There were tears in her eyes when she finished. How her father would have loved Wade! He would have approved a cause such as this, no matter how he felt about the war. He would have understood that men were not yet wise enough or good enough to achieve a noble goal nobly. They were still only puny things who must strive foolishly and harm themselves in the striving. But the shining goal stood above and apart, and even the puny might raise eyes of hope and believe in one day being worthy to reach such a goal.
She took the piece back to Wade and put it into his hands.
“I’m very proud to be your wife,” she said simply, and then turned quickly away.
“Lora—” he began, but she would not stay to hear him. There was too much in her heart for him to see and she did not ever again want gratitude or pity from him.
Shortly before dinner Lora went up to her room to change her dress for the party. Opening the door of her wardrobe, she drew out one gown after another, but somehow nothing seemed exactly suited for the occasion. She wanted no dove gray or pale blue, but some rich and satisfying color.
She found the right dress tucked far back in the closet, shimmering in the dim light of her shuttered room. A feeling of audacity flashed through her, even of triumph. She would be beautiful tonight, and she would be unafraid of Mother Tyler or anyone else.
Carefully she drew out the shining garnet dress and held it up. This was the gown she had made so lovingly and which had met with such disapproval the night of Serena’s Christmas party. She had never worn it at all. But tonight she did not care what Mother Tyler thought of it. She knew this dress suited her and tonight she would wear it bravely and with confidence.
She made no attempt to set her hair in ringlets, but loosened it a little, so that it waved softly back from her temples. And she clasped her mother’s garnets about her throat. Not until she was sure she would be the last one downstairs did she leave her room.
The tall white candles in the candelabra had been lighted and Mother Tyler already sat in her place at the table, while Wade and Jemmy stood waiting for Lora to come in. She swept into the room gaily, confidently, her eyes dancing. Nothing hung in the balance tonight. Tonight her wearing of the dress was only a lark and a distraction. Managing the big hoop gracefully, she went to the chair which Wade had pulled out for her.
Jemmy said, “Whee!” and was quickly reproved by his grandmother. But it was the look which kindled in Wade’s eyes as he drew back the chair which made Lora’s breath catch in her throat and the color rise warmly in her cheeks.
“You’re lovely tonight,” he said. “May I compliment you on your choice of a gown?”
She knew he was laughing, but now she did not mind. There was kindness in his laughter—and something more flattering as well.
“Happy birthday,” he said, and swept her into her place with a flourish.
Jemmy shouted, “Happy birthday, Lorie! Happy birthday!”
Mother Tyler said surprisingly, “That color becomes you, daughter.”
Lora felt tears sting her eyes and she had to blink to hold them back. At her place were three small packages, tied up in paper left from Christmas. There was a paper shortage these days and one used every scrap several times over.
While Ellie brought in the soup Lora opened her gifts happily and exclaimed over each. There was a cigar box, turned by Jemmy into a handkerchief case with suitable pasted-on decorations. A sprig of lavender scented it, combating the odor of tobacco. There was a book of Elizabeth Browning’s poetry from Wade, inscribed to his wife. And there was a handsome cameo brooch from Mother Tyler—one of her own treasures.
It was as happy a birthday party as any she could remember and she found herself, like Jemmy, too excited to eat very much. They sat long at the table, telling stories and talking, and for once there was ready laughter in this dining room. Once Lora’s eyes sought the place on the wall where the dead game bird had once hung, and which was now graced innocuously by a graceful depiction of fruit dish and grape bunches.
Only now and then did the uneasiness they had thrust into the background intrude itself in some moment of silence, so that they all sat quiet, listening to the evening sounds outside. Then talk would break out again and the sense of disquiet was pushed away. They sat so long at the table that dusk crept over the hill and it was growing dark outside by the time the birthday cake was brought in, its candles twinkling bravely.
