When Lora ran out of things to tell, he said flatly that Morgan had been present in the company of a certain Murray Norwood. Had his mother ever heard of him?
Mrs. Tyler had not, but she would inquire of Mr. Niles when he came to see her next week. Mr. Niles reported to Mrs. Tyler frequently.
“The name sounds familiar,” Wade mused. “It seems to me that I’ve heard it in some political connection. Last night someone sneered that he was a Copperhead.”
“Fit company for Morgan,” said Mrs. Tyler. “With all that love she developed for the South after she inherited her husband’s property, I’d not put treason past her.”
“Nevertheless,” Wade said, “I can’t agree with the Unionists. The Lincoln program has embroiled us in this futile war and it will never get us out without countless wasted lives.”
Mrs. Tyler bristled, as she always did at any reflection cast upon the Union or President Lincoln. Lora was sure that the President himself was far less vindictive and bloodthirsty than some of his firmest supporters.
“Wait until he releases his Proclamation freeing the slaves,” Mrs. Tyler went on. “Mr. Niles says it is probable that he will do so early in January.”
“And what can such a proclamation do?” Wade asked wearily. “I read the proposed draft of it in the papers and it sounds hopeless. It would free the slaves in every state that is fighting the Union—where they cannot be freed anyway. But it would not free them in our own states. What logic is this?”
“Very shrewd logic on Mr. Lincoln’s part,” his mother said. “The freeing of any slaves may have an emotional impact on the North which it sorely needs. Yet the President cannot risk turning the border states against us. Full freedom must come later.”
Lora found herself listening to the old lady in surprise. It was remarkable, really, how close she kept in touch with what was going on, how eagerly, and sometimes indignantly, she followed the news in several papers and looked forward to the visits of Mr. Niles. Lora had heard rumors last night of such a proclamation, but she was much more ignorant of the country’s doings than was Mrs. Tyler.
There was a knocking on the back door just then and Lora started nervously. That would probably be Ambrose with the puppy and it was all she could do to refrain from running to the door. She had worried ever since rising over this matter of getting the puppy into her own hands before anyone else realized its existence. If Mrs. Tyler were to see it first—
But John Ambrose had thought the problem out himself. In a moment Ellie came to the dining-room door, looking mildly suspicious. It was for Mrs. Wade Tyler, she said, and mentioned no names.
“Well, tell whoever it is to come in. Don’t stand there,” Mrs. Tyler ordered.
Before Ellie could comply, Lora slipped from her chair and hurried to the door. Ambrose was waiting in the kitchen with a small covered basket in his hands.
“Good morning, Mrs. Tyler,” he said pleasantly. “It’s that matter we spoke about,” and behind Ellie’s back he gave her a hasty wink.
“Yes, of course,” Lora said. “Please come in, Mr. Ambrose. If you’ll bring the basket right in where the Christmas tree is …”
They left Ellie in the kitchen, clearly popping with curiosity, and hurried to the parlor. Not until the door was closed behind them did Ambrose reach gently for the thin covering that lay over the basket. He drew it part way back to reveal the snug little ball of warmth that lay sleeping within.
“I’ve been teaching him to lap his milk and he’s a fine scholar. His belly’s full now and he’ll sleep a while, but don’t leave him alone too long. He’s a mischievous one.”
The puppy whimpered faintly in its sleep and put out a pink tongue to lick off any remaining drops. Ambrose drew the covering back and Lora took the basket.
She knelt beneath the Christmas tree and put the basket around toward the back behind the other presents, half hidden by the tree trunk. This, of course, was the climax to be opened last—if the puppy himself would permit. She rose and held out her hand to Jemmy’s grandfather.
“I can never thank you enough.”
She could feel the rough hardness of his hand as he pressed hers. “We’ll all thank you, ma’am, if you can fix it so he gets to keep this little feller.”
“I shall fix it,” Lora said firmly. “But now I’d better go back before Mother Tyler sends someone to investigate.”
She would not let him out the back way, but took him to the front door, and opened it for him.
