The Copperhead

by Harold Frederic

  CHAPTER IX

  ESTHER'S VISIT

  The next day, Saturday, was my birthday. I celebrated it by a heavycold, with a bursting headache and chills chasing each other down myback. I went out to the cow-barn with the two men before daylight, asusual, but felt so bad that I had to come back to the house beforemilking was half over. The moment M'rye saw me, I was ordered on to thesick-list.

  The Beech homestead was a good place to be sick in. Both M'rye andJaney had a talent in the way of fixing up tasty little dishes forinvalids, and otherwise ministering to their comfort, which year afteryear went a-begging, simply because all the men-folk kept so well.Therefore, when the rare opportunity did arrive, they made the most ofit. I had my feet and legs put into a bucket of hot water, and wrappedround with burdock leaves. Janey prepared for my breakfast some softtoast--not the insipid and common milk-toast--but each golden-brown slicetreated separately on a plate, first moistened with scalding water,then peppered, salted, and buttered, with a little cold milk on top ofall. I ate this sumptuous breakfast at my leisure, ensconced in M'rye'sbig cushioned rocking-chair, with my feet and legs, well tucked up ina blanket-shawl, stretched out on another chair, comfortably near thestove.

  It was taken for granted that I had caught my cold out around thebonfire the previous evening--and this conviction threw a sort ofpatriotic glamour about my illness, at least in my own mind.

  The bonfire had been a famous success. Though there was a trifle ofrain in the air, the barrels and mossy discarded old fence-rails burnedlike pitch-pine, and when Hurley and I threw on armfuls of brush, thesparks burst up with a roar into a flaming column which we felt must bevisible all over our side of Dearborn County. At all events, there wasno doubt about its being seen and understood down at the Corners, forpresently our enemies there started an answering bonfire, which glowedfrom time to time with such a peculiarly concentrated radiance thatAbner said Lee Watkins must have given them some of his kerosene-oilbarrels. The thought of such a sacrifice as this on the part of thepostmaster rather disturbed Abner's mind, raising, as it did, thehideous suggestion that possibly later returns might have altered theelection results. But when Hurley and I dragged forward and tipped overinto the blaze the whole side of an old abandoned corn-crib, and heapeddry brush on top of that, till the very sky seemed afire above us, andthe stubble-fields down the hill-side were all ruddy in the light,Abner confessed himself reassured. Our enthusiasm was so great that itwas nearly ten o'clock before we went to bed, having first put the firepretty well out, lest a rising wind during the night should scattersparks and work mischief.

  I had all these splendid things to think of next day, along withmy headache and the shivering spine, and they tipped the balancetoward satisfaction. Shortly after breakfast M'rye made a flaxseedpoultice and muffled it flabbily about my neck, and brought me alsosome boneset-tea to drink. There was a debate in the air as betweencastor-oil and senna, fragments of which were borne in to me whenthe kitchen door was open. The Underwood girl alarmed me by steadilyinsisting that her sister-in-law always broke up sick-headaches witha mustard-plaster put raw on the back of the neck. Every once in awhile one of them would come in and address to me the stereotypedformula: "Feel any better?" and I as invariably answered, "No." Inreality, though, I was lazily comfortable all the time, with Lossing's"Field-Book of the War of 1812" lying open on my lap, to look at when Ifelt inclined. This book was not nearly so interesting as the one aboutthe Revolution, but a grandfather of mine had marched as a soldier upto Sackett's Harbor in the later war, though he did not seem to havehad any fighting to do after he got there, and in my serious moods Ialways felt it my duty to read about his war instead of the other.

  So the day passed along, and dusk began to gather in the living-room.The men were off outdoors somewhere, and the girls were churning inthe butter-room. M'rye had come in with her mending, and sat on theopposite side of the stove, at intervals casting glances over its flattop to satisfy herself that my poultice had not sagged down from itsproper place, and that I was in other respects doing as well as couldbe expected.

  Conversation between us was hardly to be thought of, even if I had notbeen so drowsily indolent. M'rye was not a talker, and preferred alwaysto sit in silence, listening to others, or, better still, going on ather work with no sounds at all to disturb her thoughts. These longperiods of meditation, and the sedate gaze of her black, penetratingeyes, gave me the feeling that she must be much wiser than other women,who could not keep still at all, but gabbled everything the moment itcame into their heads.

