The Quicksilver Pool

by Whitney, Phyllis A. ;

  Morgan, as might have been expected, had not dressed as plainly as the other women. She wore a long fur cape and carried a muff with a bunch of artificial violets pinned to it. A crocheted scarf wound her head more decoratively than the clumsy caps and mufflers of the other women and her eyes were ashine with some inner excitement. As she got into the sleigh she threw Wade no more than a careless glance and greeted him as casually as the others. Settling into the straw beside Adam, she turned a single questioning look upon Lora.

  Murray Norwood had been on business in the city and had made no concessions in the way of dress. He was obliging but not exactly bubbling with gaiety as he folded his long legs beneath him next to Serena. By way of complete incongruity he wore a top hat, and Hester began to tease him about it.

  “What a target for snowballs!” she cried. “You’ll bring an attack upon us sure as anything!”

  He gave her a slightly chill smile and pulled the buffalo robe to his chin. But he did not remove the hat. Murray Norwood fitted a drawing room far better than he did a straw-filled sleigh. It was probably a tribute to the spell Morgan had cast upon him that he was here at all.

  Now the line of sleighs was mounting Richmond Turnpike, climbing the long hill toward Silver Lake. A fine misting of snow had begun again and the stars were veiled. Someone started a rollicking tune, and soon they were all singing. “Jingle Bells,” of course, and other sleighing songs. Then the beautiful, but always mournful “Lorena,” which had become popular with the soldiers of North and South alike. There were the inevitable war tunes, too: “Tenting Tonight” and the stirring words which Julia Ward Howe had set to the tune of the John Brown song, “The Battle Hymn of the Republic.”

  Perhaps it was the latter which started the war talk. Lora had wanted for a little while to be like the other women and forget everything but this beautiful night, and the lovely hills and valleys of Staten Island as they unfolded about the sleigh. There were woods on every hand now, with only an occasional sign of habitation. A string of small lakes shone in the starlight, with the dark form of a mill at the far end. But the talk drew her back to unhappy reality.

  It was gloomy, discouraged talk. Grant had been repulsed at Vicksburg and the pattern of defeat and inaction went on.

  “The draft must come soon,” one captain in blue was saying. “We need men desperately. After our losses at Fredericksburg, we must draft or enlist. And enlistments have fallen off alarmingly.”

  Where other ladies might feel it wise to keep silent when their men talked of such matters, Morgan never hesitated to speak her mind.

  “What if there is no draft?” she asked. “I’ve heard that Governor Seymour doesn’t approve of such coercive measures.”

  “If there’s no draft the South will beat us,” said Adam.

  “Perhaps not,” Murray Norwood put in blandly. “Perhaps if we offer to cease hostilities, we can make terms with the South even now. I doubt that the Southern states can be eager to continue the fighting.”

  “Then you don’t know the South,” Adam said. “Why should she stop when she’s got us practically on the run?”

  There was a murmur of indignation and denial, and several men began to talk at once. Lora found herself watching Morgan as she listened. The sleigh had turned down the Clove Road and was nearing a section where gaslight illuminated the streets again. In the cool, greenish glare Morgan’s eyes were alert and watchful, her wide mouth curved in a faint smile. Lora could not forget the picture Serena had painted in her mind of a young girl with wild hair, a nose too big for her face, and angry eyes that defied a disapproving world. Was that girl still there, hidden beneath the polished exterior of this confident and handsome woman?

  Tongues were turning sharp and feeling had begun to run high on the question of the draft by the time the sleighs reached the Shore Road and the lights of the Pavilion Hotel came into view ahead. The ladies sighed with relief, glad enough to have attention come back to them, eager to put all thought of war aside for one gay night at least.

  Wade had taken no active part in the debate over the draft, but Lora had noted that he listened to every word and seemed to be turning the matter over in his mind. She wondered if Mr. Norwood might not succeed if he approached Wade while he was in this thoughtful mood.