“Merry Christmas, Mr. Ambrose,” she said.
“Just make it John,” he told her. “I’d feel more comfortable. And Merry Christmas to all of you, Mrs. Tyler.”
“Lora,” she reminded him. “After all, John, we are friends.”
He reached into his pocket just before he went down the steps and drew out a small tissue-wrapped package of his own.
“Will you do me the favor of putting this under the tree for the boy? He doesn’t have a good knife of his own as every boy should, and this is a fine one.”
“I know he’ll be proud of it, John,” Lora said, and took the package from him.
When she had put it with the others beneath the tree and assured herself that the puppy still slept, she went back to the dining room. Mrs. Tyler looked up from her wheat cakes, instantly suspicious.
“Who was that? Why was he not brought into this room as I directed?”
Lora put a light hand on her arm. “Mother, this is Christmas. We’re all permitted our secrets at Christmas time. And this is a secret no one can know about till later.”
Mrs. Tyler snorted indignantly, but Lora saw only the shine in Jemmy’s eyes. No matter what happened, that shine must remain.
It had been unthinkable, of course—from Mrs. Tyler’s viewpoint—that they open Christmas presents before breakfast. But once the meal was over, Jemmy, who had eaten practically nothing, could be held back no longer. Even Wade thawed a little and smiled at the boy’s excitement. But he did not look at Lora. He had avoided her eyes ever since he had come downstairs and he had not spoken to her directly.
Now he pushed his mother’s chair down the hall and Jemmy ran ahead to open the door. Ellie was kneeling before the hearth turning embers into a roaring blaze. As she rose and started from the room, she gave Lora a quick, frightened look. So Ellie had not been able to contain her curiosity, Lora thought. She must have investigated the contents of the basket Ambrose had brought, and her look of shock was not reassuring.
When they had all settled around the tree, the picking of packages to be opened began. They must each choose in turn, Lora said, and each package must be opened before they went on to the next. But first of all Jemmy’s stocking.
“Excitement’s not good for the boy,” Mrs. Tyler muttered as he took down the striped stocking and pulled out the contents eagerly. But no one paid any attention to her.
The wishbone he hung over one ear, to save for an important wish. Then each orange and practically every nut must be exclaimed over as valuable treasure. The paperweight in the toe threw him into a state of delight and he turned it again and again in his hands to watch the snow fly. Lora had to assure him that the fun was only beginning before he would pay attention to anything else.
“Now he’ll throw up all day,” said his grandmother gloomily. But she had spotted the large oblong package that was marked with her name and now she demanded that it be brought out.
So Grandmother Tyler opened the next package and examined her shawls. Lora had chosen them doubtfully, feeling that it would not do to give her something too drab and elderly, yet not sure how far she could go in brightness of hue. It was the memory of the beribboned morning caps which the old lady wore that had decided her choice. So one shawl was a soft, powdery blue, and the other glowed with a deep rose color.
There was a certain response to this luxury evident in the way Mrs. Tyler held them in her hands, spread their loose folds on her lap so that color spilled over her black dress. But her lips pursed in
habitual protest and Lora spoke quickly to allay criticism.
“You’re too young a grandmother to wear nothing but black,” she said lightly. “Fine cashmere goes with nice hands. The blue is for your eyes, and the pink for your cheeks.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere,” said the old lady tartly. “Well, let’s get on with this nonsense.” But she continued to warm her hands with the brightness of the shawls.
Wade opened a bookmark made for him by Jemmy and tried to be appreciative. But his heart was obviously not in his thanks and Lora reached quickly for John Ambrose’s gift to his grandson. Jemmy unwrapped the knife proudly and did not hear when his grandmother said he would now have a fine chance to cut off a finger.
Then it was Jemmy’s turn again to choose a package. He crawled to the foot of the tree on his hands and knees and looked over the spread of gifts thoughtfully.
“Do hurry,” said his grandmother. “This is growing tiresome.”
Once more Lora dared to speak up. “Part of the fun of Christmas is to make everything last as long as possible.”