  We had sat thus for a long, long time, until I began to wonder how shecould sew in the waning light, when all at once, without lifting hereyes from her work, she spoke to me.

  "D' you know where Ni Hagadorn's gone to?" she asked me, in a measured,impressive voice.

  "He--he--told me he was a-goin' away," I made answer, with weakevasiveness.

  "But where? Down South?" She looked up, as I hesitated, and flashedthat darkling glance of hers at me. "Out with it!" she commanded. "Tellme the truth!"

  Thus adjured, I promptly admitted that Ni had said he was going South,and could work his way somehow. "He's gone, you know," I added, after apause, "to try and find--that is, to hunt around after--"

  "Yes, I know," said M'rye, sententiously, and another long silenceensued.

  She rose after a time, and went out into the kitchen, returning withthe lighted lamp. She set this on the table, putting the shade downon one side so that the light should not hurt my eyes, and resumedher mending. The yellow glow thus falling upon her gave to her dark,severe, high-featured face a duskier effect than ever. It occurred tome that Molly Brant, that mysteriously fascinating and bloody Mohawkqueen who left such an awful reddened mark upon the history of hernative Valley, must have been like our M'rye. My mind began sleepilyto clothe the farmer's wife in blankets and chains of wampum, witheagles' feathers in her raven hair, and then to drift vaguely off overthe threshold of Indian dreamland, when suddenly, with a start, Ibecame conscious that some unexpected person had entered the room bythe veranda-door behind me.

  The rush of cold air from without had awakened me and told me of theentrance. A glance at M'rye's face revealed the rest. She was staringat the newcomer with a dumfounded expression of countenance, her mouthhalf-open with sheer surprise. Still staring, she rose and tilted thelamp-shade in yet another direction, so that the light was thrown uponthe stranger. At this I turned in my chair to look.

  It was Esther Hagadorn who had come in!

  There was a moment's awkward silence, and then the school-teacherbegan hurriedly to speak. "I saw you were alone from the veranda--I wasso nervous, it never occurred to me to rap--the curtains being up--I--Iwalked straight in."

  As if in comment upon this statement, M'rye marched across the room,and pulled down both curtains over the veranda windows. With her handstill upon the cord of the second shade, she turned and again dumblysurveyed her visitor.

  Esther flushed visibly at this reception, and had to choke down thefirst words that came to her lips. Then she went on better: "I hopeyou'll excuse my rudeness. I really did forget to rap. I came upon veryspecial business. Is Ab--Mr. Beech at home?"

  "Won't you sit down?" said M'rye, with a glum effort at civility. "Iexpect him in presently."

  The school-ma'am, displaying some diffidence, seated herself in thenearest chair, and gazed at the wall-paper with intentness. She hadnever seemed to notice me at all--indeed had spoken of seeing M'ryealone through the window--and I now coughed, and stirred to readjust mypoultice, but she did not look my way. M'rye had gone back to her chairby the stove, and taken up her mending again.

  "You'd better lay off your things. You won't feel 'em when you go out,"she remarked, after an embarrassing period of silence, investing theformal phrases with chilling intention.

  Esther made a fumbling motion at the loop of her big mink cape, butdid not unfasten it.

  "I--I don't know _what_ you think of me," she began, at last, a
nd thennervously halted.

  "Mebbe it's just as well you don't," said M'rye, significantly, darningaway with long sweeps of her arm, and bending attentively over herstocking and ball.

  "I can understand your feeling hard," Esther went on, still eying thesprawling blue figures on the wall, and plucking with her fingers atthe furry tails on her cape. "And--I _am_ to blame, _some_, I can seenow--but it didn't seem so, _then_, to either of us."

  "It ain't no affair of mine," remarked M'rye, when the pause came, "butif that's your business with Abner, you won't make much by waitin'. Ofcourse it's nothing to me, one way or t'other."

  Not another word was exchanged for a long time. From where I sat Icould see the girl's lips tremble, as she looked steadfastly into thewall. I felt certain that M'rye was darning the same place over andover again, so furiously did she keep her needle flying.