  She stood up with the others, brushing herself free of snow, glad to leave her slightly cramped position and return to warmth and light. In her preoccupation she might have forgotten Adam had he not been there, ready to lift her down from the sleigh. Wade had gone ahead with Hester, escorting her into the hotel—which was proper enough, since each man must look after his partner. But Lora wished she need not be left to Adam’s tender mercies.

  As they went toward the lighted doorway, he spoke softly in her ear. “If you keep trying to run away from me, I shall get the idea that you’re afraid of me. Are you?”

  She glanced up at him in annoyance. “Why should I be? As a matter of fact, I wasn’t even thinking about you.”

  He laughed and bent toward her. “Sometimes you tempt me just a little. What if I should try to make you think of me?”

  She did not trouble to answer that as they went up the steps together. This was merely Adam’s reckless way of playing with danger, and she meant to give it no thought. There were more important matters demanding her attention tonight.

  When the ladies had put aside their bulky wraps and emerged in hoopless gowns to rejoin the men, she was glad to see that partners were again coupled with original partners. Other sleighing parties around the island had come for the dancing tonight and the big ballroom was alive with music and whirling figures.

  Morgan, Lora noted, wore no warm wool dress of modest colors like the others, but was brilliant tonight in emerald green, her shoulders bare and lovely. It did not seem to matter to her that her costume did not suit the occasion. She seemed to scorn convention and do as she pleased.

  Wade, still hampered by his crutch, and in some discomfort after the cramping restrictions of the sleigh, seemed nevertheless in vastly good humor. It must have been a relief to escape from his mother’s tempers for an evening. He would not hear of it that Lora should sit beside him this time throughout the dancing, and when Adam came to seek her as a partner, Wade insisted that she dance.

  At least she was grateful for the fact that a figure dance was forming. Adam would have to keep his wits about him and watch his steps. The audacity of his remark about making her think of him stung more in retrospect than at the time he had said it, and she was quite ready to reprove any further boldness. She drew herself as tall as her slight height permitted and looked coolly away from the laughter in his eyes.

  Tonight, though some of the same people were present, the atmosphere was very different from that of Serena’s party. The crowd was more boisterous, thanks perhaps to the rougher clothes and the more informal atmosphere lent by the sleigh ride. Adam swung Lora breathlessly through the figures of the dance and when the music changed to a waltz after the more active number, he drew her into his arms without asking for the privilege.

  She looked up at him, ready to utter some sharp reproof, but he returned her look with such unexpected and penetrating kindness that she faltered and held back the words.

  “Just this one waltz and then I’ll let you go,” he said. “Smile, Lora. Turn up the corners of your mouth. Forget the things that trouble you.”

  She did not feel like smiling, but she let him whirl her into the graceful steps of the dance and lost herself almost sadly to the music. He did not speak until the dance was over and he was taking her back across the room toward Wade.

  “I see your husband is having an interesting conversation,” he said.

  She saw what he meant. Wade was not alone in the line of small gilt chairs. Murray Norwood sat next to him and the two were absorbed in conversation. The two men rose as she approached and made a place for her between them. Adam bowed his thanks formally for the dance, looked straight into her eyes for an instant, and th
en disappeared into the crowd.

  Mr. Norwood seemed not to mind her listening presence, and went on with what he had been saying. He was talking about the draft and about the one thing which might halt hostilities—a stopping of the draft before it got under way.

  Wade asked the same question Lora had. “But how can any group set itself against the government to prevent the draft? That in itself would be treason.”

  “A strong word,” Mr. Norwood said smoothly, “and not at all what is intended.”

  Wade was doubtful. “The government would back its order with force, naturally. Police, even the army.”

  “The government is not going to shoot down loyal citizens. And we would still be that.”

  Norwood went on quickly when Wade made a little gesture of rejection. “This is not the place or time to give you the details, Mr. Tyler. There is strong organization behind this move. If sufficient opposition is raised to the draft throughout the North the government will be helpless to enforce it. The voter’s voice still counts. I ask only that you attend one of our meetings. We cannot of course admit you to the inner circle unless you decide to join us, but through the kindness of Mrs. Channing it is possible that an arrangement be made so that you can learn something of our cause.”

