownup and who could have his pick of the pretty young women always comingto the house. Why should he want Annis?
It was the boy's first experience with a rival, and as he had neverdreamed of such an untoward event, he could not understand the pain. Itwas like a storm that had been threatening in the southeast while thewest was still clear, and now had suddenly blown up and enveloped thewhole sky. Though he was not much given to tears, or anger, for thatmatter, the tempest surged over him now, and as it was furious it wasthe shorter lived.
Presently a laugh stung him, and he raised his head, but he knew thesound of the voice.
"Do go away, Varina!" he exclaimed sharply.
"Can't I walk where I like? When you get a house and a plantation ofyour own, you may order me off. Or you may even set the dogs on me."
"Don't be so silly, so hateful." He was shocked at her last remark, andsprang up, brushing off the twigs and bits of dried grass.
"It is you who are silly, making a dunce of yourself over Annis. Ofcourse she cares for you when there is no one else by. That's justthe way with girls. Look at Jaqueline. When Mr. Tayloe or Mr. Bedfordare here she's sweet to them, then comes the lieutenant and she sendsthe others to the right-about-face, then he goes and it's all Mr.Carrington. When he is gone she will take up with Mr. Bedford. I likehim. He's so funny and sings such splendid songs."
Charles was standing up very straight. Indeed, he seemed to stretch outhis slim figure, and the gravity of his face had scarcely a boyish linein it.
"Do you mean that Jaqueline doesn't care for any of them? Patty saidshe was as good as engaged to Mr. Carrington, and that we could have anicer wedding than Dolly Floyd's."
Varina shrugged her shoulders. There was always an eerie flavor aboutthe child's strictures. "She cares for them all when they are here. Oh,gracious! Suppose they should all come together!" and she laughed. "Butshe'd rather take them one by one, and have a good time. That's the wayI mean to do. You have more good times."
"Annis isn't a bit like you!" the boy flung out hotly. He could notunderstand; it had not come time for analysis or fine gradations; heonly suffered, without the power of reasoning.
"Annis is a girl; and girls are all alike. And there's Mr. Carringtonalone. I wonder if Jacky's been cross to him. I shall go and walk withhim."
She ran down the little side path. Mr. Carrington had started with theintention of finding Charles and comforting him, for it had been withhim as Varina surmised, but the talk between them had arrested him. Wasit true that a girl found pleasure in variety rather than constancy?He was amused at Varina's wisdom, and yet it had in it a savor of sadtruth. Annis' little winsome face as Louis caught her came back to him.
"The Sabine women learned to love their husbands," he mused, whenVarina called to him. He had to exercise some ingenuity to parrythe child's curiosity, since he was by far too gentlemanly to takeadvantage of it.
Charles was a little sullen that evening, and took no notice of thetimid little olive branch Annis held out. Presently, warm as the nightwas, he went off to his books.
"Louis, you tease him too much," said his father.
"It's high time someone took him in hand. He is getting to be a regularlittle prig! You ought to send him away to school."
"He doesn't seem quite the boy for that. We'll see as he gets older.But I won't have any quarreling about Annis. Annis belongs to me, don'tyou, little girl? And we'll marry off all the rest of them, and you andI and mother will live together the remainder of our lives," kissingher with tenderness.
When they all went away--and she loved them all--how lonesome it wouldbe!
A Little Girl in Old Washington Page 11