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The Romance of a Plain Man, a novel by Ellen Glasgow |
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Chapter 17. In Which My Fortunes Rise |
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_ CHAPTER XVII. IN WHICH MY FORTUNES RISE
"In the spring--oh, in the spring," she wrote, "I shall be free. My promise was given and I could not recall it, but I believe now that it was pride, not love, that made them exact it. Do you know, I sometimes think that they do not love me at all. They have both told me that they would rather see me dead than married, as they call it, beneath me. Beneath me, indeed! Ah, dearest, dearest, how can one lower one's self to a giant? When I think of all that you are, of all that you have made yourself, I feel so humble and proud. The truth is, Ben, I'm not suffering half so much from love as I am from indignation. If it keeps up, some day I'll burst out like Aunt Matoaca, for I've got it in me. And she of all people! Why, she goes about in her meek, sanctified manner distributing pamphlets on the emancipation of woman, and yet she actually told me the other day that, of course, she would prefer to have only 'ladies' permitted to vote. 'In that case, however,' she added, 'I should desire to restrict the franchise to gentlemen, also.' Did you ever in your whole life hear of anything so absurd, and she really meant it. She's a martyr, and filled with a holy zeal to get burned or racked. But it's awful, every bit of it. Oh, lift me up, Ben! Lift me up!" And in a postscript, "What does the General say to you? Aunt Mitty has told the General." The General had said nothing to me, but when I drove him up from his office the next day, he invited me to dine with him, and talked incessantly through the three simple courses about the prospects of the National Oil Company. "So you're sweeping the whole South?" he said. "Yes, Sam has made a big thing of it. We've knocked out everybody else in the oil business in this part of the world." "Mark my word, then, you've been cutting into the interest of the oil trust, and it will come along presently and try to knock you out. When it does, Ben, make it pay, make it pay." "Oh, I'll make it pay," I answered. "The consolidated interests may sweep out the independent companies, but they can't overturn the Great South Midland and Atlantic Railroad." "It's the road, of course, that has made such a success possible." "Yes, it's the road--everything is the road, General." "And to think that when I got control of it, it was bankrupt." Rising from the table he took my arm, and limped painfully into his study, where he lit a cigar and sank back in his easy chair. "Look here, Ben," he began suddenly, with a change of tone, "what's this trouble brewing between you and Miss Mitty Bland?" "There's no trouble, sir, except that her niece has promised to marry me." "Promised to marry you, eh? Sally Mickleborough? Are you sure it's Sally Mickleborough?" "I'm hardly likely to be mistaken, General, about the identity of my future wife." "No, I suppose you ain't," he admitted, "but, good Lord, Ben, how did you make her do it?" "I didn't make her. She was good enough to do it of her own accord." "So she did it of her own accord? Well, confound you, boy, how did it ever occur to you to ask her?" "That's what I can't answer, General, I don't believe it ever occurred to me any more than it occurred to me to fall in love with her." "You've fallen in love with Sally Mickleborough, Miss Matoaca's niece. She refused George, you know?" I replied that I didn't know it, but I never supposed that she would engage herself to two men at the same time. "And she's seriously engaged to you?" he demanded, still unconvinced. "Are you precious sure she isn't flirting? Girls will flirt, and I don't reckon you've had much experience of 'em. Why, even Miss Mitty was known to flirt in a prim, stiff-necked fashion in her time, and as for Sarah Bland, they say she promised to marry a whole regiment before the battle of Seven Pines. A little warning beforehand ain't going to do any harm, Ben." "I'm much obliged to you, General, but I don't think in this case it's needed. Sally is staunch and true." "Sally? Do you call her 'Sally'? It used to be the custom to address the lady you were engaged to as 'Miss Sally' up to the day of the marriage." I laughed and shook my head. "Oh, we move fast!" "Yes, I'm an old man," he admitted sadly, "and I was brought up in a different civilisation. It's funny, my boy, how many customs were swept away with the institution of slavery." "There'd have been little room for me in those days." "Oh, you'd have got into some places quick enough, but you'd never have crossed the Blands' threshold when they lived down on James River. There isn't much of that nonsense left now, but Miss Mitty has got it and Theophilus has got it; and, when all's said, they, might have something considerably worse. Why, look at Miss Matoaca. When I first saw her you'd never have imagined there was an idea inside her head." "I can understand that she must have been very pretty." "Pretty? She was as beautiful as an angel. And to think of her distributing those damned woman's rights pamphlets! She left one on my desk," he added, sticking out his lower lip like a crying child, and wiping his bloodshot eyes on the hem of his silk handkerchief. "I tell you if she'd had a husband this would never have happened." "We can't tell--it might have been worse, if she believes it." "Believes what, sir?" gasped the great man, enraged. "Believes that outlandish Yankee twaddle about a woman wanting any rights except the right to a husband! Do you think she'd be running round loose in this crackbrained way if she had a home she could stay in and a husband she could slave over? I tell you there's not a woman alive that ain't happier with a bad husband than with none at all." "That's a comfortable view, at any rate." "View? It's not a