Jemmy threw her a quick, pleased look and crawled closer until pine needles hooked themselves into his dark hair. At that moment a certain rustling and creaking of wicker arose from behind the tree, to be followed by an odd whimper. Lora’s heart thudded, but now there was nothing she could do. The moment had come.
“What’s back there?” Mrs. Tyler asked sharply. “Something made a noise. Jemmy, pull it out at once.”
Jemmy needed no direction. He had heard the small, endearing sound too, and swept other parcels recklessly out of his way as he crawled beneath the tree. The basket tore the tissue paper laid about the tree as he pulled it out, but Jemmy did not care.
For out of the basket had emerged two light-brown ears, a pair of bright, mischievous eyes and a wet, black nose. Next a brown paw and a white paw appeared on the basket’s edge as the puppy investigated this strange new world.
Jemmy stared as if he could not believe what he saw. The puppy yapped in baby fashion and showed sharp little teeth and a pink tongue. Jemmy looked at the three grownups almost in agony. Wade had risen to his feet, his shock and distress plain. His mother stared, completely at a loss for words.
“Is it—is it for me?” Jemmy asked faintly.
Lora dropped to her knees beside him and put an arm about his shoulders. “Of course it’s for you, darling. It’s your very own puppy—from all of us.”
Mrs. Tyler made a choked sound, but Lora did not look at her, or at Wade. She pulled back the cloth covering and Jemmy lifted the fat little animal tenderly from the basket. A miracle had happened in this house on Christmas morning. With a soft cry he buried his nose in warm fur. The puppy, however, was far from docile and he wriggled and nipped at Jemmy’s ear until the boy laughed and held him away.
Behind them the old woman found her voice. “Take that creature out of here at once! Wade, you know that I can’t abide dogs. I suppose this is your foolish doing, Lora?”
Jemmy held the dog so tightly that it yelped and Lora turned to face Mrs. Tyler. She was still on her knees, but she raised herself straight as her spine could hold her.
“I had hoped you would want to be one of the givers,” she said. “But if you don’t wish it, then Wade and I—”
“Lora, please,” Wade said. He looked almost ill.
“Very well,” said Lora, and she let scorn bite into her voice. “If neither of you wants to come in with me on this gift, then it shall be from me. From me to Jemmy—a puppy for his very own.”
“It is I who make the rules in this house.” Mrs. Tyler’s eyes were alive with anger. “Put that creature down instantly, Jemmy. Wade, if you will not take it away yourself, go and call Peter.”
“It’s mine,” Jemmy said. “Peter shan’t take it.”
Wade went out of the room as if he were glad to escape and he did not return. The old woman and the little boy faced each other in the light of Christmas morning, but of the two the woman was older and still the stronger.
“Put it down,” she said levelly.
With a little sob Jemmy gave up. He dropped the puppy down upon the tissue and ribbons beneath the tree and fled from the room, his arm tight across his mouth. Lora made no move to stop him. All this was so much worse than she had imagined. Somehow she had hoped that the spirit of gift-giving might soften this impossible old woman to being humanly kind. But that had not happened and Wade had not stayed to help his son. So now the battle was posed—as she had seen it must be all along—between herself and Mrs. Tyler.
“Come in!” said the the old woman sharply to Peter’s knock. Lora scooped the puppy into her arms and got to her feet. She rubbed her cheek against its hard little head where the white patch showed, and stroked its fur.
Peter came unhappily into the room. It was clear that he knew from Ellie what might happen and that Wade’s summons had confirmed his fear. Mrs. Tyler pointed a straight forefinger at the puppy in Lora’s arms.
“Take that creature out of this house at once!”
Peter played warily for time. “Where would you like me to take it, ma’am?”
“What difference does it make? Drown it if you like. Leave it in the woods, give it away. But get it off my property!”
Peter took a tentative step toward Lora and held out his hands silently.
Lora smiled at him. “No, Peter, it’s not going to be that easy. I say that the puppy belongs to Jemmy and that he shall stay. If you mean to take it from me you will have to use force.”
