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Miss Lou, a novel by Edward Payson Roe |
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Chapter 9. Paralyzed With Shame |
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_ CHAPTER IX. PARALYZED WITH SHAME So far from obeying her aunt's injunctions, Miss Lou sat down by her window, but she did not note the smiling spring landscape over which the western sun was throwing its long, misty rays. Tears so blurred her eyes and blinded her vision that she could scarcely see at all. At last she was aroused by the crunching of wheels, and became aware that Mrs. Whately had arrived. From what she knew of this aunt she had a good deal of hope from her appeal, for Mrs. Whately had always seemed a kind-hearted woman. True, she had been over-indulgent to her son, and, in her blind idolatry of this only child, blind to his faults, always comforting herself with the belief that he was merely high-spirited and would settle down when he grew older. Miss Lou wished to speak to the mother before the son returned, and in the hope of securing a merciful ally in the lady, went down immediately to receive her. Mr. Baron was on the back porch calling, "Chunk, where in the mischief are you?" Where, indeed, with the start he had gained for the Union lines? "My dear niece," cried Mrs. Whately, effusively, "how glad I am to see you, and to take you in my arms on this deeply interesting occasion!" but the matron was troubled at the girl's red eyes and pallid face. "I will show you to your room at once," said Mrs. Baron to her guest, decisively and significantly. Miss Lou was right in believing that the situation and the unhappy appearance of the prospective bride would be explained. She had been forestalled in her chance to make an appeal. Mrs. Baron emphatically sustained her husband's purpose, concluding: "My dear sister, in this crisis you will have to take a firm stand with the rest of us. Louise is acting like a perverse child, and no more realizes the necessity and wisdom of our course than a baby." Meantime the outcry for Chunk increased, and Miss Lou was troubled that he did not respond. Taking advantage of the fact that her mistress was upstairs, Zany stole swiftly, with many a misgiving, to Aun' Jinkey's cabin. "Whar dat gran'boy o' you'n?" she asked, breathlessly. "Ain' he in de gyardin?" "No, he ain'. Does you KNOW whar he is? Bettah tell me de truf. Mout sabe you a heap ob trouble." "Des you min' yo' business, en doan cum trapesin' yere 'bout Chunk. You talks ez ef you own 'im." "Ole mars'r tinks he own 'im, en he des a yellin' fer 'im. De oberseer hollerin', too, en de lil niggahs runnin' yere, dar, en yander lookin' fer 'im. Yere one ob um now." With new and direful forebodings Aun' Jinkey declared loudly: "I doan know what he be. He ain' say not'n ter me 'bout gwine anywhar." Uttering an angry and contemptuous exclamation, Zany sped back, and, with a scared look, said to Miss Lou, "Aun' Jinkey 'clar she dunno not'n 'bout Chunk's doin's. Ef she ain' foolin' me, I des belebe he's runned away." At these tidings and at this suggestion the young girl was almost distracted. She went instantly to the cabin, supposing that it would soon be searched. "Mammy!" she exclaimed, "where's Chunk?" "Fo' de Lawd, honey, I doan know. I des gwine all ter pieces wid de goin's on." "But people will be here looking. Is he up there?" asked the girl in a whisper. "No, he des lit out two hour ago, en he guv me dis" (showing the money), "en say he see me agin. I'se feared he'n Chunk gwine off togeder." "Well, you don't know. Hide the money and declare you don't know anything. I'll stand by you as far as I can." As she hastened back she saw a Confederate soldier running toward the house and Perkins limping after him as fast as possible. Entering the rear door she heard the soldier demanding fiercely of her uncle, "Where's that cursed nigger you call Chunk?" "Whom are you addressing, sir?" asked Mr. Baron, indignantly. "Well, see yere, boss," was the excited reply, "this ere ain't no time fer standin' on nice words. That cursed nigger o' your'n took the lieutenant's horse ter the run fer a drink, an one o' your'n 'long of him, en me en Perkins kyant find nary one of 'em." "Yes, sir," added Perkins in great wrath, "we uns follered the hoof- prints ter the run en inter the water, en there's no hoof-prints comin' back. That infernal nigger has lit out with the two horses." "Why don't you go after him then?" shouted Mr. Baron, distracted with anger and accumulating perplexities. "He can't be far yet." "I'd like ter see the