  Wade’s interest was evident, and this time he did not flush angrily at the mention of Morgan’s name. As she listened, Lora glanced about the room, looking for Morgan, and saw her dancing with Herbert Wylie—perhaps purposely giving Murray Norwood his opportunity with Wade.

  “I still don’t see what use I might be in this cause,” Wade said doubtfully.

  Mr. Norwood reached into his pocket and drew out a small brown object which he tossed idly in his hand. “Every man we can raise is needed. But in particular we need men of intelligence and influence.”

  “Influence?” Wade’s laugh had a wry sound.

  “Influence indeed. Mrs. Channing has told me of the time when the young bloods of the island followed your lead with some enthusiasm.”

  “In matters of getting up parties, perhaps. The war has sobered young blood.”

  Mr. Norwood opened his hand, revealing the object which lay upon the palm. “Do you know what this is?”

  “A nut or acorn of some sort, I presume.”

  “It’s a cross section of a butternut,” Mr. Norwood said. He held it toward Lora. “What does the pattern resemble, Mrs. Tyler?”

  She looked at it for a moment. “Why, it’s a little like two hearts intertwined.”

  “Exactly. That is why the butternut is worn as a badge of honor out in Ohio where the movement is many thousands strong. Those intertwined hearts stand for the common people of the North and South, together as brothers. Not separated by a rich man’s war, or by emotional nonsense concerning the slaves.”

  Lora glanced at Wade, not altogether trusting Murray Norwood’s smooth manner and persuasive words. Yet—any movement to stop the war, even if one were not altogether in agreement with the ideas of the leaders, seemed worth considering. Wade, too, seemed to be weighing the matter, still not convinced. Mr. Norwood returned the butternut to his pocket. “Now is our time. The movement is already strong in the West, but only beginning here in the East. Our people at home are sick of war. The fight has gone out of our men. They are deserting in huge numbers every day. Confidence in our leadership is shaken. The papers scream alarming details of what the North has not accomplished. People are ready to accept peace on any terms. This is the time to act. If we can prevent or stop the draft, the war will be over. It must be over.”

  There was an intensity about the man which was compelling. The bright room, the sound of music and laughter faded into mere background before the fire of his sincerity.

  Wade nodded thoughtfully. “I will at least come to your meeting, sir. If you will permit me, I will come and listen, but I will promise nothing more.”

  As the last measure of the music died, Lora saw Herbert Wylie bringing Morgan toward them across the floor. The party was moving into an adjoining room for supper now, and Lora rose with the two men. Wade was not aware of Morgan’s nearness until she spoke directly to him.

  “I hope you are coming in with us, Wade,” she said.

  Wade bowed gravely but made no promise. Morgan took Mr. Norwood’s arm and they moved in the direction of the adjacent dining room.

  At the table Wade found places for himself and Lora which were nowhere near Murray and Morgan. But now Wade was less quiet than on the trip out in the sleigh. She could sense again his winning charm, see why there must have been a time when he could easily draw men and women about him. Perhaps this talent had been some compensation for his mother’s lack of belief in him at home.

  Waiters brought steaming-hot oyster stew and the sleighing party ate with appetite and relish. There was no war talk now, but only a somewhat feverish effort to snatch at this moment of being together in this bright room where the distant roll of drums could not reach them.

  Lora, however, found herself growing more quiet as the gaiety about her increased, watching rather than partaking. Adam, too, was sober, eating stolidly as if his only interest were in the food set before him. Once his eyes met Lora’s and she was aware that he had noted her area of quiet, and in a sense saluted it across the table. He was no longer asking her to laugh.

  After the late and leisurely supper they all piled into sleighs again and went jangling off along the Shore Road, following the water’s edge toward home, instead of cutting back across the island. This time Lora stayed close to Wade. He seemed glad to have her there within the curve of his arm as they nestled into straw that was once more warmed with hot bricks supplied by the hotel.

