Saturday morning she began to toy with the idea of broaching the subject of the upstairs sitting room to Wade. True, he still seemed preoccupied with his own affairs, and no little worried—as he had been ever since Murray Norwood’s visit. He followed the papers eagerly for further word of the Vallandigham affair. The government still held its “hot potato”; and out in Dayton City there had been rioting and a newspaper office had been burned down by rabid Copperheads. Wade was gone from the house on some mysterious mission nearly every day, and often the rest of the time he worked in the library. But still she thought she might try to reach him in this matter.
At breakfast, however, there had been a distracting scene between Wade and his mother. Mrs. Tyler had demanded outright that he tell her what he was doing, what momentous affairs—her tone was sarcastic—he was involved in. Wade had said quietly that she would know in good time. But now he must keep his own counsel.
His mother had plunged to the attack from a new direction. “You’ve been gaining your strength back rapidly,” she said. “You get around with very little trouble now. And obviously you are going over to New York once or twice a week. It is time for you to make up your mind about the bank and let me know at once when you plan to return. Mr. Niles was asking about it only yesterday.”
This time Wade did not hesitate. “I am not returning to the bank,” he told his mother quietly.
Mrs. Tyler made the familiar choking sound in her throat, but Wade did not move anxiously to her side, and when the old lady caught Lora’s interested and expectant gaze upon her, she rallied indignantly.
“So this is the reward of a lifetime’s devotion? This is what I receive!”
Wade pushed his chair back from the table, excused himself and left the room.
Mrs. Tyler watched him go in dismay. “All his life I have lived for his good,” she said to Lora. “I have lived for him.”
“I’m not sure any one of us has the right to live for anyone else,” Lora said gently.
“Well, between you, you’ve spoiled my breakfast,” the old lady snapped. “Please get me back to my sitting room at once.”
Since there were no longer fires on the hearths, doors stood open and Mrs. Tyler could wheel herself readily where she liked. But Lora signaled to Jemmy and he slipped from the table to push his grandmother’s chair into the other room. He did not return to finish his own meal and Lora ate the rest of her breakfast alone in thoughtful silence.
Later in the morning Wade emerged from the library in better spirits than she had seen him for some time and came out to sit in a wooden garden chair in the sun, while Lora hunted dandelions and weeds. His mother sat in the open window and he smiled up at her now and then as though there had been no disagreement between them. It was as though, while he plainly did not mean to withdraw from the stand he had taken, he wanted to smooth over his earlier sharpness.
His mother, however, did not return his smile and there was indignation in every inch of her bearing. Jemmy had disappeared uphill some time before and did not reappear until shortly before lunchtime.
His arrival was dramatic, and somewhat noisy, due to the barking and leaping of the little dog which accompanied him. Jemmy had at last taken matters into his own hands and brought Hamlin home. He was rather pink about the ears, but very determined as he stepped onto the grass directly before his father, trying to restrain Hamlin with one hand.
Lora’s heart began to thump and she could not pretend to be interested in anything except the little drama about to be enacted there in the garden.
“I’ve brought my dog home,” Jemmy announced, setting his feet apart as if to brace himself against any explosion which might come.
Wade seemed the more discomfited of the two. “And who has said you might have him back?”
“No one,” Jemmy answered stoutly. “But he belongs here. He’s lonesome for me and I am for him, too. He lives here, Papa.”
“Do you remember that he destroyed an expensive shawl which belonged to your grandmother?” Wade asked.
“He’s sorry about that. He won’t do it any more. I’ll watch him every minute.”
Mrs. Tyler spoke sharply from her place by the window. “Oh, let the boy keep the dog, Wade! I’ve had enough of this!”
Wade threw his mother a look of surprise and relief. “Very well,” he said to the boy. “Since your grandmother has revoked her edict, you may keep the dog. But you will have to see that he gets into no further trouble.”