hoss on this place that could ketch the lieutenant's black mare. Oh, why didn't I shoot the nigger?" and the soldier strode up and down as if demented. "You deserve to be shot yourself, sir, if you, who had been placed on guard, permitted that black rascal to take the horses." "Yes," replied the soldier, desperately, "en the lieutenant is ther man ter shoot me--cuss his red-hot blood!" and he stalked away toward the stables as if possessed by a sudden resolve. Turning to enter the house, Mr. Baron encountered his niece, who had been a witness to the scene, which explained everything to her. "You see, you see," cried the old man, "everything going to rack and ruin! Would to Heaven you could be married to-night and sent away to a place of safety!" "Uncle," said the girl, almost fiercely, "did you not hear that man say of my cousin, 'curse his red-hot blood'? Is that the kind of a protector you would force upon me?" "Yes," almost shouted the angry man, "because he has the spirit to deal justly with such reprobates. He's just the kind of protector you need in these lurid times, when it seems as if no one could be trusted. To think that that boy Chunk, who has been treated so well, could play us such an infernal trick! His old crone of a grandam must know something about it, and I'll make her tell. Perkins!" and Mr. Baron rushed toward the door again. The ladies had now descended and joined the excited group on the veranda. Zany was listening with craned neck from the dining-room door, and other "yard folks," great and small, were gathering also. "What IS the matter?" cried Mrs. Baron. Paying no heed to her, Mr. Baron said to his overseer, "Aun' Jinkey must know about this rascally flight and theft. Bring her here." "Uncle," said Miss Lou, firmly, "Aun' Jinkey doesn't know anything about Chunk's disappearance. I've been to her cabin and asked her." "As if the cunning old witch would tell you anything! Bring her here, I say, Perkins. It's time the spirit of insubordination on this place received a wholesome check." "Why!" exclaimed Mrs. Baron, "it seems but a little while ago that Chunk was working quietly in the garden." "En I reckon hit ain't much more'n two hours gone sence I seed 'im comin' out o' the cabin, lazin' and eatin' hoe-cake," added Perkins as he started angrily to obey his orders. "He had mischief in his mind, though, now I think of it." resumed Mrs. Baron, "for he seemed startled when he saw me, and tried to edge away to the cabin. I thought he was afraid I would catch his granny smoking instead of doing urgent work. Louise, you were in the cabin at the time. Why should Chunk be so anxious to get there before I did?" "I have not spoken to him this afternoon, and know nothing of his movements except what I have heard," replied the girl, coldly. "Oh, dear!" exclaimed Mrs. Whately, "what troublous times we've fallen upon!" In the silence which followed they heard the gallop of a horse. A moment later a negro came running up and exclaiming, "Dat sojer in de stable des saddle he hoss en put out ez ef de debil wuz arter 'im!" Miss Lou smiled bitterly as she thought, "He evidently doesn't think it wise to wait for my protector." At this moment Mad Whately appeared cantering smartly up the avenue at the head of his men. Throwing his reins to a colored boy, he strode smilingly up the steps, exclaiming, "Why, this is a regular committee of reception. I am doubled honored since my fair cousin is present also." Miss Lou made no reply, and the expression on all faces led him to ask quickly, "Why, what's the matter?" The young man's brow grew black as Mr. Baron gave a hasty explanation. A half-suppressed oath rose to his lips as he turned on his heel and shouted to his men, "Halt, there! Let every man mount and await orders. Simson, you and two others follow the guard I left with my horse. Where's that nigger who saw him start? Here, you, put these men on his track as you value your life! Simson, take him, dead or alive!" The men saluted, and departed at once. The galloping of their horses soon died away in the distance. "Now for this beldam," said Whately, sternly, as Aun' Jinkey approached, tottering in her excess of fear and accompanied by Perkins. Miss Lou saw that her cousin was terribly excited; indeed, that he fairly trembled with passion. She was scarcely less stirred herself, for she possessed much of the hot blood of her kindled, and during the last twenty-four hours nearly all that had, occurred tended to fire her spirit. Now that she saw her own dear old mammy led cowering under the hostile eyes of every one, she was almost beside