Not until they were ready to rise from the table did a sudden knocking sound on the kitchen door. Jemmy dashed from the table without reproof and ran into the kitchen. He was back in a moment, ahead of Ellie.
“It’s Rebecca! She wants to see you, Lorie.”
Mrs. Tyler raised a finger to stop her when Lora started to rise. “That is the colored girl who works for Morgan? Bring her in here, Ellie.”
Ellie opened the door for the girl and she came into the room uncertainly, her glance seeking Lora’s reassurance. It was the first time Lora had seen Rebecca without the bright costume in which Morgan chose to dress her. Her black hair, covered by no gaudy turban, was drawn back in a sedate knot on her neck and her dress was a simple one of dark brown. She still wore her mother’s gold earrings, but she looked like a young and frightened girl, and no longer mysterious and exotic.
Wade saw her put a hand against the doorjamb to steady herself and he went to bring her a chair. She would not sit in it, however, but stood behind it, leaning upon its back with her hands.
“What is it, Rebecca?” Lora asked. “What has happened?”
The girl threw an uneasy glance at Mrs. Tyler, whose reputation for being a tyrant she undoubtedly knew. The old woman saw the look and gestured toward the chair.
“Please sit down, Rebecca. And stop shaking. You are a friend among friends.”
Lora saw recognition spring up in Rebecca’s eyes. A friend among friends—that was one of the password phrases which had been used in the Underground before the war, when so many in the North were helping slaves to escape to freedom. Lora threw the old lady a quick look of surprise, even as Rebecca slid weakly into the chair.
“You needn’t look so startled,” Mrs. Tyler told Lora. “This house was once a station on the Underground, though used only occasionally. Now then, Rebecca, tell us what has happened.”
Rebecca moistened dry lips with her tongue. “It’s Mrs. Channing. She is very angry with me. Jeb came to warn us that an attack may be made on the big house tonight. Everybody knows that Mrs. Channing has me living there.”
“Does Mrs. Channing know who Jeb is?” Lora asked.
“That’s what made her angry. I had to tell her I was going to marry him. And she said she wasn’t going to risk having her house burned down by keeping me there. So she turned me out. She said I’d be all right if I hid in the woods.”
“That miserable woman!” Mother Tyler cried.
“Jeb wanted to take me with him. But I knew I’d only make him more trouble. He was going home to get his mother and try to escape to New Jersey. But he had enough on his hands. They’ll maybe burn every house on McKeon Street. So I said I’d come down here. I—Miss Lora, I couldn’t stay alone up there in the woods. There’s—there’s that pool and all …”
“Of course you couldn’t stay there,” Lora said. “You did the right thing to come here.”
Both Wade and his mother added their reassurances and the girl seemed to take heart a little. Lora took her upstairs to her own room. It would be better to have her out of sight of any curious eyes which might be prying out there in the darkness.
The girl’s gratitude was pitiful as Lora insisted that she stretch out on the bed, kick off her shoes and rest herself. She was keyed up and for the first time actually talkative. Lora drew the rocker close to the bed and sat down in it. A candle burned on the dresser and what air stirred in the hot night came in through the slats of the closed shutters. It was best to reveal as few lights as possible while this threat of violence lay over the island.
“I never rec
koned it would be like this up North, Miss Lora,” Rebecca said. “I was a slave down there and slavery’s bad, but I had some friends anyway. And my young Miss Anne was my friend too. She’d never have let anybody hurt me. She cried like anything when I had to be sold to Mr. Channing. But up here Mrs. Channing doesn’t know I’ve got any feelings inside.”
Lora listened quietly, recognizing the girl’s need for this release into words.
“Miss Virginia was real good to me,” Rebecca said softly.
The name “Virginia” seemed to hang there in the room between them, silencing all talk for a moment. Then Rebecca raised herself on one elbow and her eyes were haunted by some inner worry.
“There’s something maybe I should tell you, Miss Lora. About Miss Virginia.”
“Yes?” Lora asked, startled.