  All at once she looked up angrily. "Well," she said, in loud, bittertones: "Why not out with what you've come to say, 'n' be done with it?You've heard something, _I_ know!"

  Esther shook her head. "No, Mrs. Beech," she said, with a piteousquaver in her voice, "I--I haven't heard anything!"

  The sound of her own broken utterances seemed to affect her deeply. Hereyes filled with tears, and she hastily got out a handkerchief from hermuff, and began drying them. She could not keep from sobbing aloud alittle.

  M'rye deliberately took another stocking from the heap in the basket,fitted it over the ball, and began a fresh task--all without a glance atthe weeping girl.

  Thus the two women still sat, when Janey came in to lay the table forsupper. She lifted the lamp off to spread the cloth, and put it onagain; she brought in plates and knives and spoons, and arranged themin their accustomed places--all the while furtively regarding MissHagadorn with an incredulous surprise. When she had quite finished shewent over to her mistress and, bending low, whispered so that we couldall hear quite distinctly: "Is _she_ goin' to stay to supper?"

  M'rye hesitated, but Esther lifted her head and put down thehandkerchief instantly. "Oh, no!" she said, eagerly: "don't think ofit! I must hurry home as soon as I've seen Mr. Beech." Janey went outwith an obvious air of relief.

  Presently there was a sound of heavy boots out in the kitchen beingthrown on to the floor, and then Abner came in. He halted in thedoorway, his massive form seeming to completely fill it, and devoted amoment or so to taking in the novel spectacle of a neighbor under hisroof. Then he advanced, walking obliquely till he could see distinctlythe face of the visitor. It stands to reason that he must have beensurprised, but he gave no sign of it.

  "How d' do, Miss," he said, with grave politeness, coming up andoffering her his big hand.

  Esther rose abruptly, peony-red with pleasurable confusion, and tookthe hand stretched out to her. "How d' do, Mr. Beech," she respondedwith eagerness, "I--I came up to see you--a--about something that's verypressing."

  "It's blowing up quite a gale outside," the farmer remarked, evidentlyto gain time the while he scanned her face in a solemn, thoughtfulway, noting, I doubt not, the swollen eyelids and stains of tears, andtrying to guess her errand. "Shouldn't wonder if we had a foot o' snowbefore morning."

  The school-teacher seemed in doubt how best to begin what she had tosay, so that Abner had time, after he lifted his inquiring gaze fromher, to run a master's eye over the table.

  "Have Janey lay another place!" he said, with authoritative brevity.

  As M'rye rose to obey, Esther broke forth: "Oh, no, please don't! Thankyou so much, Mr. Beech--but really I can't stop--truly, I mustn't thinkof it."

  The farmer merely nodded a confirmation of his order to M'rye, whohastened out to the kitchen.

  "It'll be there for ye, anyway," he said. "Now set down again, please."

  It was all as if he was the one who had the news to tell, so naturallydid he take command of the situation. The girl seated herself, and thefarmer drew up his armchair and planted himself before her, keepinghis stockinged feet under the rungs for politeness' sake.

  "Now, Miss," he began, just making it civilly plain that he preferrednot to utter her hated paternal name, "I don't know no more'n a babeunborn what's brought you here. I'm sure, from what I know of ye, thatyou wouldn't come to this house jest for the sake of comin', or to argythings that can't be, an' mustn't be, argied. In one sense, we ain'tfriends of yours here, and there's a heap o' things that you an' medon't want to talk about, because they'd only lead to bad feelin', an'so we'll leave 'em all severely alone. But in another way, I've alwayshad a liking for you. You're a smart girl, an' a scholar into thebargain, an' there ain't so many o' that sort knockin' around in theseparts that a man like myself, who's fond o' books an' learnin', wantsto be unfriendly to them there is. So now you can figure out prettywell where the chalk line lays, and we'll walk on it."

  Esther nodded her head. "Yes, I understand," she remarked, and seemednot to dislike what Abner had said.

  "That being so, what is it?" the farmer asked, with his hands on hisknees.