view, it's a fact--and what business has a lady got with a view anyway? If Miss Matoaca hadn't got hold of those heathenish views, she'd be a happy wife and mother this very minute." "Does it follow, General, that she would have been a happy one?" I asked a little unfairly. "Of course it follows. Isn't every wife and mother happy? What more does she want unless she's a Yankee Abolitionist?" "Who's a Yankee?" enquired young George, in his amiable voice from the hall. "I'm surprised to hear you calling names when the war is over, sir." "I wasn't calling names, George. I was just saying that Miss Matoaca Bland was a Yankee. Did you ever hear of a Virginia lady who wasn't content to be what the Lord and the men intended her?" "No, sir, I never did--but it seems to me that Miss Matoaca has managed to secure a greater share of your attention than the more amenable Virginia ladies." "Well, isn't it a sad enough sight to see any lady going cracked?" retorted the General, hotly; "do you know, George, that Sally Mickleborough--he says he's sure it's Sally Mickleborough--has promised to marry Ben Starr?" "Oh, it's Sally all right," responded George, "she has just told me." He came over and held out his hand, smiling pleasantly, though there was a hurt look in his eyes. "I congratulate you, Ben," he observed in his easy, good-natured way, "the best man comes in ahead." His face wore the frown, not from temper, but from pain, that I had seen on it at the club when his favourite hunter had dropped dead, and he had tried to appear indifferent. He was a superb horseman, a typical man about town, a bit of a sport, also, as Dr. Theophilus said. I knew he loved Sally, just as I had known he loved his hunter, by a sympathetic reading of his character rather than by any expression of regret on his long, highly coloured, slightly wooden countenance, with its set mouth over which drooped a mustache so carefully trimmed that it looked almost as if it were glued on his upper lip. "By the way, uncle, have you heard the last news?" he asked, "Barclay is buying all the A. P. & C. Stock he can lay hands on. It's selling at--" "Hello! What's that? Barclay, did you say? I knew it was coming, and that he'd spring it. Here, Hatty, give me my cape, I'm going back to the office!" "George, George, the doctor told you not to excite yourself," remonstrated Miss Hatty, appearing in the doorway with a glass of medicine in her hand. "Excite myself? Pish! Tush!" retorted the General, "I ain't a bit more excited than you are yourself. Do you think if I hadn't had a cool head they'd have made me president of the South Midland? But I tell you Barclay's trying to get control of the A. P. & C., and I'll be blamed if he shall! Do you want him to snatch a railroad out of my very mouth, madam?" By this time he had got into his cape and slouch hat, turning at the last moment to swallow Miss Hatty's dose of medicine with a wry mouth. Then with one arm in George's and one in mine, he descended the steps and limped as far as the car line on Main Street. On that same afternoon I walked out to meet Sally on her ride in one of the country roads to what was called "the Pump House," and when she had dismounted, we strolled together along the little path under the scarlet buds of young maples. At the end of the path there was a rude bench placed beside the stream, which broke from the dam above with a sound that was like laughing water. The grass was powdered with small spring flowers, and overhead a sycamore drooped its silvery branches to the sparkling waves. Spring was in the air, in the scarlet buds of maples, in the song of birds, in the warm wind that played on Sally's flushed cheek and lifted a loosened curl on her forehead. And spring was in my heart, too, as I sat there beside her, on the old bench, with her hand in mine. "You will marry me in November, Sally?" "On the nineteenth of November, as I promised. Aunt Mitty and Aunt Matoaca have forbidden me to mention your name to them, so I shall walk with you to church some morning--to old Saint John's, I think, Ben." "Then may God punish me if I ever fail you," I answered. Her look softened. "You will never fail me." "You will trust me now and in all the future?" "Now and in all the future." As we strolled back a little later to her horse that was tethered to a maple on the roadside, I told her of the success of the National Oil Company and of the possibility that I might some day be a rich man. "As things go in the South, sweetheart, I'm a rich man now for my years." "I am glad for your sake, Ben, but I have never expected to have wealth, you know." "All the same I want you to have it, I want to give it to you." "Then I'll begin to love it for your sake--if it means that to you?" "It means nothing else. But what do you think it will mean to your aunts next November?" She shook her head, while I untethered Dolly, the sorrel mare. "They haven't a particle of worldliness, either of them, and I don't believe it will make any great difference if we have millions. Of course if you were, for instance, the president of the South Midland they would not have refused to receive you, but they would have objected quite as strongly to your marrying into the family. What you are yourself might concern them if they were inviting you to dinner, but when it is a question of connecting yourself with their blood, it is what your father was that affects them. I really believe," she finished half angrily, half humorously, "that Aunt Mitty--not Aunt Matoaca--would honestly rather I'd marry a well-born drunkard or libertine than you, whom she calls 'quite an extraordinary-looking young man.'" "Then if they can neither be cajoled nor bought, I see no hope for them," I replied, laughing, as she sprang from my hand into her saddle. The red flame of the maple was in her face as she looked back at me. "Everything will come right, Ben, if we only love enough," she said. _ |
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