“I never spoke about it before. There isn’t so much to tell, rightly. But tonight I had to come down through the woods by myself when it was getting dark. And I had a feeling she was there. I had a feeling she couldn’t sleep and she had to keep coming back there. I had a feeling it was all my fault and that she couldn’t rest because of what I kept secret.”
Lora waited in silence. If there was something the girl should tell, then this was not the time for either reassurance or the dismissal of ghosts. But when Rebecca seemed to find it hard to go on, Lora spoke to her gently.
“Do you know something about that day when Virginia was drowned?”
“Not enough.” Rebecca closed her eyes and leaned back on the pillow. “That’s why I’ve always kept still. But I reckon Mrs. Channing knows more than she’s ever told.”
“Why do you think that?”
The story came out then quickly, breathlessly. On the afternoon of Virginia’s death, Rebecca had started down the woods path when she met Mrs. Channing running up the hill. Her mistress had been out of breath and looked plainly frightened. When she saw Rebecca she seemed to be glad of someone upon whom she could vent her emotions. She spoke sharply and behaved as though Rebecca had no business being on the path at all, and ordered her back to the house to perform some trumped-up duty.
Later, when news came that Virginia’s body had been found, Morgan made no mention of having set foot in the woods near the pool that afternoon. But she had gone about for several days with a queer, set look on her face.
“For a while she used to stare at me sometimes,” Rebecca said. “As if she was wondering if I had seen anything, or knew more than I was telling. And a few days after the funeral she began to talk about how I could buy the freedom of my mother and sister if I was a good girl and stayed with her and worked hard.”
“So she was actually in the woods that day?” Lora said.
“She was, yes. But I don’t know anything about what happened, Miss Lora,” Rebecca said quickly. “I didn’t see anything. I only know Mrs. Channing seemed upset. If she knew anything about what happened to Miss Virginia, she never told a soul.”
Lora shivered in the dim, warm room. Had some monstrous thing happened in the woods that day? Had Morgan perhaps taken matters into her own hands and—But she mustn’t let her imagination leap ahead when there was no proof of anything evil. It was just that she could remember Morgan’s violence and once or twice her own fear that the woman was capable of doing her physical harm. Then there was that time recorded in Wade’s diary when the child, Morgan, had pushed her sister in the pool. True, she had also rescued her that day. No, it wouldn’t do to imagine. Rebecca had been right to keep her silence. There was nothing to be told.
Jemmy tapped on the door just then and Lora went to speak to him. He put a finger to his lips and beckoned her, his eyes shining in the light of the candle he held.
“Come quickly, Lora. Come and see!”
She turned back to the girl on the bed. “I’ll close the door, Rebecca. Try to sleep. Everything will be all right now.”
She followed Jemmy downstairs to the library window, where his father and grandmother stood in the dark, looking out through partly opened shutters.
“Blow out the candle, Jemmy,” Wade whispered.
Jemmy blew it out and wriggled in front of his father where he could see out the window. Wade drew Lora into the curve of his arm, so that she could stand between him and his mother.
From this vantage point she could see the shadowy stretch of the lane where it curved downhill toward the harbor. Moving dots of light were approaching up the hill—wavering torches being carried by many hands. The sound of coarse laughter and shouting reached the silent listeners, and it was not a happy sound. There was a deep-toned threat in its depths which made the blood pulse faster in fear.
“Where is Peter?” Mrs. Tyler asked softly of her son.
“I’ve sent him to put Adam on the alert,” Wade said. They heard the click of the back door opening and closing just then. “There he is now, coming back.”
Wade left the room to post Peter at a kitchen window overlooking the bolted back door. Then he returned with a pistol in each hand. Now every light in the house was extinguished and it stood shuttered and still. The watchers in the library made no sound, scarcely drawing a deep breath, as if the whisper of their breathing might be heard by the men climbing the hill.