  She was comfortably weary now, dreamily aware that the night had cleared and a big moon which had risen overhead was silvering the dark waters of the Kill Van Kull. A few lights sparkled on the Jersey shore, and there was the sequin brightness of vessels and small craft anchored out in the Kill. The movement of the sleigh was smooth, soft-flowing, and sleigh bells sounded elfin in the night.

  “Comfortable, Lora?” Wade whispered, and she nodded her head against his shoulder. It was comforting to let all disturbing matters fade away and pretend again for a little while. Pretend that she was married to someone she loved and who loved her dearly. Not Martin. She quickly shut away the thought of the past and moved closer to Wade.

  She was growing drowsy now. Wade’s arm was around her and for a little while she could feel safe and protected. A make-believe safety, yet she held to the warm, comforting feeling of it as she dozed.

  Once, when the sleigh jolted over a rutted place where the snow had been worn through at a crossing, her eyes flew open and in the brief interval of light from a lamp she saw that Adam, next to Serena on the other side of the sleigh, was watching her. She closed her eyes quickly, refusing to rise to any challenge in his. She could even be sorry for Adam tonight. Adam had nothing, no one. Only his own bitter self to live with.

  She snuggled more closely into the curve of Wade’s arm. When the road grew dark she felt the touch of her husband’s cheek against her own and was comforted.

  XVIII

  March blew in tempestuously, melting the snow on tree branch and hillside, reducing Staten Island roads to a sea of mud. The Richmond County Gazette printed the usual indignant letters of protest from readers who felt that the paving of roads was a necessity which should be postponed no longer.

  In a corner of the Tyler yard the willow tree leaned with the wind, its tracery of branches streaming outward like a woman’s long hair. Wind moaned down chimneys and whistled at every crack of window or door to which it could put its blustery mouth. On such a day it was good to remain inside snug and warm by a fire.

  As far as Mother Tyler was concerned, the status quo within the house had remained exactly that. The old lady still kept to her bed, refused to have anyone but Wade, Peter, or Ellie come near her, and had occasional relapses over the presence of the growing puppy. She read nothing but h
er Bible and she quoted her Lord’s words often to Wade, giving them her own stern interpretation of criticism upon this household.

  Lora had been only too glad to accept banishment, though at times it made matters difficult for the rest of the house. At least there had been some escape for Wade, since the night of the sleighing party.

  He had attended a meeting of the Circle at Morgan Channing’s house, and while he had been thoughtful and guarded about what had happened, Lora saw that his interest had been fired. Early in March, when a mass meeting was held in New York with Clement Vallandigham as the speaker, Wade went across with Murray Norwood and Morgan. Lora would have liked to go herself, if only for the sake of some activity and excitement, but Wade said firmly that these were a man’s affairs, and he preferred her to take no part.

  Like Virginia, she thought rebelliously. But she would in no way disturb this new interest which sparked his life. She suspected that he did not tell his mother what he did, or where he went, and this must have added one more burr of irritation to the old woman’s bed of self-inflicted pain.

  Wade had come home from the New York meeting talking familiarly of “Val,” apparently caught by the electric quality of this erstwhile congressman from Ohio. Vallandigham had not won re-election last fall, but he was still a leader among the Peace Democrats and there were those who whispered that he was also a leader among the Knights of the Golden Circle—in fact, that the two bore a close relationship. It was enough for Lora that Wade had come to life and seized upon a mission which kept him at least occupied, if not entirely happy.

  Lora had come into the dining room this afternoon to complete some unfinished business. Wade was out on an errand of his own and Jemmy was not yet home from school. She would perform her nefarious deed and surprise the two of them tonight at dinner.

  What she would like, she thought, was to pull every shred of dreary red wallpaper off the walls of this room and start afresh. But she knew she had better approach her reformations with a less revolutionary attitude. Even a small advance at a time would do.