herself with pity and anger. Unaccustomed to conventional restraint, reacting from long years of repression, a child still in some respects, in others a passionate woman revolting at a fate from which her whole nature shrank, she was carried far above and beyond her normal condition, and was capable of following her impulses, whatever they might be. Aun' Jinkey turned her eyes appealingly, and was awed, even in that terrible moment, by the intensity of the girl's expression, as she half consciously drew nearer and nearer. The field-hands, deeply excited, had also edged up from the quarters. Mr. Baron and his overseer observed yet tolerated this, thinking that it might be just as well to have the negroes learn from Aun' Jinkey's experience that authority would still be sternly enforced. Whately's headlong temperament was so overcome by anger that he noted nothing except the presence of one whom he believed the aider and abetter in his great loss, for a favorite and trusty horse is one of the dearest possessions of a cavalryman. "Where's your grandson?" he demanded, fiercely. "'Fo' de Lawd, I dunno," gasped Aun' Jinkey. "The truth, now, or you'll be sorry." "I dunno, I dunno. Ef he gone, he ain' say neber a word ter me, not eben good-by." "No use of your lying. You knew the rascal's purpose. Why didn't you tell Mr. Baron? Which way did he go?" "I des declar, mars'r, I dunno." "You DO know," cried Whately, driven almost to frenzy, "and I'll cut the truth out of you." His whip fell before he could arrest it, but it struck the arm and shoulder of Miss Lou. She had drawn very near, and, swift as light, had sprung forward and encircled the form of her mammy. There were startled exclamations from those near, echoed by a groan from the negroes, and then the girl spoke in stern, deep tones, "You thought to strike ONE woman, and you have struck TWO." Whately dropped his whip and stood with bowed head, paralyzed with shame. There were wild cries and a swaying of the field-hands toward the house. The mounted soldiers drew their revolvers and looked from the thronging black faces to that of their commander, but he paid no heed to them. Perkins did not wait, however, but drawing his weapon, began to limp toward the threatening mass, with oaths and orders to disperse. As for Mr. Baron and the ladies, they were just helpless in the whirl of events. Although Miss Lou's back was toward this new phase of the drama, she instantly and instinctively comprehended it. With a fear almost hereditary, as well as one vaguely dreaded from childhood, she recognized the possible horrors of an insurrection, her own action the indirect cause. She turned and sprang forward so swiftly to interpose that her comb fell away, and her golden hair streamed behind her. She stood between the blacks and those who could harm them; also those whom, in their wild excitement, they were ready to attack. "Silence!" she cried; then in the deep hush that followed she called out, in clear, ringing tones: "Every friend of mine will go back to quarters, keep quiet, and obey orders. I promise that no harm shall come to any of you." The men doffed their ragged hats, and a voice from the crowd answered, "We 'bey you, Miss Lou, en we won' let no harm come ter you, noder." Then as the dense, angry mass of a hundred or more men and women melted away toward the quarters, it was seen that many a heavy club was carried among them. Miss Lou watched them silently two or three moments, the rest looking on in wonder and suppressed anger mingled with fear. The girl returned, and taking her mammy by the hand, was about to lead her into the house. Whately started as she essayed to pass him unheedingly, and seized her hand. "Lou, Cousin Lou, forgive me!" he cried. "You know I meant you no such indignity." "I know you mean me a greater one," she replied, coldly, withdrawing her hand. "See! I ask your forgiveness on my knees!" he urged, passionately. But her heart was steeled against him, for her very soul was hot with indignation. "Come, mammy," she said, firmly, "such shelter and protection as I still have in this house you shall share." "Louise, this is monstrous!" began Mrs. Baron. "NO!" cried the girl. "This poor creature is the nearest approach I have ever known to a mother. She doesn't know about her grandson, and no one shall try to cut the truth out of her. Come, mammy," and she led the trembling old negress up to her room. When hidden from all eyes her courage and excitement gave way, and she cried on her mammy's breast like the child she was. _ |
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