The torches flared brightly as those who carried them drew near, and now the light wavered upon faces alive with angry purpose. These men had not mounted the hill on any idle whim. Nor was this a group of young boys to be easily cowed and driven back. It could only be hoped that the Tyler house was not their goal, though there was always the danger that any house along their way might draw them momentarily from their main target.
Lora gasped as she saw a torchbearer break away from his companions and start up the drive. But he was hauled bake into the ranks almost at once, and as the throng marched by, it became evident that this house at least was not their goal.
“They’re going uphill to Morgan Le Fay’s,” Jemmy whispered. “I know why—they’re looking for Rebecca.”
Lora put her hand gently on his shoulder. “Rebecca’s safe now. They won’t know she’s here.”
She could only hope that would remain true. If this lawless mob started beating the woods for Rebecca and did not find her, it might well be suspected that some family along the lane was hiding her. Especially since the families up here had the reputation of being Black Republicans and supporters of Lincoln.
When the danger was past for the moment, Wade closed the shutters and fastened them. A candle was lighted in the library so that they need not sit in the dark. Peter came in to ask if he should go up through the woods to see how the Channing place was faring. Lora expected Mother Tyler to speak up quickly and give directions as she usually did. But a gradual change was coming over her tonight. She looked to Wade to make the decisions, and oddly enough this did not seem strange.
“Mrs. Channing has her own people to help her,” Wade told Peter. “I don’t think we’d better take any chances of cutting down our own number even temporarily.”
After a while Lora ran upstairs to her own room and opened the door softly to listen. Rebecca’s regular breathing told her the girl had fallen asleep, and she was glad that the sound of the rioters had not penetrated her slumbers in this back room.
Nevertheless, the night was not quiet. When a door or window was opened they could hear a distant shouting from the hilltop and could only wonder anxiously what was happening up there.
Before an hour passed, there came a second rapping at the back door and this time Wade went to answer it, with Lora and Jemmy close behind him. Peter, still on watch by the kitchen window, signaled that it was all right to open the door, and Morgan Channing stumbled into the kitchen. John Ambrose was with her and he supported her as she slumped, and helped her to a chair.
Then he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and looked around at the others. “She’s a wildcat, this daughter of mine. She’d have stayed to fight that whole gang if I hadn’t made her come away with me. She went right out on
the veranda to stop them and they threw stones at her and whistled and shouted for her to give up the Negro girl.”
Morgan took the glass of water Lora gave her and drank thirstily. Strands of dark hair hung across her forehead and there was a bramble scratch along one cheek.
“I told them we didn’t have Rebecca!” she cried. “I told them they could go hunt the woods for her and that I was on their side. But they wouldn’t believe me. I don’t think they’d ever heard of Murray or the Golden Circle. They just want to kill and destroy!”
When she paused for breath Ambrose went on with the story. “Some of those fellows pushed right into the house and went through it. By the time I got Morgan out the back door they’d started looting and throwing things out the windows. I had a hard time to keep Morgan from going back when they started a bonfire out on the front lawn with some of those little gold chairs from the drawing room.”
“I could have stopped them!” Morgan cried. “I know I could have!”
“You could have got yourself conked in the head,” said her father sternly.
For all her keyed-up state, Morgan looked exhausted. “My beautiful house,” she went on. “They’ll burn it down. And I could have stopped them!”
“What about the servants?” Wade asked Ambrose.
“They couldn’t do anything, but they’ll be all right. The crowds aren’t after the poor. It’s the rich man and his possessions they want to destroy. The man they think is to blame for the war.”
Mrs. Tyler had come into the kitchen and now, observing Morgan’s distraught condition, she turned to Lora. “Perhaps you had better take Mrs. Channing upstairs. She seems extremely upset and it might be as well for her to lie down.”
“She can have my room,” Jemmy offered. “Rebecca’s in Lorie’s room.”
Morgan stiffened in her chair. “Rebecca is here?”
The Quicksilver Pool Page 36