The thumping of her heart quieted and Lora could only smile at the bright happiness in Jemmy’s eyes. Nevertheless, she was disappointed. Wade, after all, had taken no strong stand, accepted no responsibility himself. Perhaps, in the light of other matters, that no longer counted, but she regretted it anyway.
“Papa,” Jemmy said, “do you know Ham’s real name.”
“You mean there’s more to it than Ham? I’m glad to hear that. I’ve always regarded it as a singularly unattractive name.”
“His name is Hamlin, Papa. I named him after the hero in the book you were writing.”
For just a moment Wade was taken aback. “By whose permission did you read my story?”
“No one’s. It was there on the desk, Papa,” Jemmy said, unabashed. “I thought it was an awfully good story.”
Wade looked away from his son. “Apparently I was writing for children and did not realize it.”
“Jemmy enjoys Scott and Byron and other grown-up authors,” Lora said quickly.
“So a puppy has been named after my hero,” Wade said, and stood up. “At least that will give him some chance at fame. But see that the dog keeps out of your grandmother’s way, Jemmy.”
He went up the back steps into the house and Jemmy stared after him for a moment. Then he went down on his knees and leaned his cheek against Hamlin’s sun-warmed fur. No one but Lora saw that where there had been happiness in Jemmy’s eyes, there was now a shine of tears.
She spoke quickly, trying to brush aside the emotion of the moment with matter-of-fact words.
“It’s nice to have Hamlin back,” she told Jemmy. “And I’m sure he’s very glad to be home again.”
“Come here, boy!” Mrs. Tyler’s words startled them both. “Come here to my window where I can look at you.”
Jemmy let go of Hamlin’s collar, and the dog nosed into the grass on the trail of an interesting beetle. Stiffly the boy went to stand before the window, and there was defiance in his expression.
“Why are you staring at me like that?” his grandmother demanded, staring back.
“I won’t let Hamlin go away again,” the boy told her, his eyes steady and unflinching.
“Who said he was going away? Didn’t you hear me say you could keep him? But it seems that I am to receive no thanks for that.”
“Sometimes you change your mind,” Jemmy said cautiously.
“I never change my mind about anything!” snapped his grandmother. “Step over here closer, boy. Put your head up!”
He obeyed without speaking, stood motionless and waiting while the old woman’s eyes searched his face. Then she nodded as if she had come to a conclusion.
“You look like your great-grandfather Jason. The resemblance is growing all the time.”
Jemmy gave no inch of ground. “I look like you,” he said. “And I don’t like it!”
“Hoity-toity!” said his grandmother. “A fine way to talk.” But she looked almost pleased.
Hamlin leaped upon Jemmy just then and the boy broke away to chase him around the yard. When Lora looked again at the old woman in the window she saw that she was nodding proudly.
“There’ll be no meek bowing of this one’s neck,” she said. “He won’t pretend to go my way and then twist around when I’m not looking. He’ll go his own way and never mind the consequences. That’s a Cowles trait, Lora.”
“Don’t forget he has Virginia and Wade in him too,” Lora reminded her.
Mrs. Tyler dismissed so unwelcome a truth with a
flick of her beringed fingers and changed the subject. “What is my son up to, Lora? What trouble is he involving himself in that he will not confide in me?”
But Lora could only shake her head, having no answer to that herself. In this one thing—their concern over what Wade was doing—she and Mother Tyler were closely allied.
XXVI
Through May and June events seemed to be boiling toward some climax as far as the war was concerned. The lethargy and hopelessness of the winter was past and armies were stirring, moving toward great events.
Clement Vallandigham had been tried by a military court, and sentenced to imprisonment. Indignantly the people of Ohio were offering his name for governor of that state. Lincoln, still wary of holding this unwanted prisoner Burnside had wished on him, commuted Val’s sentence to expulsion to the South, with orders that he be rearrested if found behind Union lines. With the help of Confederate authorities Val had found his way into Canada, and the excitement swirled behind him like the wake of a surging battleship.