  "Well, Mr. Beech," the school-teacher began, noting with a swiftside-glance that M'rye had returned, and was herself rearranging thetable. "I don't think you can have heard it, but some important newshas come in during the day. There seems to be different stories, butthe gist of them is that a number of the leading Union generals havebeen discovered to be traitors, and McClellan has been dismissed fromhis place at the head of the army, and ordered to return to his homein New Jersey under arrest, and they say others are to be treated inthe same way, and Fath--_some_ people think it will be a hanging matter,and--"

  Abner waved all this aside with a motion of his hand. "It don't amountto a hill o' beans," he said, placidly. "It's jest spite, because welicked 'em at the elections. Don't you worry your head about _that_!"

  Esther was not reassured. "That isn't all," she went on, nervously."They say there's been discovered a big conspiracy, with secretsympathizers all over the North."

  "Pooh!" commented Abner. "We've heer'n tell o' that before!"

  "All over the North," she continued, "with the intention of bringingacross infected clothes from Canada, and spreading the small-pox amongus, and--"

  The farmer laughed outright; a laugh embittered by contempt. "Whatcock-'n'-bull story'll be hatched next!" he said. "You don't mean tosay you--a girl with a head on her shoulders like _you_--give ear to suchtomfoolery as that! Come, now, honest Injin, do you mean to tell me_you_ believe all this?"

  "It don't so much matter, Mr. Beech," the girl replied, raising herface to his, and speaking more confidently--"it don't matter at all whatI believe. I'm talking of what they believe down at the Corners."

  "The Corners be jiggered!" exclaimed Abner, politely, but with emphasis.

  Esther rose from the chair. "Mr. Beech," she declared, impressively;"they're coming up here to-night! That bonfire of yours made 'em mad.It's no matter how I learned it--it wasn't from father--I don't know thathe knows anything about it, but they're coming _here_! and--and Heavenonly knows what they're going to do when they get here!"

  The farmer rose also, his huge figure towering above that of the girl,as he looked down at her over his beard. He no longer dissembled hisstockinged-feet. After a moment's pause he said: "So that's what youcame to tell me, eh?"

  The school-ma'am nodded her head. "I couldn't bear not to," sheexplained, simply.

  "Well, I'm obleeged to ye!" Abner remarked, with gravity. "Whatevercomes of it, I'm obleeged to ye!"

  He turned at this, and walked slowly out into the kitchen, leaving thedoor open behind him. "Pull on your boots again!" we heard him say,presumably to Hurley. In a minute or two he returned, with his ownboots on, and bearing over his arm the old double-barrelled shot-gunwhich always hung above the kitchen mantel-piece. In his hands hehad two shot-flasks, the little tobacco-bag full of buckshot, and apowder-horn. He laid these on the open shelf of the bookcase, and,after fitting fresh caps on the nipples put the gun beside them.

  "I'd be all the more sot on your stayin' t
o supper," he remarked,looking again at Esther, "only if there _should_ be anyunpleasantness, why, I'd hate like sin to have you mixed up in it. Yousee how I'm placed."

  Esther did not hesitate a moment. She walked over to where M'rye stoodby the table replenishing the butter-plate. "I'd be very glad indeed tostay, Mr. Beech," she said, with winning frankness, "if I may."

  "There's the place laid for you," commented M'rye, impassively. Then,catching her husband's eye, she added the perfunctory assurance "You'reentirely welcome."

  Hurley and the girls came in now, and all except me took their seatsabout the table. Both Abner and the Irishman had their coats on, outof compliment to company. M'rye brought over a thick slice of freshbuttered bread with brown sugar on it, and a cup of weak tea, and putthem beside me on a chair. Then the evening meal went forward, thefarmer talking in a fragmentary way about the crops and the weather.Save for an occasional response from our visitor, the rest maintainedsilence. The Underwood girl could not keep her fearful eyes from thegun lying on the bookcase, and protested that she had no appetite, butHurley ate vigorously, and had a smile on his wrinkled and swarthylittle face.

  The wind outside whistled shrilly at the windows, rattling theshutters, and trying its force in explosive blasts which seemed torock the house on its stone foundations. Once or twice it shookthe veranda-door with such violence that the folk at the tableinstinctively lifted their heads, thinking someone was there.

  Then, all at once, above the confusion of the storm's noises, we hearda voice rise, high and clear, crying:

  "_Smoke the damned Copperhead out!_"