The man’s hands dropped to his sides and his lean face looked utterly lugubrious. “If you please, ma’am, what do I do now?”
“Take it from her,” Mrs. Tyler commanded.
Lora’s laugh was light. “Remember, Mother—I am not a lady. And I am strong and young. If Peter touches me—” She did not finish, but walked boldly toward the door, carrying the puppy in her arms.
Behind her Mrs. Tyler made a choking sound of rage, but Peter lifted not a finger as she walked past him and out of the room. In the hallway she paused for an undecided moment. Then she went into the library where Wade sat on the sofa before a cold fireplace, his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. In spite of her anger a faint stab of pity went through her. He was still ill with his wounds and the experience he had been through. Nevertheless, she spoke to him coolly.
“Jemmy is going to keep his puppy, Wade. His need is more important than the whims of your mother.”
He did not even look up at her. “I thought you were gentle. I thought you would bring peace and happiness to this household—”
“Perhaps you should stop thinking about you and think about Jemmy. What sort of father are you?”
He looked up quickly, but she waited for no answer. She turned about and went quickly through the door. Up the stairs to her room she carried the puppy. For a moment she thought of taking it into Jemmy’s room, but since the battle had not been fully won, she could not risk that.
In her own room she turned the key in the lock and set the puppy on the floor. Then she pulled up the rag rugs and flung them over the back of a chair, removed her slippers from beneath the bed. A bare floor would be safest until this fat little thing had learned manners. Jemmy must give him a name soon. They would need something to call him by.
Feeling too restless to sit in the rocker before the fire, she strode up and down the small room, rubbing cold hands together, while the puppy made small attacks on her skirt hem as she went by and yapped his excitement. She began to talk to him softly as she paced and at the sound of her voice he perked up his ears and sat back on his small haunches to listen with puzzled interest.
“We’ve only won the first skirmish, you know. I expect Mother Tyler has a great deal of ammunition left. But I don’t really know what she can do unless she puts me out of the house along with you.”
The puppy sneezed and rubbed at his nose with one paw.
“If only you were bigger, so you could be my b
odyguard. As it is—”
For the first time something unfamiliar in the room caught her attention and she stopped in her pacing. Someone had placed an oblong pan upon her dresser—a pan containing rocks and sand and a half-buried saucer-pool. Three small turtles snoozed in the cool sand.
Why had Jemmy brought his turtles in here? Had he feared that they too might be taken from him? Or—was there some other meaning?
She ran suddenly to the door and unlocked it. Then she slipped out before the puppy could bounce after her. Across the hall Jemmy’s door stood closed, but she turned the knob and flung it open. The room was empty and Jemmy’s coat and cap were gone from the clothes tree that stood near the head of his bed.
She knew now why he had left the turtles in her room. He had entrusted them to her in his absence. Jemmy Tyler had wasted no time at all. He had run away.
XIV
Lora stood quietly in Jemmy’s small room, trying to think. He could have gone only a few moments before, so he was not far away. She had no concern that physical harm might come to him before he would be found. But the danger of spiritual harm was great and she wanted to think carefully about what was best to do.
Someone should go up the woods path, since it was quite possible that he had gone up the hill to his grandfather. Perhaps she had better set Peter on that course at once. Then she herself would go over to the Lords’ and see if he had gone there. She ran back to her room for her mantle and bonnet, and as she went out she remembered to lock the door and take the key with her. There would be no stealing away of the puppy behind her back.
Then she went downstairs to the library, where Wade still sat with his head in his hands.
“Your son has run away,” she said. “I think you’d best send Peter up to Mrs. Channing’s to see if he has gone there. I am going to the Lords to look for him.”
There was dismay in Wade’s eyes now and he got up at once. From within the parlor where she kept lonely vigil with the Christmas tree, Mrs. Tyler was ringing her silver bell furiously, and Ellie came padding in from the back of the house.
The Quicksilver Pool Page 15