Early in June the Peace Democrats held a great mass meeting in New York under the auspices of former Mayor Fernando Wood. The crowd overflowed Cooper Union, shouting for peace and urging Democrats everywhere to denounce and repudiate the war. A resolution was passed denouncing the war as illegal and unconstitutional.
All the while, the day of the intended draft came closer. There were rumors now that Lee intended a march into Union territory and every man was needed. On June 8 instructions were issued for the enrollment of men between the ages of twenty and forty-five, but this was only a preliminary to the actual draft.
Yet June on Staten Island bloomed on as usual, lavish and drowsy. Sunshine warmed the hills and bees hummed through clover, ignoring the mushroom growth of camps which had sprang into being all across the island.
One lazy afternoon somewhat past the middle of June, Lora came outside, crisp and cool in blue muslin, carrying a small parcel wrapped in an old shawl. From the road before the Hume house she glanced hastily in either direction, then ducked beneath shielding branches and ran lightly up the steps that led nowhere. She knew the way very well by now and with a clear sky overhead there were no fingers of fog to intercept or confuse.
She went at once to what had become a favorite nook—a place where broken walls met in a corner and a growth of trees and shrubbery threw patches of dappled shade. Here she spread the shawl upon the grass and settled into her nest. There was quiet here, with only the hum of bees and occasional bird songs to break the hush. All human activity from harbor and lower shore seemed distant, scarcely to be heard. This was a place for thinking, for dreaming.
For a time she tried to follow the course of the story she had brought to read, but her mind wandered and she put the magazine aside to watch a dragonfly darting and swooping nearby. But the dragonfly did not hold her attention either. She curled up on the shawl and placed the small pillow she had brought beneath her head. But she did not nap. Her mind was too busy turning its wheels, worrying its problems.
What dangerous thing might Wade be doing these days? Always he seemed secretive and tense, and he would tell her nothing. She had lost all touch with him lately and lived almost as a stranger in the house as far as he was concerned. He had wakened from his apathy and pain and no longer needed to fool himself. He escaped them all now—his mother, his son, his wife.
Lora turned on her side and sorted out the contents of the bundle she had brought with her. There was the little clown, its pompons shining golden yellow in the sun, and the few copybooks from the attic. She held Jupiter in her hands as if somehow he might take her back into a past she could not know, help her to find the boy who had once played with this toy.
In the beginning she had wanted only to minister to Wade’s hurt body, to see the healing of his physical wounds. Later she had been more concerned with the healing of his spirit, feeling guilty because she could not love him when his need for love was great. But now he had hardened into a new pattern and seemed to need her in no way at all. And now she was troubled and confused, not even sure of her own thoughts and emotions.
When she had finally broken through his preoccupation to suggest the transformation of Virginia’s room into something more useful, he had been momentarily shocked into awareness of her as a person. But the suggestion seemed not to upset him unduly or to cause any relapse into his previous unhealthy attitude toward the room.
“As you please,” he said at length, almost indifferently. But he would take no interest in specific plans. He would not touch the room in any way himself.
She had begun somewhat listlessly to pack Virginia’s frocks away, to sort her possessions from bureau drawers and carry things up to the attic. Jemmy too avoided the project and stayed outside or in another part of the house when she worked in his mother’s room. Her own interest and enthusiasm for the preparation of the room died for lack of support and the work went slowly. Perhaps next winter when the room was needed more than it was in summertime her interest would return. Now one could be outdoors, or sit on the veranda of an evening.
She felt almost as if she were marking time in some strange way, awaiting an event still in the future—she knew not what. Some turn in the affairs of war perhaps? Certainly the promise of that was constantly in the air these days and on every tongue. If Lee marched into Pennsylvania—if the Confederacy were really as strong as that …
She had not seen Morgan since the day of the fire, but according to Ambrose, all appeared quiet in the house on the hill. The new stable and servants’ quarters were nearly completed. Rebecca went about her usual tasks and not even Clothilde interfered with her.
Serena was busy as always and the social life of the island had whirled into summer gaiety. Wade could no longer be drawn into the sort of social affair which had once interested him. He was engrossed in his own work now, and had no time for frivolity. Nevertheless, Serena had been able to extract from him a promise to bring Lora to the first beach party of the summer season early in July. Serena pointed out the fact that he was allowing his wife to languish in cruel inactivity, and Lora remembered how Wade had looked at her quickly then, as if he had almost forgotten she was his wife. He had agreed readily enough that some break in the routine of their lives was a good idea.
Since the day of the fire Lora had seen Adam rarely and, to her relief, only when others were around. That day, she had told herself, they’d all been keyed to an intensity out of the normal. When people were both excited and exhausted, almost anything might happen. She still resented his behavior and for a while was fearful lest Morgan Channing try to make something of it by gossiping. But nothing further had happened. When Lora saw Adam she simply avoided his eyes and since he did not seek her out, she did not know what he thought or how he felt. Nor did she care.
She put the doll aside and sat up cross-legged to open one of the copybooks. She had read through two of them completely before this and found a boy’s school exercises and essays. But after the first page or so of this book, she realized that it was different. These passages were something Wade had written for himself alone; they were, in fact, the pages of a diary. Familiar names appeared, references to Serena, to Adam, to Morgan and Virginia. In these pages the boy Wade had recorded something of his inner thoughts as well as an account of daily incidents. All this seemed to date back to a time shortly before the incident of the fence.
For a moment Lora hesitated, wondering if she had any right to read what was written here. If she took this book to Wade and asked his permission, would he take it away from her? She had the strange feeling that some key might lie hidden in these pages, something which would better enable her to understand what had gone before and thus help with the present. If she went to Wade he might well refuse her the use of such a key. She read on and the summer day hummed about her, forgotten.
The young Wade had written:
Today Adam boxed Morgan’s ears. Adam is not a gentleman but I was glad for what he did. Morgan had teased
Virginia because I’d picked her to be on my side, and when Morgan pulled Virginia’s hair and made her cry, Adam slapped her hard. Morgan flounced off by herself and wouldn’t play any more. She knows Adam is stronger than she is, or she’d try to fight him. I don’t know why she has to be so mean to Virginia, who is only a baby, really.
And another entry a few days later:
Morgan is a strange girl. She is very clever and smart. More than people think. If she cared about her studies she could get better marks in school. But she doesn’t care about anything except being mean. Everyone says it’s too bad that she’s not sweet and docile like Virginia. When she hears these things she always gets mad and that makes it all worse than ever. She teases me too—only I don’t mind. Because I know what she’s like. At least I don’t think I mind very much. Sometimes her words sting a little and I’d like to show her I’m better than she thinks. I can be just as brave as Adam if I try.
A month later came a surprising entry:
Morgan can be nice sometimes. Today she brushed her hair and tied it back with a ribbon. She put her mouth into a smile and came out to play in a clean dress without any tears in it. She was kind and gentle and sat beside me while I was getting well from my illness. Today was the first time I could be outdoors. A strange thing happened. I do believe I began to like her a little. I suppose Adam would think me foolish, but I almost had the feeling today that it would be a fine thing to be really liked and admired by Morgan.
The next entry was made the following day:
Of course Morgan was only play-acting. This afternoon I was reading to Virginia up near the pool. I didn’t feel like pretending to hunt Indians in the woods the way Morgan and Adam were doing. Morgan came out prettily dressed again, but when we settled down to read and didn’t pay any attention to her, she pulled off her ribbon and tied it on a tree branch, and let her hair go scraggly again. She was like a wild thing all morning and teased everyone endlessly. It was as though she wanted me to turn on her the way Adam does sometimes. But I won’t strike a girl no matter how angry she makes me.
The Quicksilver Pool Page 31